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sinnamonrasinslut · 3 years

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The Ease With Which We Hurt [I] ICorpse Husband x Fem!ReaderI

A/N: You guys. I have never simultaneously loved AND hated a piece that I wrote. I really don’t know how I feel about this, but I promised myself last year that I wouldn’t overthink my writing, so here we are. This is part one of most likely four, but we’ll see about that. Thank you to everyone in my inbox who gave me ideas to turn this into a multi chapter fic! They’re all coming, I promise :)

SYNOPSIS: Corpse loves her, she loves Corpse. But both of them are too dumb to realize it, and too afraid to admit it.

It started, like most good things in his life, out of the blue.

He met her three years ago. Well, not met, but befriended her three years ago when her podcast was just taking off. He remembers sending her a DM about how great her work was, remembers her being gracious in her praise of his own narrations after and he remembers talking to her well into the night until she fell asleep. The rest, to Corpse, is history.

And yet, all he knows of her is a voice, a name, and the prettiest eyes he’s ever seen. she chooses to wear a mask every time they FaceTime, just for the formality of the entire ‘faceless’ situation. She’s told him she thinks it’s ironic, how she feels like he knows her inside out, and she’s still afraid to show him her face. It’s not like corpse can blame her. She doesn’t even know his name, let alone what he looks like, and it’s a miracle she hasn’t filed him away as some no face creep by this point.

But she hasn’t. She’s still here, after three years of being her friend, and almost a year of seeing her eyes and convincing himself that she’s his friend, damnit, she’s still here. It’s already a lot more than he can ask for.

He’s been holding himself back from falling in love. Or rather, he’s been in love for as long as he can remember, but he's been adamant on denying it; because he knows how this goes. It’s never gone well for him in the past. And he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s afraid. But sometimes, she tells him things that make his heart break, just out of the realization of how absolutely fucking stupid he's being, holding back from her.

He’s convinced that when he dies, she’s going to be the light at the end of his tunnel. That heaven means nothing more to him than a place in her world, however small, however insignificant, as long as he gets to see her eyes for the rest of eternity.

Every part of corpse tells him that it's love. But he tries to push it away, suppress his own feelings till he's nothing but a walking contradiction, overflowing with voices that only say her name.

But he’s tired. And he's scared. Because he’s been down that road before, opened himself up to people who haven’t liked what they saw and left with pieces of him he’s not sure how to tape back. He’s unsure if he's willing to let her try.

So, he settles for a small corner of her world, a little piece of her existence that gives him life, and every time he talks to her, hands flailing as she animatedly tells another story, he pushes the yearning to the back of his head till it crawls down and clings to his windpipe, unsure and immeasurable, and he can’t speak anymore without choking. But then she says things that make his heart jump into his throat, and then he’s choking but for entirely different reasons.

“What would you do if I was gone?”

He doesn’t mean it like that. Well, he does, a little bit, but his brain isn’t taking over every part of his body trying to convince him he’s unwanted, so he doesn’t mean it like that. He’s only curious, maybe in need of a little reassurance. And nobody does reassurance better than her.

She doesn’t say anything for a very long moment. Corpse knows the gist of her impending answer but the pause still blooms unnecessarily in his chest. But it’s not like they haven’t done this before.

“I’d write about you.”

“Huh?”

She only huffs a laugh at his confusion. She pulls a blanket closer around her and props up her phone to rest against what he assumes is a wall.

“You’re not easy to forget, Corpse,” her voice is soft, truthful without flattery, provides comfort without justification. “if you were gone, I’d write about you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, that’s the least I’d need to cope.”

It’s not what he thought he’d hear, but it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that it’s exactly what he needed. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to her.

“Besides,” she continues, hair falling in her face as she adjusts the blanket, “there is no place for me in a world without you in it.”

And he physically feels his heart stop and clench in his chest. The thought of meaning this much to anyone, to her in particular, is more than he knows how to handle. So, he doesn’t follow that up with a quip, no teasing laughter, no suggestive, exaggerated winks that only he can see. He only lets himself bask in the warmth of her honesty, lets her smile at him in that way only she does, the way that makes him freeze and ache and crumble.

He chooses not to talk after that, settles for listening to her tell stories about her childhood. Her voice is the purest thing he’s ever heard, he’d hear her talk till the world ended if he could, and the sweet lilt of her voice lulls him to sleep hours after she’s hung up the phone.

He doesn’t get to talk to her for almost two weeks after that. He misses her a little, but he keeps that to himself, and instead, tags her under dumb twitter memes and sends her pictures of cats that he’s saved specifically for times like these, and another video of two geckos fighting on a tree captioned ‘u and me’ .

There’s no place for me in a world without you in it.

The words wrap around his ribs like a noose, tightening by the second. Some days, when his heart is fast enough to beat out of his ribcage, it grounds him just as much as it hurts. But when she’d said it to him, it passed through him like a train wreck, distorting all semblance of control he’d convinced himself he had.

He knows it’s ridiculous, but he loves her. She’s only a voice through his phone and eyes on his screen and he has no clue what the rest of her looks like, but he’d be damned if he lets himself deny it one more time. He loves her. And that’s the most terrifying thought he’s ever entertained.

It doesn’t take long after that realization takes root, for him to send her a picture. He doesn’t let himself think too much about it. Taking pictures of himself is still new to him, but he tries his best. Don't think about it too much, he reminds himself, and unsurprisingly, it's her voice in his head that does all the soothing. He captions it something stupid, more out of habit than anything else (my hair makes me look like Dora the exploraH), with his name across his forehead and ‘Dora’ in brackets beside it.

Momentarily, he wonders if he’s ever asked her if she even wants to see his face. (He has, and he distantly remembers her agreeing as long as he’s comfortable with it.)

He hits send before he has the chance to stop and think.

Then he waits.

Her response is quicker than he’s prepared for, her name flashing across the facetime request on his phone. He’s giggling before he even picks it up.

“CORPSE, WHAT THE FUCK!”

For a very long moment, they just stare, taking each other in. This is his endgame, corpse thinks, he’s never going to need to show anyone his face after this, nothing, no one will matter as much.

With a jolt, he realizes that she’s not wearing her mask. He can see her, all of her, and that on its own should be enough to take him out.

And then she smiles.

If there was any doubt in his mind before about how head over heels he is, she’s taken it out of his mind and stomped it to the ground. He’s not the poet in this friendship, but he’s assured he could write entire paragraphs about the way she smiles. And he tells her exactly that.

“I’m curious to see how that would fit with fine lass nice ass cat ears and she uwu,” she teases, eye twinkling with mirth, “but I'm sure you’ll figure it out.”

He’s both amazed and amused at how quickly they go from fawning to bantering. But perhaps that’s the thing about her that feels so familiar.

“I will write a song about you baby, don’t tempt me.”

“Is that a threat?”

“It’s a confession,” he shrugs, suddenly shy, unsure of where to lead with this. Thankfully, she interjects before he has to say anything else.

“That’s an awfully bold confession for a man called Corpse.”

“I’m also awfully alive for a man called Corpse, but you don’t see me complaining.” Awfully alive and not enough husband, he wants to say, but he keeps that to himself.

“You complain about being alive everyday, Mister Husband,” she counters and Corpse groans, dropping his head into his hands.

“I say that to you in confidence,” he grits out, playfully glazing at her.

“You also tell about a million people on stream, I’m not special,” she laughs.

“You are very special to me.” His voice is soft, shy, almost afraid to tell her the things he’s saying, “I did say I’d write a song about you. Pretty special if you ask me.”

She hums, taking a huge gulp of water and nodding enthusiastically.

“Correct, me, the cat girl and the e girl. What’s the next single, Corpse? Faceless Girls are ruining my life?”

“You’re a rascal,” he chides as a familiar warmth settles around his heart, and grips.

“It is one of my finer qualities, yes.”

Distantly, some part of his brain registers that this is the first time he’s seen her, but there is no sense of hesitation in his head about her. It feels just like it always has, with her on the phone saying the silliest things, and him responding with equal enthusiasm. This is the way they’ve always been.

While she talks, hands animatedly moving around, Corpse allows himself a small moment of reprieve to think. He knows he loves her, but he wonders briefly if it’s too soon to be in love with her (he concludes that probably it is, given that she remains unaware of his feelings, but he finds that it doesn’t really matter)

Because while Corpse loves her, he’s sure he doesn't know how to love her. Doesn’t know her favourite flowers even if he knows her coffee order by heart, doesn’t know her ideal date even if he’s memorized every poem she loves.

The meanest parts of his brain tell him she deserves better, and he knows they’re wrong. But a small part of him can’t help but dwell. He’d rather have her and her unnecessary hand movements in his life as his friend than not at all. So he pushes away his feelings for another day, and just listens to her talk.

Corpse is perfectly content with that.

#corpse husband x reader #corpse husband imagine #corpse husband imagines #the ease with which we hurt #coco writes #friends to lovers #we love that trope in this household #if you reblog with stuff in the tags i WILL read it and cry #also if u reblog it with ur favourite part quoted i will cry #i just will cry thats a personality trait lmao #Sometiems i feel like the continuity of his chapter feels rushed #but idk i dont have the patience to fix it so i wont

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cole-grey-writes · 3 years

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Different, 70 Years Later

Universe: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Timeline: Post-The Avengers

Character(s): Steve Rogers, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanov

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Male Reader

Warning(s): swearing, perceived homophobia, mentioned period typical homophobia

Request: Omg hi i miss seeing you in here. Can i request Steve Rogers X Male Reader angst + fluff. Like they had a big fight and then in the end they just forgive each other and cuddle and talk about a beautiful memories together until they both asleep. I love you ❤️

A/n: WOW can i just apologize that it took me literally months to finish this. I’ve just been so preoccupied by another fandom that I started hyperfocusing on (it was my hero academia if anyone wants to know). Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and ignore the fact it took me a decade to get it out :)

You and Steve have only been dating for five months when you have your first fight. Honestly, it’s surprising that it took this long to happen.

You wish you didn’t remember what the fight was about, you really wish, but you remember exactly.

The fight had started due to Steve’s attitude towards your relationship. It’s clear that Steve isn’t ready to come out to his friends about your relationship, as you’ve come to realize, but that’s obviously not your actual concern. You’re not at all bothered by Steve not being ready to come out, it’s a subject you would never push. No, there’s a much bigger issue that you have a problem with.

It seems Steve is still being influenced by rotten and outdated 1930s ideology, still thinks that being queer is a bad thing which is very much untrue. You had done your best to explain that to your boyfriend, done your best to explain that there is absolutely nothing wrong with two men being in a relationship despite how much Steve’s time period has convinced him otherwise. Your efforts to help had backfired, though, for reason you can’t even begin to figure out.

Steve had gotten defensive all of a sudden, the conversation getting out of hand and blurry from there. The conversation turned into something else, something bordering on a screaming match. The fact that it was near midnight when the fight began had saved your neighbors from having to endure any interrupted sleep.

You and Steve had broken apart, eventually. Unfortunately, it was not because you were actually done fighting and instead, because Steve had stormed out of your apartment where you both had gathered after a long day (well, more like a week) of work. Maybe it sounded cliche or something, but you realized you wouldn’t be speaking to Steve for a while once you hear the echoing of the apartment door slamming shut.

You were right about you and Steve not speaking because you’re sitting in a local coffee shop called Honey Bean all by yourself by the time a week has passed.

You’re settled down at one of the two-seater tables in the front of the coffee shop so that the sun can bath you in light. You’d ordered a large muffin, although it’s not your favorite kind because apparently they don’t make more batches after 10:00 a.m., and are also half-way finished with your second venti cup of iced coffee. It’s not much of a lunch, though you don’t really care because you weren’t paying attention to your food all that much.

Your mind is still preoccupied with the fight, unable to force the thoughts revolving around it away.

“Want some shop with that coffee?” the voice breaks through the constant replay from behind your eyes. Your eyes snap up to Clint who has taken a seat across from you. You and Clint have both worked for SHIELD for years so you are very close, working as partners on missions many times. Actually, missions are where you and Clint grew closer, Natasha Romanov as well, which lead to your inevitable friendship.

You press your lips together, putting your coffee down as you refrain from rolling your eyes. “How’d you find me?” Clint’s mouth opens as if he’s going to say something but you interrupt him at the last moment. “Why am I even asking? You had Nat track my phone, didn’t you?”

Clint smiles too sweetly for the conversation you have no doubt is fast approaching. “You got that right.”

“Well,” You sigh heavily, “have at it. Say what you want to say.”

Clint hums, clearly appearing amused is the smile he’s failing to hide is anything to go by. “You know, I think I’ll start with the fact that you’re sitting in a coffee shop all alone because you’re too embarrassed to run into Steve in the SHIELD cafeteria.”

You don’t reply to Clint’s spoken truths as you play with the crumbly remains of your muffin. You mumble something along the lines of, “Hate being friends with SHIELD agents,” but your miniscule snip only causes Clint to laugh.

“So,” Clint says, “are you gonna explain why you and Steve are avoiding each other?”

You stare straight at Clint instead of avoiding eye contact, otherwise that would be admitting defeat, but you don’t say anything either because that would also be considered admitting defeat mostly because you have absolutely no idea what the hell you’re supposed to tell Clint. You and Steve are in a secret relationship. It’s bad enough that spilling your guts to Clint would be sharing your relationship without Steve’s permission but you would also be outing Steve in the process, which is completely out of the question disrespectful.

“No?” Clint says in a wondering tone before he shrugs, almost as if he knew you were going to refuse to answer the question. “I guess I’ll just tell you why you’ve been avoiding each other. You two got into a fight, a pretty bad one, not that it was hard to figure out. Bad enough to drive a visible wedge between two best friends who’ve been practically joined at the hip for months.”

You’re even more speechless, more than before, as Clint stares at you knowingly from across the table. Apparently, it’s his turn to sip his coffee pointedly.

You choose to bite the bullet and speak when Clint doesn’t continue picking apart your relationship with Steve after about a minute of complete silence. “Do you have a point to this?”

“There is a point,” Clint confirms. “The point is to make you talk to Steve.”

“Yeah, no shit. But, why?”

“Because you pout everywhere you go,” Clint informs you as if you didn’t already know. “Look, you’re obviously really bothered by whatever the fight was about. You and Steve aren’t gonna go back to what you were before unless you talk to each other about whatever happened.”

Your gaze lowers dejectedly, towards the muffin crumbs that stick to the napkin it sits on. The picture is clichely symbolic of what your and Steve’s entire relationship is gonna be if you don’t at least try to work through your fight. “You really think me and Steve could go back to being what we were before?”

Clint doesn’t even seem to hesitate before answering. “Guess you won’t know until you talk to him.” You roll your eyes more due to the harsh truth behind his words than any actual annoyance towards Clint for saying it.

You chew the inside of your cheek as you wonder if you should say what you’re thinking because you know it’s gonna be a very high ego boost for Clint. Ultimately, you decide to say it anyway. He deserves it after coming all this way so he could get two friends back together.

“You’re too convincing for your own good,” you tell him, Clint only smiling smugly in response. “Thank you.”

Clint shakes his head slightly. “Thank me by tracking Steve down and talking to him.”

Smiling, you nod in agreement. Finding Steve and making up is definitely going to be an immediate priority.

Standing from the table, you pick up all your trash, which just consists of a dirty napkin and two empty coffee cups, so you can throw it out on your way out of the door but Clint is stopping you.

“You can also thank me with another coffee,” Clint quickly adds before you’ve even begun to walk away. You scoff in disbelief before you internally give up.

“I’ll buy you as much coffee as you want when this is all over,” you promise him while grinning at the return of Clint’s playful personality.

Clint grins back at you, saying, “I’ll hold you to that.”

It seems as if the walk back to SHIELD takes forever while simultaneously taking no time at all which makes you even more anxious because now the discomfort and awkwardness that will be accompanying this talk is closer than you would like. But, that thought is quickly shoved away by the other side of your brain. Instead, it presents you with another thought, a fact actually that if you didn’t have this talk with Steve, your relationship would never be able to heal.

You suddenly realize that this fight could very well cost you your relationship with Steve which is even worse than having to deal with some minor discomfort for an hour at most. You don’t want that at all.

You remember how Steve had been adamant that being queer wasn’t right, most definitely from internalized homophobia, but you also remember how painfully upset he had looked while you two were going back and forth. You don’t want to give up on Steve, he doesn’t deserve that, especially not after enduring so much violent discrimination in his day and even some in the current years. Steve deserves to finally have some reprieve, deserves at least a shot at a happy ending.

You waste no more time wallowing in your own side of the story, pushing yourself to find Steve quickly.

Trudging through the halls of SHIELD headquarters seems to be more confusing than usual but you still manage to find Steve before the end of lunch. You spot him through the giant windows that provide a good view into the cafeteria. Steve is sitting with Natasha at a table with half-eaten food forgotten in front of them. Now, you want to march right inside the cafeteria so you can talk to Steve immediately but you don’t want to interrupt his lunch with Natasha so you just wait impatiently in the hallway.

Leaning against the wall across from the double-doors leading into the cafeteria, you watch as Steve finally stands from his table. Steve and Natasha exchange some sort of short conversation before he’s hastily making his way out of the cafeteria. Steve’s in such a hurry that you’re almost worried you won’t catch him before he walks off.

“Steve!” you call out, Steve pausing in his apparent quest to turn towards you. His eyes widen slightly upon recognizing you. As you approach him, you wonder, “Hey, um, can we… talk?”

“Wha– yes, of course!” Steve stutters awkwardly. “I was… actually just looking–”

And then there’s a buzzing noise echoing out from his pocket, clearly coming from his phone. You and Steve stop moving at the same time, the same look crossing your faces because you know exactly what that buzz means.

“You have a mission,” you state plainly as if Steve didn’t already sense that.

Steve sighs sadly, mumbling, “Yeah.”

You had feared this precise situation. You had wanted to make up with Steve before he left for a mission so that your fight wouldn’t stew any longer than it already has.

“This isn’t over,” Steve blurts. You look at him, confused and slightly worried at his phrasing. “I–I mean… I’ll text you. When the mission is over. We’ll talk.”

Managing a smile, you nod your head in agreement. When Steve steps forward, eyeing you questioningly, it takes a second for you to understand why. He’s clearly wondering whether or not it’s okay for him to kiss you goodbye. Kissing goodbye was just something you always did before Steve left for missions, your shared way of expressing that you’re gonna see each other again.

You take a step forward as well, understanding and relief flashing through Steve’s eyes as you do so, and you come together to exchange your goodbye kiss. You stay in the kiss for as long as you can but Steve’s phone is buzzing inside his pocket once again.

Separating reluctantly, you watch as Steve turns and walks away from you as the kiss lingers in your mind. Remembering how it felt, remembering that it felt like every other goodbye kiss you’ve exchanged before, which is surprisingly comforting to you.

The kiss in no way signifies that everything is fixed between you and Steve but it definitely means that you aren’t going to run away from each other anymore.

The mission doesn’t last very long, surprisingly, because Steve texts you around 9 o’clock asking you if he could stop by your apartment after he lands which you immediately agree with. You don’t even have to think about it anymore, the hours you spent alone giving you some time to really think about your fight.

In all honesty, as the hours ticked by, the fight between you and Steve grew to appear increasingly stupid and kinda messed up. You can’t even believe you’d blown up at Steve like you did instead of trying to reassure and comfort him. Steve isn’t like modern day homophobes, he didn’t have an open environment in his days to safely navigate and learn about queerness.

Your mind races with all the better ways you could have reacted to Steve as you impulsively made your living space cleaner for your boyfriend’s arrival. He knocks on your door at just past 10:30 p.m. and you don’t even have the willpower to stop yourself from instantly opening the door so it doesn’t seem like you were anxiously waiting right next to it.

You and Steve nervously stare at each other from opposite sides of the door before you finally step aside and invite him in. Steve smiles and enters your apartment, which is when you notice that he’s still dressed in his Cap uniform meaning he came straight to you after he landed. It’s a little dirtied and has clearly been drug through the mud but it’s not destroyed.

Relocating to the living room, Steve sits on the couch while you choose to sit perched up on the arm of the single seater. “Okay, so I think I should start off by telling you that I’m sorry,” you say, speaking meekly while subconsciously rubbing at the back of your neck. “I know that’s probably not what you wanna hear–”

“No, I’m sorry, too. I didn’t react the way I should have…” Steve trails off, as if he’s trying to get his thoughts and feels in order. “It’s just that I don’t think I’m ready to tell people, yet.”

Your mind stalls at your boyfriend’s words for a moment, your confusion causing you to stutter. “Wha– Steve, you don’t have to be.”

Steve’s face falls as he seems to cave into himself slightly, the sight twisting your guts in circles. You have never wanted to make Steve feel like that, like he has to hide from you. “That’s not what you said earlier.”

You feel your face scrunch up in confusion as your head tilts to the side. “What do you mean?”

Steve shifts around in his seat awkwardly. “Earlier, you know…” he shrugs and waves his hand around a bit, as if to help remind you of what he’s talking about. “when you were trying to convince me to come out.”

“What, Steve, no!” You’re immediately sitting up straight in your seat, your entire face widening in surprise. “That’s-that’s not what I was trying to say at all.”

“It wasn’t?”

You shake your head vigorously. “No, of course not. Me trying to bully you into coming out is just as bad as outing you myself. The only person who gets to decide when you come out is you.”

“Well, then what was I even mad at you for?” Steve wonders, his turn for his face to mold into a questioning expression.

“I have no idea… alright, let me get something straight,” you speak slowly, trying to make sense of the fight you and Steve had a week prior. “Last week, during our fight, you were only telling me you weren’t ready to come out about our relationship.”

“Correct.”

“And… and you weren’t actually saying you that being queer was a bad thing?”

Steve’s eyes darken with worry. “You thought I was saying that?” his voice seems so small, it makes you feel guilty for even thinking what you thought.

“I don’t know,” you sigh heavily, hands coming up to rub at your face. “I thought you were still being effected by your time period’s public homophobic ideals.”

Steve hums understandingly for some reason. “I know I used to internalize that stuff before, but I’ve worked through all that. I know being queer doesn’t make me less than others.”

You stand from your place on the arm of the single seater sofa so you can approach and reassure your boyfriend of the feelings you had previously thought he had. “That’s good, it doesn’t,” you pause before continuing. “I only wish I could go back and actually understand what you were saying. This whole thing wouldn’t have happened if I had just listened to you.”

“We both weren’t listening,” Steve smiles up at you sadly, clearly just as regretful as you are about this stupid fight that obviously shouldn’t have even happened in the first place.

You and Steve sit in silence for a moment, processing everything that’s just come out about your fight. There’s not more words exchanged between you as you both stand from your seats and gravitate towards each other in order to wrap your arms around each other.

You hug tightly for quite a long time, not saying anything, until you finally say, “I know you didn’t say anything about spending the night…”

“… Yeah,” Steve answers your unvoiced question without hesitation.

Somehow hugging even tighter, you and Steve manage to maneuver yourselves into the couch, laying side by side while pressing up against each other. You’re mostly on your back with Steve’s head resting near your neck and unable to stop yourself, you rest your hands in Steve’s soft blond hair in order to play with it despite how much soot and dried sweat lays within it.

It’s a while before one of you speaks. Steve begins to wonder out loud, “You remember how we met?”

You scoff lightheartedly, “How could I possibly forget?”

The memory comes to your mind easily. It was in the SHIELD cafeteria, you and Steve walking with your respective companions when Steve makes a sharp turn and accidentally bumps into you. Steve’s tray of food, as well as your own, spills all over you and your agent uniform. You remember Steve becoming a stammering mess of apologies out of embarrassment while Natasha stood next to him, surveying the scene in obvious amusement.

“You cost me $15 in dry cleaning,” you remind your boyfriend.

“I paid you back,” Steve whines as he pouts playfully.

Pressing your lips to Steve’s forehead, you mumble, “You certainly did.”

And, in fact, Steve did pay you back and he paid you back in the form of a two hour coffee date three days after he’d asked you out with a face as red as the tomato soup he’d spilled all over you.

You and Steve fall into a comfortable silence as you both seem to reminisce about an easier time in your relationship. Not that you want to go back to that time, you’re confident in that because while the first few months were easier, you and Steve have become more connected as time went on. You and Steve are closer to each other than you had been in the beginning and you don’t want to lose that for anything, not even for an easier time in your relationship.

“I know we can’t prevent fights,” you mutter, voice catching Steve’s attention. “But, can we at least promise that we’ll never stay away from each other for that long ever again?”

You feel Steve trying to burrow further into your neck as he says, “Only if we promise not to yell at each other that loud ever again.”

You agree immediately.

(NOT MY GIF)

Main Blog // Other Side Blog

((NO ONE HAS MY PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WORK ANYWHERE EVEN WITH CREDIT))

#steve rogers x male reader #steve rogers x reader #reader insert #marvel cinematic universe

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svtkillua · 3 years

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milk and tea > 2

rating: [pg-13 / angst] genre: soulmate au pairing: todoroki shouto x reader warnings: cursing, heartbreak, angst! word count: 9.5k

listen while you read here! join the discord!

1 - chap 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 [final]

The pendant hanging from your neck felt heavier the longer you wore it, like the days of the week that had ticked past added pounds to the object by the hour. You simultaneously adored it and loathed it, constantly catching yourself staring at it and fiddling your fingers around the chain. You loved that it reminded you of him, that the present special from Todoroki somehow made you feel like you yourself were special, like the gift was as close to a boyfriend like gesture you’d ever get. It made you feel adored, like the silver chain was a harsh contrast to the gold on your palm because it was a different reality, one that for a moment didn’t seem like a daydream. You hated it, however, when you stared too long and remembered that a few minutes after he slipped it on your neck he left to be with her. You loathed it for being a constant whisper reminding you that it was just a necklace, just a birthday present, not a declaration of love in the form of jewellery, but a kind gesture between friends. Because that was all you could be to Todoroki as hard as you tried to imagine otherwise.

“Are you listening to me?”

Your head lifted from its downward angle, eyes trailing from the wooden table top to the wide windows of the cafe, the sounds around you feeling too loud for the small space. People were tucked in at all the tables, several offices on the upper floors of the building leading to a packed cafe every lunch rush. You almost always came down to grab coffee and a bagel, used to the hoards of people that blended in with the beige and brown walls, familiar with the scent of roasting coffee beans and the hum of the espresso grinder. You shifted in your seat as you looked back over at your friend, setting down the sandwich you’d been picking at, brushing your hands together in a silent clap in an attempt to brush off the crumbs.

“Sorry, Izuku.” Your head shook side to side as you eyed his pouting features, cracking a smile at the way he huffed out a breath of air, lips puckered like a child who hadn’t gotten their way. Midoriya was perhaps your closest friend next to Todoroki, someone who had never pitied you but rather tried to fill your life with brightness. It was no wonder his soulmate was so enamored with him, you couldn’t blame her, his personality was affectionately child like, so awake and full of life you almost envied him for his eternal positivity. “I sort of zoned out.”

“It’s alright, I was kind of rambling to be honest.” He chuckled with a shrug, the sweater he had on bunching slightly around his neck, the fabric looking too thick for the warm spring temperature. He had on wide, round glasses, his hair a bit more curly than normal from the small amount of humidity in the air, fingers wrapped around a huge plastic cup full of peach tea. “How was your birthday? We missed you at the bar.”

“Okay I guess.” The fidget you made in your seat was involuntary, fingers trailing over the line on your palm out of habit. The light was hitting it just enough to make it seem to glow, the gold glinting in your irises as you flickered a glance between it and Midoriya, shoulders bobbing in a shrug. “Todoroki came over for a bit, we had a pizza.”

“That sounds like a boring birthday celebration.”

“Well I didn’t exactly feel like throwing a wild party, Midoriya.” Your eyes rolled at him, fingers drumming into the table top as you glanced at someone who waved in passing. Part of you felt anxious, wondering where Todoroki was even though you knew he was more than likely working out. He tended to work during his lunch breaks most days, which was what got you in the habit of bringing him coffees and snacks on your way back to the office across the hall.

“Are you okay?” His palm landed on top of your knuckles, the gesture innocent but filling you with a bit of warmth, the genuine flash of concern on his features almost comforting. “I mean, I know you’re probably upset but, you know.”

“I don’t know.” You sighed, shrugging and glancing at his soulmark, the bright blue on the face of his hand in a swirly pattern, almost mimicking that of a flower. The color bloomed against his skin tone, like a spot of blue sky poking out from clouds on a summer day, Midoriya himself the ball of sun beaming through the air. “It’s not like there’s much I can do to change how things are, everything just feels wrong. It feels unfair, like something’s not making sense how it was supposed to. I don’t know how to be okay when I’m supposed to be happy alone. I don’t feel happy alone, I feel lonely.”

He nodded slowly, hand retreating to instead pick at his sweater, cup lifting as his lips wrapped around the straw and he took a gulp, adam’s apple bobbing. His eyes danced around the room as he debated what to say, eyelids fluttering as he blinked when the sun hit him directly in the face. You could almost see his thoughts forming, could picture the words as his messy scrawl put them down in his head, the ink bleeding into his tongue as he set his cup down to speak them into existence.

“Just because you don’t have a matching mark doesn’t mean you have to be alone.” He reasoned, nodding once towards you with a half hearted smile, his gaze flickering over the planes of your face while you tore your focus away. You knew what he was referring to, that several people without soulmates had ended up together, that people with circumstances like yours made their own destiny and chose their own path. It was illegal to not be with your soulmate but if you didn’t have one all bets were off, anyone else who was alone was up for your taking, but somehow that idea didn’t sound right in your head.

Maybe it was because you’d gotten so hung up on Todoroki but you didn’t feel like you were meant for just anyone, didn’t feel like you could make a deep connection with someone even if you could sit and talk to them for hours. Most everyone you heard of who didn’t have a soulmate was content being alone, didn’t feel so desperate for affection as you were, didn’t long for someone to hold them and be beside them all their life. For everyone else like you, it sounded like they were indeed made to be alone and they liked it that way, but you loathed it.

You constantly felt lonely, like the rest of the world had left you fend for yourself, like everyone else was paired off and had forgotten you were still there. It was hard to go outside and see people holding hands, getting close to the person that was meant for them. It stung to hear your friends had met their match, to go to their weddings and smile wide knowing that it would never get to be you standing there in white across from your soulmate. It made your chest burn to picture yourself marrying someone you weren’t made by the universe for, to look at the mark on your hand and know you’d never see it on another person for as long as you lived. It was cruel, like going out most days were torture to the beating muscle in your chest, like being happy was going to be one of the hardest challenges to achieve in your life.

The only thing that made you feel that way was Todoroki, and anymore that happiness came laced with the longing that you’d grown for him in your gut. You’d fallen so in love with Todoroki that it was hard to see past that now, that picturing him was enough to make your pulse quicken and throat constrict. Now the mere idea of watching him marry someone else made your eyes burn, fingers itching to feel him when you pictured someone else touching his beautiful skin you’d grown so attached to. Knowing he was a few floors up in the gym made your lips pull into a faint smile, almost like you could feel him there, could sense the warmth that radiated from his body and imagine it baking your skin.

Todoroki made you feel things others wouldn’t, and in a way perhaps that was why you’d found yourself growing so infatuated with him. That was always how they made soulmates seem in movies, like they would understand you in facets others couldn’t, that they would be the person that just clicked into place, like a missing puzzle piece you’d finally found. You couldn’t understand how you’d fallen so in love with someone who wasn’t meant for you, couldn’t grasp that even though you felt all the things you were supposed to feel for a soulmate, he wasn’t that person. Things had been hard before he met Momo, but afterwards it all felt worse, the love in your chest like a weight that made your feet drag and posture slouch.

“I gotta get back upstairs.” Your head lifted as Midoriya stood, your body following suit as he pulled you into a quick hug, smiling faintly with a nod as he walked off right after. You remained in place for a beat, watching his figure with a sigh, jealous of him, jealous of how easy he tried to always find a bright side in his head. You envied how second nature it was for him to be positive, to find a light in a room full of dark. It’d never been that way for you, never so easy to become a spark that filled everyone with vibrancy, if anything, you’d become the one that always turned the lights off.

After grabbing another coffee and pastry from the counter, your feet carried you up the flights of stairs towards the office, the steps resonating with loud smacks in the half empty staircase. They complimented the sound of your heart beat as it pounded in your ears, matching in rhythm the quicker you ascended them, the heavy door slamming behind you serving like a crescendo to the song being created behind your rib cage. This had slowly become your favorite part of the day, the short walk down the hall towards the double paned glass doors facing your own, admiring the way the sunlight sprouted through them and created hazy shapes on the carpeted floor. It looked so welcoming, like it was the perfect package just waiting for you to unwrap it, like the universe knew someday Todoroki would work there so they created an entry as warm as he was.

You spotted him as soon as you walked inside the studio room, waving at the receptionist as you strolled past her and further into the space, fans running that created a quiet hum that mixed with the clicking of cameras. He was always tucked back into the corner office whenever he was taking a break, the one directly across from the main studio space, the room with the most windows that overlooked the streets below even if he insisted he didn’t like heights. He was hunched slightly over his desk, camera laying idly beside his laptop as he moved his finger over the keyboard, brows furrowed together and a pair of glasses perched on his nose. His hair was pushed back off his forehead though pieces fell forward, like he kept fussing with it, lips parted as he exhaled, the angle of his jaw accentuated by the light streaming into his space from outside. He was oblivious to your approach, completely deaf to the outside world as he poured himself into his paperwork.

And gosh was he stunning.

“Todoroki?”

His head lifted in a flash, lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he blinked rapidly until he focused on you, the curve of his lips spreading until his cheeks bunched upwards, eyes slipping faintly into half moons. The pang of guilt you felt for interrupting him washed away as he took his glasses off and moved to stand while you waved him off, moving closer to set his coffee and lunch down beside his computer. He was staring at you now as incessantly as he’d been doing to his computer, the sound of his foot tapping into the hardwood floors beneath his chair faintly reaching your ear when he sank back into his chair.

“You didn’t have to bring me lunch.”

“I knew you wouldn’t eat if I didn’t.” Your shoulders rose and fell with a faint laugh falling from your lips as you used one hand to push your hair away from your face. You looked his way long enough to catch his gaze before tearing your own away, pretending you didn’t feel the way his focus was making your esophagus feel too tight, like your heart had made a new home there. “Someone’s become quite the workaholic lately, hm?”

“I have not, I just have a lot to do and I’m too tired to continue exercising.” His fingers landed on top of yours as you took a step back to move towards the door, focus shifting back onto his features as he nodded once in your direction. You swallowed hard, trying to force down the rock forming in your throat as he slipped his fingers between your own long enough to give your hand a squeeze with your palms flushed together. It was almost sad how incredible a him barely holding your hand could make you feel, how the smallest amount of affection from Todoroki felt like he’d dropped to his knee and asked you to be his forever. “Thank you though. Stay for a few minutes and keep me company?”

He hardly had to put up an argument even if you should have shaken your head no, fingers slipping from his grasp as you sunk into the chair across from him, the desk serving as a barrier to separate your bodies. His posture relaxed once you were seated, lips wrapping around the opening of his cup as he snapped his eyes shut and took a quick sip, adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed and dropped the cup back down. The shirt he had on was gray, like the color of a sky after a thunderstorm in the middle of the summer, the colour making him look more drained as he pushed his wheeled chair slightly back from the confines of his desk, dark jeans clinging to his legs.

The simple smile that flashed over his features as the paper bag crinkled open between his fingers made your own cheeks tug upwards, nothing but a pastry and the spare half of your bagel shoved inside but it was enough to make him feel appreciated. He always looked grateful when you dropped him off a coffee or snack, always made a point of thanking you for days after, like you’d single handedly made the world spin for him. It was one of the million things you loved about him, how humble he was, how he considered every act of kindness he received as a gift, one he couldn’t wait to return the first chance he got.

“So what are you working on that’s so interesting?” His head rose when you spoke, eyebrows furrowing together as his lips pursed, jaw moving while he chewed on the sandwich. It made you grin, his cheeks full like a hamsters as he shuffled forward and swiveled his laptop around for you to see. The screen illuminated an article of breaking news covering crimes in the neighborhood, images of black and white mugshots dotted around the paragraphs in order to send a scary effect across to the reader.

“New villains showing up everywhere we least expect.” Your gaze flickered over to him when he spoke, eyes following the way his tongue poked out from between his lips, licking a crumb away from the pink flesh. He nodded his head once towards the screen before you focused back on it, voice thick as he half yawned, arms stretching forward and straining against the fabric of his shirt. “They want to be mysterious, I guess, but they’re not too good at covering their tracks. Quite an easy job for all of us right now.”

Your head bobbed in a nod as he trailed off his speaking, lifting the bagel back to his lips as you leaned back in your seat and turned slightly to look out one of the windows. You had to squint, the sun steaming in just high enough to cover your face in heat, burning your irises in comparison to the pale coloring of the room. It felt peaceful, your eyelids drooping shut and arms folding over your chest, heartbeat at a steady rhythm while you listened to Todoroki’s quiet humming as he ate. For a moment you let yourself pretend you were at home, that the pair of you was married and this was any regular work day evening, content just spending your time together not speaking, because the love you felt in your chest said enough.

It was so easy to fall into with him, the lull of security he provided simply by being there was too comforting to fight off. It’d become so natural to tune out the rest of the world when you were alone with Todoroki, like second nature to forget that the day dreams in your head were complete fiction. Being alone with him made it feel like it could be real, like the way your heart rate spiked when he laughed was normal because it was made for him to hold. His presence raised up the bubbles of hope in your chest until you felt like you were floating, like he’d placed you on top of a cloud and was letting you feel that sense of love you’d never really get, like he was letting you pretend your feelings for him were reciprocated without him even knowing it.

It was like you craved Todoroki as much as you wished you could get away from him, like you wanted to fight the pull he had on you but feared how you would continue to breathe without him there giving you oxygen. He was simultaneously becoming your perfect dream and your nightmare, and slowly the two ideals were mixing into one muddled mess of emotions you were having trouble sorting through. You weren’t sure how to separate your feelings for him from reality anymore, weren’t sure how to continue being in his life without completely destroying your own heart in the process.

A quiet click made your head move, eyes rolling as you groaned loudly and raised your hands to cover your face, Todoroki’s laughter mixing with the sound as he continued snapping away at you with his camera. You could hear his chair scraping against the wood as he stood up, footsteps indicating he was moving closer to you as your legs lifted, knees bent to try and curl yourself into a ball on the chair.

“C’mon, stop covering your face, the lighting looks great right now.”

“Knock it off.”

“Please?”

It felt right, with just the two of you there giggling over something so pointless, like that was how it was supposed to be. It felt like this was what the universe was supposed to have done, that all along it should have made the pair of you for the other, that you should have been the one that got to make him laugh like that every day. It felt like everything, for a moment, was how it was supposed to be, how your heart had decided it was supposed to be from the first moment you saw him in the park. Just you and Todoroki and no one else, nothing there to interrupt you besides the sounds of your own hearts beating.

“Stop!” You laughed at his insistence, peeking out from between your fingers to find him bending closer to you, his cheeks pulled into a wide smile as your eyes connected for the second he lowered his camera slightly. He took another picture, you could tell by the sound of his shutter releasing, another groan falling from your lips, this one laced with laughter as he reached a hand out and started gently tugging at your wrist. The contact felt electric, like he was shooting fireworks off that were spreading up your arm and making your heart skip a few beats out of surprise, his laughter only serving to heighten how light everything felt.

“Todoroki?”

It was laughable how quickly your mood could plummet, the air no longer feeling light and delicate, but rather too thick for you to breathe in, spine locking up as your legs dropped back to the ground with a gentle tap from your shoes meeting the wood. Todoroki’s touch on your wrist vanished, his laughter trailing off as he stood upright and cleared his throat, your eyes burning into his as he stared at you before focusing off at the door. You didn’t want to look at who it was, didn’t want to see her smiling face when Todoroki moved past you to give her a hug, just knowing it was happening right beside you enough to make your fingers dig into your thighs.

“Momo, I didn’t know you were stopping by.” His voice was pleasant but you could tell he was surprised, his posture stiff as he slowly came back into your line of sight with her in tow. You focused on her back at first, on the way her hair was tied up into a tight bun, on the clasp of her necklace that was catching the light as Todoroki pulled a chair over from the corner of the room for her to sit in.

“I wanted to bring you lunch.” Her voice was delicate, like her full volume was someone else’s whisper, her arms folding in her lap as she sat down, Todoroki’s palm on her lower back as she did so enough to make you swallow harshly. She was wearing one of his jackets, you noted, that brown one with the elbow patch you’d sewn on for him when he ripped it during a night out. “I hope I’m not interrupting something.”

“You’re not.”

Her head whipped over to focus on you once you spoke, the smile on your lips feeling as ingenuine as it did uncomfortable, your fingers weaving together as she flashed you an tense grin with her nod. She was holding a paper bag with Todoroki’s name written on it in swirly black ink, a heart scribbled beside the T with a smiley face inside. She passed it off to him, her fingers brushing his own as he nodded in appreciation, setting the bag beside your own crumbled up one, it almost seeming like a metaphor for the two of you, one that made you exhale like a deflating balloon, the false sense of comfort you had now ripped away. Todoroki cleared his throat awkwardly, a silence falling over the room that made you itch to escape it, like the walls were closing in on you the longer you sat there watching him glance between the two of you.

“Well, good.” She pressed her lips into a thin line as she nodded and looked over at Todoroki, your eyes flickering to her palm, seeing her soulmark when she flexed her fingers back and forth mid air, like she was trying to stretch out a muscle. Your own palm suddenly felt like it burned, like your subconscious was reminding you of how badly you wished you had that mark. You would have given anything to be in Momo position, to be the person that Todoroki would marry and have a forever with, to be the person Todoroki loved so strongly it was all consuming and soul changing. “How’s your day been?”

It almost felt like you weren’t there, watching Todoroki turn his screen towards Momo as he started rambling on about his morning, like you were seeing a scene from a movie you didn’t want to be watching. You could almost picture them like that, like this was how they’d be as the years passed, chatting in their kitchen while the rest of the world fell away behind them, their skin growing wrinkles but their palms staying matching and pristine. It stung, like the bubbles of hope you let yourself build up were all being popped one by one, like wasps were stinging your insides just to put you back in your place.

“Todoroki we need you out here for a second?” A girl poking her head into the room looked apologetic as she motioned for Todoroki to follow her, his eyes darting between your own and Momo’s before he was slipping out. You wanted to grab his wrist and drag him back in, wanted to force him to stay and serve as a barrier protecting you from talking to your own worst fear. Momo was everything you wished you were, the person you were most envious of and found yourself loathing when none of this was her fault.

She couldn’t help it the universe had paired her with Todoroki, she couldn’t help it that she was made for him and you weren’t. It wasn’t her fault that you didn’t have a soulmate and yet on the nights you laid alone in bed you found yourself blaming her, because she had gotten the person you craved like a drug. She couldn’t change the fact that you were made to be alone, that you had fallen in love with a man that was made for someone else, someone you could never be. You could blame her all you wanted but none of this was Momo’s fault, and deep in your chest you knew that, you just wanted someone to be mad at. Disliking her had seemed the easiest way of avoiding the demons you liked to ignore, the truth of knowing that you were meant for no one and there was no reasoning behind it too much for you to accept. You wanted a cause, wanted an explanation, even if you’d never truly get one.

And through your jealousy that temporary bandage of an explanation had become her.

“He works too much sometimes, don’t you think?” Her light voice made you lift your head, eyes flickering over her features as she stared at his desk, drawing on the surface with the tip of her finger. She had a half smile on her lips as she shook her head side to side, laughing faintly as she adjusted in her seat, the dark jeans she had on almost matching the ones Todoroki had on, pale pink sneakers poking out beneath the ends of them. “I wake up in the middle of the night sometimes and find him typing away on his laptop.”

You tried to laugh, tried to ignore how your chest stung picturing them in bed together, tried to pretend the mental image didn’t make you want to curl up in a ball and scream until your lungs gave out. She meant well, she was trying to make conversation rather than sit there in silence in her boyfriends office, but you doubted your amusement was even half convincing. You weren’t sure it was possible to be genuine when your insides felt like they were rotting, weren’t sure if you could even be truly happy when your soul had stopped trying to a while ago.

“Yeah, he gets sucked into it sometimes.” Your head bobbed in a half nod as you focused back down on your legs, tracing circles around the red scratch on your knee from when you bumped into your bed frame earlier in the week.

“I’m sure it’s just because he’s so passionate about it, but sometimes it worries me. I’d hate to see him overwork himself.” She trailed off, eyes focused on you judging by the slight shift in voice and the subtle goosebumps rising on the back of your neck. You lifted your head to lock eyes with her, hands overlapping each other in your lap as she pressed her lips into a thin line, like she wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. “Does he mention it to you? That he’s tired or unhappy?”

Todoroki was never really one to share emotions with people, not the ones that he didn’t deem good or important enough. It took you months of persistence before he opened up about any problems he had, any unhappiness that lingered in his heart. He took a lot on himself, held the weight of the world on the tops of his shoulders but still stood tall with a smile on his face. He didn’t like admitting he needed help or comfort, besides with a few people, and somehow you’d become lucky enough to be one of them.

You’d become the friend who he called in the middle of the night to talk about the things that were keeping him up. You’d become the one who heard of all the problems his parents had caused for him, the one who listened to the things he disliked about society and the way the world worked. You were his confidant and his comfort blanket, and in many ways he was yours, the one person who never judged you when the mark on your hand made you want to ball your eyes out. He never pushed away from you when the rest of the world sent you judging looks, never let others assumptions change the way he acted around you.

All he wanted at the end of the day was to be happy, and for the people he cared about to feel the same. You knew how heavily it weighed on him when someone was upset or unhappy, and sometimes he felt the need to try and fix things himself. He always went out of his way to do extra work if it’d help his co workers, always volunteered to be the one paying for other’s lunches so it wasn’t a burden. He always went to his family dinners even if they made him miserable, always put up with his parents nasty remarks and harsh judgements because he thought he had to. He pushed back in little ways, with his career and choice of friends, but sometimes you wondered if it was enough for him.

He had a heart that was surely even more golden than the shimmering line on your palm, one that shined like a lighthouse in the dead of night, but also weighed heavily in his chest. Sometimes you wondered if he was stopping himself from being as happy as he made most everyone else. You questioned, if he could have anything in the entire world, what he would want, what the secret wishes were he had that he’d never uttered out loud.

If you could wish for anything, you would wish for him.

“No, but I don’t think he would admit working too much is a problem anyway.” She nodded, glancing away to focus out the window at your response, the light falling over her features like a spotlight on a beautiful painting. “I should get going, my lunch break is ending soon.”

Her head moved up and down as you stood, eyes not turning towards you as you tugged down on your skirt, making sure it hadn’t ridden up. She was outlining her soulmark, you noticed, the dark lines stretching along her palm almost dark as the night sky, her teeth digging into her bottom lip. You could picture it on Todoroki’s, could see the mark you’d memorized and tried to wish away like a movie playing in your subconscious. They probably traced eachother’s all the time, probably had dreamed their whole lives of meeting the other and lucky for them they had. Lucky for them they had someone who matched them, they got to love the person they wanted to love and didn’t have to hide it under blankets of self loathing.

From the time you were a child it was all you heard about, soulmates, how magical and wonderful it would be when you met them. Everyone talked about it, about how that one person was the only one meant for you, society ensuring that with the laws preventing non-soulmate relationships over a certain age. There were people who didn’t like it, those who found the laws oppressive and out of date, considering most people ended up with their soulmate anyway, but fighting back was pointless. It was all so ingrained into society at this point, the nursery rhymes you’d sing at recess even laced with the messages of your one and only being the one you matched marks with.

They always said the only person you’d truly love would be your soulmate, and maybe that was why ignoring how strongly you felt for Todoroki hurt so much. Because he wasn’t your soulmate, he didn’t match your mark and yet you’d fallen so damn in love with him it seemed impossible for your brain to accept he didn’t belong with you. Even there in his office, staring at the girl with a mark on her palm that was an exact copy of Todoroki’s, it felt wrong, like the burning in your chest was more than just jealousy. You loved him more than all the stars loved the night sky and you couldn’t help the thought that maybe you loved him more than Momo could.

“I like your necklace, by the way.” You paused your movements towards the door when she spoke up, spine tensing as your fingers subconsciously rose to toy with the pendant hanging from your neck. You turned back towards her, her eyes drawn to where your hand was, her lips spread in a half smile that curved downwards as her fingers curled, hand palming into a loose fist on her lap. “Todoroki gave it to you?”

She phrased it like a question but didn’t seem to want an answer, your lips parted slightly as you swallowed down hard. Your hand slipped away from the necklace, landing back at your side as you nodded once nonetheless, her eyes drifting away from the jewelry to instead float back up to your face, smile faded as she blinked a few times. The air felt heavier, more thick, like the unknown thoughts running through her head were clogging up the space, skin feeling too hot like suddenly you had on a hundred layers of clothing.

“I found it one day, when I was doing the laundry. He’d forgotten to take it out of his jacket pocket before he tossed it in the hamper. I actually had thought it was a present for me. ” Her voice had dropped in volume, her head shaking as she exhaled all the oxygen from her lungs and took a quick glance at the necklace again. Your stomach felt like it dropped, like it had been filled with cement and was too heavy to stay put, an irrational sense of guilt crawling up your spine from the look on her face. She looked wounded and confused, wistful but unaware of what she wanted to say, mouth opening and closing twice before she finally spoke. “Is something going on between the two of you?”

“What?” You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, surprised by her rather upfront question, and judging by the way her eyes widened momentarily she must not have meant to be so forward. She cleared her throat, pursing her lips and exhaling heavily as she looked out the windows again, your fingers curling into your palms to close into tight fists to hide how they were shaking.

“Do you like Todoroki?”

“Sorry about that.” Todoroki’s rush back into room cut off anything you would have said, lips parted and pulse pounding in your eardrums as you took a step back towards the door. It felt like you’d been caught red handed doing something you shouldn’t, like you were a little kid with their hands shoved into the cookie jar before dinner. Todoroki’s palm landed on your back as you stumbled slightly into him, his eyebrows raised when he focused down on you, hair falling onto his forehead like he’d just combed his fingers through it. “You okay?”

“I have to go.” The words tumbled out as you stepped away from the warmth of his palm, ignoring his fingers as they tried to grasp onto your wrist, clearly confused as to why you were hurrying out. You could feel Momo staring at the pair of you, could sense Todoroki’s apprehension to just let you run off so clearly bothered. You knew he wouldn’t follow you, not with Momo there, his soulmate, with her perfect packed lunch for him waiting on his table top.

It was like you were in a haze, barely anything registering in your eardrums as you walked back into your office, sitting down to riffle through the papers waiting for you on the desk, eyes moving over the words but not reading them. You couldn’t feel anything besides the pounding in your chest, the force so strong it felt like it might burst through your ribcage and fall onto your keyboard.

You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to handle the situation or the question she’d thrown at you. What would she do if she found out you were in love with her soulmate? Would she keep him away from you and cut off the thing you cared about most. Did she know for a fact you liked Todoroki or was she just insecure? Was it that painfully obvious you were completely in love with him? If she knew you liked Todoroki, than did he know? It felt like the room was spinning and no one else could notice but you, like the walls were caving in and on them was written all of your secrets, ready to swallow you whole.

All the worst case scenarios were flooding into your conscious and making your eyes burn, eyes squeezing shut, the paper fluttering between your fingers as your hands slightly shook from your nerves. It felt like all your emotions had skyrocketed and you didn’t know how to handle it. You simultaneously wanted to call Todoroki to listen to him talk until you calmed down and wanted to run as far away from him as possible, wanted to lock yourself in a room where no one could see you anymore. It was all too much for you to deal with alone but was too heavy of a secret to spill on anyone else.

Who exactly could you tell that you were madly in love with your closest friend and his soulmate had perhaps figured that out?

Who could you tell that your world felt like it was about to fall apart?

Sometimes when you were thinking too much your eyes stopped focusing, the world becoming fuzzy as all your attention poured into daydreams rather than what was right in front of you. It felt like a filter, like you’d applied a blur to the colors coming from your laptop, barely registering the sounds of laughter pouring from the speakers. You could fall into a fog when you were like that, could get so distracted away from the world around you with a few dazed blinks at nothing in particular. It always seemed to happen when you had the most on your mind, the loss of focus, your quiet breathing the background noise to the scenarios running through your mind.

Right now those scenarios were all about Todoroki.

You’d been thinking about what Momo said all afternoon, that alone enough to make a wave of panic ripple through your gut. She’d looked so distant, so unreadable but somehow intimidating, like she had your entire world in her palms and didn’t realize it yet. You questioned how long she’d been thinking about it, if finding the necklace from Todoroki was what spurred her self doubt or if she’d known from the first time she answered his phone for him and found you on the other end. You wondered if it poured out of you so visibly that everyone knew but just hadn’t had the heart to shut you down, that you were a silent laughing stock to the haves, the only have not there seemed to be who didn’t know their place.

Your lungs deflated as your lids fell shut, feet shuffling beneath the blanket covering your legs, the sounds of the stupid action film playing on your laptop coming to a stop when you blindly reached out and smacked at the keyboard. The enveloping silence was both too quiet and too loud, letting your thoughts run rampant until they were so aggressive they felt like blood chilling screams. You didn’t know what to do or where to go now, you didn’t know how to handle a situation that hadn’t even happened yet. There were too many what ifs, too many possibilities for how Momo’s question came about and too many options for how bad the outcome from it would be.

You’d never imagined loving someone would be so messy when you were growing up, always idolizing that passion for another human being as something almost magical, something otherworldly. Everyone made it seem like once you found it nothing else would matter, that the world would stop being so loud until all you could feel was that love in your chest. No one told you how bitter it would be, how acrid the taste in your mouth would be watching the person you loved be with someone else. No one took the time to sit you down and tell you maybe things wouldn’t work out how you wanted, no one set you aside and traced the gold on your palm to warn you maybe you wouldn’t be as lucky as everyone else.

No one told you back then that maybe you’d be alone now.

No one told you that love was only magical when someone was loving you back.

The buzzing beside your thigh made your lids flutter open, the fuzzy light still coming from your computer painting your legs the color of a blue sky. You squinted at your cell phone, blinking rapidly as Todoroki’s name came into focus flashing across the front. He’d texted you a few times since you rushed off so suddenly earlier, always able to tell when something was bothering you even when you wouldn’t admit it. He had a way of knowing things about you before you knew them yourself, always noticing little quirks and habits that he’d point out before you realized you even had them. He knew you better than you did and at times it made it harder to ignore how strongly you felt for him, made it scarier to imagine moving far enough away you wouldn’t see his face everyday.

Part of you was tempted to let it ring, to ignore his voice just a little longer, to try and peel yourself away from the strong hold he had on you without even realizing it. You didn’t know if he’d talked to Momo, if she told him her suspicions and was now just calling to let you down easy, didn’t know if he was calling to tell you he couldn’t be around you anymore because it caused her discomfort. You didn’t know if you could listen to him reject you, didn’t think you could handle how crestfallen you’d be if he quietly whispered that he couldn’t see you again. You didn’t know what you’d do if your worse case scenario was true and Todoroki was about to be ripped away from you, but the stronger part of your will power was desperate to hear his voice ringing in your ear drum, regardless of the words coming from his parted lips.

“Hello?”

“Thank gosh, I was starting to get worried.” His relieved sigh made your lips tug slightly up into a smile on your cheeks, picturing the way his hand was probably tugging through his hair in his bedroom, his legs folded up like a little kid. “You weren’t texting me back all afternoon.”

“Sorry, I was just sort of out of it.” Your lips pressed into a thin line as you leaned back in your bed, palm resting flat on your stomach, the huge t-shirt that was serving as a pajama top bunching around your waist. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s alright.” He hummed for a moment, ears picking up on the sound of his bedroom window being pulled shut, before he let out a heavy puff of air, presumably moving to sit back down on his oversized bed. You wondered if he was alone in it, gut churning picturing Momo there beside him, nerves swelling with the unknown of where this conversation was going. “You just rushed out so fast earlier I thought I’d done something. You don’t usually ignore my texts and I guess I just thought the worst.”

His faint chuckle at his own worry made your chest ache, eyes squeezing shut in relief that Momo hadn’t said anything to him, or at least if she hadn’t he didn’t seem to be taking it to heart. You still felt apprehensive, shaken up, like you were on the edge of a cliff and unsure of how good your balance was anymore. It was soothing to hear his voice nonetheless once you got over the initial panic, swallowing hard to get down the rock formed in your esophagus before you spoke.

“You worry too much, Todoroki.”

“Only about you.” The laugh that followed the syllables made your lungs feel empty of oxygen, body rolling onto its side and face nuzzling slightly in the pillow. If you closed your eyes tight enough you could almost imagine it was Todoroki’s chest you were burying yourself against, could almost smell his cologne you’d memorized the scent of long ago. It was like you were intoxicated and the only think you’d ever tasted was him, like was your drug of choice and biggest addiction, one you didn’t want to worry about the consequences from. “I can’t stand when you’re mad at me. “

“I’m hardly ever mad at you.”

“Remember that time I broke your coffee table and you didn’t talk to me for a week?”

It was so easy to fall back into him, so easy to let the conversation flow naturally into your eardrums with him giggling through the phone and rambling everytime you responded. It was simple, loving him, when the rest of the world was quiet. It was easier to love him from afar, through the safety of a phone where you could hang up and close yourself back off once it was over. It was more difficult to hide the stares when you were in front of him, harder to swallow back the praises you wanted to shout at him, to stop yourself from grabbing his hand and never letting go. When you were apart you could pretend everything was fine, you could close your eyes and imagine your soulmarks matched, that he was yours and he was close enough for you to touch. When you were in front of him you were reminded of everything you didn’t have, reminded every time you saw his palm that he already had his someone and it wasn’t you.

He made things feel easy, made the rhythm of you talking feel easy over the time that passed with him speaking to you through the phone. He chipped away at your unease and put a fog over the worries that had been burning into your brain, if only temporarily. His chatter about his afternoon and tangents about things you already knew were enough to make everything feel warmer, more gentle. He knew how to get to the deepest parts of you and brighten them, knew how to pull you from your own thoughts without much effort, in a way that you could only hope you did for him as well.

“I wish I was there right now.” His heavy sigh made you swallow, rolling onto your back as you took a peek at the alarm on your bedside table, reading the blinking red numbers with a muted yawn. You ignored the fluttering in your stomach at the idea, picturing him momentarily there in bed beside you, imagining how incredible he’d look with his hair all fused up and his chest rising and falling like the rhythm of a slow ballad.

“I’m sure Momo will be back soon from her parents, it’s not like you’ll be home alone that much longer.” Her name sounded foreign coming from your tongue but you tried to ignore it, arching your back and moving your legs as you tried to pry the blanket up from underneath you, slipping it over your body soon after. It was soft, like the texture of a those giant teddy bears people got for valentines day, the same color of the sun the sky had been wearing that morning.

“She probably will, but that wasn’t what I meant.”

You paused momentarily as his words floated through the phone, unsure of what to say to that, not positive what exactly he meant. It made your pulse quicken, pounding in your fingertips and eardrums like you’d just run a marathon in the middle of summer. He seemed to be contemplating how to continue, judging from the deep breathe you heard him suck in before he spoke again, voice somehow more gentle than before.

“I wish I was there in your bed, in your apartment, with you.” He paused and cleared his throat slightly, the sound of him flopping onto his pillows melding with the car honking as it drove by down below on the street. “I miss you.”

“You saw me a few hours ago.” You laughed faintly, heart in your throat and pounding so violently it was hard to breathe, something about his tone and choice of words feeling more intimate than you were used to with him. Suddenly the phone didn’t feel like it was giving you much distance from him, felt like it was making you more vulnerable without seeing his face to try and work out what was going on inside his head.

“I don’t care, I miss you.” His voice dropped in volume, your lids falling shut as you took a heavy breathe, one that felt like it wasn’t enough oxygen even with your lungs swelled like close-to-popping balloons. “I miss your laugh and your smile and that look you get when you stare out the window too long and forget what we were talking about. I love when you do that, have I ever mentioned that to you? I love when you get all embarrassed or angry and try to act like you were listening to a single thing I said.”

“What are you doing, Todoroki?”

“I love your soulmark too. I know you hate talking about it and hate seeing it even more but it’s so beautiful. It’s the prettiest shade of gold, it reminds me of what the sun looks like right before it sets.” He ignored the slight wave to your voice as his kept getting softer through his rambles, your hands shaking as you used one to grip the blanket around your waist. It felt like the room was spinning, like your brain couldn’t keep up with the things tumbling past his lips. “Sometimes I wish mine looked like that. Sometimes I wonder how different things would be if mine matched yours.”

You nearly dropped the phone, your lips pressing into a thin line to stop yourself from saying anything. Your eyes burned as you squeezed them shut, trying not to make a sound as you let the words replay in your head, fingers shaking as you gripped the blanket tighter. It was something you’d thought about a lot as well, about how desperately you wished your marks matched, about how different things would be if he was your soulmate. It was almost strange to hear him saying it, like you were daydreaming rather than being awake, like your dream had come a reality but was laced with a nightmare.

“I was so disappointed that day in the park, when I ran into you and I saw your palm when you went to brush off your sweater. Fuck my stomach just sank to my feet, like someone kicked me in the chest and tried to bash my ribcage in.” His bitter laugh sounded thick, too loud for how mutely he was speaking, your teeth clamping down onto your bottom lip in an attempt to stop yourself from letting him know there were stray tears slipping down your temples onto your cotton pillowcase. “I never hated my own soulmark before that, I never wanted so badly for it to go away or be someone else’s instead. ”

“Don’t say things like that.” Your voice shook as you interjected him, sniffling once as you shook your head reverently on the bed, the room feeling too small, the air too hot, heart still like a drumbeat in your eardrums.

“I wanted it to be you so bad.”

You didn’t bother hiding the quiet cry that fell from your lips as you rolled over onto your side and pressed your cheek into the damp pillow, muscles too tight from how hard you were trying to hold yourself together. It felt right and wrong, it sounded like heaven and hell, hearing him tell you how damn much he wanted you to be his one, because it was what you wanted all along. You’d always wanted Todoroki, you’d wanted him since that day in the park and him finding a soulmate hadn’t changed that.

But even if he meant the words past his somewhat tired and rambling state of speaking out loud it didn’t matter. Even if he was as in love with you as you were with him, the two of you could never happen, it was never and would never be allowed. Todoroki had a soulmate, and by law he had to be with her. You would never be allowed to touch his skin or kiss his lips, you’d never get permission to marry him someday or fall in love with the eyes of the world watching you. You could never have Todoroki, even if somehow what he was saying held as much weight as it felt like it did. Even if you both loved eachother, you couldn’t be in love, and that was what crushed you the most.

“Todoroki?” You could faintly make out the sound of Momo’s voice as she called out in the background, cutting off Todoroki as he cleared his throat to say something else, your eyes snapping open, like someone had woken you up from a too deep sleep. Without thinking you pulled the phone from your ear, hitting end and tossing it away to the end of the bed, like it’d been on fire and you’d only now realized.

Everything felt twisted now, more confusing than before, because Todoroki had never said anything like that to you. He’d never brought up that day you two met in the park, never said that he’d felt as stopped in his tracks as you had been. He never told you that he wished his palm looked like yours, never informed you of how angry it made him that you didn’t match, how much he hated his own palm after seeing yours.

Todoroki had a soulmate, he had Momo, and he was supposed to be with her, but the words that had tumbled from his lips felt like ones he’d been stopping himself from saying for a long time. He sounded lost, confused, desperate for someone or something to give him a sign on what he was supposed to do, what all the things he’d bottled up meant. You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to handle the world piling all of this onto you, onto your already fragile heart and weaning self acceptance. You didn’t know how you were supposed to stop yourself from loving someone when he was making you feel like somewhere in the back of his mind, he loved you back.

Your hands rose, covering the entirety of your face as you cried quietly into them, chest shaking as you choked on the air you tried to get down, everything feeling like too much once again. You were exhausted and wide awake simultaneously, desperate to sleep but scared of what you’d dream. You didn’t know didn’t know what was the right thing to do and what was the wrong, and weren’t sure which path you even wanted to take. You felt like the world had swallowed you whole, like you were thrown down a pit and left to figure out how to pull yourself free.

There in your bedroom with his whisper of how much he’d wished you’d been made for him replaying in your head, you had never felt more confused.

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#todoroki shouto #shouto #todoroki #todoroki x reader #bnha #mha #bnha x reader #mha x reader #milk and tea fic #todoroki fluff #todoroki angst #todoroki smut

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imagineaworlds · 3 years

Text

I Love You (Part Forty-Six) -- Aaron Hotchner

Written By: @desperately-bisexual

Request: None.

Warnings: SMUT!! Cursing. Dom/sub relationship. Sir kink. Phone(?)/Skype sex. Mutual masturbation.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader

Word Count: 11,148

Timeline: Two weeks after part forty-five.

I did everything I could possibly think of in order to make Hotch stay with me instead of going to the Middle East, all the way up to the point when he was getting on the plane. I went to him with case files every time I caught him packing in the bedroom. I thought that if I asked him for enough help since I was just getting back to work, I’d come off as a completely lost doe that needed coddling with cases and reports. I wasn’t, of course. Taking one look at most of these cases, I could deduce who the Unsub was without having to consult with the local PD further. As for the reports, they were pretty standard, too. But I was desperate for Aaron to stay, so I made an attempt to make it seem like I needed him there or else I was completely helpless. Unfortunately, Hotch saw right through me. He knew what I was up to, and he knew that I was just playing dumb, when, in reality, I would never ask for his help in a million years because I was always adamant about doing stuff like this on my own.

So, I had to get more creative. I started hiding his stuff. He would leave to go buy something or pick up dinner, and I would race to hide his suitcases or clothes in my car in the garage. He always found them, though. My last resort was practically dangling the black box in front of his face. I started lounging around in the bedroom, the black box just casually sitting in plain view—or sometimes, I’d even pull out a toy to have it just be there next to my thighs. I was practically begging him to punish me. I was giving him every reason in the world to just tie me up and leave me there until he missed his flight.

Yet, the only time he ever gave in to that ploy was when he came home to find me naked on the bed, my legs spread, nipple clamps hanging from my chest, a dildo thrusting in and out of me. When I cried out Sean’s name as a joke, Aaron wasn’t having it. He locked the door behind himself, stormed over to the black box, grabbed a length of rope, then proceeded to tie my wrists over my head. He pulled the toy out of me without any hesitation, and within an instant, he had his pants pushed down, and he was hovering over me.

“Fucking brat,” he growled in my ear as he thrusted into me.

I tried apologizing since I knew the Sean thing was a bad idea in hindsight, but he didn’t want to hear it. All he did was wrap his hand around my neck and gently squeeze until I whimpered submissively. By the time he was done fucking me, he had forced about three orgasms out of me while insisting that he was the only one who could make me feel that good. Not that I argued with that. He was entirely right, and we both knew it, but I poked the possessive button, and he fucking lost it. He wasn’t focused on anything but proving a point to me. The point was fairly simple, too. It was to say, “You’re mine. Only mine. No one else’s. The only name you should ever be screaming is mine.” And I did. I screamed his name as I tugged at the restraints and begged for mercy.

And then he still left.

The only person in the world who could love me, understand me, hear me, and fuck me the way he did was suddenly gone. I was all alone. I mean, of course I still had Jack and baby Emily, and the team was there, too, but it was so different. Everything just felt like it was falling apart so fast. I was furious. I was sad. I was confused. I felt entirely lost and lonely without him constantly around. And every time I looked at Jack—a blonde, but still spitting image of his father—my heart wrenched a bit, I didn’t know how I was supposed to do this without him. Raising Jack and Emily simultaneously while still going to work—and who knew what was going on with that now that Hotch was gone. It ultimately boiled down to the fact that the team had to go on a few cases without me. Between Emily getting sick and Jack’s soccer games and practices, I was struggling. I didn’t understand how Hotch did it as a single parent after Haley left him and before I met him.

Saying goodbye to him at the airport was one of the hardest things I ever had to do in my life. Watching him hold Emily in his arms, playing with her as she giggled and squirmed, then saying goodbye to her… It tore me apart. I remember feeling this chill run through my body before the tears started to well. I didn’t stop myself from crying. In fact, I didn’t even hide in Morgan’s chest to keep Hotch from seeing just how distraught I was. I wanted to know that this choice Hotch made was breaking me. I begged him to stay—I begged him to choose his family over work, something I never thought I would have to do in our relationship. And yet, he chose work over the baby we just had. For the shortest moment, as I stood there with the kids and the team, watching as Hotch boarded the private military plane, I felt like Haley.

After he landed in… Well, wherever it was that they had stationed him, we started calling each other every single day. Sometimes he could afford to talk to me and Jack for hours on end, but most of the time he could only talk for a couple of minutes—maybe even just a few seconds to say something along the lines of: “I’m so sorry, baby, I can’t talk today. I love you.” And then he would hang up before I could say anything. Those days were the worst. At least sometimes I got to see his face over Skype, and I could see that he was safe. He was dirty and tired most of the time, but he was alive, and that was what mattered.

Then, things at work started getting complicated for me, too, which made it hard to find time to talk to Hotch. Because of the time differences, I was always working when he was free, and vice versa. It came down to the fact that I was having to sneak in the calls in the janitor’s closet during lunch, which meant that he had to be up around 2AM or so just to hear my voice or see my face. We made it work, though. We called, and we talked about how much we missed each other, and I told him everything about the changes at the BAU.

Since Hotch left and Prentiss died, we had to fill spots on the team. JJ expedited the process to become a profiler by taking the courses at lightning speed and getting special permission from both Section Chief Strauss and Cody, the Director—which took some effort on my end, pulling some strings I had with him. Rossi was made lead profiler, Garcia was invited to sit in on the case readings more often, and I was… Well, Hotch didn’t need to know that quite yet. The timing just wasn’t right.

“Hey, sunshine,” Morgan said, running down the stairs. I craned my neck back against the couch, looking upside down to see that he wasn’t carrying Emily anymore. He must’ve set her down to sleep in her crib.

“Hey.”

“The little devil’s sleeping.”

“Figured.” I sat back up straight and went back to reviewing the case I was consulting on. “Thanks, by the way.”

“Anytime.” He came around the couch to grab one of his bags from the floor. “Hey, I’m headed to the gym. Do you wanna join me?” I shook my head. “You sure?”

“Yeah. JJ’s got me knee deep in consultations, so I need to keep going until I burn out.”

He squinted at me, a warning that we both knew that it was a bad idea. But it was better if I just kept my mind busy. Sitting around, doing nothing—or even going to work out while talking to Morgan or listening to music—was just going to tear me apart, because all I could think about nowadays was Hotch. I was beginning to forget the way he felt. I couldn’t forget his smell since he was practically everywhere in our house, but his skin against mine… I missed holding his hand, pressing my lips to his, running my hands through his hair, holding his face—Stop. See, that was exactly what I meant. If I wasn’t just keeping my head down and working on cases, then I was practically falling apart.

“Alright,” he finally gave in with a shrug. “I’ll be back in about two hours.”

“Or you could just… go back to your house,” I offered with a playful smile.

He matched my smile while winking and shaking his head. “Not quite yet, sugar. See ya.”

I waved with the back of my hand in his direction, hearing the door open then close shortly after. When he was gone, I relaxed, looking up from my paperwork in order to stare at the wall for a moment. I missed him. I missed my husband more than anything in the world. It had only been two weeks, and yet I never thought I could miss anyone this much. I didn’t even miss Elle to this extent—and she was my own flesh and blood. Did that make me a bad person? Maybe…

My phone suddenly buzzed with a text from Jessica, letting me know that she could pick up Jack on her way to our house so that I wouldn’t have to. I picked up my phone long enough to thank her. She really didn’t have to keep going above and beyond like this for us, but I was eternally grateful for everything she had done for us. I could say it a thousand times. I was grateful that she wanted to still be a part of our family after her sister’s death, and that she still wanted to lend a helping hand with my daughter that was in no way related to her. She was always kind like that. It set her apart from Haley ever since I met them; but I would have never admitted that to anyone now that Haley was gone.

Knowing that I had about another hour or two until the house would be full again, I decided to see if I could sneak in a call with Hotch. It was late enough there that his camp was either asleep or in full gear, ready to go out to do whatever it was their job was out there. I think the not knowing was the hardest part. I didn’t know if he was just training guys out there, or if he was hunting terrorists like Emily did before joining the BAU, or if he was on the front lines where he was facing the barrel of a gun every single day. I never knew whether or not I should have been concerned. He couldn’t tell me, and he was always the one person I struggled to profile whenever he closed himself off from me—which was why I absolutely hated it when he kept secrets from me, and that was why we made our deal to never withhold anything from one another ever again. But this was different. He was bound by duty and law to say nothing to me, and I couldn’t fault him for that.

I grabbed my computer and settled it on my thighs as I opened up Skype and started calling him. It hardly dialed three times before he answered. There was a slight buffer where he was frozen just as his camera turned on, but at least I could see his smile and his scratchy beard that was ever so slowly growing in.

“Hi, baby,” I greeted.

“Hey,” Hotch answered, “let me grab some headphones real quick.” He was digging in his bag under his cot in search of the pair of headphones I made him pack for this reason specifically. When he found them buried at the bottom of his bag, he sat back down on his cot, leaned against the fragile wall of his tent, and plugged the headphones in. “That’s better,” he sighed with relief. “Let me hear your voice, baby.”

I smiled. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you…”

“Don’t stop,” he begged.

I winked at him. “How are you?”

“Tired. Bored. I miss you so much…”

I wished just then that I could hold him and kiss him. I felt this uncontrollable urge to somehow jump through the screen and fall into his arms. If I had him in front of me for even a moment, I would have thrown my arms around his neck and I would have refused to ever let go again. No matter how hard he would try to pry me off, I wouldn’t’ve released him. I would have hugged him until my arms would grow numb and my legs would give out. Even then, I think I still would have held on.

“Where’s everyone?” he asked.

I glanced over my shoulder at the empty house. “Emily’s napping upstairs, Jessica’s at the grocery store, Jack’s at school, and Morgan’s at the gym.”

Derek Morgan, as much as I loved him, was hovering too much. Since Hotch left, Morgan had decided to practically move in with us, choosing to sleep on our couch rather than his bed in his own house. I tried asking him once if there was any reason in particular that he was suddenly living in our house, and he insisted that it was to help out with Emily while Hotch was gone. While I did believe him, I also knew that there was more to it than that, but I always decided to not pry. Having Morgan around to help me and Jessica with the kids was a huge help, one that I honestly couldn’t turn down. He was so good with Emily, and even better with Jack. He was going above and beyond to help Jessica to make sure that I didn’t even have to lift a finger, even though I wanted to help. Morgan told me that my only job was to sit there, look pretty, do my work, and spend time with my kids. That was it. But now he was hovering more, and it felt like how Hotch was when I was pregnant. If I even tried approaching the stairs, Morgan was right there to make sure I wouldn’t suddenly fall. Even worse was how, in the field, Morgan was guarding me more with his body like he was ready to take a bullet for me at any moment. It was really, really weird, but I hadn’t found a way to confront him about it yet.

Hotch settled on his cot some more, the camera shaking as he did so. “What’s new since Sunday?” he asked me.

“Oh, boy,” I chuckled. “Derek’s going to be the bane of my existence, I swear.”

“Still bad?”

I nodded. “I’m almost tempted to just drive him back to his house and tie him to the radiator or something.” Hotch laughed in response. “I’m serious. He’s taking this godfather thing a little too serious, Aaron.”

“He means well.”

“I know he does.” I rolled my eyes. “But we hardly get moments like this anymore where the two of us can talk because if Jack’s not running about, then Morgan’s hovering to make sure I haven’t broken a bone while just sitting here.”

“Well, have you?” he asked sarcastically.

I squinted at him. “I swear—”

“What else is new?” He changed the topic as fast as possible, knowing that just talking about Morgan further was only going to get me worked up. I relaxed on the couch a bit more and brought up the collar of his sweatshirt to my mouth to hide behind it nervously. Hotch’s brows furrowed in response. “What is it?”

I pulled the hood over my head and whispered behind the fabric of the sweatshirt, “The other day…”

“I can’t hear you like that, baby. Sit up.”

I rolled my eyes at his command before doing so. I hated that we were left to just quick commands and that was all. There wasn’t enough privacy on his end for him to even say “good girl” … or, even better… “slut” or “whore”. I could tell that it was always hanging on his tongue, wanting to be said, but he had to hold back.

“Jack has a new favorite thing,” I explained once I sat up and stopped hiding. Hotch raised a curious brow. “He called me ‘Mom’ the other day.”

“That’s great!” he cheered a little too loud. He realized his volume quickly, checking his surroundings to make sure he hadn’t disturbed anyone, then looked back at me with a wide smile. “I’m so glad, baby.”

“Me, too,” I admitted. “I like it… I like when he says it…”

“What’s wrong, then?” he asked worriedly.

I sighed. How did he know me so well that he could tell that something was wrong even through the constant image freezes and buffers? Sometimes I really hated being married to him because he was a damn good profiler, and all it took was one fluctuation in my tone, and he’d know that the whole world was turning on its head somehow.

“I don’t want him to forget Haley.”

Hotch’s eyes softened and his shoulders fell. “Y/N, we’ve both talked to him about this a thousand times—”

“I know, Aaron, but I still worry. I don’t want to replace her.”

“You’re not. You and Haley are vastly different people, and Jack loves you both. That’s not a bad thing. It’s been two years, baby; we knew that this would happen eventually. It’s a good thing. You are his mother, Y/N. You’ve looked after him for nearly three years, and you’ve loved him every day since meeting him. You’re not replacing anyone. I promise, baby.”

I supposed he was right. It didn’t necessarily irk me that Jack called me ‘Mom’. Like I said before, it was honestly a relief, and I had felt my heart swell twofold, but there was something holding me back. I didn’t realize it until just then, but it was Hotch. I was terrified that Hotch wouldn’t like it, because that title originally belonged to Haley. Who was I to be Jack’s mom now? But Hotch seemed happy about it. He even managed to talk some sense into me, which was nice.

“Hey,” I caught his attention again. My voice had lowered in tone and volume, a silent signal that I had something serious I wanted to talk about. Hotch cocked a brow at me to let me know that he was listening. “I have to tell you something…” I fidgeted with the strings of his hoodie to keep my mind occupied. “I… I, um…” Why couldn’t I just spit it out? He would understand, right? He wouldn’t get mad. He’d be glad that I was honest with him. Right… I swallowed my pride and just decided to go for it. “I got a promotion.”

“What?” he chortled.

I nodded, understanding that he was a bit confused. Honestly, I was still confused about it all, too. When I got back from maternity leave, there was talk about how someone needed to step up to take Hotch’s position while he was gone. Technically, it didn’t need to be official, but Strauss wanted to make sure that we maintained a hierarchy until Hotch could come back and lead the team again.

At first, she offered the job to Morgan again since he had done it before and seemed to be pretty good at it, but he insisted that he didn’t need to do it again, therefore he wasn’t going to step up to the plate. I recognized that there was more to it than that, though. Morgan was nervous about taking the reins again because it was hard enough to relinquish control the first time after the Foyet incidents had concluded. If he took the job on again, he probably feared that he wouldn’t be able to give Hotch his job back. So, Strauss went to JJ. However, she turned the opportunity down, too, insisting that she enjoyed her job as was. She liked worrying about giving us cases, not running them. She wasn’t sure if she would even be good at it, so she passed. Strauss considered Reid before me, which was the funny part. Reid was a good kid, and he worked just as hard as everyone else, but he wasn’t a leader type. He seemed content with being the smart one and listening to orders. I wasn’t sure if he was capable of running a team and making smart calls. It just wasn’t in his nature, and that wasn’t his fault.

So, when no one else stepped up to take the job, it was left to me. Strauss asked me if I could do it despite having a new baby at home and having to raise two kids without their father around. I told her that we had Jessica, though I elected to leave out that Morgan was helping out, too; and I insisted that I’d be fine with taking on all of Hotch’s responsibilities until he could get back. That included taking charge in the field, doing all of the paperwork, talking with Strauss about decisions made in the field— the unfortunate downside of this promotion— and taking responsibility for any decision my team or I would make, good or bad. I knew that I could handle that, and I knew that I could do it well. So, the job became mine.

I was given Hotch’s office, though I didn’t change anything in it since it was still, technically, his, and I wanted it to continue feeling that way. Strauss dropped a stack of files on my new desk, wished me good luck with a wicked smirk, and the team all looked to me for answers. On the first case, I was a little… well… annoying, to say the least. I was trying too hard to fit into Hotch’s role, to take the lead as he would. While I wanted to make things seem normal and run smoothly, I obviously wasn’t Hotch, and I clearly thought differently from him while out in the field. It took me up until the next case to realize that I couldn’t be Hotch. I needed to just be me and run the team how I saw fit— while still keeping in mind WWAHD, of course.

“I don’t want the job forever,” I insisted to Hotch over the call. “We all still want you to come home and be our unit chief. This is just temporary, and I think that I’m not even that good at it, and I—”

“You’re rambling.”

I looked up at him through the screen. “Sorry.”

“Unit Chief SSA Greenaway…” he let the name roll off his tongue. “I like it.”

“Actually, I’m trying something new.” I blushed and hid my face from him slightly.

Hotch raised a brow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. You’re looking at Unit Chief SSA Hotchner.”

Hotch’s jaw fell slightly. “You’re kidding. What happened to following in your mother’s footsteps, keeping your maiden name and whatnot.”

I shrugged. “It feels weird without a Hotchner in the office. Besides, it feels nice to say that my name is Hotchner. I probably won’t keep it that long, or I’ll stop when you get back because it’ll only confuse people, but—”

“You’re rambling again,” he teased. I blushed and hid my face even more. “Listen to me. I am so proud of you. You’re going to do great; I just know it. Don’t be nervous.”

“But?”

“But I don’t want you to stretch yourself too thin, baby. You know how hard it was for me to find time to come home to you and Jack almost every night. I just want to make sure that you’re still getting home to Emily.”

“I’m doing fine, baby. I promise. Besides, we’ve got a whole damn village here to look after the kids.” I laughed. “I think Morgan would kill me if I didn’t get home to Emily when we aren’t on a case.”

“Good,” he chuckled. “But you’re happy?” he asked sincerely. “You’re doing okay?”

I nodded and shrugged. “It’s odd to hear everyone call me ‘ma’am’,” I admitted. “It feels too formal.”

Hotch smiled. “You get used to it.”

“Yeah, but I miss calling you ‘Sir’... In more ways than—”

“Y/N…” he warned quietly, looking around his tent. “You’re going to be the death of me, I swear.”

“Hey, I still have the black box and privacy. I don’t have to worry about anything.”

“It’s been two weeks. You need a little more self-control, baby girl.”

I bit back a moan I felt rising in my throat. I really fucking missed hearing him call me that while he hovered over me. He was right that it had only been two weeks, but that was two weeks too long. Every morning since he left, I needed him desperately. I’d roll over, reaching for him, but he wasn’t there. I’d make two cups of coffee, and hold one out for him, but he never came to get it. I’d reach out to hold his hand while driving, but he wasn’t there, and I couldn’t kiss his knuckles. It was torture. But the worst part was when I’d be laying down, and I’d think about his touches on my skin, or his lips kissing mine, or curling my fingers around his hair… I’d think about him hovering over me, fucking me until I saw stars, grabbing onto my neck until I could barely breathe, demanding that I call him Sir, forcing whines and moans out of me, making me cum on his cock over and over again… Those were the worst moments. Not only because I missed him, but because nothing in the damn black box could do the trick like he could. There was something special about him being inside of me, or him controlling the toys. I could tease him all day about using the black box while he was gone, but the truth of the matter was that I needed him. Being away from him was tearing me apart.

That being said, I could still try to play my games. Our games, my brattiness, it was all what made us unique and so madly in love. Now that I had set up the mood for myself, and practically left him desperate for me in the same way that I had been desperate for him over the past two weeks, I could make my next move. “I’m sorry, Sir,” I bit my lip. “I just miss your cock so much…”

“Y/N.”

“Yes, Sir?” I asked innocently, batting my eyes at him.

His neck craned so that he could look around his tent for any sign that he would be disrupted. When the coast appeared clear, he adjusted his posture and looked back at the camera. “Shirt. Now.”

I gulped and shivered. “I thought that you couldn’t—”

“There isn’t much time. Do it now.” He was still looking around shortly, but I could see how his computer was shaking in his lap, accompanied by the sound of him fidgeting with his belt buckle. I nodded, sitting up slightly so that I could pull off his hoodie to reveal my bare chest. “Baby girl…” he moaned quietly into his headphone’s microphone. “Pinch your nipples.” I nodded and reached to do so, but he suddenly stopped me with, “I want to hear you, baby. I can’t be loud, and I can’t say much, but I want to hear you.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good girl,” he moaned quietly. I continued to move until my cold fingers ran over my nipples. My eyes screwed shut in response, and I let out a sigh. I pinched them, just like he ordered me to, and my head fell back against the cushions of the couch. “Are they sensitive?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Pull them.”

I did as I was told, lightly pinching and pulling at them like he would. Sometimes he wanted it to hurt, especially when he was punishing me, other times he just wanted me to feel the full force of how arousing it was. In that moment, I was imagining him punishing me, but it just didn’t feel the same. It was arousing, but it just wasn’t the fucking same. I wanted it to be him. I wanted him to pinch them hard while I squirmed under him. I wanted him to suck on them, maybe even gently bite at them. I just wanted more. I wanted him so bad.

“You look so hot, baby,” he moaned under his breath. I hated that he had to be so quiet. One of my favorite things about Hotch was how vocal he was in bed. He wasn’t afraid to moan or talk dirty to me. He always knew exactly what to do and say… All I wanted was to just hear him groan in my ear over and over again. “I miss you so much.” His camera kept shaking, and I knew what he was doing, but I wanted to see it. So, when I made my move to put my computer on the coffee table so that he could see me, Hotch got the hint. He moved his computer lower on his knees. I moaned and pinched my nipples again when I saw how hard he was while fucking his fist. “Your… your pants, baby girl.”

“Yes, Sir.” I lifted my hips off the couch so that I could push my pants down, which was just a pair of his flannel pajama pants.

“Fuck—” I heard him hiss under his breath once I was naked. “So beautiful…”

As I sat back down entirely, I could see how fast and hard he was masturbating, yet he hadn’t even given me another command. Asshole. I was dying on that couch without touching, yet there he was, already a mess. I wished that his hand were mine, or my mouth, or my dripping cunt. Anything. I needed him so bad. This was a relief and a change of pace since he left and all I had was the black box and the memory of what he felt like. At least this time I got to see him. But that still wasn’t enough to satisfy the urge building in the pit of my stomach.

“Please, Sir… Please… May I touch for you, Sir?”

“You wanna make yourself feel good for me, baby girl?”

I nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

“Do it.”

I reclined backwards, my fingers immediately finding their way down to my clit. I gasped, “Fuck—” I let out a shaky breath. “I’m so wet for you, Sir.”

“Moan my name for my baby.”

“Aaron…” I let his name fall off my lips effortlessly as I circled my clit faster.

“Again.”

“Aaron—” I gasped again as my walls clenched around nothing. “I miss you so much, Sir.”

“I miss you, too, baby girl.”

I looked at the computer to see him watching me intently, his hand fucking his length faster and harder. And then he stopped to rub his thumb over his tip. That was what I used to do to him all the time. It was the way I teased him. I didn’t realize he loved it so much. But seeing him do it of his own volition, then hearing him let out a quiet, helpless moan as he threw his head back against the flimsy wall of his tent. The image of him falling apart only made me go faster. I bucked my hips around for extra stimulus, and I brought my free hand to one of my nipples, pretending like it was Hotch’s mouth sucking and nibbling. Since giving birth, I was so sensitive. The slightest pinch set me on fire, and we both knew it.

“Fuck, fuck, shit—” Hotch pulled his shirt up slightly so that I could see the way his chest tightened. “I’m close for you, baby girl.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“You know I can’t—” he hesitated when he bit back a groan.

I knew that he couldn’t say anything too bad, so I had to do it. I had to tip him over the edge, and I didn’t mind. “Are you thinking about fucking me?” I asked. He nodded while still biting down on his bottom lip. “Being buried inside of me. Feeling me tighten around you as I get closer and closer to my orgasm.” He ran his thumb over his tip again. “Listening to me scream your name over and over again… Feeling as I thrash under you when you edge me.” I moaned loudly, throwing my head back against the cushions as the knot in my stomach started to tighten.

“Don’t stop.”

“Would you tie me up and edge me for hours, Sir?”

“Yes, brat. Any chance I could get.”

“Would you edge me until I couldn’t breathe?”

“Fuck, yes.”

“Would you cum in me to mark me as yours?”

Hotch flipped the bottom hem of his shirt into his mouth and bit down as hard as he could. Despite the fabric buried in his mouth, I still heard him groan so sharply I knew that he was cumming for me. I looked up just in time to see his abs flexing, his hips thrusting upwards, his cock twitching in his hand, his semen shooting in strings onto his chest.

I panted through asking, “May I cum for you, Sir?”

“Just for me, baby girl. Do it,” he mumbled behind his shirt.

I flicked my clit back and forth as fast as I could until I was nothing but a moaning, breathless mess, just as he was. “Sir!” My legs shook when I tipped over the edge. “Thank you, Sir—” My walls clenched around nothing as my orgasm peaked, then slowly started subsiding. “Thank you…”

“Fuck, baby girl.”

I caught my breath and stared at him. “I miss you.”

He reached to grab a cloth from outside of the camera’s view. “I miss you, too, baby. Next time…” He leaned back and started cleaning off his chest. “Next time, it’ll be in you. I promise.”

“They gave you a date you’re coming back?” I asked hopefully.

He shook his head. “No. But I’m still making that promise. I’ll break my knee if it means getting back to you soon.”

“Don’t be melancholy and hyperbolic, Aaron Hotchner.”

He chuckled and threw the rag to the side before pulling his shirt back down to cover himself. His actions sparked me to do the same, so I reached to put his hoodie back on. We were silent for another few moments as I got dressed again, keeping the hood up on my head to keep me warm. If someone came home now, they’d never know what happened. And we were just lucky that I hadn’t woken up Emily. Balancing keeping quiet for a baby and wanting to scream for Hotch until my lungs ached was… Well, it was complicated, to say the least.

“I’m not being melancholy,” he finally said with a laugh. It was like he suddenly realized what I said and had to speak on it.

“Yes, you are.”

“Fine. I’m melancholy because I miss you, Jack, and Emily so much my heart hurts. Is that hyperbolic?”

“No.” It wasn’t hyperbolic at all. I knew that because I felt the same way. His eyes softened as he stared at me. We had both calmed down, and now that the sexual tension was out of the way, all I could think about was how much I infinitely loved him. “I know that it’s selfish to say, but… I need you here with me. I need you to come back.”

“You know I would if I could.” He started looking around his tent frantically. “Y/N, I am so sorry—” He sat up. “I have to go.”

I stuffed my hands in the pocket of the sweatshirt I was wearing. I sighed and pouted. “I love you. Please be safe.”

He was already pulling out his headphones when he said, “I love you, too,” and then he hung up. I slumped and stared at the blank screen.

-----

criminal minds family: @peggy1999 @gorgeousdarkangel @alex--awesome--22 @oceaneblu @brithedemonspawn @absolutemarveltrash @bshelley322 @rousethemouse @sunshinepower17 @weexinling @pettttyyyc @Braty-angel

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfic #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #criminal minds smut #criminal minds imagine #aaron hotchner #Aaron Hotch Hotchner #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner smut

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fanficparker · 4 years

Note

If opened: Request for Harrison Osterfield In which Harrison is madly in love with the reader but is to scared to bring up his feelings for her due to her being very shy and quiet but the reader accidently let’s it slip that she likes him or something idk

Cute... I had a lot of fun writing it. Also it got LOADS OF TOM HOLLAND IN THIS and you are basically asked to choose one of them in a fun way 🙈...Also, I flew away with it and now it’s 1.6k words, so basically it’s an actual one-shot. Let's see where it goes:—

MONOPOLY | H.O., T.H.

Harrison Osterfield x Reader, Tom Holland x Reader

Word count: 1.6k words

Warning: Swearing...

Summary: You are stuck in the game of monopoly with two idiots and there’s no escape. Shit is about to happen...

Harrison was not exactly your friend. Your friend was Tom and Tom's friend was Harrison, so as maths works, his relationship with you could be best described as a friend of a friend. Yeah, friend of friend, nothing more. Period.

But then he always tagged along with Tom, so you were subjected with big doses of him in your life, much more than what you had anticipated. Whenever you would open the door for Tom, there was always a Harrison waiting patiently at his back, waiting till you both had finished interacting.

And when you were done with hugging and mocking Tom as friends do, Harrison would smile at you and offer a small wave, fingers running gently in the air. He wouldn't say hi but mouth it. It was always just his lips moving without a real sound. You could read it though. You reciprocated the same. And that became your little greeting.

You were shy and quiet, the stereotypical introvert, so there wasn't ever a proper conversation with Harrison without the presence of Tom. Tom always forced the words out of you. He was good at it and had a big mouth but Harrison... He just went with your natural form. Although he was full of jokes and occasional flirting, which you could never complain about. That was how he was and you had also accepted him in his natural form.

On a normal Saturday evening, the three of you were sitting on the sides of an international monopoly board. Tom was sitting beside you, while Harrison was sitting opposite to you but beside Tom.

"Woo Woo Woo... I owe the whole of London now!!!" Tom squealed, doing a little dance with his hands, shoving his token over the block and dramatically throwing the paper currency at Harrison's lap.

"Take my money, banker!" He growls, lurching forward at Harrison as if the word he addressed Harrison with was wanker instead of banker. Or maybe he actually said wanker; he is Tom after all. Harrison rolled his eyes at his best-friend, dumping the fake currency to the side and tossed the dice.

"Eight!" Tom yelled, reading the numbers.

"I can count," Harrison said unimpressed as he moved his token eight blocks ahead and made it land over 'Income Tax'.

Tom laughed loudly, patting his friend's back while Harrison cursed, putting some of his money aside. You watched their interaction with an ear-to-ear smile, occasional giggles leaving your lips.

"Your chance, Y/n," Harrison says, picking up the pair of dice in his hands and giving it to you. His fingers brushed over your palm, sending little chills down your spine.

Oh yeah, Harrison was after all your crush too. How convenient? That definitely meant tons of awkwardness. But how could you ever resist? His smile, the shape of his face, his sweet voice, his eyes, his laugh, the stuff he talks, his playfulness, his dumb jokes, his knack for helping everyone in need, those curls and now just imagine all those things at one place.

You looked down at the board, tossing the dice.

"Twelve..." Harrison whispers, looking at you through his lashes and smiles. Your heart does that little flip-flop thingy. You move ahead and end up at Jakarta which luckily was your own property. Tom lurches forward, picking up the dice and rolling them over.

"Shit! Shit! Shit!" He curses, finally landing over Rio De Janeiro, now owing Harrison a sum of two-hundred pounds. A smile spreads across the blonde's face as he jokes —

"Looks like a billionaire is crashing down." He winks at you. You force out a laugh, more like a cough mixed with fake giggles to counter the warmth sweeping in your chest and on your face.

"I need drinks!" Tom growls, submitting the money to Harrison and laying back on the floor.

"Get 'em yourself..." Harrison throws back, counting the notes and tossing the dice.

"Karma!" Tom mumbles, sitting up, seeing the token landing over Lagos.

"Ah... Y/n will surely give me a discount, right?" He asks, looking at you hopefully but in an amusing way.

"Nah... You gotta pay extra taxes instead!" You laugh, slowly feeling connected with the game. Also, the drinks that Tom brought from the fridge were working their way in your system.

Then the game went on for several minutes in which Tom had already showered himself with the fake currency two times.

At one point Harrison frustratingly threw the only twenty pounds he owned at the middle of the board.

"We should play UNO instead. This game is shit!" He declares, hands folded across his chest.

"Why? Cause you are almost bankrupt?" Tom taunts.

"Oh, it's because you are cheating!" Harrison replies, rolling his eyes.

"Dude you are the banker!" He exclaims as you chuckle.

"Whatever. I don't care," He shrugs, trying to get up.

"You can't leave before ending the game!!" You whine and he looks at you.

"Okay. Just because Y/n is saying..." He gives Tom a dirty glare, plopping down on the floor again.

"Just because Y/n is saying..." Tom repeats in a poor Harrison's voice impression.

"Shut up, cheater!" Harrison grumbles and shifts the bank from between them to the other side.

"Ugh, kids..." You groan comically, getting back into the game.

"Y/n... Y/n?" Harrison whispers after two turns.

"What?"

"I invite you to be my business partner," He clicks his tongue while Tom's eyebrows narrow.

"What? No wayyy! That's cheating!!!" He bounces on his lap.

"Says who? One who's in jail? And it's not cheating. That how businesses work," He spat looking at Tom and then looks at you, expressions softening within nano-seconds, "Also Y/n. I have so many properties and you got so much cash in hand. Imagine how powerful we both would be together? We can become the biggest business tycoon in the world!" He completes looking up dreamily with hands stretched out.

"Y/n, don't listen to him. He is an idiot."

Harrison ignores Tom's words and slides from his spot, sitting beside you, knees touching.

"I am not. You know what's best for us. Right na?" Harrison asks softly, leaning his head to the side and close to you, his slightly wet curls falling over his forehead. And those amazing eyes were staring deep into yours. The knot in your stomach tightens making you feel nauseous and pleased with his close proximity simultaneously.

You need more alcohol.

"I-I think... Yeah. It's a good idea..." You speak slowly, hiccuping mid-sentence, breaking the lethal eye-contact with Harrison, while Tom's eyes grew wider.

"Seriously Y/n, you have better options!" Tom says, pointing both his index fingers at himself.

"Rubbish. Everyone knows Y/n likes me better than you." Harrison smirks, glancing at both of you periodically.

"You wish." Tom dramatically whips an invisible ponytail resting over his shoulder to his back, looking confident as ever, "Y/n darling, why don't you bless him with facts..."

For the first time in your life, everyone's eyes were on you. Well, at least these two handsome boys...

You were already nervous.

"It's not fair," You try to change the topic, "You can't ask me to choose between you both. Tom is my friend and Harrison is my crush. I can't---" You instantly clamp your mouth shut.

"What?!" Tom spits the beer in his mouth to the floor.

Your mouth opens and closes, unable to find words. You don't even dare to face Harrison—

"Holy shit!" Harrison mutters under his breath. You can hear it, he's sitting next to you, skin touching. As if everything else wasn’t great already.

Don't look at him. Don't look at him. And then you are looking at him.

He's biting his lip, his Adam's apple is bobbing in his throat.

"You like me?" He questions as if he was making sure. There was no escape...

You suck in a breath, "Yeah... I do..." You instantly avert your gaze to your thighs.

"Oh my god! OH MY GOD! I LIKE YOU SO MUCH!" Harrison yelps like a high-school teen and grabs both of your hands in his bigger ones, jumping up and pulling you to stand with him.

"I am seriously leaving. This is going awkward," Tom says and gets up to leave but then he shoots you a wink before shutting the main door.

Little shit.

He knew. Of course, he knew!

Now it's just you and Harrison. Alone... for the first time. What an awfully pleasant experience...

Harrison squeezes your hands and you look at him.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier? I would have taken you to the best of dates, feed you with the best delicacies..." He says, shaking your hands lightly.

"Y-you could have told me..." You manage to say, feeling a bit confident now that things weren't unrequited.

"Dude. I seriously never guessed. I just had this secret crush on you and you talk more to Tom and we never talk in a bilateral way. The boat looked imbalanced from my side, I was seriously freaking out!" He rambles.

"Oh..." You look at your interlaced fingers. They feel good...

Harrison senses your disappointing expressions, so he steps onto the pedestal himself, "No worries. I can take you out now... So, will you go on a date with me?"

You were looking into each other's eyes. His eyes were basically pleading.

"It's not even a question. Of course!" You say, grinning and he's quick to grab you into a warm hug.

You can't thank Tom enough for getting him bankrupt with his great skills... at cheating in the game of Monopoly.

Can you?

___________

P.S.: Requests are open :) Anyone who wants to request, just shoot me an ask. Response time will be between 1 to 5 days. Also you can send me an ask to get tagged in future fics :) or even ask to get removed :)

Taglist: @asmilinghopefullromantic // @just-a-littlebit-of-everything // @xximaweirdoxx // @jjasalem // @spidergirl007 // @wizliar // @justasmisunderstoodasloki // @veronicas-littleworld // @acceptance07 // @ghostspf // @screeching-student-unknown // @fanficscuziranout // @miraclesoflove // @trustfundparker // @tikapollak // @yourmum792 // @skymoonandstardust // @httplayer // @starlight-starks // @silverwolf-sama // @riz-holland-osterfield // @multifandomdoodles121 // @serendipitous-amor // @viagracex // @halfblood-princess-505 // @parkerpeter24 // @god-knows-what-am-i-doing // @hazardosterfield // @the-crazy-fanfictionist // @lost-aesthetic-of-past // @lizzyosterfield // @tomhaz

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redrebecca · 5 years

Text

His Muse

After years of keeping it to himself, he finally confesses who his muse, ‘Mystery Girl’, is.

A/N: A friend to lovers trope because why not? I’ve fully accepted the days when i would write a fic in an afternoon are over because this took agessss. Anyway, feedback is always appreciated, have a great day!

Words: 5.6k

“What’s next?” You asked, opening the notes app in your phone.

“Where were you in the morning.” He replied, his voice suddenly muffled by a cushion as he hid his face. You giggled.

“You embarrassed Mendes?” You teased. He pushed the cushion off his face and scowled at you.

“Okay, okay,” You held up your hands in surrender knowing that Shawn really didn’t like being mocked about his failed one night stand – he got enough teasing off his crew, he didn’t need you to start as well. A satisfied smirk remained on your face as you read what you had written on the flight to Toronto.

“It has to be Rosie” You said confidently.

“Rosie?” He raised his head to look at you, supporting his weight on his elbows. You forced yourself to keep your eyes trained on his face and not the tight shirt he was wearing that just got impossibly tighter.

“You know, the brunette with the blue streaks in her hair?” Shawn raised his eyebrows.

“I think she had an eyebrow piercing?”

“Oh!” A look of realization crossed his face before his eyebrows pinched together once more. “Wait, wasn’t she called Rosa?” There was a moment of silence as you both thought back to whenever you had met her before shrugging your shoulders simultaneously.

“So it wasn’t about Rosie.” You muttered, deleting her name from the list you had under the song title.

“I’m sure she was a Rosa.” You barely heard his mumble from the other end of the couch.

You were currently on Shawn’s couch, the two of you lying head to toe – well, your toes didn’t quite reach Shawn’s head but chest to toe wasn’t as catchy.

It had been a tradition since Shawn wrote his very first song that you would guess who they were about. At the start Shawn had been hesitant about telling you – his music was open to the public but the muse had always been something that was very private to him. But gradually, as the two of you became closer and bonded over the stress of your high school physics class, the more honest he was and more inclined he became to discussing his music and letting you into his thoughts.

It was when you saw the tweets that SM3 was a year old that you realized that you hadn’t had your customary album sleepover – your uni classes and his festival run made finding free time almost impossible. It only took a quick facetime call to Shawn, a few clicks on an airline’s website and you stuffing a backpack with anything you considered to be an essential and you were on your way to the airport.

“I give up.” You sighed, flopping back on the couch and nudging his ribs with your foot. “Who was it?”

“D’you remember that girl at the bar in Toronto? The one in the red dress?” You were silent for a second, racking your brain for any memory you had of someone in a bar.

“It was on Brian’s birthday.” He added, trying his best to help you remember.

You sat up abruptly. “The hot blonde?” You said, disbelief weaved into your tone. He nodded with a smirk on his face.

“What can I say, I’ve got game.” He winked at you, no doubt causing your cheeks to flush as you desperately shoved the tingly feeling to the back of your consciousness. After all, you’d been denying your feelings for more than two years now and there was no way you were going to let one wink crack your resistance. So instead of blurting out your feelings, you rolled your eyes.

“Well, clearly not enough to make her stay.” You grinned cheekily as his eyes snapped from the ceiling back to you. He huffed, cutting you a glare.

“I am this close,” He held up his thumb and index finger, “To kicking you off my couch.”

“Do it.” You challenged. “And when you wake up with no chest hair, we’ll see who’s laughing.” He swallowed, his Adams apple rising and falling.

“And last but not least, the next song is?” He said, not even bothering to hide the blatant change in subject. You snorted but looked at your notes nonetheless.

“When you’re ready.” You smiled, it was your favourite from the album and something Shawn was very aware of.

“Who do you think?” Shawn said softly, but you were too busy scrolling through the long list of possibilities to notice the way he was looking at you. He took a moment to appreciate your look of focus as you narrowed down the list, stopping himself from chuckling as he knew you would never be able to guess who it was about.

He watched intently as you nibbled your lip, your front teeth sinking into your bottom lip did things to him he knew it shouldn’t. But at the same time he was so mesmerised, completely captivated by even the smallest things that you did, that he couldn’t bring himself to care about the teasing comments Brian gave him whenever he caught Shawn’s lingering gazes as you laughed at a cheesy joke Zubin told, or how Manny would send him knowing smirks when Shawn had to dash to the toilet after seeing you in a figure hugging dress.

He brushed them off and eventually stopped trying to deny it, because why should he? He had spent years trying to fight his feelings, but to no avail. So he stopped trying because he realized that it wasn’t just a teenage hormone fuelled phase - he was hopelessly falling head over heels for you and although it was scary, it was equally exhilarating and exciting (and it had been creating some damn good lyrics).

“You there?” He was broken out of his thoughts by your voice and a soft kick to his side.

“Sorry, just thinking.” He said, clearing his throat before giving you his full attention. “What did you say?”

“I said I don’t know. Who is it?” You clicked your phone off and left it in the gap between Shawn’s calves and reached to tug the blanket a bit closer to your chest.

“Guess.” He quipped whilst grabbing onto the blanket and pulling it back down to your waist and up to his chin.

“But I don’t know.” You groaned, continuing the small game of tug of war the two of you started as you yanked the soft throw from out of his grasp. However, instead of retaliating once again, Shawn stuck his foot in your face.

“S-Shawn” You spluttered as you pushed at his foot, which only caused the fabric of his sock to rub against your cheek.

“What?” Despite his best efforts, you could easily hear the mischievous lilt to his voice. It was the tone you had become very familiar with. Whenever he tried to appear unaware of something he was obviously doing or when he couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice, his tone rose. You always loved the cheeky and stress free side of Shawn, but not when his foot was pressed onto your face.

“Get your sweaty foot away from me!” You let out a scream as he began to inch his other foot closer to you, which quickly halted his attack on your sense of smell as he bolted upright and stared at you wide eyed.

“Shhh!” He urged, frantically glancing to his watch, “It’s 3am, you can’t start screaming.” He quietly scolded, his eyes darting anxiously towards his front door, as if his entire apartment complex would be knocking it down at any second.

“3am my backside! You had your stinky socks in my face, what was I supposed to do?” You sat up as well, shoving his leg off your torso. You hoped you looked as intimidating as you wanted to, but had to remind yourself that in your fluffy sheep print pyjama bottoms (the ones Shawn himself had bought you as a joke for your birthday) and an old harry potter t-shirt you had claimed from the bottom of Shawn’s drawer, you probably weren’t achieving the ‘I’m a bad bitch, try me’ look that you were going for.

“I don’t know! Maybe not scream when my neighbours are asleep down the corridor?” He whisper-shouted back, flinging one of his long arms towards the door.

“I couldn’t breathe!” You argued. You both glared at each other, his hazel eyes staring right back at you. As the seconds passed, the wrinkles became more apparent by the corners of his eyes and you had to bite the inside of your cheek to subdue a grin from breaking onto your face. Mere moments later, Shawn spluttered, unable to remain stoic and you both burst out laughing, the stupidity of your situation eventually catching up to the two of you.

A pathetic “Shh.” left Shawn’s lips but it only was drowned out by even louder laughter as you clutched at your stomach while Shawn gasped for breath only a few centimetres away. Neither of you were sure whether it was the early hour delusion or the fact that you had been deprived of each other’s company for much longer than was considered to be acceptable by either of your standards. That said, neither of you particularly cared, especially not when the jarring sound of a snort briefly filled the room which only sent you deeper into hysterical laughter as Shawn rushed to cover his nose and mouth with his hands.

You started to tip back and if Shawn hadn’t have grabbed your wrist at the last moment you would’ve landed on the hardwood floor. He pulled you into his chest, securing you a safe distance from the edge of the couch as his body shook with silent laughter. The giggles slowly faded but the smiles never faltered, the only noticeable difference was the red flush of your cheeks as you finally registered your position. Your legs were over his lap and you were basically sitting on him. Usually he would let you go after a minute or two but when you felt his arms tighten around you, there was nothing you could do to stop the even brighter smile as you wrapped your arms around him.

“Kayleigh?” You breathed. Shawn’s chin left the top of your head to peer down at you.

“Huh?” He replied.

“When you’re ready.” You twisted to see his face. “You told me to guess.” You could see the realization in his eyes as it clicked. You also saw the smug smile as he shook his head.

“Nope.” He said, purposefully popping the p. “Guess again.” You huffed slightly, but still did your best to try and remember the list on your phone – your lack of photographic memory really not helping you out. You quickly scanned the couch.

“I need my phone.” You said. As Shawn began to shift underneath you, you sighed, cursing yourself for ending the precious moment you had with his strong arms looped around you. However, his arms never moved. Instead he looked at you with a slight grimace.

“I think I’m sitting on it.” He shuffled again and looked at you sheepishly. “Yeah, I’m definitely sitting on it.” You giggled.

“You know what, I don’t want it anymore.” You teased causing him to tilt his head back and laugh softly. You had to tear your gaze away from his exposed neck and remind yourself that you didn’t want your phone because it was currently under his ass – not because you wanted to stay in his arms for a little longer.

“Jessica?”

“Na-uh.”

“The barista you were talking to?”

“Gold digger.”

“Morgan?”

“N-” He paused and pulled his head off the back of the couch to look at you, an amused chuckle leaving his lips. “I don’t even know a Morgan.” You shrugged and leaned into his shoulder.

“Was worth a try.” You murmured against the cotton of his t-shirt. Your close proximity meant you felt every vibration as his chuckle reverberated through his chest. “So,” You started, but the words didn’t come.

“So…” Shawn repeated, drawing out the word.

“Please just tell me.” You whined. He looked, no – he gazed at you before he let a soft breath pass through his slightly parted lips.

“Mystery girl.” He murmured. You pulled back, eyes wide in disbelief and you desperately tried to ignore the tinge of jealousy you felt in the pit of your stomach.

“Again?” He nodded bashfully, his cheeks flushing as blood rushed to his face. Noticing the unusual shyness in his expression you stopped yourself - you didn’t want him to start building his walls back up, not after so much time and effort had been put into getting him to freely open up to you. Nudging his shoulder you finally brought his attention away from his hands and towards your face. “So she’s got 20 songs dedicated to her by Shawn Mendes himself.”

He squeezed your knee gratefully and sent you a warm smile. “Yeah, something like that.” He said quietly. “That’s only the released ones.” He said impossibly quieter.

This time you made more of an effort to hide your shock. “There’s more?” You knew you were on thin ice, you made sure to tread lightly knowing that one poorly judged action could send you into ice cold water. He squirmed, an obvious sign that he was getting uncomfortable. To your surprise, instead of brushing off the comment, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat.

“I have journals and stacks of paper that are filled with words all the way through to completed songs.” Stunned, you remained quiet. You had known he liked her but damn he was in deep if he had pages and pages dedicated to her. But Shawn took no notice of your sudden silence. “She doesn’t know though.” You opened your mouth, but always one step ahead, Shawn had already anticipated your reply. “She can’t either.”

“Why not? I mean, if she has such a big effect on you she must be perfect, so why not go for it?” He shook his head and focused on his feather ring instead of your questioning gaze. “Shawn.” You said softly. His hazel eyes hesitantly returned to yours. “Do you love her?” You hated the words that left your lips for you already knew the answer. Every word he sung and every lyric he wrote held so much passion and emotion that you didn’t need his confirmation at all.

He closed his eyes and sighed. “I think,” He paused, processing his thoughts into words. You could do nothing but watch as he ran his hand through his curls and tugged in frustration. For a man who had an amazing talent with words, his feelings for this mystery girl had rendered him speechless. “I think it’s too early for that,” he sent you a look, imploring you to understand, you nodded reassuringly at him. He paused for a moment but not once did he take his eyes off you until he spoke again. “But I think I’m in love with the idea of loving her.”

At that moment, as much as you wanted to scream, shout and yell about how unfair and cruel life was, you couldn’t help the happiness you felt for him. After all, you had always wanted him to find his person and although you were having to accept the unwanted reality that it wasn’t you - one look at his love-struck expression as he gazed out of the window at the skyline made you push away all the bubbles of jealousy. He was happy and there was no way you’d let yourself stand in the way of that.

Suddenly it felt wrong to have your legs across his lap and your arm wrapped behind his back. You swung your legs back to your side and moved to pull out of his arms but gave up rather quickly when Shawn kept his hold tight with no intentions of letting you go.

“What are you doing?” He asked, a tinge of hurt seeped into his tone.

“My legs were going numb.” It wasn’t exactly a lie but it was a terrible excuse. Whether Shawn believed it or not, he made no attempt to press you further.

“I just don’t know what to do.” You felt an ache in your chest at his words. He sounded so defeated and tired.

“You have to talk to her.” He stayed quiet so you continued to talk. “What would you do if another boy asked her out and she said yes because she thought no one else was interested?” He opened and closed his mouth several times but you didn’t stop. “This could be your only chance Shawn,” You nudged his shoulder. “Stop playing it safe you big baby.” He sent you a light hearted glare and mock huffed, crossing his arms over his chest as best as he could considering he had you tucked under one of them.

“Maybe I’m scared.” He wondered aloud. You pushed back from his side as far as you could in his embrace.

“Don’t you get all wimpy on me Mendes.” You chided, playfully pointing your finger at him. “I will not hesitate to recite Life of the Party.” He chuckled.

“And I will not hesitate to push you off the couch.”

“We’ve already had this discussion so you should remember the consequences.” You reached forward and pulled a chest hair that was peeking out from under the neckline of his shirt. He yelped and swatted your hand away before scowling at you which only caused you to giggle.

“I’ll figure something out.” He murmured.

“You better do it quickly because there’s no way I’m letting you avoid telling her the truth.” He chuckled softly at your words, knowing you well enough to know that it wasn’t an empty threat. Shawn was certain if you really wanted to that you would march him to Mystery Girl’s front door and make him proclaim his feelings to her. If only she knew, he thought.

“I’ll try.”

“Good, ‘cause we don’t have the time to be sorry.” He whipped his head back to you, raising an eyebrow daring you to push him a bit further.

You held his challenging stare. “So baby be the life of the party, I’m telling you t-” The next lyrics were cut off by your own muffled squeal as Shawn shoved you towards the edge of the couch, he kept his arms around you to ensure that you wouldn’t fall – he had fallen over on that floor too many times to know that it hurt like a bitch.

“You’re gonna get it Mendes.” You threatened as you heaved yourself back up. Once again, your threatening glare had no effect on him as he enveloped you in his arms.

“Just go to sleep.” He murmured. Instead of fighting him and your exhaustion you shuffled closer to him and threw the blanket over the two of you.

“Night Shawn.” You said whilst yawning. Shawn chuckled quietly.

“Goodnight honey.” He replied softly. It didn’t take long for your breaths to become slower and deeper as the early hours and the warmth of Shawn made it impossible not to fall asleep. Shawn tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear and smiled at your sleeping form – completely passed out in a few minutes.

He didn’t get any sleep that night. He blamed it on his self-diagnosed insomnia and how he needed to be prepared in case you followed through with your chest hair threat. It certainly wasn’t because he was too busy admiring you.

“Hey, are you nearly here?” Your teeth chattered as you alternated the hand which was holding your phone with the one that you had tucked under your armpit.

“I’ll be two or three minutes honey, go and wait inside I’ll text you when I get there.” You didn’t have to be told twice and hurried into the warmth of the foyer, thanking him before you hung up and stuffed your phone into your clutch.

“Y/n?” You looked up to see your best friend walk over to you. “I thought you had gone home, do you not have a lift?”

“Shawn’s picking me up, he’s just a little bit late.” Natalie smiled at you before leaning in a bit closer.

“So… Shawn.” You rolled your eyes and nudged her shoulder.

“Stop it, we’re just-”

“-Friends. Yeah, yeah you’ve said it before. But do you know what it reminds me of?”

“Bring up the sit-com and I swear I will walk out.” You warned, not wanting to hear her painfully long explanation about a character’s development or what happened in one particular episode.

“No, just shh.” Natalie pressed a perfectly manicured fingernail to her lips. “It was the exact same thing I used to say about me and Jacob,” She motioned to the man who was chatting to his friends behind her. “And look where we are now.” Natalie grinned triumphantly, knowing she had made a great point. But were you going to accept that? Nope.

“You’ve still got your dress on?” She rolled her eyes but humoured you nonetheless, brushing her hands down the front of her white gown.

“Sweetie, you were there at the fitting. It cost so much that I’m not gonna take it off for the whole honeymoon.” You both broke out into laughter, however Natalie quietened down first, her eyes moving to something over your shoulder. Before you had a chance to question what she was looking at, you felt a hand on your waist. Your first instinct was to move away but your body instantly relaxed when you smelt the familiar scent of Shawn’s cologne. Shawn smiled a bit wider as he greeted Natalie, he too had noticed the shift in your posture and it made him happier than it probably should have.

“I was calling you but you didn’t reply.” He said, turning his attention to you and answering your question before it even left your lips.

“My phone was in my purse, I must’ve missed it.” You opened up your bag and sure enough there was a copious number of notifications of missed calls and texts. He nodded and wrapped his arm around your waist.

“Right, let’s get you home. Congrats Nat!” He sent her one last wave as he turned to go, his arm around you making it very difficult to not go with him. You looked over your shoulder to where Natalie was still standing, a large smirk adorned her face as she winked. You exaggeratedly rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at her before wrapping your arm around Shawn.

The air was cold against your bare arms. You huddled closer to Shawn’s side in an attempt to try and stop yourself from shivering. It didn’t work but it was worth a try. And it meant you were closer to Shawn, so you weren’t exactly complaining “Nearly at the car.” He murmured into your hair as you made your way through the carpark. Just as Shawn had said, his car was only a few meters away, much to your delight. He unlocked it and you hastily clambered into the passenger seat before Shawn even had a chance to politely open the car door for you. He chuckled and made his way around to the driver’s seat. Once he was in, he was quick to start the engine. “Do you want the heated seats on?” He asked as he glanced at your shivering form. You had lost count of how many times you had teased him for having heated seats in his new car, after all that’s where the nickname ‘Sweaty Bum Shawn’ originated – it was also where you realised Shawn’s defensiveness towards being called that nickname. Trying your best not to think about how Shawn will never let you live this down, you begrudgingly nod. His smirk is the only indication you need to know that he is never going to let you forget this.

“How was the wedding?” He said, turning down the radio to hear you better.

You sighed. “The cake was really nice.”

“Did you bring me any?” He asked, you weren’t entirely sure if he was being serious – he probably was because nothing came in between that boy and chocolate cake. You shook your head and he was quick to switch off your heated seats.

“What are you doing?” You exclaimed whilst reaching over the centre console to turn it back on. However Shawn caught your wrist before it reached anywhere remotely near the button and placed your hand back on your lap.

“If I die of hunger I’m blaming you.” He accused, a slow and sarcastic tutting sound coming from his mouth as he looked over his shoulder to change lanes.

“Well if I die of hypothermia it’s all on you. I can’t imagine that being great publicity, y’know the death of your best friend on your conscience. But I reckon E! News would have a field day with that story.” Despite himself, he couldn’t help but laugh and flick the heated seats back on. You instantly sunk back into the car seat.

“So apart from the food, did you enjoy yourself?”

“Yeah I did, I mean its Nat’s wedding and wherever she’s involved there’s always one hell of a party.” Shawn chuckled beside you. He didn’t know her as well as you did, but he had met her enough times to know that she was a… lively character.

“But I-” You paused and shook your head, playing with the silver bracelet on your wrist.

Shawn quirked an eyebrow at you, his voice softening as he sensed the tinge of unhappiness in your voice. “What is it honey?”

“It’s just that.” You stopped again and swallowed. Shawn’s hand came to rest on your knee, his thumb rubbing smooth circles against the material of your dress. The action threw you off slightly and you took a second longer than necessary before you spoke. “Natalie is the last one of my friends to get married.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’m sure there’ll be more weddings to go to. I’ve still got a few single cousins.” Shawn reassured you, completely misunderstanding the way you were heading.

“No it’s not that. I- I think I’m jealous.” His thumb stopped moving, his whole body froze.

“What do you mean?” He breathed.

“They always talk about how great love is. That they always have that constant person who they can talk to and get advice from or how they can trust them with their life and how they can’t wait to wake up to the same person for the rest of their lives. I just want that – I just want someone to love me.” You weren’t sure when the tears had started or when Shawn had pulled the car over. He wiped the tears off your cheeks with the pads of his thumbs.

You offered him a watery smile and he pulled you into him. His hand trailed up and down your arm as you sniffled into his shirt. You finally pulled back and willed the tears to keep at bay.

“You are loved.” You shook your head, the tears once again threatening to spill.

“Stop it.” You whispered. You didn’t want to be fed spoonfuls of false hope, not now, especially not in your emotional state.

“No, you stop it. You are loved, so, so much.” You snorted and pushed his chest. It was what you did best, pushing people away if they came too close – literally and metaphorically.

“By who Shawn? Go on, enlighten me – who is the guy lucky enough to love me?” Your words dripped with self-disdain and sarcasm and Shawn visibly faltered at them.

“Me. I love you.” His voice was hoarse and frail but it still managed to hold the weight of the meaning behind his words. The words you had waited so long to hear – so long that it didn’t seem real, it couldn’t be.

“As a friend, Shawn.” You repeated the words you had told yourself so many times. You couldn’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes - you were scared of what you would see. Pity? Frustration? Love?

The sound of his chuckle was jarring and you couldn’t help but look at him, your face a picture of confusion. “I think we both know this is a bit more than just friends, it always has been.” His stare was so intense and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to look away. He was right as well. You had grown up with Shawn and Brian as your best friends but you and Shawn had always had something more. He took notice of your silence and the mix of emotions in your eyes. “Don’t make me sing Life of the Party.” A small breath of laughter passed through your lips. He took this as a good sign and moved his hand to gently cup your cheek.

It took a moment to fully register his reference to the night when you talked about his album, his stinky socks and mystery girl. Mystery girl. You froze and Shawn realised, his eyes became concerned and his movements were hesitant and cautious.

You shook your head and his hand dropped to your side. “You don’t mean that. What about your Mystery girl? Or is she irrelevant now?” Your words sounded more like a sneer than you intended them to. To your surprise Shawn didn’t reel back at your tone. Instead, a second later he chuckled quietly.

“You really don’t know?” His eyes rove across your face, taking in every last detail of your features. If you weren’t so confused you would’ve been hiding your face in your hands self-consciously. You dreaded to know what you looked like, the black smudge on Shawn’s thumb was enough indication to know that your tear tracks were stained with mascara. Brilliant.

“What?” You sounded exhausted, tired of always playing a guessing game with him, because even when he wasn’t aware of it he always left you questioning what you had.

“It’s you, sweetheart. Mystery Girl is you.”

Your breath hitched in your throat.

This wasn’t real, this wasn’t happening - this was a joke. But the look in Shawn’s eye had no trace of mischief, he was serious, and it was you. The girl you had envied so passionately for so long, the girl who had Shawn desperately falling for her without knowing, was you.

“Honey breathe.” He shook your shoulders and emphasized his own breathing, just like you did with him when he had his panic attacks. You mirrored his inhales and exhales, your shallow breaths becoming more even and steady. He didn’t speak, he simply waited for you to find your voice again.

“Me?” Even you cursed yourself for your stupid reply. Shawn smiled a bit and trailed his hand up and down your arm.

“Yeah. Who else would it be?” His question stumped you. You guessed you never really questioned it – the less you knew, the less pain you would feel whenever you heard about her. You, you reminded yourself, not her, you.

“I don’t know, I didn’t really want to either.” You weren’t sure if he had heard your whisper. His hands stilled around your arm and squeezed – he heard every word.

“So, you like me too?” His eyes desperately searched yours, looking for the answer he had been secretly wanting for way too long. You shut your eyes, and your mouth, not wanting to let a rushed decision ruin the moment. You knew how you felt about him, it was impossible to ignore it, but you were trying so hard to stop yourself from saying the words. Shawn remained quiet. Patiently waiting and letting you take your time like the gentleman he is. Always a gentleman, always kind and caring, always supportive, funny and you can’t remember a time when you had needed him and he hadn’t tried his best to help.

You opened your eyes and met the hazel ones in front of you. You had come too far to back out now simply for the fear of being too forward.

“Shawn, I think I love you.” His eyebrows shot upwards, almost disappearing into his hairline. He didn’t give you time to misinterpret his shock – his lips were on yours before you even had the chance to open your mouth. He smiled into the kiss, his lips pressing against yours perfectly as his tongue traced the line where your top and bottom lip met. The sensation was overpowering – you were kissing Shawn and he was kissing you. That thought alone was enough to make you grin against his lips. Is this what you had been missing out on?

All too soon, Shawn pulled back for breath. You weren’t even sure how you were still breathing, everything seemed surreal, almost too perfect.

“Are you sure you want this?” You want me? Shawn read you like a book, your unspoken words were written as clearly as day across your pages.

“Of course I do. I want you, I need you. I always have.” For the first time, you let yourself fully believe in his words because when had he ever lied to you?

“You could have said something earlier.” You playfully pushed his shoulder. He laughed, dipping his head so his face was dangerously near to your chest.

“Anddd, she’s back.” His laughter eased whatever tension you had left from earlier. You giggled too, surprised by the feelings that coursed through you, it was almost as though you had returned back to your blushing teenage years.

“You are loved, I promise you. I love you and you better remember that.” His light-hearted voice did little to hide the serious tone and meaning to his words. You knew better than to tease him about this.

“I will, I promise.” He pecked your lips and pulled away leaving the two of you supporting large, beaming smiles.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes imagine #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fanfiction #shawn mendes one shot #shawn mendes fluff #shawn mendes x reader #shawn mendes x you #shawn x reader #shawn x you

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dweetwise · 4 years

Note

Steve realizes he’s falling in love with Dwight, asks some other survivors for advice cause he’s super confused about falling for a guy.

i’m sorry this took ages, i loved this prompt and wanted to do it justice!

disclaimer: even though this is meant to be fluff&humor, there are mentions of internalized homophobia. i’ve also never written any coming out themes before but i tried my best!

How Steve Harrington realized he’s a disaster bi

It’s just another neverending-dawn-day in the fog. Steve is minding his own business, working on generators, teabagging the killer, clicking his flashlight in Yui’s face until she slaps him—you know, the usual stuff.

And then he and Dwight escape the trial and Dwight’s smile is so wide and happy even while his teeth are covered in blood and he’s running with an obvious limp. But he’s smiling at Steve and praising him, and something finally clicks in Steve’s empty no-good jock brain and there’s only two things he knows for certain;

One, Dwight is a guy. Two, he’s most definitely falling for Dwight.

Back at camp, he has a small mental breakdown. Does this mean he’s gay? Who does he even talk to about this stuff? His thoughts immediately drift to Robin, but she’s not here. Nancy is out of the question. Sure, they’ve grown closer after being stuck in the Entity’s playground together, but he’s not about to ask his ex-girlfriend-now-friend about dating a guy. What if she’d be offended?

Quentin is probably his closest friend in the realm, but at the same time, he doesn’t want to weird him out. Is it weird to tell your bro you might be into dudes? Steve isn’t sure, but he doesn’t want to take the risk.

Kate is a sweetheart and Steve knows for sure she wouldn’t judge. But she’s also a huge gossip, and Steve would rather not half the camp know before he’s even sure himself.

Eventually, Steve makes up his mind and goes to Jane. She’s always taking on a motherly role, surely she’s up for giving him some advice?

“Jane, can I ask you something?” Steve starts, sitting down next to the woman when the camp is mostly empty, only Ash loudly telling another incredulous story to an unimpressed Feng Min and raptly listening Adam. “Only if it’s not about another flashlight,” Jane says with fond exasperation, a smile on her lips. “Nah, not this time,” Steve says, shooting her an apologetic grin for all the items he’s ‘borrowed’ from her and never managed to return. The grin fades when he tries to think of how to bring up the subject. “I think I like someone and I'm pretty sure they don't like me back,” he finally settles on, quiet enough for the trio on the other side of camp not to hear. "You ‘think’?” Jane repeats, eyebrows scrunching together. “I’m not… entirely sure,” Steve tries to explain. “We're just, like, friends.” “But you want something more?” Jane tries to prod for more information. “Yeah. Maybe. Probably,” Steve tries to decide. Damn, his thoughts are a mess. “It’s… um. A guy,” he confesses, staring at the ground so Jane doesn’t see the flush creeping up on his cheeks. He just prays that Jane won’t be disgusted or laugh or— “Oh,” Jane says, and there’s definitely surprise in her voice, but she doesn’t sound judgmental. “Is this the first time you’ve had feelings for another man?” “Yeah,” Steve says, relieved at her reaction. “How do I know if I’m gay?” Instead of blessing him with some great wisdom, Jane mulls over the question, before sighing. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I can help you,” she says apologetically. “That’s okay,” Steve says, trying not to deflate at her reply. “But… God, I hate to say this,” she sighs, making Steve perk back up. “This might be the one time you’d probably benefit from asking Ace. He’s very… open about this stuff.” Steve hums in thought. He’s not particularly close to Ace, but there’s no denying the gambler is quite… flamboyant. Jane might be right, surely Ace will help him sort this whole gay thing out? “I’ll give it a shot! Thanks Jane!” Steve chirps, getting up with a new plan of action. “And don’t tell him I sent you!” Jane warns, and Steve rolls his eyes and grins at the duo’s fake animosity towards each other.

A couple trials later, Steve and Ace are mori’d nearly simultaneously and have to trek back to camp together through the fog. Ace is whistling a carefree tune like he didn’t just get impaled by a chainsaw, and Steve figures this opportunity is as good as any.

“Ace, you're like… gay, right?” ‘Wow; smooth, Harrington,’ Steve mentally berates himself as Ace’s whistling abruptly cuts off and he turns to face him. “That's got to be the worst pick-up-line I've heard in my life,” Ace says, quirking an amused eyebrow. “No, shit, I wasn't—” Steve starts panicking. "Relax, I'm just messing with you,” Ace grins. “What's up?” Steve pauses, calming his heart rate and trying to figure out how he should approach the subject. “How did you know?” Steve manages to ask. When Ace only cocks his head in confusion, Steve pushes through the embarrassment to continue. “That you're… into guys.” “Oh!” Ace exclaims, face lighting up in realization. “I—well. I saw hot guys and wanted to sleep with them? It was pretty easy to tell, in my case.” “So it was just, like… sexual?” Steve asks, frowning. That's definitely not what he feels for Dwight, at least not the biggest part of it. “I’ve never really been the romantic type,” Ace explains, shrugging. “If you need relationship advice, I'm probably the last guy to ask.” Oh. That’s a little disappointing. Ace starts telling a story about some wild adventure with a rich mafia leader’s son and Steve kind of tunes out and tries to figure out who he could ask for help next.

He eventually settles on Nea when the opportunity presents itself and he arrives into camp after a trial to find her sitting by herself.

“I think I like a guy and I'm freaking out." Well. That was unnecessary blunt. Instead of laughing in his face, Nea just pinches her eyebrows together. “Are you having an unrequited love crisis or a sexuality crisis?” Nea asks him to clarify. “Uh. Both.” “Well, shit.” “Yeah.” “Let me know if you figure something out.” “Wait, you don't have any advice?” “Dude, I'm the biggest lesbian disaster you'll ever meet,” she snorts, before sobering up and looking almost regretful. “It's been years and I still haven't told her I like her.” “Oh. Rip,” Steve says, cringing in sympathy. He never realized Nea was into girls, but they’re apparently in almost the exact same situation. Hopefully Steve won’t end up pining for years, though. Suddenly, he has an idea. “If I end up confessing, you have to too,” Steve decides, nudging her with his elbow. “Deal,” Nea says, face twisting into a grin.

With no help from Nea, Steve ends up in a bit of a slump for a couple of days. He doesn’t know who else to approach for advice, because everyone he asks is another risk that Dwight will find out. Maybe he should just confess to Dwight? But who the hell wants to hear ‘I think I like you but I’m not sure’? Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair.

“Wha's wrong, mate?” David’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he looks over to the man. Shit, Steve had been so deep in thought he hadn’t even noticed another batch of their friends getting called into a trial. It’s just him and David, along with Jake who is softly snoring on the other side of camp. Steve would have never expected David to pick up on his mood, but the brawler keeps surprising him with just how tuned into everyone’s emotions he is. Even now, David isn't looking at him mockingly, he seems genuinely curious at his obvious shift in attitude. “Just falling for someone who doesn't feel the same. You know, typical bullshit,” Steve tries to joke. He expects David to laugh, but instead the other's face morphs into a sympathetic smile. “Same,” David says, faraway gaze staring into the campfire. David being soft? In love? Steve has no idea who the other is into and that he’d even want a committed relationship. And who wouldn’t want David? He’s seen all of the girls ogling his toned chest at least once. Although Steve does feel a little better knowing he's not the only one suffering from heartbreak. He just sits quietly with David and stares at the fire until the others get back and the companionable silence is broken.

Steve doesn’t know how many more days pass, but he realizes he’s getting nowhere. To make matters worse, Dwight keeps being annoyingly handsome and adorable and Steve’s poor heart doesn’t know what to do with itself. Maybe that’s why he decides to be so blunt.

“Do you think Dwight likes me?” Steve asks Claudette when she’s patching him up after a rough trial. “Of course!” she smiles warmly, clearly not getting his point. “No, I mean…” Steve chews on his lip nervously. “Do you think he likes me?” Claudette’s hands pause on his leg, and she only has time to look up at him in clear surprise, when Meg appears out of nowhere. “What exactly are your intentions with him?” Meg demands, glaring at Steve and making it obvious she’s been eavesdropping. Steve is kind of surprised; out of everyone, Meg bullies and teases Dwight the most, which has made him dislike her a little. But apparently, she's also fiercely protective of him. “I, uh,” Steve starts, a little taken aback by Meg’s threatening energy. “I want to date him,” he finally manages to put the feelings from the last couple of weeks into words. Meg hesitates a little, gauging him warily before speaking again. “I didn’t know you were bi,” Meg finally says and Steve has a small epiphany. Bi. So he’s not necessarily gay after all! Well. He’s a little gay, fantasizing about holding Dwight in his arms and kissing him silly. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t also like girls; it just means his current crush is a guy. But if Dwight rejects him, he could easily fall for a girl in the future. Or another guy. The thought doesn’t bother him nearly as much as he anticipated. It’s just the way things are. “Helloooo? Anyone home?” Meg is getting impatient, waving a hand in front of his face while Claudette tries to defuse, feebly pulling on Meg’s arm. “I didn’t, either,” Steve confesses. “I just… recently figured it out.” He tactfully leaves out the fact that ‘recently’ means ‘literally five seconds ago’. “Are you sure?” Meg pushes. “Are you sure you’re gonna treat him right? Are you gonna like him even if he grows a beard? Are you gonna be able to suck a dick, or any you gonna freak out and dump him?” “Meg!” Claudette exclaims, mortified and a deep flush on her cheeks. Steve shares her sentiment, resisting the urge to jump into the burning campfire to escape the embarrassment of Meg’s crude words. Sure, he’s thought about doing… stuff, with Dwight, but he’s only been with one person before and even talking about sex just makes him blush and cringe. “Well?” Meg demands. “If you’re not sure, don’t bother. Dwight deserves better than being your shitty experiment.” Steve hesitates. What if she’s right? What if he ends up panicking and hurting Dwight? “Meg, he just came out!” Claudette jumps in to defend him, surprising both Steve and Meg by her assertiveness. “Let him figure it out on his own, or with Dwight. It’s not fair to push your own insecurities on him!” Huh? Claudette’s words confuse Steve even further; Meg is insecure? He sees the sprinter’s demeanor change instantly, going from confrontational to withdrawn as the words sink in. “I… shit,” Meg sighs, running a hand over her face. “You’re right. I’m sorry, dude.” “It’s cool,” Steve says, still more confused than anything. The subject is abruptly dropped, and Claudette finishes patching his wound up before going to braid Meg’s hair and muttering an apology to the mopey redhead.

Steve later realizes neither or the girls ended up answering his question about Dwight. Out of options, Steve decides it’s finally time to ask Quentin.

“Hey man, what’s up?” Quentin greets with a friendly half-smile before going back to stocking a med-kit, not seeming at all bothered that Steve has been avoiding him for the better part of a week. And, well, since he asked… “I've just realized I'm bi,” Steve says. To his credit, Quentin just looks up, a completely neutral expression on his face. “Congrats. Welcome to the club,” Quentin says with a small grin. “Uh… You could at least pretend to be surprised?” Steve jokes but his eyebrows have shot up into his hairline in disbelief. Quentin is also bi? Why the fuck didn't he go to Quentin first? “Had my suspicions,” the other grins. “What made you realize?” “I've uh… I started crushing on a dude and it took me ages to realize that it wasn't really normal to wanna do couple-y stuff with your bro,” Steve explains. Shit, does Quentin think he's talking about him? Luckily, the other just hums in acknowledgement. “Gonna tell me who it is?” Quentin asks. Steve hesitates, but since he's already come this far… “It's Dwight,” Steve sighs. “I just don't know if I even have a shot.” “Dude, Dwight is so gay, and he adores you,” Quentin says with a bright smile, and Steve blushes and scratches at his neck in embarrassment. “You have a ginormous shot.” Steve can’t help the hopeful grin on his face. This is what he wanted to hear, all this time! He feels much better now, he’s going to tell Dwight and— “Unlike me,” Quentin adds quietly, smile fading and kicking at the dirt with his sneaker. Steve takes a few seconds to get his brain out of mushy la-la-land, and then he realizes Quentin is talking about a crush of his own. “Excuse you, what the fuck? You're awesome, who wouldn't like you?” so Steve is a little passionate about defending his best friend, sue him. “Eh, I guess he likes me well enough, but he's straight,” Quentin shrugs. “Like, painfully so.” “How do you know that?” Steve asks. Okay, so he correctly analyzed Steve was bi—it could have been a lucky guess! “I keep flirting and he keeps ignoring it. Pretty obvious,” Quentin mutters, still pouting. Steve racks his brain for if he’s ever seen Quentin flirt with any of the guys, but he draws up a blank. Usually Quentin just snarks and sounds like he’s trying to pick a fight. “Maybe you just suck at flirting,” Steve suggests. “Fuck you!” Quentin scoffs in mock offense, elbowing him in the ribs. “Gonna tell me who it is?” Steve asks, nudging Quentin back and parroting his earlier question. Quentin looks at him, grins, and says: “Nope!” “What the fuck!?” Steve says, shoving Quentin playfully while the other just laughs. “I told you mine! You suck!”

After his next trial, Steve comes into camp to find Quentin arguing with David, which is nothing out of the ordinary—Quentin’s snarks really do come across as confrontational, and David is always easily provoked. Before Steve can even figure out what the argument is about, Quentin throws his hands up in exasperation and stomps off into the woods.

Instead of seething with anger and clenching his fists like he usually does after an interrupted fight, David just stares at his retreating form with a sad expression on his face. It’s the exact same look that Steve saw when he talked about the person he could never have.

Combined with the fact that Quentin likes someone ‘painfully straight’ who doesn’t realize that Quentin’s flirting sounds like he’s picking a fight?

And again, something in Steve's head just clicks.

“You should go after him,” Steve says, causing several heads to turn in his direction, David's among them. “It’s probably best to let him cool off,” Jane protests, giving Steve a pointed look. “I think it's a good idea,” Dwight, his adorable cheerleader, pipes up nervously. “Maybe the privacy would benefit you.” David pauses for a second, then nods. “Son, if you end up throwing fists—” Bill starts, annoyed. “I won't,” David assures and disappears into the tree line after Quentin. “That was a good call. I hope they make up,” Dwight says, scooting closer to Steve on the log and giving him a small smile. Steve stares into Dwight's kind eyes. He's so amazing, always having his back, caring so much about the others being happy and getting along. God, he’s such a good person and Steve— “I love you,” Steve hears himself saying, and it's like time itself comes to a halt.

He sees Bill’s cigarette fall out of the veteran’s mouth and a deck of cards scatter along he ground as Ace drops them in surprise. He hears Nea choke on nothing and hears Jane gasp as her eyes widen in disbelief.

Steve is about to stutter out an apology, to explain or joke it off, but Dwight is suddenly pulling him to his feet.

“Let’s go for a walk,” Dwight squeaks, cheeks red and glancing anxiously at the others, who are still gawking.

Dwight leads him a little way into the woods, and Steve nervously waits for him to say something, biting his tongue as to not blurt out something more he’s going to regret. But then Dwight is turning to him and looking up at him with his big, brown eyes and Steve couldn’t speak even if he wanted to.

“Do you mean it?” Dwight asks, a lot of his anxiousness replaced by a hopeful energy. God, those eyes, he’s so cute— “Yeah,” Steve says, swallowing nervously. “Really?” Dwight asks, somehow still unsure, bottom lip trembling like he’s about to cry— “Yeah,” Steve repeats, this time with much more confidence, placing a hand on Dwight’s waist. Dwight smiles brightly and in a bold move that Steve doesn’t expect but wholeheartedly welcomes, Dwight leans up just the tiniest amount to make their lips meet.

It’s a lot different than kissing Nancy. For one, Dwight is much taller than a girl. His glasses also bump into Steve’s nose and Steve tilts his head to avoid them, which inadvertently causes the kiss to deepen. Dwight’s hair is unfamiliarly short when Steve’s hand cups the back of his head, but it feels nice; almost as soft as his own.

Kissing Dwight should feel weird, but it doesn’t. The motions are the same, and the warm fluttering in his chest is the same. It’s different than what he’s used to, but not in a bad way.

They finally pull away and end up just smiling dopily at each other.

“Um…” Dwight starts, clearing his throat. “At this point it’s probably obvious, but I really like you too,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners because of how wide his smile is. Steve doesn’t care that he didn’t say ‘love’, and he’s a little embarrassed that he just blurted it out like a shitty romance novel damsel, but he doesn’t really regret it if this is the outcome. Now, he just really has to know— “Do you wanna be my boyfriend?” Steve asks, not caring if it’s too soon. He’s already fucked up the rules of dating; he’s pretty sure love confessions are supposed to come after getting together. So what’s one milestone more? “I’d love to,” Dwight says, and he’s so happy and it makes Steve grin like the idiot he is. But now he’s Dwight’s idiot.

They make their way back to camp holding hands and exchanging soft glances. Steve looks at the others; everyone has mostly collected themselves, Ace picking up his cards and Jane clearing her throat and Nea sneaking glances, but nobody comments. Well, except one. “It was about goddamn time,” Bill mutters, smirking knowingly against his cigarette. Holy shit, apparently the old coot is much more perceptive than Steve thought, as Ace and Nea both attack him with questions of “How the fuck could you have known!?”.

Steve is on cloud nine for the rest of the day, sitting with his Dwight and holding his hand and exchanging smiles and it all feels so right.

Bonus: Steve’s grin grows impossibly wider when he later spots Quentin walking out of the trees, dragging a dopey David after him by his arm. Quentin is blushing a little and glares at Ace who wolf-whistles at their arrival. And then Steve spots numerous hickies on David’s throat and blushes furiously, burying his face against Dwight’s shoulder. He feels Dwight tilt his head in confusion. “I can’t believe I made them fuck,” Steve mumbles against his boyfriend’s shirt, and Dwight chuckles softly. “You didn’t see it coming?” Dwight teases. “I thought it was obvious. The tension between those two has always been insane.” Steve lifts up his head, realizing something. “Wait, so did you also know I was into you?” Steve asks. Dwight blushes and averts his eyes. “No, not really—I mean I was hopeful, but I didn’t think anything would actually come of it,” he explains, glancing over with a shy smile. “Glad to have proven you wrong,” Steve grins, flopping his head back against Dwight’s shoulder and squeezing his hand. “Me too,” Dwight murmurs against his hair. “Aw, fuck,” Nea suddenly exclaims on the other side of the campfire, letting her head fall back against a tree with a ‘thunk’. Steve and Dwight both look over, Dwight clearly concerned and Steve with a shit-eating grin. He didn’t forget their little promise, and apparently, neither did Nea.

#harrifield #harringfield #steve harrington #dwight fairfield #dbd #dead by daylight #dbd fanfic #request #dweetwrites

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missywhomst · 4 years

Text

Just One?

In her post regeneration haze, the Doctor discovers earrings (Thasmin if you squint).

(This is kind of an experimental fic to see if I wanna do a series about 13′s post regeneration antics. Not sure how I feel about it, but I hope you all like it!)

- gif by @queerthasmin -

Time seemed to be moving in leaps and bounds, and she was surprisingly disoriented by it which was funny, really, considering how accustomed she was to hopping around the space-time continuum like it was her own personal playset. And so she laughed, almost a scoff, a bit dizzy at the scenery change as she found herself being guided by Yaz down the hallway to a bedroom.

“What’re we up to now? Lost is my head, there,” she said, turning to look at her new friend. She’d found that she garnered much less concern if she pretended she wasn’t missing chunks of time from the last, well, if she had to guess about six hours. Maybe less. She was fairly certain it was still the same day.

Thankfully, or perhaps not, she discovered that she was able to carry on full conversations while blacked out. There had been a point when she was still on the train being fawned over by someone named Grace and another someone named Graham, telling them that she was fine, she was fine, and she just needed to walk it off. Grace insisted she wait for the police, that a PC Khan was nearby and that she just wanted to have a talk. She distinctly remembered saying great, that she’d love a talk, that she really liked talking, and that she’d gotten a new tongue so she needed to break it in. Then the next second she was stumbling after a firefly in the tall grass of a field, the train stopped behind her and Graham running after her yelling oi, where do you think you’re going, and you just fell through a train, love, and come on, now, have a seat.

Graham and Grace and Ryan, who was friends with Yaz, or wasn’t friends, or used to be friends, took her back to their place for a cuppa because she wouldn’t let them take her to A&E. And though she claimed she only tagged along so she could ask a few more questions and file a proper report, she was fairly certain Yaz was just curious about the person who fell from the sky. Some other things happened that she mostly remembered, and now they were in a bedroom, and Yaz was setting down a duffel bag on a bed. Then she put a hand on her back and led her to a chair, pushing down on her shoulders to make her sit.

“I brought some clothes from my flat. Figured they might fit you. I’m sure you’ll appreciate being out of those ones,” Yaz chuckled, walking back to the bed to unzip the bag. She looked down at her arms. Her jacket was torn and burned and about four sizes too big, the ripped cuffs flopping over her knuckles. Her whole outfit was in tatters, really, and she’d been tripping over her trouser legs for what felt like ages now.

“He liked this outfit. Bit of a magician’s coat, innit? Think he’ll be mad?” she asked, picking at the singed ends with absent fingers.

“Who?”

“Him. Me,” she offered helplessly. Yaz frowned, turning back to the bag without replying. It was a difficult sort of mental gymnastics that she had to perform after any given regeneration. The separating herself from her previous self while simultaneously reconciling the two existences. Bit of a head wonk, that one. She took a breath, turning to the cluttered desk and dusty mirror she’d been placed down in front of. Her eyes caught the little silver things scattered across its wooden surface. “Yaz, what are these?” she called, picking one of the dangly ones up between her thumb and forefinger. Yaz turned to look, and she watched her glance at the thing in the reflection of the mirror. Another frown settled on her face.

“Those are...earrings,” she said, and though it wasn’t quite a question, her voice lilted up at the end as if it was, cocking her head quizzically.

“Are you sure?” she asked back, turning her body to look Yaz dead in the eye. “You don’t seem too sure.”

“I’m fairly certain I know what earrings look like,” she said, tossing a few shirts on the bed. “Been wearing them my whole life. More concerned that you don’t know.”

She hummed, choosing to ignore that as she turned back to face the mirror and examine it in detail. There was a little silver hook and from it dangled a set of beads in warm colors. She flicked it with her other finger, watching them sway back and forth in quick succession, clinking together and tangling. Her eyes got buggy rather quickly and she blinked, setting it back down on the desk.

“What do you do with them?” she called again, frowning as she leaned forward to examine herself in the mirror.

“You wear them. They’re jewelry. Jesus, how hard did you hit your head. Are you sure you don’t want to go to A&E?” Yaz asked, walking to stand behind her with her hands on her hips. She just prodded at her cheeks, lips squishing together.

“I’m perfectly fine,” she muttered, holding her hair up above her head and watching it fall back down to her chin.

“You don’t even know your name,” Yaz sighed, pressing her hand into the back of her chair.

“Which is a perfectly natural response when all your atoms have been instantaneously rearranged,” she said simply, turning to look up at Yaz. Then she gasped, her eyes lighting up as she reached out to run her thumb across Yaz’s ear lobe. “Oh, I get it now! Ear Rings. That is brilliant,” she grinned, prodding the little hoop in Yaz’s ear and stretching the velvety skin there with gentle fingers, little hairs bending under her thumb. Yaz swallowed and grabbed her wrist. She didn’t look quite as certain now as she had a few minutes ago when she’d pressed her palms into her shoulders and decisively pushed her into a chair.

“Can you not do that again, please?” Yaz asked, voice cracking as she met her eyes.

“Okay,” she said, lowering her arm as Yaz let go of it. She remembered that humans were finicky about their personal space, and she could never seem to keep up. Still, Yaz’s reaction seemed odd. She brought her fingers to her own ear, rubbing her thumb over the equally soft skin as Yaz turned back to the bed to organize her pile of things.

“I picked out some clothes for you. Some pajamas, a couple tee shirts and trousers, a sports bra if you want it. Obviously not sure what your size for anything is, but we can go shopping tomorrow morning,” Yaz offered.

She leaned forward to look at herself in the mirror again, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Why do you wear them?”

“Clothes?” Yaz asked hesitantly, not turning around. She glanced at Yaz's back in the mirror.

“Earrings,” she clarified, and Yaz almost looked relieved as she let out a breathy laugh.

“Oh, um, I dunno really. They look nice? My mum did them when I was pretty little. It’s kind of like a thing for girls to wear them,” Yaz shrugged, unfolding a shirt from her duffel bag.

She ran a finger down her nose, over her lips, and down her neck. It was smooth. Sans adam’s apple. Sans facial hair. She examined her jawline and collar bones and ran her fingers down the V of her button down. It was all very soft. And she recognized it as hers. “I think I’m a girl,” she breathed suddenly, wide eyed as she traced her hairline. She’d been told that information already in between that precise moment in Grace and Graham’s bedroom and when she’d crashed through a train roof, but she hadn’t quite comprehended the idea until then. She heard Yaz chuckle behind her.

“Good for you, then.”

She picked up the earring again, scrutinizing it. There were others like it in a little porcelain bowl near the mirror. With eager fingers, she dug through them, sorting through safety pins and paperclips and earrings that didn’t have their other halves.

“I want an earring, Yaz,” she declared, searching Grace’s stash for the perfect one.

“Just one?” Yaz asked skeptically.

“Never had one before,” she mused.

“So you want to be a pirate, then?”

“Never noticed them before,” she mused, pondering what else she might have missed as a man.

“Okay, well, we can go to a piercing shop tomorrow, I guess.”

“Tomorrow?” she whined, deflating and scrunching her nose up. “That’s hours away, and I might not want one then.”

“All the better reason to wait!” Yaz protested, turning to her. Then she paused suddenly, her face going sour. “God, I sound like my mother.”

She scrambled to her feet and took a few large strides forward, hands up to emphasize her point. “Yaz, listen. Sometimes my brain makes decisions that I disagree with, but this is literally a once in a lifetime opportunity to get ahead of myself,” she pleaded. Oh, begging, that’s new. She wasn’t sure she liked it yet, but she did need this earring and it felt like she might die again if she didn’t get it.

“Right, there’s a lot to unpack there, but I’m choosing to ignore it,” Yaz sighed, so close that she felt her breath on her nose.

“I’m not all together right now—”

“That’s something we can agree on,” Yaz muttered.

“—I’m still...forming. When I wake up tomorrow, I might not like earrings. Who knows? Everything’s new and different, and I might turn out to be a total bore if I don’t do something about it right now,” she breathed, biting down on her lip. She wasn’t sure if that was true, but it felt true with all the buzzing urgency going on inside her. That might just be the regeneration energy still repairing her internal organs from that landing, not her best one admittedly, but that certainly didn’t matter in her quest for an earring.

“It’s the middle of the night,” Yaz groaned. “How are you not exhausted?” Seeing the pleading look in Yaz’s eyes made her sag just a little, huffing as she sat back down.

“Humans have terrible circadian rhythms, and you should inquire about changing them. I mean, you sleep a third of your life away!” she protested indignantly. Yaz cocked her head at her.

“What do you mean...humans?” Yaz quickly shook her head. “You know what, I’ve had enough weird for the night, so I’m just gonna step out and let you change,” she said, walking out of the room and leaving her to fiddle with loose earrings and wondering if that could be her next project, changing humanity’s sleep cycle. She wondered if they’d make her a statue or something. Did she like statues? Well, she didn’t like ones that moved, and there was no telling which ones could, so decidedly not.

Still bitter, she sulked over the desk, picking up earrings and examining them. She poked at the dull end, wondering how exactly they got them through your ear lobe if they weren’t even sharp. Another shiny thing caught her attention out of the corner of her eye, and she grinned, picking it up. “Brilliant,” she breathed, opening the safety pin and watching the pointy bit sparkle in the light.

She leaned closer to the mirror, looking herself in the eye and taking a deep breath as she aligned the pin with her ear. In one decisive motion, she shoved it through, and a white hot pain burned across her skin. “Ow!” she yelped with a frown, feeling rather betrayed. Yaz poked her head in to see what was going on and was at her side in a flash when she saw the blood beading on her ear.

“Are you bloody insane?” Yaz asked, looking at the pin stuck through her ear, the skin already bright red and puffy.

��I didn’t think it would hurt,” she admitted, glancing up at Yaz.

“You just tore a hole through part of your body. It’s gonna hurt!” Yaz protested, grabbing a tissue. In the meantime, she grabbed the safety pin and winced as she latched it in place. “Oh, no you don’t. You’re taking that out right now. It could get infected!”

“No, this is the perfect time to do this!” she protested, eyes wide and urgent. “I’m still rearranging. So if I can keep the hole there until things settle down then it’ll become a part of this new body. It won’t ever close,” she said, scrambling out of her chair and inching away from a slowly approaching Yaz.

“I just wanna look at it,” she said, tissue in hand. She eyed Yaz’s posture, ready to pounce, and seriously doubted her sincerity.

“Stay away from me, Yaz,” she warned, inching toward the door.

“At least let me clean it. You’re dripping on your jacket,” she said, motioning to her shoulder. She quickly wiped her fingers along her earlobe and found them slick with dark orange blood.

“‘M fine!” she motioned, wiping her fingers on her trouser leg. Yaz eyed her. “He won’t mind,” she assured her, but that seemed to make Yaz even less assured and she lunged for her. But she was too quick, sliding out the door and running down the hallway to the living room. “I’m serious, Ya—” she yelped as strong arms wrapped around her, and then they were both on the ground, the wind knocked out of her. Yaz gasped, rolling off her. Then she turned onto her back as Yaz sat on her heels. “Oh, god, that one hurt. I think you rebruised my left kidney.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to tackle you. Just couldn’t have you running out the door. If you won’t go to A&E, you’re our responsibility now,” she breathed, pressing her palms into her thighs.

“I’m not a madman,” she protested, wincing as she propped herself up on her forearms.

“That’s highly debatable, love,” Grace chimed in, and that was when she realized that she was in the middle of the living room floor, all her new friends peering down at her.

“I’m very serious about my earrings. So I’m learning. Do you happen to have any in gold? I don’t think silver’s my color,” she offered, scrunching her nose as she brushed her hair back to show them all the safety pin secured through her ear and the blood smeared down her neck.

#doctor who #doctor who fanfiction #dw fanfic #thirteen #yasmin khan #yaz khan #thasmin #13th doctor #thirteenth doctor #graham o'brien #Grace Sinclair #grace o'brien #is her last name O'Brien or sinclair???#ryan sinclair #the woman who fell to earth #writing

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asktheghosthost · 4 years

Note

Ghost Host/ Constance

For the first time in his afterlife, Beauregard didn’t knock before entering the attic. Actually, “entering” is too kind a word. He slammed the door open. Did he feel ashamed about it for a second? Yes, but then the righteous anger he felt came rushing back.

“Ms. Hatchaway!” he bellowed. When she didn’t instantly appear, he prowled through the attic, good eye scanning every shadow and corner. There were too many stacks and piles of junk for her to hide behind.

“Constance! Constance, I demand you come out at on—”

Shing! Thunk!

A hatchet lodged into a portrait frame, mere millimeters from his ear. He couldn’t help glancing aside at it, catching his warped reflection in the well-polished blade.

“You demand?” Her airy voice drifted over from the far side of the room, where her glowing, bright form appeared. Her white gown and veil billowed out behind her as she floated towards him. The bright blue irises of her narrowed eyes were piercing, making her gaze as sharp as her blade. Beau had to admit it was a beautiful effect… for a serial killer.

“Demand,” she repeated. “That’s cute.” She held up her perfectly manicured hand, and her hatchet dislodged and obediently flew to her palm. “You come barging into a lady’s chambers unannounced, and then have the audacity to make demands.” She pouted, her plump, dark blue lower lip out in a hurt expression. “Such a brute. I thought you were a gentleman, Beauregard.”

“I—I am,” he said in a much quieter voice. He even took half a step back, a move that only made her smirk. This really was all just a game to her, he realized. So, he set his jaw into a determined frown and stood up a little straighter. “Constance, I’m here because you physically threatened one of our mortal guests.”

She snorted. “Says who?”

“The teenager who ran out screaming about a witch cutting off his head!” He crossed his arms and leaned forward, but made sure not to get too into her personal space. “The teenager that had a black eye and blood trickling down his cheek. Scares are encouraged, but we draw a strict line at physical harm. You're well aware of that."

She scoffed. "That idiot ran into a beam." With a jerk of her head, she indicated to said support with her chin. Fingering the tip of her blade, she added, "Probably cut himself on an exposed nail." She looked up at him, smiling slyly. "Safety concerns seem like they'd be more your department, Mr. Host."

He closed his eyes and let out a long groan while massaging the bridge of his nose. "Constance..."

"What's wrong, Hosty? Not as sharp..." She whipped up her hatchet, which gave off another shing. "As you used to be?"

With a dramatic little flourish of his wrist, his own hatchet materialized. "If anyone has gotten duller over the decades, dear, it's you."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sure we're not overcompensating for something, Mr. Host?" She jabbed his admittedly smaller and blander blade head with hers.

He clutched it to his chest protectively, the innuendo either ignored or having gone right over his head. It was hard to tell with Beau sometimes.

"This is the blade of someone hard working," he said. "Rough from years of chopping wood... and a... very unsuccessful attempt at rope."

She rolled her eyes. Leave it to Beau to twist her jab at his manhood into an accidental commentary on classism and whining about his suicide.

"Honest, difficult work," he continued. "Which is obviously why you don't recognize it."

"Excuse me!" She held up her weapon, stopping it right against his Adam's apple. "I worked exceptionally hard to get what I have!"

He looked around the attic, completely ignoring the unwavering hatchet. "I suppose so... Configuring your alibis, the networking through social circles to find your targets, the physical dexterity to decapitate a man... The fact you weren't caught until the very end... It would be admirable if it weren't, well, so heinous. It takes incredible skills at scheming, an intellect not matched by your other murderous cohorts in the mansion."

She dropped her arm in unbridled annoyance, and her hatchet disappeared. "God, you're infuriating." She plopped onto a trunk, and he followed suite across from her, watching her quizzically.

"I get that a lot."

"I was waiting for any excuse to take a swing at you, and I... I can't. I left myself wide open for a crude retort, too." She eyed him expectantly.

He leaned forward, elbows on his skinny knees, thin, long index fingers steepled up against his pale lips. Behind his knuckles, he was smirking. "I do so love subverting expectations."

This was her fault, she thought. She started this by accusing him of not being a gentleman, and now he was going out of his way to be such. Anyone else would have seen the opportunity to snap "... on your back!" when she said she worked hard. Or at least the easy "legs wide open, maybe" which she'd practically offered him on a silver platter. She was used to those insults. She heard them daily, usually from the five wedding portraits around the attic, but sometimes from passerby in the ballroom and halls. They could fuel her anger, give her an excuse to lash out, something she'd wanted when he'd barged in.

He pulled his hands away from his mouth. "I'm sorry I accused you of hurting the boy. I should have known better."

It was as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water on her, and she practically shivered as she straightened up. "Hm? What do you mean? Everyone knows I'm a homicidal maniac." There was acid in the words.

Chuckling, he shook his head. "Ms. Hatchaway, do you ever wonder why you're not trapped in a portrait like Jack the Ripper, or the arsonist?"

She looked around. "Too many stunning pictures of me to choose from?"

"No." His half-smile was genuine, and she found herself wondering what it looked like before the scarring on his face had weakened part of it. "You're intelligent, calculating. You know murdering for fortune is pointless now."

"No one takes a check from dead people. It's a real bummer because I want a new car. Have you seen some of the vehicles these mortals drive now?" She whistled.

A softer chuckle, this one exhaled through his nostrils. A pity laugh, she thought.

He continued. "And, deep down, I think you realized it was pointless. You're still here, stuck with money you can't spend. But at least you have a home..."

She put her hand to her chest and scoffed. "Full of complete idiots."

"Family... In a bizarre, grotesque way." He shrugged a shoulder. "And with all that in mind, I know there's a part of you, no matter how teeny tiny, that is repentant."

Unconsciously called, the hatchet handle appeared in her grasp, but it morphed back and forth between the weapon and her bridal bouquet. Keeping it on her lap, she tried to inconspicuously wring it in her hands, slowly tearing apart the flowers while simultaneously giving herself a burn on the wood. All the while, she kept steady eye contact with him, lips parted in a thin smile.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

He glanced down at the pieces of petals, his own smile unwavering. "Of course, I could always be wrong. Perhaps I try too hard to see the good in everyone." He stood up, and she worried he'd bump his head on the sloping ceiling. She almost warned him, but stopped herself. He ducked aside in time.

"Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Hatchaway." He bowed, and turned to leave, but stopped, not fully turning back. "I'm due in the library in twenty minutes. I'll be reading short stories aloud... There's plenty of room for anyone who wants to attend. I take requests." With that, he finally left.

She looked at the pile of torn stems and flowers in her lap. Maybe she would take a trip downstairs, not for any particular reason, she told herself. The attic just suddenly felt too cramped, that's all. And maybe... maybe she wanted to hear more of that silky, thoughtful voice that didn't insult and jeer her.

Plus she could probably trick him into reading something filthy out loud, and the prospect of that was hilarious enough to get her to go downstairs. It's what he deserved for trying to make her feel better about herself.

#anonymous #drabble #fan fic #short story #Ghost Host #Constance #ask

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rimmers-swimming-certificate · 4 years

Text

Red Dwarf Fanfic - Names (2/2)

Part 1

“Sirs, you do realise that you’re not actually married, don’t you?” Kryten told them.

Lister and Rimmer glanced at one another. “That’s not the point,” Rimmer told him.

Kryten nodded. “Of course not, sir. It’s just that even if you wanted to get married, technically you wouldn’t be able to, so I really don’t see why you’re both getting so… so argumentative about it.”

Lister frowned. “Hang on, why wouldn’t we be able to?”

Kryten glanced from Lister to Rimmer and back again. “Well, for various reasons. One of which is that it isn’t legally permitted for holograms to marry.”

Lister hadn’t known that, actually, but he didn’t care. He glanced at Rimmer and shrugged. “Well, yeah, but that’s discrimination, isn’t it? We’re not into that round here, so we decided to ignore it. Anyway, we know we’re not married, but we’re as good as, aren’t we?”

Kryten hesitated. “I suppose, looking at it from a certain point of view. But still, it is the law. Or at least it was the law, at the last point in history from which we encountered an updated guide to legal practises on the inhabited worlds of the solar system. None of them allowed deceased people to marry, therefore, legally you are not permitted to marry someone who is dead.”

Lister shuddered at that. “Don’t say it like that, Kryten. You make it sound like I tied the knot with a corpse or something. Just say hologram, okay?”

“Why should he?” Rimmer asked. “I am dead, after all. If that makes you uncomfortable, maybe we need to apply for an annulment.”

“You can’t,” Cat interjected. “Didn’t you hear him? Nobody tied any knots with anybody.” He looked at Lister. “That’s a good thing, by the way, imagine being tied to this guy for the rest of your life.” He indicated Rimmer with a wave of his hand and pulled a disgusted expression. “What would you do if you needed to visit the litter box?.”

Lister sighed. He was beginning to wish he hadn’t bothered. “Cat, there’s no actual tying of knots involved,” he said.

“Well, sometimes there is,” Rimmer corrected, with a sly smile.

Lister looked at him sharply.

In swift response to Lister’s reaction, Rimmer immediately sprung to his own defence. “Uh… I didn’t mean that how you might have taken it,” he said. He spoke far too quickly and a hint of a blush spread across his face. “I just meant some marriage ceremonies involve knot… Pagans! They tie knots I think.” He frowned. “Don’t they?”

Lister shrugged.

“Unless you’re into that kind of thing,” Rimmer continued. “Tying knots, I mean. Because if you are, then maybe we could… I mean, just to try it out. I really don’t mind…”

Lister sighed and ran a hand over his face. He shot a glance at Rimmer that he hoped communicated that they could talk about that later, then turned back to Cat and Kryten. “Guys, you’re missing the point,” he said. “All we’re doing is trying to figure out what we should be called. You know, theoretically. If we got married. Rimmer thinks one of us needs to change our name, but I don’t want to be a Rimmer and he doesn’t want to be a Lister.

“That’s easy,” Cat told him. “Do away with them altogether. I never understood you monkeys with your name obsession anyway. And you don’t just have one, either. You gotta have two of them. Goalpost Head even has three, and now you’re thinking about swapping them around? What for? Dump them, problem solved.”

Rimmer shook his head. “No, you moronic moggy, that doesn’t solve anything.”

Cat shrugged. “Fine, you love your names so much, keep them. But why not squish them together?”

Rimmer frowned. “What?”

“You know, like…” Cat paused, frowning thoughtfully as he tried to puzzle out what he was trying to say. “Like Rimster, or Limmer, something like that.”

Lister shook his head.

“Not bad, actually,” Rimmer said, nodding appreciatively. “Not bad at all. We still keep elements of our names. It would have to be Rimster, obviously. Limmer just sounds ridiculous.”

“Rimmer, ‘Rimster’ sounds like…” Lister smirked. “Well, like something you wouldn’t want as a name.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Lister shook his head again, “never mind. And yeah, I’m with you on Limmer, it’s terrible. But you know, depending how you do it, it’d be possible to combine our names together and get ‘Lister’ or ‘Rimmer’, so how about we do that? I’ll take Lister, you take Rimmer, problem solved.”

Rimmer shook his head. “Problem not solved. The whole point was to have the same name. Not the same names we already have.”

“Sirs, you haven’t even had a marriage ceremony,” Kryten said, continuing his train of thought from earlier in the conversation. “Some form of exchanging of vows is traditionally required in every single culture in order to seal a marriage.”

“Alright,” Lister said. “Let’s do that, then. You know the words for a wedding, right Kryten? If we just do it, then will yo let us talk about this?”

Kryten hesitated.

Rimmer raised a finger. “Hang on a minute, Listy,” he said. “What kind of a proposal is that? Like I told you earlier, I consider myself a fairly traditional guy. If we’re going to get married, at least one of us should be getting down on one knee, holding a ring and popping the question. ‘Oi Kryten, you can marry us,’ just doesn't cut it for me, miladdo.”

“It’s a moot point anyway, sirs,” Kryten told them. “I do know the words I would be required to say, but I’m not qualified to perform a marriage ceremony.”

“Does that really matter though?” Lister asked him. “I mean, it’s not like someone’s going to show up and arrest you, is it?”

“Well, probably not,” Kryten agreed, “But still, it seems wrong, somehow. Anyway, even if I did agree, you would still need two witnesses, and you only have one.”

“They don’t even have that many,” Cat told them. “Ain't no way I’m accepting a wedding invitation without at least a month to plan what I’m going to wear. What if there was some cute bridesmaid there and my badly planned outfit put her off?!”

“There’s not going to be any bridesmaids, you idiot,” Rimmer told him. “There’s not going to be any bride.”

“There’s not going to be any wedding,” Kryten added. “Although, if you would like me to pretend to marry you, I would be willing, though it would be a purely symbolic act.”

Lister glanced at Rimmer. “What do you think?”

Rimmer shook his head. “Not until we sort out this name thing. And not without a proper proposal.”

“Well, I’m not changing my name to Rimmer, and I’m not changing it to smegging Rimster either.”

Rimmer folded his arms defiantly. “Well I’m certainly not changing mine to Lister. I’m not going to let you win this.”

It always had to be about winning and losing with Rimmer, didn’t it? Lister sighed. “That settles that then, doesn’t it?”

Kryten stepped forward. “Sirs… If I might make a suggestion, if you are absolutely adamant about having the same name…”

“We’re not,” Lister interrupted.

“I am,” said Rimmer.

“Well, how about an entirely different name. Something unrelated to either of your existing names, that way there are no winners or losers.”

Rimmer pulled a face. “And how would we come up with this name? Just pluck it out of the air, I suppose?”

“Well, there are ample numbers of worthy people throughout history whose name it would surely be an honour to take,” Kryten told him.

Lister frowned. Kryten was probably right, but the chances of them agreeing on one were practically zero. And even if they did come up with a name they both liked, it didn’t change the fact that Lister didn’t want to change his name. He didn’t even want Rimmer to change his name. Things were fine as they were.

Cat grinned. “Hey, that’s a great idea! Can I pick the name?”

Rimmer and Lister looked at each other and shook their heads simultaneously. “No,” they both said.

“We’d never agree anyway,” Rimmer said. “I’ve got an idea. A contest! The winner gets to pick the name.”

Lister folded his arms. “But you’d pick Rimmer,” he said.

“Yes, that’s the point. And I assume you’d pick Lister, ergo the winner of said contest gets to impose their name upon the other.”

Lister shook his head. “That’s stupid, Rimmer. I don’t want to impose my name on you.”

“Yes,” said Rimmer, “But I want to impose mine on you. So, what do you say? Settle it with a game of Risk?”

“No way. I don’t even know how to play that, and from hearing you go on about it, it sounds more boring than an evening listening to your hammond organ music collection.”

Rimmer nodded. “I know you can’t play. That’s why I picked it.”

“Yeah well, in that case, how about the one that can eat the hottest curry wins?”

“Absolutely not,” Rimmer told him. “I can’t stand spicy food.”

Lister grinned, “I know.”

Rimmer pressed his lips together thoughtfully. “Fine, fair enough. It needs to be something that we’re equally good, or equally bad at. Something that we both at least have a chance of winning at. How are you at chess?”

Lister shook his head. “Pool?”

“Backgammon?”

“Twister?”

“Poker?”

“Snakes and Ladders.”

Rimmer frowned. “Actually… that’s not a bad idea,” he said. “I mean, it’s down to pure chance, isn’t it? Who rolls the best numbers, who’s unlucky enough to land on the big snake right at the end… There’s no skill involved at all. So at least neither of us could claim that the other has an advantage.”

He wasn’t serious, was he? Lister looked Rimmer up and down, trying to decide. He looked serious. He looked exactly like a man who was willing to bet his name away on what was essentially a game of chance. “Really?” he said.

Rimmer hesitated. He folded his arms and stared at Lister as though trying to decide the same thing about him. Finally, he nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Really. Unless you want to back out, of course.”

Lister considered it. He really did want to back out, but he couldn’t. Not if Rimmer wasn’t going to. Not unless he wanted to be subjected to months of insults and snide comments about how he had chickened out., and he really didn’t want to have to put up with that. Anyway, he had as much chance as Rimmer did of winning. “This only counts if we actually get married,” he said. “Right?”

Rimmer nodded. “Only if,” he agreed.

“Fine. Snakes and Ladders. One game, no do-overs. Winner gets to pick our name.”

Cat grinned as he placed a hand on each of their shoulders. “Alright, great!” he said. “I love Snakes and Ladders. I get to be red, okay? And I already chose what name I’m gonna give you guys if I win!”

“Er, no…” Rimmer’s eyes widened in panic. “Cat, you don’t get to… Lister, tell him!”

Lister shook his head. “He’s right, Cat, it’s only me and Rimmer that… Wait, what name did you choose?”

“I’m not gonna tell you guys,” Cat told them. “So, shall we play?”

Lister hesitated as an idea occurred to him. It was a gamble, but it might just work... “You know, Rimmer,” he said, “maybe we should let him play. I mean, why not? It might be fun to have a mystery third option.”

Rimmer swallowed slowly. He walked across the room, turned, and walked back again. “Actually,” he said, “now that I think about it, maybe you’re right, Lister. Maybe there is something to be said for both of us keeping our original names. I mean, there’s much less paperwork, for a start. I think if we did get married, I’d be willing to forego that one tradition.”

“You sure?” Lister asked him.

Rimmer nodded. “Definitely. Just that one tradition though. All the rest, that would be non-negotiable.”

“The down on one knee stuff, and the ring and all that?”

Rimmer nodded.

“Okay then, problem solved.” Lister turned and headed for the door.

“Hey, where are you going?” Cat called after him. “Are you going to get the game?”

Lister shook his head. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he said, and headed in the direction of the crew lockers. All he needed now was a ring, and he knew just where to find one.

#red dwarf #red dwarf fanfic #my fic #dave lister #arnold rimmer #rimmer/lister

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anika-ann · 4 years

Text

Hands Too Cold, but Heart of Gold - Pt.8 (S.R.)

The Date Night

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader, one-sided Matt Murdock x reader

Word count: 1850

Summary: Avenger!reader AU, love triangle. You got yourself a date, went there and... it turned out rather interesting. Probably not the way Steve and Natasha think.

Warnings: swearing, fluff, angst

Story Mastelist

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“I honestly don’t know why I’m freaking out about my outfit. He won’t even be able to see it! Why am I freaking out, Tasha?” you asked her on a verge of desperation, smoothening your dress for the millionth time.

As you got to the hem of the dress, all you wanted to do was to pull it over your head and change. Again. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, honestly considering it.

Natasha, standing behind you, put her hands on your shoulders to keep you in place and raised her eyebrow.

“Hey. You have every right to be nervous. How long has it been since your last date?” she asked gently, surprisingly so for a super-spy.

You bit your lip guiltily – of course, she found the root of the trouble. It had been too freaking long. The fact you were going out with Matt – an amazing human being – was not helping to sooth your nerves either.

“Almost two years.”

“Well. I think you’re entitled. But you’re gonna be fine,” she reassured you and you caught her honest gaze in the mirror. She squeezed your shoulders. “That guy? He fell hard – I hope you figured that out already. Just be yourself and you’ll be fine.”

You took a deep breath. “Thanks, Tasha. I really should go or I’ll be late. The taxi might even be here already.”

You picked up your coat, leaving the dresses you didn’t even want to count – Natasha had supplied you with too many of hers and still, you took the only dress you owned yourself – and grabbed your purse on the way.

You were insanely grateful to Natasha for her help – yet, your heart was fluttering nervously and ached a little. You wished Steve was here too, but you understood this was more of a ladies thing. You were sure he wished you the best for your date even if you hadn’t heard him say it.

You opened the door only to meet with Steve’s surprised face. His eyes measured you from head to toe and you fought the urge to hide – god knew why. That was until his gaze returned to your face and a smile appeared on his lips.

“You look beautiful, Snowflake,” he whispered, checking you out shamelessly once more. “He’s a lucky guy.”

You bit your lip, feeling the rush of heat colouring your cheeks. You lowered your gaze, examining your shoes; they had heels, you were about to kill yourself in them, why were you wearing them again…?

Steve chuckled at your reaction. You couldn’t help but feel like there was something foreign in that supposedly happy sound, something you couldn’t decode.

A hand appeared under your chin, fingers tucking a strand of your hair that fell in your face behind your ear. He kissed your forehead lovingly and you inhaled deeply, trying to calm down your rapidly beating heart. You knew he was trying to help, but it didn’t really work.

“Hey, Snowflake. Hold your head high, you look wonderful. It’s gonna be fine. If he upsets you, you not only can let him go, but you have five– no, six pissed off friends actually, I’m sure Thor would stop by for that – to punch Matt in his face. Understood?”

That finally made you relax and the tension in your shoulders eased with a huffed laughter. Steve’s eyes twinkled for a moment and you couldn’t but laugh again.

“Did you just say ‘pissed off’?” you asked incredulously and Steve shrugged it off – except a hint of a blush appeared in his cheeks too and hell, you could not miss that. You feasted your eyes on his embarrassment and only then gave Captain Language a proper hug, which was reciprocated tightly.

“I guess I’m nervous for you that much,” he murmured over your shoulder and the statement melted your heart.

“Thank you, Steve.”

He squeezed your waist once more, caressed your back and released you from his embrace, uneasy smile on his lips.

“Go. We wouldn’t want you to be late.”

You just nodded and made your way to the elevator. You sparred one more glance at Natasha, who joined Steve in the hallway, couple of dressed folded over her forearm. She grinned at you.

“Not to make you nervous, Frosty, but just because he won’t be able to see you with his eyes, it doesn’t mean he won’t appreciate your appearance! And other stuff! Considering all of his senses are heightened!” she called after you and you felt you face turning into a mask of horror.

All of his senses. Shit. What perfume did you use? How much could he— would he be able to tell you hugged-- did Steve just hug you to make Matt jealous and possibly make him think you were wanted, so he would value the fact you were going out with him more?

No, wait, you were the one who hugged Steve, which--- this was so going to be a disaster. You whined and slid into your coat, hoping it would make you invisible. And undetectable in any other way. This evening started swimmingly…

With you going down in the elevator, Natasha and Steve were left alone.

“Smooth, Rogers. Very subtle,” the spy exclaimed, patting his arm patronizingly. Steve shot her an unreadable glare.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“About the fact Mr. Hot and Devilish wouldn’t even have to make her unhappy. It’s him making her happy that you want to punch him in the face for.”

Steve grinded his teeth, his look turning murderous. “That’s not true. I want them to get together.”

“Sure,” she agreed, shrugging. “That’s why you marked your territory like a goddamned dog.”

The rush of irritation and shame at being caught hit him stronger than excepted. Natasha knew exactly how to push his buttons and it drove him crazy.

“I didn’t-“ he protested lamely, only to realize he indeed hadn’t. “She was the one who hugged me.”

“Yeah. Keep yourself telling that. She did hug you, but what happened before that, that was on you. I’m surprised you didn’t kiss her on her mouth. I don’t understand how one can be so blind— eh, sorry-”

Steve’s hands curled into fists and he paced to his room to change into something more suitable for workout. He needed to punch something and as much as he was pissed at Natasha for mocking him, he liked her too much to hurt her – the punching bags would have to suffice. Bags, definitely plural, because he would tear some today, no doubt.

“Have a good workout, big guy!” she shouted after him almost cheerily and he slammed the door with such force that dust of plastering snowed down around the doorway.

Snowed down. Fuck. That would be more than one ruined bag today.

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Natasha was standing in her room, staring out of the window as snowflakes slowly descended. None of them stuck, melting as soon as they collided with the surface, but there was no denying it really was snowing. And given the fact that the temperature needed to drop significantly for this to happen, there was no doubt whose doing was that – deliberate or not.

Apparently, your emotions were running high.

“Hey, Steve. What are you still doing awake?” she heard your astonished voice from the hallway and she bit her lip. This was definitely your excited voice; the date went well. The snow was a good sign.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

Natasha’s heart ached for her friend, simultaneously wondering if you could hear the subtle hint of pain in his voice. She suddenly felt guilty for helping you to get ready for the date – but it felt like the right thing to do.

“So you went to a gym? It’s after midnight. You’re making us all look like couch potatoes.”

Natasha could easily imagine that the soldier ‘casually’ shrugged.

“Felt like working out,” he explained easily. No shit. How many punching bags did he destroy this time?

“Is everything okay? I know it’s not the first time. Something troubling you? Talk to me, Steve,” you pleaded softly.

Natasha sighed. That would be your placing your hand on his forearm in comforting gesture, your eyes screaming ‘you can trust me’. You always did that, because it was the thing you two did and you two were so utterly hopeless it hurt.

“It’s nothing, Snowflake. Nothing you need to worry about. You look happy. I take it the date went well?”

His voice was strained and the spy had no doubt you could tell. Yet, you answered him, voice wavering as if you weren’t sure how much you should share. “Yeah. It did.”

“One more reason for you not to worry about me,” Steve offered kindly and Natasha just gritted her teeth. Rogers was such an ass. Noble, maybe, but bozhe, such an ass. “I’m happy for you, Snowflake.”

“Thank you. But we’re talking about you, soon. I need you to be happy too, Steve. You’re too important to me and too good not to be.”

Natasha agreed wholeheartedly, glancing at the flash drive on her nightstand. She had downloaded the conversation she had with Steve, him confessing his feelings for you, but now, it seemed worthless.

While she wished for you to be happy, she was hoping you could do that with the supersoldier who was head over heels for you. She had been sure you felt the same, but now she had doubts. You could easily fall in love with Daredevil, he was charming enough, and she had no right to interfere with your love-life.

“Okay. I promise I’ll tell you later.”

Natasha scoffed. Yeah, sure. On your deathbed, maybe.

“ ‘kay. Love you, Steve. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Snowflake.”

Natasha heard your footsteps trailing off and slowly went to open her door for a slit.

“Don’t say a word,” Steve warned her icily, heart-breaking crack in his voice.

“I was gonna offer you a drink, an ‘I’m sorry’ and a hug.”

She heard him inhale and exhale shakily and she stepped out to find him resting his forehead against the nearest wall. His eyes were squeezed shut and she would swear it wasn’t sweat what gleamed on his cheeks. She pressed her lips together, hesitantly bringing her palm to his arm. His Adam’s apple bobbed.

“I’m really sorry, Steve,” she whispered tentatively, surprised when he bounced off the wall, looking her straight in the eye. His own were indeed glassy, but he wasn’t crying.

“You don’t have to be. She deserves the win, I’m happy for her.”

He said it with such conviction that if she hadn’t known him well enough, she wouldn’t notice how fragile the façade he had hastily built up was.

“Good. But you should know you don’t have to be, macho man. It’s okay to be angry, not just with yourself, but also with her and especially with him. You can be sad and you can be hurt. I know I’m not exactly the most open person when it comes to emotions, but that doesn’t mean I don’t feel. And you can feel too.”

Steve escaped her gaze, but she could see his tiny nod. She took it as a victory and encouraged, she took his huge arm.

“Come on, Cap, let’s find out where Thor stocked the good booze.”

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Part 9

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Tags: @mermaidxatxheart, @murdermornings, @elisaa-shelby @ask-hellbent-tweek

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(The chapter is very similar to the other version, only leaves details on the date night with Matt. Buckle up for the next parts y’all. Roller -coaster of emotions coming in 3, 2, 1…)

Thank you for reading :))

#marvel #fanfiction #mcu #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #love triangle #avengers #captain america #steve rodgers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fanfiction #hands too cold but heart of gold #anika ann

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subtlehysteria · 4 years

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I’ve Waited So Long

Sven wakes up in a hospital with a new scar and surrounded by friendly faces - with one in particular being the person he never thought he’d see again...

The Sven/Dante (aka Adam/Shiro) fic I promised ages ago and have now finally delivered! This is set in the Alternate Universe the Paladins entered back in season 3 where they met Sven and the Alternate Slav. Dante is Sven’s husband who has been missing for 2 years (sound familiar?) and now they finally get to reunite - although not under the most desired circumstances. Enjoy!

(you can read it here or in AO3)

Beep

“Don’t let go.”

Beep

“I won’t, I swear I won’t.”

Beep

“Sven.”

Beep

“I love –”

Beeeeeeeeeeeeep

The first thing Sven noticed was the tubes. That and the raging headache pounding against his skull.

“Ugh.”

It took him a moment to open his eyes, his eyelashes stuck shut with sleep sand. He blinked back the bright fluorescent light shining down at him; a rude wake-up call.

“Oh! He’s awake!”

Suddenly, two pairs of eyes were blinking down at him, crowding him back into his pillow. Wait – pillow…

“Where am I?” Sven croaked.

“Well hello to you too,” someone chuckled. After a few more heavy blinks, the strange smudge became less of a smudge and more of a person. Sven rubbed at his eyes, wincing when the needle moved under his skin.

The smudge tsked, moving closer. “Don’t do that, you’ll loosen it again.” A gentle hand took Sven’s wrist then lowered it so it lay down at his side. There were calluses on their fingertips, well-earned from long hours on the training deck.

“Matthias?”

Sven’s eyes finally decided to piece together what he was seeing, revealing his childhood friend. Matthias’ large hazel eyes were hidden behind his gold-tinted goggles, his mop of hair grown long enough to tie back into a small ponytail.

“Hey, man,” he said, giving Sven’s hand a light squeeze.

Sven fumbled to get the words out, his throat protesting. “What – I thought you were in the Trifecta Nebula?”

“Still am,” Matthias grinned. He raised his arms, gesturing to the room. “Welcome to the Trifecta rebel base hospital – best on this side of the galaxy.”

Sven frowned. “But, Slav, we were –”

“Destroying the Altean explorer ship, yes,” Slav said, appearing at Sven’s other side. “Quite successfully too.”

“The comet... did the otherworlders –” Sven couldn’t finish his sentence, his chest wracking suddenly with dry coughs. He felt something cool press against his lips and when he opened his mouth, ice-cold hydration liquid poured down his throat. He sighed in relief, his throat already beginning to lose some of its scratchiness.

“For someone who got shot in the chest, you’re really talkative,” Matthias chuckled. He took the now-empty glass back and placed it on a floating tray. Sven eyed the jug longingly. Matthias shook his head and poured him another glass, offering it to him. “What were you thinking, jumping into the fray like that?”

“So Slav told you?” Sven said after draining his second glass.

Matthias nodded, his smile turning grave. “An alternate reality? Do you really believe them?”

Sven sighed. “Don’t know.”

“Well, alternates or not, they got rid of that comet which puts them in my good books,” Slav said, shrugging all six shoulders.

“So they succeeded?” Sven asked.

“We bought them some time to escape,” Slav said. “Whether they made it back home, I don’t know. But I’d like to think so.”

Sven thought back to the strange group of travellers, their Dante – no, Adam – hugging him, holding him so tightly Sven didn’t think he’d let go. And for that one moment, it was like having Dante back, like he’d never disappeared. But then the moment had shattered and that gaping hole in his chest grew just a little bigger.

Sven ran a hand across his collarbone, sighing with relief when he found his wedding ring. He squeezed it tightly, the cool metal biting into his palm. It was rare, forged from the ore of a meteorite that had fallen on planet Zentog – the planet they’d been taking refuge on at the time. There was a metal-welder amongst them and they were more than happy to forge wedding rings rather than their usual weapons. It wasn’t a big ceremony, just those closest to them that were there. Matthias conducted the ceremony, his grin never slipping once, but Sven’s eyes never strayed from Dante. They’d dressed in their best armour – suits weren’t really a luxury you could afford at a refugee camp – and Dante couldn’t have looked more beautiful. His chocolate brown hair framed his face in messy waves, his lips tilted in that ever-present smile like only he and Sven were in on a private joke. They’d said their vows and Sven cried unabashedly, Dante comforting him and chastising him jokingly at the same time. Dante wasn’t big on being open around others (he still considered it a weakness at times). It was what had drawn Sven to him; Sven desperately wanting to learn more about the man behind the hardened shell. And it was so worth the wait.

The next day, the camp had been raided. Alteans swooped in and captured those who were too slow to flee. Dante, in helping a little girl get back to her mother, had been one of them. Sven released a shaky breath, opening his palm to inspect his wedding ring. It was simple, matte-black with a single star engraved at the top. Their star.

“I’m tired,” Sven whispered.

Matthias gently took the glass out of Sven’s hand. “We’ll let you rest.” With a cheeky wink, he said, “I’ll sneak in something tasty for you for when you wake up.”

Sven gave a half-hearted chuckle. “That’d be nice.”

“Rest,” Slav said. “We’ll be here.”

Sven nodded and, within minutes, was dragged back into darkness.

When Sven woke again, someone was holding his hand. It was nice, really nice. Constantly having to fight for your freedom didn’t give you much time to enjoy the quieter moments. Contact and comfort was a rare thing – something you had to treasure.

Sven sighed, squeezing the hand. “Matthias, this is sweet and all, but you know I’m taken.”

“Oh, I know.”

Sven froze. That wasn’t Matthias. That was very much not Matthias and very much was –

Sven opened his eyes, breath halting halfway up his throat as Dante smiled down at him.

“Hey, hon.”

Sven couldn’t breathe. For all he knew, he was hallucinating on pain medication. “Are – are you really here?” he asked, voice quivering.

Dante gave his hand another squeeze, smile turning amused. “Yeah, I’m here.”

Raising a shaky hand, Sven cupped Dante’s cheek, letting out a whimper as he felt the very-real sensation of skin-on-skin. “You –”

“Shhh,” Dante said, holding Sven’s wrist lightly, stroking a thumb over his pulse-point. “It’s okay.”

“I have so many questions,” Sven said or at least attempted to. His voice was shaking like crazy and he couldn’t stop staring. He drank in every detail – those dark chocolate eyes, that same tilted smile. Dante’s hair was buzzed short on the sides now, revealing a thick puckered scar running from his left ear all the way back to the base of his skull. Sven’s fingers trailed across it, causing Dante to shiver. He grabbed Sven’s hand, bringing it to his chest rather and holding it there. Sven could feel Dante’s heartbeat underneath his palm.

“What happened?” Sven asked.

“It’s a long story,” Dante replied.

Sven indicated his cot, the endless amount of tubes surrounding him and the damned beeping heart monitor that had been drilling into his head for the last twenty-four hours. “I’ve got time.”

“I guess you do,” Dante said with a rueful smile.

Sven didn’t know how long it took for Dante to recount everything, he was still a little lost in the sensation of Dante’s hand in his own, the two of them sitting together in the too-small-cot; Dante talking, using his free hand to gesture wildly like he always does when regaling tales; his scent – spicy with a hint of something sweet underneath.

He was here. He was really, really here.

Sven prayed that this wasn’t a dream.

“We just made it back here last night to drop off our squadron’s wounded and I ran into Matthias by chance. It…” Dante sighed, something heavy. “My heart simultaneously leapt with joy and sunk with dread when he said you were here.”

Sven lifted their joined hands, kissing Dante’s scarred knuckles. “I’m okay. I’m here.”

“I know,” Dante whispered. “It kind of felt too good to be true, rushing in here and seeing you safe, even with all your new extensions,” Dante joked, pointing to Sven’s endless tubes. “God, I wanted to wake you as soon as I saw you but the nurse said you’d be out for a while still so… I waited.”

“Impatiently,” Sven added because he knew they were both thinking it.

Dante nodded, rolling his eyes with a fond air Sven had missed oh so much. God, he was here. Dante was here.

“Matthias managed to keep me occupied. Told me how you wound up in here.”

Something sharp shot through Sven’s chest. Thinking about Adam, about their hug, it made his stomach churn with guilt. He knew it wasn’t cheating, per-say, but it felt like he’d gotten a sneak preview at a new show they’d both been waiting for, or the first taste of a new desert they said they would share. He’d gotten his reunion first, even if it was only for that blissful few seconds. In that moment, it had been Sven and Dante, Dante and Sven, and nothing else at all had mattered.

“Hey,” Dante said, squeezing Sven’s hand lightly. “Where’d you go?”

“I was just thinking, about the otherworlders. There was…” Sven took a shuddering breath then finally met Dante’s eyes. “There was… an alternate you.”

Dante’s face remained perfectly neutral, although Sven could see the cogs whirring behind Dante’s eyes, already piecing together what Sven had yet to say.

“What happened?” Dante finally asked.

“We hugged,” Sven said, ducking his head bashfully. He could feel his cheeks burning. “He’s missing his Sven too – or, Shiro as he called him.”

Dante hummed in thought. Sven’s blush deepened, crawling below the neckline of his medical suit.

“Did he say how they got separated?”

“No, just that he’s the one missing,” Sven said. Then, a tiny smile crept across his lips. “He even had a ring.”

Dante shuffled a bit so he was facing Sven fully. His eyes were sharp and bright, brows furrowed in that way they always got when he was thinking too fast. “Our rings. Do you?”

Immediately, Sven pulled on the chain around his neck, revealing his wedding ring. Dante gasped softly, catching it and resting it in the palm of his hand. He let go of Sven’s hand, only to run a finger carefully over the rim. He pinched it between two fingers, turning it so he could see the top, running his thumb over the star engraving.

“You still have it.”

Sven chuckled. “You sound surprised.”

Dante’s eyes flicked up quickly, shooting Sven a fond-but-annoyed look before flicking back to the ring. “You know how you are.”

Sven clasped Dante’s hand in his own, encasing his ring between the two of them. “Not this. Never this.”

A shaky sigh escaped Dante’s lips. “They wouldn’t let me keep mine.”

“That’s okay,” said Sven.

Dante shook his head. “It’s not. We said forever –”

Now Sven was the one to cup Dante’s cheek, swiping his thumb across that prominent cheekbone. “What matters is that you’re here, now. We both are.”

Dante took a shaky breath, held it for a moment, and then let it out, some of the tension draining from his shoulders. “You’re right.”

“What? Did I hear you correctly?” Sven mock-gasped. “Did the Dante Da Costa say I’m right?”

“Oh shut up,” Dante groused, although he couldn’t hide the sneaky tilt of his lips.

“Nope,” Sven said. “I am going to milk this for it is all worth!”

“Of course you are. You’re insufferable.” The way Dante said it, though, sounded more like I love you.

Sven’s smile broadened so much, he could feel his cheeks begin to ache.

Dante’s smile dropped, just an inch. “Did – was it like ours?”

“Was what like ours?” asked Sven.

Dante pulled gently at the chain around Sven’s neck.

“Oh! No, it was silver, I think. I can't remember for sure, I was already, maybe, shot at that point.”

Dante gave a disapproving scowl.

“But –” Sven continued, “I think I saw a few star engravings on the inside.”

Dante’s scowl softened, hard eyes melting to their swirling chocolate. “Really?”

“Mm-hmm,” Sven hummed. “Interesting, no?”

Dante nodded, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “Even there, we have our star.”

Sven couldn’t help it. He cupped Dante’s jaw lightly, softly, guiding him home. Sven had to hold back a whimper when their lips met. It was sweet and soft, and so long overdue. He’d dreamt hundreds upon hundreds of different reunions, had let himself get lost in daydreams of rescuing Dante like those trapped princes in the storybooks of their childhood. Had thought of all the different ways in which they’d embrace – sometimes collapsing to their knees, the one time he imagined tackling Dante to the ground with his excitement. One time they simply held each other and swayed. That one Sven re-visited a lot. And then there were the kisses because of course there would be. The brave knight was always rewarded with a kiss.

But this, right here, sitting in a cramped hospital bed with his husband, fingers trailing across new scars and old, whispering all the things he’d kept bottled up just for him (I missed you I love you you’re here don’t let go I never will). He never could have imagined it and that made it all the more rewarding.

This is one of the bonus chapters belonging to my Voltron re-write fic series Surviving Space With Your Ex-Fiancé where Adam is a part of the main cast from the beginning. If you’d like to check it out head on over here to the start of the series!

#fic: what adam doesn't know won't hurt him #surviving space with your ex fiance #subtle writing #my writing #adam/shiro #adashi #sort of #its their alternate selves...#voltron #voltron legendary defender #vld fanfic #shiro #adam #slav #matt holt #technically #his alternate name is matthias #so original i know

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smolbeandrabbles · 5 years

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Nothing I’ve Ever Known - Payne x Reader (Slow West)

Somewhere Amanda & Jax are laughing at me...

Author’s Note: Essentially this is the direct follow up to All To Myself, and you will have at least need to have read the very end scene of that to understand the beginning of this...

Well I’ve watched this movie a bunch more times than I ever thought I would... My feelings for the movie are just about the same, but Silas (tbh Silas always was...) and Payne are now in the A-Ok books so, that’s an improvement! 👍

Nothing I’ve Even Known - Bryan Adams

Disclaimer: So, I went and watched Spirit again (DAMN what a movie) and simultaneously stole the soundtrack for this playlist - lyrics, obviously, not mine! Also Slow West isn’t mine (woulda ended different. That’s for sure.) Premise: After tying him up with directions, it’s not long before he’s mad at you. And it won’t be the only time he gets mad at you. Also, you’re not the only one who is leaving Payne... You’re just the only one that comes back... Words: 6558 Warnings: Swearing / Sexual Conotations “Play the highlights reel!”

______ I find myself somewhere I never thought I'd be. I'm going round in circles, Thinkin' bout you and me... And how do I explain it when I don't know what to say? What do I do now? So much has changed. Nothing I've ever known Has made me feel this way. Nothing I've ever seen Has made me want to stay. Here I am, ready for you. I'm torn and I'm fallin' I hear my home callin' I've never felt something so strong. Oh no. It's like nothing I've ever known... You're the one I'm lookin' for You're the one I need. You're the one that gives me A reason to believe. Followin' a star Has lead to where you are. I feel so strong now This can't be wrong now... ---

Five Days Later… You were resting by a river bank when he finally caught up to you. "oh, here we go..." you stood, although with the way he was pushing his horse you heard him a while before he actually arrived. And you didn't think in all the years you'd known him you'd ever seen him so angry. "YOU-!" Payne was off his horse and on you in 10 seconds flat, and yet you maintained that picture of innocence look on your face. His gun was drawn and you heard the hammer click back, which should mean he meant business. But if he did, he'd have pulled the trigger and you'd have barely known a thing about it. "I could kill you. Right NOW! Like I should have done a long while ago. About time I collected that damn bounty of yours.” If he thought getting up in your face like that and growling was intimidating, it wasn't. You tilted your head with a raised eyebrow, disbelieving, pushing the gun away from your body gently: "Don't point a gun at me unless you intend to use it..." Your voice wasn't raised, if anything it bordered seductive. "You left me. You f**king left me!" "Ah, but you're still alive. And since you followed me here... you got my message." "You're worth more to me dead!" "Aw, now Payne don't lie to yourself..." Inches had become centimetres, "I swear... It’s about time someone did something about you." "Well..." you yanked him closer by his coat; "It ain't gonna be you." Soon Payne’s lips were on yours, and his hands were tangled in your hair again and everything you’d felt from a few days ago was flooding back to you; every touch he’d afforded you, the feel of his skin against yours. (Not that you hadn’t already dwelled on it…) By the fervour he kissed you with, you assumed you weren’t the only one thinking on it either… When he let you go you were both breathless, and even then he stole every kiss he could. You wriggled slowly from his grip; “I mean, I guess I’m glad they found you.” You’d caught up with his gang around 2 days after you’d left him. For which you were a little thankful, just in case the bartender had seriously not gone upstairs and found a man tied to the bed. You’d given them a little tip about what you’d done and where you’d left him. And Silas had almost laughed himself sick about it. Which hadn’t helped you laughing either. Of course, you hadn’t disclosed to them that you’d also slept with him. So you wondered what they thought now. Or rather you might not want to dwell on it. You could almost imagine Silas’s wicked smirk and raised eyebrows. However, they weren’t here. Only he was. “…Yeah, luckily I didn’t really have to explain anything!” “Oh-! So they don’t know?!” You smirked gently, “Shame, thought Silas might get a kick out of that…” You wandered back to your things, making sure to keep one eye on him; “… I’m sure Silas probably figured it out, he’s got a good head on his shoulders.” “He’s about the only one of you that does.” “Watch your mouth-!” You couldn’t help but laugh, and hard “You might just have to come over here to shut me up…” “Oh, I will.” “I have no doubt…” you started pulling things from your bag; “Seen as you’re here… and you pushed your poor horse far too hard to catch me… you best sit and rest. Are they followin’?” “No, I left them at camp this mornin’…” He did as you asked and strode over to you, sitting on what appeared to be a comfortable piece of ground after unbridling his horse by the rivers edge. It was a clear sunny day, and he could shrug himself out of his coat; letting you curiously graze your eyes over his skin. Those shirt buttons were still fairly useless, you saw. You crossed your legs and sat back, regarding him for a minute. He still piqued your curiosity, even now. Perhaps even more so now. What would it be like to be in a real relationship? What would it be like to travel with him? What would it be like to get the opportunity to love him like that every single night? It didn’t sound too bad, sitting here. He’d probably annoy the hell out of you though, that was about the one thing stopping you. Still – you were content to keep his company here, sharing bread, water- “Biscuits?” “Sugar, carbs, water. What else would you need?” Payne gave a shrug, “Seems like you could be healthier… What, no alcohol?” “If you don’t want anything-” “No! NO! This is good!” He broke it in half; knees up to stop you from taking anything back. Payne was just as content to bask in your attention, which you were all too happy to give him as you replayed your night over and over in your head. And he could look at you staring quietly at him and imagine what else he could do to you – oh, you had no idea… Eventually you broke the thoughtful silence and nodded to the tattoo now slightly exposed on his chest; “Snake, huh? Is that supposed to be a warning?” “Could be.” “Should have heeded it.” “That bad, huh?” You began laughing, and he noticed you didn’t answer him as you looked out to the water. Because you’d prefer not to answer. He watched your face; is she blushing-!? Sh*t! And that’s not the heat either, no way… she’s a f**kin’ liar. She enjoyed every damn minute..! He smirked I knew she would… When Payne realised he wasn’t going to get you back to that particular conversation to admit it – though he felt the quiet told him all he needed to know – he nodded behind you to your horse. Now wandered a little way down the river Jett was far enough away for it to be of concern that he could completely wandering off… Or someone popping out of nowhere and trying to make off with him. “I’ve always noticed how much power he has. He’s built big, but incredible fast…” You turned, and when you didn’t call him back Payne assumed you didn’t care, or there was no reason to worry; “Jett? Yeah, probably better that way. Consider I travel alone he can cover a lot of ground fairly quick; which you’re never sure when you’re going to need. Also, I like that he’s built so big, you wouldn’t necessarily mess with him.” You looked to his horse quick; “Not that I’d mess with your horse either.” “Really?” “Well, he’s yours. So, no. And I certainly wouldn’t mess with the horse belonging to the leader of a group of bounty hunters. But… I’m solo… What am I gonna do without a horse, might as well kill me.” “Well, that’s what I was getting to. You’re riding a horse that must be particularly sought after. No-one’s ever tried? I’d be worried about something like that.” “Oh I didn’t say that.” You laughed “Plenty have tried.” “And?” He thought this might be entertaining “Well for one, I’m impressed if they can get within 10 paces of him.” You tipped your head back to look at the sparse clouds for a minute, trying to remember a time when people had succeeded mounting him. It’d happened maybe once? Twice? And you’d got the exclusive front row seat to one of the more entertaining pieces of theatre ever. “Sometimes it happens though; see Jett is barely broken… just enough to be rideable. Just enough to have a bond with me. But he’s pretty much a wild Stallion.” Your eyes flicked back to him; “They don’t get very far before they are thrown off, or he basically refuses to move. Jett’s not one to put up with any sh*t… I like that. Could use some of that-!” “Barely broken? That’s a thing?” “My father used to break horses… I watched him do it all the time.” You nodded “I would have done something similar… He helped me break Jett… but… there was something about seeing him be wild and free… I didn’t want to lose any of that…” you turned back with a smile “He’s like having a part of my family with me. Maybe it’s not a thing; but it’s a concept… That’s what I’m going to call it. He’s still a wild horse, he just tolerates me…” You turned slowly from watching Jett to your one-time-lover with a gentle smile, “Guess he’s a little like you…” He chuckled at that, tolerate…, he felt he probably did a lot more that that. He wanted to do a lot more than that. He had to know you wanted more than that too. “Why did you leave me a note anyway?” “Oh.” You blustered and gave an elaborate shrug, throwing your arms “Reasons.” “Why won’t you let me hear them. There’s a reason you wanted me to know exactly where you were going…” “Then I think you know. What I’m surprised of is why it took you so long… I did leave very specific instructions… And I didn’t try very hard… We could have pushed a little harder!” “Well, not all of us are great at… directions.” You giggled, “You got lost? Wait what threw you?! The rivers, right? If you started too high you would have come to the point where they intersect. No… I get it.” “I did not get lost; it just means I had to come further down. A detour.” “A detour, huh?” You were amused “I’m glad it wasn’t my writing is all.” “No…” He smiled gently, drawing himself up to height as he stood; “Your writing is fine…” You eyed him with a little more curiosity as he crouched in front of you “Well, good. That means I can continue leaving you notes when I leave you.” “I’m tying you up next time.” You teased; “Oh, is that so, cowboy?” “Don’t f**king start that again…” His voice was soft as he leant in for another kiss. “I’ll f**king start whatever I like…” You smirked, pulling him in to deepen the kiss this time – he placed his hands either side of you; “Then why don’t we…?” Payne bit your lip gently as he kissed you again, and you hummed in gentle approval; until he started to tip your body back, and you realised what he was doing. “UH-! What-! We are not gonna do this on a river bank on rocks!” You pushed Payne back; “Why not?” He went for your neck this time, and you had to struggle between really wanting him to do this and the logical protest, “N-n-No! God! At least have the common decency to take me to bed first-!” His nip of your earlobe – again – made you gasp “PAYNE!” “What-!?” He pulled back but only slightly, now showering your face in kisses; “You do realise we aren’t always gonna have the luxury of a bed, right?” You placed your fingers to his lips to hold him off, eyebrow raised; “Oh. That sounds serious?” “Don’t you want this to be serious?” “Can I trust you…?” you ran your fingers down his cheek to his neck, and stopped your hand at his shoulder “…I’m not gonna be one on a list.” “You can trust me.” He kissed you again; “Snake? Doesn’t sound so trust worthy.” Payne chuckled; “You’re gonna play all the cards until you give up, aren’t ya?” You gave a shrug, this time stealing the kiss from him, forcing him back as you sat upright; “You made the mistake there of thinking I’d give up…” “Ah, my mistake…” He kept his hands either side of you, but when he kissed you again you ran you hands back into his hair. This time neither of you interrupted each other, but were broken apart by a whistle for attention. “I shoulda f**kin’ known it!” You both turned, but of the two of you it was Payne who grumbled; “Aw, sh*t.” You couldn’t help but laugh. This couldn’t have happened any better. Silas sat on his horse, hands on his hips but grin on his face; “…Oh… Sorry, am I interrupting something?!” *** Months Later… It couldn’t have been more than a few weeks after your last encounter with Payne, and you weren’t exactly ready to see him again. But you thought about him often, too much. You weren’t sure it was good. You liked whatever it was you had with him, but you weren’t sure that it was good. In the long run it would go two ways – you’d end up roped into that gang, or he’d get sick of this and finally make a move on that bounty. Hell, maybe you’d end up killing each other. Either way, you didn’t see this working long term. But here you were, working through it anyway. He was good to see, and easy to leave. Because you’d always find him again – bounty hunting was a tight knit community and it wasn’t often that you went after each other. Maybe the new kids on the block would try, but other than that unless the bounty was too good to pass up… The problem with you and yours was trying it. However, every bounty was fair game, and often you would find each other trying to track the same person. No big deal, sometimes it was good to work together in these things. (Not that either of you might be doing that for the money…) So, seen as you weren’t in the mood to see him, finding Silas was the last thing you really wanted. Technically he was coming out of the town that you were going into, but you both reigned up – and for the next few moments there was a tense stand off between the two of you. He quirked an eyebrow; “Is this the part where we both draw arms and I die?” You had to blink a few times to snap yourself out of your dread; “Oh. No… I was just thinking how I only saw you guys a few weeks ago – can’t he get enough?” “You’re the one wandering into town…” Then he tilted his head; “Wait… a few weeks? No, surely months.” Months… Is it?” You had to think on it, and suddenly were relieved that clearly you didn’t count as diligently as you thought you did; “Anyway, point is I don’t need this again – so I might as well back up and find the next town.” “Huh?” “Well, surely the gangs’ all here?” “Oh…” Silas bit he lips together and his eyes slowly moved from yours “You don’t know…? He didn’t tell you?” You leant forward, carful not to urge Jett on just yet, squinting at your friend; “Tell me what--!?” “Oh. I left.” “LEFT!?” You placed your fingertips to your lips for a second to quiet yourself down; “You did what-!?” “Left… Yeah… I’m… Heading out solo.” You placed your hands on your hips, impressed; “Well, congratulations. I wondered when you’d get out.” “Yeah…” he grinned sheepishly “I guess you’d mentioned it to me a couple of times…” Silas wheeled his horse around in a neat circle so he was now next to you, and pushed on – signalling you should start walking with him. “Why, I don’t think I’ll understand.” You scoffed; “Because I actually like you.” “You like him too though, from what I can gather.” You narrowed your eyes “Careful.” “If you’re sleeping with him then something is going on.” “Shut up-!” Your hand flew out and clamped over his mouth “I’d rather you didn’t say it out loud!” He peeled your fingers away from his face but kept your hand in his; “Why?! That’s what’s going on.” “I’m aware, thank you.” “It’s cuz you constantly told him he wouldn’t be doing anything about it isn’t it?” He smirked but it earned him a punch in the side; “OW! Geez…” He pulled his horse away from you to create a gap; “Alright, you’re only hitting so hard cuz it’s true.” “I can hardly deny it.” You sat back a little to slow Jett’s walk to a more casual pace; “…I’d just rather not dwell.”

Silas tipped his head, curious; “Do you love him?” “Do I what-!?” The way you shot him a look like he was insane made Silas grin; “You heard me.” “Love- NO. What?!” “Just checking.” You pulled Jett forward to stop his horse; “Why-!?” He held his hands up “I’m just checking-!” “Because if I don’t love him then what-?!” “Nothing-! Why are you getting on my case about this..?” You were getting irrationally angry, so the next sentence out of your mouth happened to be; “Do you want me-!?” Silas held your eyes, but as he opened his mouth his face dusted pink; “No. What-!? That’s not why I asked.” You folded your arms, maybe it wasn’t, but you figured it might be related “Uh huh… So what is it then? Why did you ask…” He cleared his throat, and took a breath that made the blush disappear all at once. He focused back on you; “I was wondering whether you were so exclusive to be averse to male company, is all.” “…I’m averse to any company, to be honest, but I’ll hear you out – what is it?” “Well… I was hoping I’d find you… Thought maybe you could keep me straight, teach me a few things about being single.” “Single’s not the word I’d use…” But a smile made its way across your face, and pretty soon you were aware that you were beaming. That was such a sweet thing to ask; you teaching him a thing or two about going solo? You weren’t so sure you wouldn’t be taking him up on a full-time partnership. However, you had to focus back on being alone – that’s what he wanted too. All of a sudden, you were really looking forward to sharing your time with someone else indefinitely; “Sure…! Let go do this!” **

You didn’t spend nearly as much time with Silas as you wanted to. He had this, and you’d known that almost from the second you’d walked out of that first town. But he was tentative, and he wanted to know he could handle this alone. Going from a group to alone would be a big thing, going from two people to just one was a lot easier on him. And you couldn’t help but feel a little proud as you watched him ride off into the distance as you’d bid each other ‘See you around!’ From what you’d gathered from your time together, it wouldn’t be your only time teaming up. He was good company; and you were starting to realise how lonely alone was… You had options to do something about that; but you wouldn’t. You guessed you had your own reasons for that – but were they even good reasons anymore? Instead of you running into Payne, this time he caught up to you. That hadn’t really happened since you’d left him your note, so part of you didn’t expect it. You expected less that he wouldn’t be happy to see you. And even less than that, that the first thing he’d do was drag you away from your horse across the dirt; “OW!! WILL YOU F**KING QUIT IT! WHAT DID I DO NOW-!?!” Though you didn’t know why you were asking what you’d done now, because you’d never done anything. As far as you were concerned. He pushed you back to standing, allowing you to brush yourself down. You noticed his gang still sitting on their horses ominously in the distance, and they all looked pretty pissed too. “You know damn well what you did!” Your face scrunched for a second; “What-!?” Then you wondered why you were bending to this and got angry about it; “NO! But I’m sure you’re gonna f**king enlighten me!” “HA.” He took a step back that read his ‘really!?’ “He left. He f**king left. But you already f**king knew that.” “…Silas?” That made you climb to a new level of outrage “THIS IS ABOUT SILAS!?!” You weren’t all that concerned with how he knew you knew. You should have been. “About Silas-!? Of course it’s about Silas! It’s YOUR fault!” He pointed an accusational finger at you. “WHAT!?” Why? Because a couple of times you’d told Silas he’d be better solo, and joked about it with Payne in earshot? Surely Payne wasn’t so shallow to think that you’d have the power to influence his decision. For Payne, however, this was completely different and that argument burned in the back of his head. Why would you want to leave!? Where are you gonna do better than this-!? Y/N! Y/N?! What about her?! If she can do it, so can I! She’s talked about it for so long, I want to try! Try- but when you fail you’ll come crawling back F**k that – I don’t need this anymore! You’re ALWAYS going to need this Silas! Don’t be so f**king stupid! But he’d headed off anyway. And now all Payne had heard was that you were riding around with him. And you were renowned for always doing everything alone. So it didn’t take him long to put the obvious two and two together – so of course he was mad at you. “You’re the reason he left – he had the balls to say that to my face! So don’t you be acting all f**king innocent.” “Well that’s HIS fault! Not mine! I didn’t force him to go Payne!” "Are you f**king him too-!?"

Suddenly your anger meter hit zero. Your stance slacked and you tilted your head; that’s what this temporary moment of insanity was about. Somewhere on the wind he’d caught that you were travelling with his ex-best-friend (probably.) and he’d come to the wrong conclusion. That wasn’t something to be angry about, that was just kinda funny. He wasn’t angry Silas had left; he was angry that Silas could be sleeping with you. You raised an eyebrow, trying your best not to laugh at him; "You get some funny ideas sometimes…" Your response was so far out of left field that he also dropped his stance; “…W-What?” He expected you to deny it, to deny it whether it be true or not. Or maybe you’d confirm it. He didn’t expect that. You shook your head gently, smiling “Why the hell would I wanna do that when I have you?” “Well why the hell else would you be travelling with him-!?” You took a few steps forward, “Because he wanted to know the ins and outs of doing this solo… Which makes sense, cuz you’ve been part of this thing since you were all late teens right? Given he’s just a little younger…” You gave a shrug “I mean, granted he couldn’t really ask to learn for anyone better…” “Oh, uh huh?” You indicated to his group, now one down; “I guess they’re pissed cuz I’m the reason he left. You know, the actual kinda good reason to get annoyed at me.” You kept walking to him “But, y’know… Still not my problem.” You stopped just short of close. Looking between those blue eyes that were still stormy; he hadn’t exactly calmed down yet. “Do you think I would be so unfaithful?” “You’re out here alone, what’s stopping you?” You shrugged, figuring Payne could use a shot to his ego; “Where out here is anyone gonna even come close to what you do to me?” “Well, what do you do when you…” His eyes flicked down your body for a moment, but you could see they were already clearing; “…Don’t have me…?” “Oh…” You bit your lip, “That’s easy… I just… think about you…” “Hm…” His face seemed satisfied with the answer; “Still, you ought to prove it to me. Before I start thinking you’re a good liar.” “I am a good liar, I just don’t need to lie to you…” You turned back to his gang “Set them straight, first.” “Oh no, you owe me. I’ll set them straight later.” You leant towards him; “How’s that gonna work? Hey guys, I’m just gonna go f**k a girl you clearly all despise cuz she took Silas from us?” “Yeah.” Payne pulled you into him and pretty soon you were pressed up against him in a kiss with no hope of escape; “Let ‘em think that…” *** You were once again travelling alone. It was just what you did. Maybe you were technically a part of his gang now. From time to time you would travel with them but something about you still loved being solo. You kept in contact- meeting every few days or so (sometimes it’d be weeks… or months… but they killed. And you tried not to count them) as you arched in wide circles, wherever that took you. Sometimes whatever you were doing or whoever you were tracking interested Payne enough to split from his group and join you. Only if it was quick though. He never liked to be split for too long, and you liked that about him. You liked a lot about him, and being with him was easy. You were sure how much his gang really liked you around; considering how much you would flake off. She either is or isn’t one of us… But they seemed to enjoy your company when you were around. “No but honestly, why are you the most badass person here?” Skelly laughed from behind you, making Payne shoot back before you got the chance to open your mouth; “Cuz she’s with me.” “No.” You ran your horse into his to elbow him “You only wish you were as badass as me.” He gave a shrug; “Mmmm… That’s not it.” “I’m gonna push you off that horse in a minute.” Payne scoffed, shaking his head; “I’d like to see you t- HEY-!” only he grabbed your arm and almost pulled you over with him, you had to reign Jett back to keep the two of you steady. “Why the hell do I put up with you?” “Because you love me?” “Mmm… No…” You teased with a grin “That’s not it!” There was a lengthy silence as he glared across at your jab at his jab, but you only turned back to the rest of the group following behind and gave a wink. Upon which they started howling with laughter; “Oh. It’s because they love me more!” you turned to him, tongue out; “Soon it’s gonna be Y/N’s gang!” “Y/N’s gang sounds better!” “Agreed!” “Who is for changing the name!?” You watched him get increasingly more agitated; “SHUT IT ALL OF YOU!!!” You swivelled back to them “Yeah! Listen to your boss!” He tsk’ed “There you go again… Taking sides…” “As long as it’s the right side.” “Is there a right side?” “Between you and your group.” “…I can think of something I’d like to get between…” “I can think of something I’d like you to get between too…” You smirked, causing him to do the same. “Mmm hmmm?” You pointed ahead of you; “Directly in the middle of me and that mountain ridge… that should put you far enough away from my gang…” with a laugh at his defeated breath out. “Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you…” You raised an eyebrow at him; aiming for one last witty remark a you urged your horse on; “I dunno… But the sex is good, right?” You knew you’d hit a nerve by the way he yelled after you. It got lost in the wind now whistling past your ears, but you were almost screaming with laughter. *** Payne awoke alone. That almost didn’t surprise him – he expected to see all your stuff gone; it surprised him more that it wasn’t. Jett was still tethered with his own horse, so you certainly weren’t gone yet. It must have still been late; the stars were still shining. He lay there for a few minutes, but when it was clear you weren’t coming back, he got up. Even in the low light level it was pretty easy to track you; you weren’t looking to stay hidden at any rate. When he found you, you were sitting on the edge of a clearing looking out at the sky. He couldn’t help but smile watching you. He knew you’d never join his crew – you’d never be a part of it. No matter how much he wanted that, no matter how much he would consider you a part of it anyway… You were alone. Your best friend in his crew now operated alone too… The only reason you stayed here was Payne. And he knew that. You weren’t really thinking of anything. Or mindful of anything much either. You always admired how clear and bright the stars were in the Colorado sky. He approached you carefully, so not to startle you. And the first thing you were really aware of was his coat around your shoulders. “It’s cold…” “Mmm… I know…” Your voice was sweet and quiet as you instinctively snuggled into it, pulling it further around yourself. “Leavin’ me again?” Payne smiled and sat with you; watching the way your smile crept across your face, even though your eyes were still firmly fixed on the night sky. “Not yet.” “Then why are you up? It’s late…” “They are so beautiful… I didn’t want to miss ‘em…” “Coulda stayed in camp and still seen ‘em.” You gave a shrug; “It’s quieter here…” “Is that what you like so much about being alone?” He turned his head; to behold the stars also; “The quiet?” “Well. I dunno if I like being alone. I just need it, occasionally.” “Uh huh…” Payne’s blue eyes flicked back to you momentarily as you crossed your legs, sighing gently; “Well, you’re never gonna leave and come with me. Are you.” “I have a responsibility here.” “I know.” “I would if I could. You know that right?” “No, I like that you’re responsible. Someone’s gotta be…” Finally your bright eyes left the stars and turned to him; “You let Silas go.” He looked momentarily defiant that it would be his choice to do so; “He should come back.” “Good luck with that one.” “Hey, we had a good run. A least I know he can take care of it…” “You care so much, for a man who acts like he don’t care at all.” You leant on your hand for a minute, eyes flicking between his. The stars reflected in them, given the colour, and you realised you had been staring at the wrong thing all this time. He laughed; “Alright – where did that come from. I never said I didn’t care!” “You care about more than a number on a page… If you didn’t you wouldn’t be here… You’d be solo.” “You sayin’ you don’t care?” Payne knew that was a lie. Knew it. “What do you think, hmm?” “I think you like to pretend you don’t. That somehow alone keeps you safe.” He stretched and gazed at your beloved stars again. “It does…” He saw the way you stretched too and tried not to yawn. He’d get you back to bed yet. “Trouble is I can’t stay away from you…” You tipped your body until you head found his shoulder; “Just a mild inconvenience really…” He chuckled, winding an arm around you, and kissed your hair; “Mhn. That’s it.” You shook you head, taking his other hand in yours you shifted again to get more comfortable. “Come on. Come back to bed…” “Aw…” You nuzzled into his neck; making sure to plant a kiss there that had him shivering (and it certainly had nothing to do with the temperature) “Just a little longer.” “You do understand how much ground we gotta cover tomorrow? You better not be asking me for just a little longer then.” “5 more minutes…” You whined into his skin, making him chuckle “What did you just say?” “I love you, idiot.” Payne shook his head; cuddling you close he squeezed your hands gently; “You’re nothing but trouble Y/N…” He placed his head on yours; and looked back to the star-washed horizon. “…But I love you too.”

*** Months Later… Coming back around from your latest solo outing you were bored as hell. Usually you lived for the thrill of drawing quick or hunting men down (especially men who had it in their heads that you couldn’t possible be a good bounty hunter as a woman). HA! Tell that to you and Marimacho. This guy you hadn’t even needed to break a sweat for and it was midsummer. In fact, you probably would even have broken a sweat in Payne’s coat – and damn did you love wearing that whenever possible. So with zero thrills, and your trek back across the hot flat plains of Colorado seeming to stretch out for years, you were glad when you finally spotted shapes upon the horizon. Enough for him and his gang; enough to make your heart jump a little and you spur Jett forward with a smile. The shapes were hazy… But even at this distance you could notice the one that pulled forward. You smirked; Payne. Soon you were galloping across that grass to him, and you didn’t care how it made you look…. Your horse was quick across ground, and always had been. His group always seemed to move slower - which made sense, considering they were a ‘No Man Left Behind’ kinda gang. Which was another reason you had to break away every so often. You were used to covering twice the distance they covered in maybe a third of the time. (And Jett wasn’t used to walking either - despite the respite. You were both restless, you needed to run.) But you always came back, because you missed him too much. Being away was nice, but being with Payne was better. As you galloped ever closer those figures on the horizon line came into focus. And with them, the knowledge that one had pulled significantly further ahead than the others, at pace. You’d run to him plenty of times, even if sometimes nonchalantly. Even if sometimes you appeared out of thin air you were always running to him. When you could hear the sound of his horse you slowed up. Pulling all the way back to a walk just at the point you reached him. But your horses were both excitable - as an extension of their riders feeling; and they danced around each other in greeting. You hushed Jett, to bring him at least under reign. Reaching just enough to steady Payne’s too, although you knew he was in control. Pulling yourself back in, you brushed your hand against his, the touch was enough. But altogether not enough.

Payne wore a broad grin; “It’s been a while!” “Well you know how it is...” His horse was still, so you rounded him, looking him over “... Do one job... pick up about 5 others...” “Bounty must be good?” You smirked, if he still thought he was getting his hands on any money from jobs you did solo he had another thing coming... “It’s not bad... I’ll give it that...” He laughed “We still aren’t getting anything out of you.” “Bold assumption, but correct...” you slowed the walk, so Payne’s eyes could follow yours, that beautiful haunting blue that tailed you everywhere... “unless you or you...” you indicated to the group “are a part of this I don’t see why I should share...” “Because we’re a team.” “Are we?” You smirked “I thought we only teamed up on special occasions...” “I consider you a member of this group...” “Because we’re ‘together’?” You laughed; “Baby, if I considered myself a real part of this gang, I’d never leave.” “Maybe you shouldn’t.” “Please... we’re both smarter than that...” He turned to keep following your horses walk “Ah, but you always come back.” “Maybe that’s because I love you.” “Love, huh?” “I said maybe...” You pulled your horse closer to his “But maybe it isn’t love... maybe I just need a little bit of affection sometimes.” “Oh. Because that’s all it is...” Payne was smirking now too “Never forget what I said.” “Never forget no matter how true, I’m not a possession and you are good company.” “If you’re suggesting I’m not anything more than a warm body...” He had you laughing again “And what will you do if I am?” “Prove you wrong.” “Honey, I ought to tell you there’s no profit in the business of proving me wrong... only loss.” “That so?” “Mmm hmm...” you stopped Jett and once again pulled yourself closer, so Payne’s leg brushed against yours. He tried not to visibly swallow at the contact. Needy but never saying it, you liked that - it made you feel in control no matter how much that wasn’t true. “Besides, you always talk like one day I won’t turn on you and collect yours...” “Mine?” He chuckled, “she says, mine is hardly worth it - they’ll have to up it before people decide on doing that.” “Because you got a gang of people... that’s the only reason.” “Yours on the other hand...” “Baby, you said it yourself you’ve had plenty of times you could have turned me in, never have.” “Maybe I just like a warm body.” “Well there are plenty of easier women, you could have the money and ask them...” For once he didn’t have a smart come back; but his eyes warned you to stop, which only made you smirk more and opt to continue. “But... they didn’t think of one thing... the people who are too afraid to try collecting on you...” “Oh? And what’s that?” “What happens when they get you away from your gang.” Suddenly Payne was aware of a gentle pull around his torso and he realised exactly what you’d done. You hadn’t put your hand out to steady his horse, you’d intended to rope him up. “Oh you have got to be f**king kidding...!” You laughed “No... sorry baby, this could be the end of the line...” “If I yell right now...” he growled “What and have them kill me? Baby you’d miss out on all the fun...” you winked “But you can keep talking to me in that tone...” Your voice lowered seductively; “Unfortunately - I just couldn’t...” you pulled hard on the rope and he slipped forward so he had to lean into you. There was just about enough slack for him to be able to steady himself; but the only option there was placing his hand on your thigh. You regarded him with interest for a moment; looking a little angry, out of control, helpless. Not a position he liked. Too bad you did.

You brushed your lips teasingly to his, ghosting, barely touching. Perhaps torture for both of you, but you were in control. When he tried to create a kiss, a real kiss, you simply pulled yourself back. That earned you a whine, a real whine. Frustrated. And it gave you your own rush. “Mmm... that’s better.”

--- @wrenx02 - Thank you my darling for inspiring this! Here is your part 2! 💙💜

As ever, Mendo Squad! @dennismitchell @krnncsbtch @happyskywhale

❤

#Slow West #Ben Mendelsohn #Payne x Reader #Jax if you're reading this you have 16 pieces to review... That's not including Sway.#...Does that take it to... 22. Wow. Girl.#Again I love her. I L O V E her.#This is by no means over #Linzi writes #Sometimes I write her lines and just laugh #and I love her and Silas too #We really need a badass three way team up #Don't worry I'm not making a love triangle...#Thank you for reading #Reader-Queen #Elera #59

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urflowersdied · 5 years

Text

cold as ice(d coffee)

In which Norah really just wants to make some money to finance her student life and Harry is her super serious, but incredibly soft-looking, café-owning boss.

A/N: Initially this was supposed to be a one shot, because I just wanted to write a story in one go and have you guys read and (hopefully) enjoy it, but turns out that’s something I don’t know how to do. So, here is the first, 4.7k long part of this three-part series. I have to thank some friends on Twitter who will get their own message, but I’m also immensely thankful for @dadshirtking, who was incredibly supportive and a really helpful creative mind, @bribe-the-door, for being loving and positive and kind and the sweetest person around, and @isitjamiemoriarty, for being the world’s greatest feedback giver and without whom I probably would’ve gone crazy trying to figure this story out.

Hope you enjoy!

Norah was absolutely fuming. It seemed like just her luck that on the first day of her job the trains seemed to have decided on making her life all that much harder and arrived with a one-hour-delay. Presenting herself disheveled due to running all the way from Manchester Piccadilly to The Brewing Pot probably would not improve the impression she was bound to make on her new colleagues, but that was a risk she was willing to take in order to get there just a few moments quicker.

She knew that it could be quite difficult for a student employee to get on well with their full-time colleagues, which was why she had devised a seemingly foolproof plan to make the first day go swimmingly. Norah had spent all of last night looking up some hilarious jokes she would try to sneak into some conversations and additionally baked some of her grandmother’s famous triple chocolate chip cookies. In hindsight, she realises that she had been hired as a help in a café where an actual baker worked in order to prepare all the sweet treats for the customers, but by then it was too late. She just hoped her colleagues would at least pretend to be interested in her amateur baking.

It wasn’t even as though this was her dream job. Far from it, actually. She loved spending time in cafés, but rather nursing a cup of coffee herself than working behind the counter with a constant fake smile plastered upon her face while listening to the ridiculous orders she had to fulfil. Needless to say, this was not her first job of this kind. She had held down her job at one of the coffee bars that were littered around her university campus for the first year and a half of her degree pursuit. After one of her coworkers had refused to stop their incessant flirting at her old job — and her boss had not even batted an eyelash when she mentioned her discomfort about the situation to them — she had felt forced to quit.

The first few weeks without a job seemed extremely relaxing, but when she had to decline her friend’s invitation to a night out because she wouldn’t have been able to afford the night - because, really, how expensive were the drinks at that club? - she decided to get back on her feet. Norah quite enjoyed working. Enjoyed the routine that came with having more than just her pain-in-the-ass philosophy class or some lecture that she would most likely not pay any attention to anyway to get her out of bed in the mornings. The social aspect that came with working was also something she cherished. She had always been a little more shy and dealing with colleagues was a fairly simple way to force herself to interact with humans without making too much of a fool out of herself.

Turns out, finding a new place of work in a town full of students had not been the easiest task. After asking around some of her friends and a few smaller shops around her university and gained nothing but shrugs and rejections, she decided to broaden her scope. She didn’t really mind taking the train to get to work - instead found it rather calming, actually -, so when she finally got the offer to work as a barista at The Brewing Pot in the heart of Manchester she had jumped at the opportunity.

The Brewing Pot was one of the most charming shops she had ever stepped foot in. The café section of the store was made up of wooden tables, tons of plants and some mismatched couches and armchairs. If you were to wander further into the building, though, you were greeted by tons of shelves filled with secondhand books. There was an extremely quaint, homely feel to the whole place. She didn’t even really mind the train ride she had to take in order to get to and from her new place of work.

The only aspect that made her feel a little on edge was her boss, whom she had met only once before during her job interview, which had not been all that fun. When she first laid her eyes on him, she had quite honestly been a little taken aback. He was absolutely gorgeous, with chocolate curls, piercing green eyes covered by a really expensive-looking pair of glasses - she was fairly certain she had spotted an engraved Gucci sign on them - and his very tall frame had been adorned by the most endearing knitted sweater. He had truly looked like the kind of man Norah could only have conjured up in her wildest dreams. That she would one day actually get to breathe the same air as such a specimen seemed laughable to her. But once he had opened his mouth, the fantasy she had created in a few milliseconds was destroyed just as quickly.

He had not been extremely rude to her, rather he had really only given her the bare minimum amount of time of day needed that could be deemed socially acceptable. Harry Styles seemed like quite the serious man though, not cracking one single smile at any of her attempted funny comments during their meeting. She wasn’t sure if he wanted to establish some ground rules on how he interacts with his employees or if he’d just gotten up on the wrong foot that morning, but she had definitely felt infinitely intimidated in his presence. Of course, looking back now, this first encounter with him did not calm her current frazzled state in any type of way.

Completely out of breath - she really should get started on that New Year’s resolution of hers to make actual use of her gym membership -, she pushed open the door and was immediately greeted by a jingle of the bells which notified everyone inside of a new entrance. Taking a quick glance towards the huge clock that adorned one of the brick walls in the café segment of the building, she thanked her lucky stars that she had decided to sprint. She thought that being a mere five minutes too late was the best case scenario in this really bad situation.

After gathering her hair up into some sort of ponytail to seem at least a little put together, she approached the counter. The wary smile on her lips paired with a nervous fumble of her fingers was probably enough to tip off the guy behind the counter as to who exactly she was. “Norah, right? You’re new, yeah? I’m Adam, supposed to show you around today!”

And, really, she could not have asked for a more charming person than Adam to show her the ropes and make her feel at home in her new job. Her other colleagues had also presented themselves as wonderfully kind people, but over the course of the next few weeks Adam had quickly established himself as one of her closest friends. For whichever curious reason, their shifts often overlapped and being of similar age only propelled their mutual understanding and bond into great heights. Dealing with some of the infuriating customers that visited, she was extremely delighted to be able to unload some of the stress into the ears of Adam, who completely understood her pain.

Therefore it’s pretty understandable how disappointed she is when he calls her one Monday morning to tell her he won’t be able to make it to their shared shift. As usual on Mondays the café was closed for business, but there had been an incredible amount of orders to fulfil for a wedding that was taking place the following day.

Ever since she started working there, her coworkers had given her crash courses on how to improve not only her own cookie recipe, which they had actually immensely enjoyed after she had mustered up enough courage to offer them to her colleagues, but also on how to perfectly follow the café’s original recipes. So when the question of who would come in on their day off to get a head start on the orders arose, she had felt pretty secure in offering her time and energy alongside Adam. The same Adam who had now left her to her own devices, because he had inspected the bottom of one too many bottles the night before.

Taking advantage of her solitude in the kitchen of The Brewing Pot, Norah blasted her ultimate mood-lifting album - does she even have to mention that it’s Nilsson Schmilsson? - through the speakers that were installed to help motivate the staff during their work day. She was already dreading having to pipe about 170 cupcakes once they had cooled from their time in the oven as the entry bells to the store chimed.

Before she was even able to wonder who interrupted her jamming session to Without You (and also, had she just imagined triple-checking the locked entry door after arriving?), a disheveled-looking Harry Styles appeared in front of her eyes. Up until now she had only ever witnessed her boss on fleeting occasions, him often not being present during her shifts or hidden away in his office if he was in the vicinity.

So you cannot possibly hold it against her when she completely freezes up and just blinks her eyes at him a couple of times instead of actually making use of her vocal chords to inquire about why he was stood here, looking as if he had just rolled out of bed but simultaneously giving Adonis a run for his money. Luckily, he decides to address her first. “Good morning. I’ve been trying to find someone to come help you out but it’s too much of a short notice for everyone, so I hope you’ll accept my help.”

And because it really wasn’t her place to dismiss his offer, which could get her back on the train, home and into her warm cozy bed a little quicker, she shot him a timid smile. “A helping hand would be more than welcome to me right now, thanks.” Those words were apparently all he needed in order to kick into gear, as he rolled up the sleeves of yet another adorable knitted sweater. She quickly sprung into actions as well and turned the volume of the speakers down by a vast amount, so that the wonderful melodies by Harry Nilsson only soft drifted through the kitchen.

The space that wasn’t occupied by their bodies trying to move about the kitchen without much interaction was filled by uncomfortable silence. His presence did not calm the movement of her hands, which was already shaky due to her fear regarding finishing up these cupcakes. Additionally to looking so wonderful that she would much rather put the icing on him rather than the baked goods, he was also her boss, which meant that she would have to try her damnedest not to mess up.

“How old are you again, Mister Styles?” She had to break the silence which had quickly settled over them somehow, right? To her, it seemed more awkward to not engage with each other while being confined in the close proximity the kitchen provided.

What she had not taken into account was that Harry Styles did not seem like much of a conversationalist. After a short confused glance at her - he must have momentarily forgotten that she is also taking up space in the kitchen, why else would he be so surprised for her to be speaking up? - he gives her the shortest reply possible. “I’m 27.”

It’s not as if she is extroverted in any kind of way, it’s just that awkward situations are even more difficult to handle for her than actually conversing. Which is why she definitely understands the hint his short answer was supposed to give her but she chooses to ignore it regardless. “So, Adam told me you’ve owned this place for like 5 years… Why did you open it at such a young age?”

“Didn’t open it myself. The owner needed a replacement and chose me.” His shortage of words stunned her a little bit. She could definitely tell he was starting to get frustrated with her incessant talking, but he seemed too polite to confront her about it. It didn’t seem to her as though she was prying into his life. She was just asking a few standard questions, no harm meant in any way.

Nevertheless, she let silence overtake the space once again and let her eyes drift from the cupcake bases she had been trying to cool by aimlessly wiggling another baking tray over it towards her boss. His head bent down (his glasses didn’t seem to budge at all which intrigued her more than it probably should), cradling a filled piping bag in his now bare hands - usually they were ring-clad, and she had been itching to ask about whether any of them held some sort of special meaning to him just like the quartz ring that she sported on her right pointer finger did to her -, she knew she was fucked.

Unsurprisingly, she had always had the tendency to gush over males who portrayed a certain distance, an unattainability. Harry Styles, though, definitely took the cake. He did not seem interested in maintaining the exchange of vowels and consonants between them in the slightest. Rather he made it seem as though these baked goods were his sole purpose in life, as he gave them his full attention.

She had noticed some thoughts cross her mind a few times before already. That he always seemed too serious, almost stoic, his mood always seeming solemn, and how that did not correlate with the beautiful features of his physique at all. His hands looked delicate, his lips pouty and the area around his stomach and hips incredibly soft - which stood in contrast to his otherwise incredibly lean frame wonderfully. Maybe her self-proclaimed hopeless romanticism had something to do with it, but had this intricate feeling as though he wasn’t born such a low-spirited person. Perhaps that was why she decided to open her mouth again. “Do you know the people who are getting married tomorrow? Like, the couple who -”

“Listen, I think you’re doing a great job working here, but I am not really interested in making friends with my employees. So if we could just… finish this order, I’d really appreciate that.”

Remember when she declared him as being too polite to call her out on awkwardly trying to attempt a conversation? She definitely takes that sentiment back. Surprised, her hands falter in their current swirling motion and lift the piping bag away from the cakes he so badly wants to complete in order to not completely mess up. She isn’t entirely fond of the idea of turning this whole encounter into an even bigger disaster than she has already found herself in.

Even after analysing the exchange in lightning speed, she couldn’t figure out where exactly she went wrong. What had warranted his coarse reply? Being completely honest, he had infuriated her. Not wanting to blur a line between friends and employees made sense to her, if that was what he really wanted. But there were right and wrong ways to make her aware of his penchant. Harry Styles had chosen to go about it in a wrong way.

“I’m sorry for prying, Mister Styles. I was just looking to make conversation. If you aren’t interested in being friendly with me and insisting on being a sourpuss, then that is your right. But please be civil when you inform me of that. It’s just common courtesy, isn’t it?”

For a moment she holds her breath. His eyes shot up to her and she was able to detect the tightening of his jaw. Alright, maybe dubbing him a sourpuss hadn’t been the smartest move, but she couldn’t stop herself. The word described him perfectly. She was convinced that this would be her last shift at The Brewing Pot. Already mourning the loss of yet another job in her head, the man who she (for now) called her boss let his Adam’s apple bop one time and then dropped his head. The conversation had passed.

One hour and an abundance of tense silence later, all 170 cupcakes were iced and placed into the fridge, ready to be delivered first thing Tuesday morning. With one mutter, he dismissed her - opting to clean the kitchen on his own rather than dragging out this miserable encounter.

And with her head held high, but her heart nestled a little bit lower in her chest, she made her exit.

Apparently, the people in charge of the railway system and the trains really did not have any aspirations towards getting on her good side. It was March now, and she had just finished up her first solo closing shift in her three months working there. Spring had yet to peak through the dreary blanket that the Winter had placed upon England. She could not wait to take a hot shower. Would have preferred a bath and a nice cup of tea, but alas, that was a feature her student housing did not provide. Then she’d like to settle down on the couch to watch reruns of sitcoms until it would prove impossible to force her eyes open any longer and then retread to bed.

Much to her dismay, those plans were crossed through by her train home, who had taken it upon himself to leave just about two minutes before schedule. So here she stood, having just missed her last opportunity to get home towards the warmth and comfort her flat could provide her with and with not one place to go. After frantically calling just about every person in her phone book that either lived in a close mile radius or owned a car, she finally decided to seek solace in the confines of The Brewing Pot.

Truth be told, she didn’t really feel all too happy with her decision, but where else was she supposed to go? Catching a cab would’ve cost her an arm and a leg and Adam, who resided outside of Manchester but did own a car, was not even picking up his phone. She believed that her last resort was just settling down on one of the couches of the coffee house and trying to stay conscious throughout the night in order to grab a train home first thing in the morning.

And this plan probably would’ve worked out well enough, had her boss not entered his store after hours and found her lounging around way after she was supposed to actually be present. It seemed to her as though Harry Styles’ baseline state consisted of a mixture of stress and sternness. Norah had once again not caught more than a few mere glimpses of him after their unpleasant icing session. Not that she had minded their lack of interaction this time around.

“What… are you doing here?” She hadn’t expected any other question from him, the confusion apparent on his face this time extremely warranted. And this time, instead of holding it up high Norah lets her head sink a little lower, knowing that she wasn’t really supposed to be here after hours. This time, if he were to get angry and throw her out, she would not be able to hold that decision against him.

She felt stupid. How incapable did it make her seem when she would tell him that on her first closing shift she had managed to miss her way of making it back home? The closing shift itself had actually been kind of enjoyable to her, but would it seem rude for her to mention how she probably would’ve arrived at Piccadilly in time had she not been left to her own devices? The sound of his voice brought her back from the questions piling up inside of her mind while she had stayed silent. “Well?”

“I’m sorry, Mister Styles… I, uhh… My last train back home left a little earlier than expected and Adam isn’t picking up his phone, so… I had nowhere else to go. Was gonna just wait it out until the first one in the morning, but if that’s not alright I completely understand. I should’ve asked for permission.”

It seemed like this flow of words didn’t please him in the slightest. The shaking of his head was a clear indicator for that. On top of that, he let out a loud sigh. “You… You don’t have to call me Mister Styles. Harry is… just fine.” This was definitely not the kind of reply she had expected. For the first time since she’s been aware of his existence, his facial expression softened a tiny amount. “Listen, Norah. I understand that working a closing shift on your own is hard work, but you really can’t just… stay here afterwards without letting me know. It’s unprofessional.”

“No, yeah, I’m fully aware of that. I just… really couldn’t figure out another place to stay and I’ve got this really important presentation tomorrow. Thought that if I came here instead of sticking around at the station I would at least be in a safe place while waiting and might even be able to close my eyes for a second. But you definitely should have been informed.”

This reply seemed to calm his mood. Harry huffed and nodded his head in her direction. “Alright, well… You’re right, it’s better to hang around where it’s safe. Just make sure everything’s locked and the lights are off when you decide to leave.” With those words he ducked into his small office to retrieve whatever had made his trip back to his business necessary.

Relaxing a little bit, Norah leaned back into the sofa and observed the now illuminated doorway through which he had just disappeared. After their encounter she really had not expected him to let her off with a warning, but she was glad that he did. While sitting around The Brewing Pot for a whole night wasn’t what she had envisioned to be doing after work, the alternatives of either wandering around the streets of Manchester or lingering by the train station for multiple hours seemed even less appealing.

A few moments later Harry emerged from the office and let the door fall shut behind him as he closed the distance between him and Norah. “I -“, was as far as he got before he stopped himself to inhale a deep breath. She didn’t say a word. Just waited - admittedly a little (scratch that, a lot) anxious - for whatever he was about to blurt out.

“You were right, you know. I was extremely rude before, when we were working on that order for the Peterson wedding. You were just trying to make harmless conversation. There was no reason for me to blow up the way I did, I’m sorry.”

And if his hands fiddling with the files they were holding while waiting for her to speak up was a sign of his nervousness, well, colour Norah impressed. It wasn’t really the apology that threw her, it was the sincerity in his tone. She had accepted that she would not be able to establish some sort of friendly relationship with her boss, especially after there had not been any repercussions following her name-calling of him. She was grateful for that, at least.

“That’s… alright. Thank you for apologising, but I guess I was also out of line, so…”, was all she was able to come up with in reply. Frankly, there wasn’t much else left to say between the both of them. He had apologised for handling a situation the wrong way and she had admitted that her form of dealing with it could’ve also been improved upon.

Harry looked around his café helplessly before continuing his utterance of what she soon understood to be an invitation. “You said you have a, uhh… a presentation tomorrow? Are you… Do you think you’ll get enough rest staying here?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s quite close to the station and if I take the earliest train I might even be able to make it back in time to shower and go over my notes again. Gonna power through class tomorrow and then catch up on the sleep I’ve missed.”

With a shrug of his broad shoulders - and yes, she’s aware that she really has to stop lusting after him even though he’s behaving (and looking) extremely nice right now - he fixes his gaze on Norah once more. “I just stopped by to pick up these files that I forgot. Don’t live far from here, actually. You’re uhh… You’re welcome to stay in my guest room if you want.” Had she heard him correctly? Or had she already fallen asleep and was just dreaming up crazy scenarios? “At least you’ll get a few hours of sleep that way.”

Really, who was she to say no to the promise of being able to close her eyes for at least a few hours before what was sure to be a gruelling class tomorrow. Norah was also extremely curious to take a peek into his residence (and maybe his mind), even though she wouldn’t want to admit that out loud. Harry waited by the door while she collected her belongings and not too soon after, they started their trek towards his house, accompanied by the biting gusts of cold nocturnal wind.

„You can leave your coat here, if you want.“ Harry‘s house was bigger than she had anticipated, but then again he did mention a guest room which could’ve tipped her off on the fact that his abode was bigger than her measly flat.

The seriousness he displayed during all of their encounters was nowhere to be found. His living room - where she now stood with her hands folded in front of her, waiting for him to return from the kitchen, which he had dipped into - was made up of a set of mismatched patterned couches and the walls were clad in artworks from all different styles that weirdly blended together in perfect cohesion. Plants and books adorned nearly every surface and corner in her line of vision - which made a lot of sense to her, because that was strongly reminiscent of the inside of The Brewing Pot.

Truth be told, she didn’t know what she had expected. Maybe lots of monochrome colours, whites and greys paired with a touch of black, and extremely modern furniture. Not wooden floors, which were scratched up and led her to believe in the presence of a pet in her vicinity (maybe the dog bed next to one of the loveseats tipped her off as well), and cozy, seemingly handmade throw pillows.

It was headache-inducing, really. Trying to figure him out. She was stood in the middle of a room that she would’ve definitely seen him inhabiting the first time she had laid eyes upon him. Before he had opened his mouth and heard the cold tone of his otherwise so deep and rich voice. So, had she pegged him right from the beginning? Was the solemnity a front he put on for strangers and employees or was his living space a remnant of a time and character passed, with Harry simply too lazy to redecorate?

Or was she just reading too much into this altogether?

Her way-too-deep considerations were put to a halt by Harry’s return into the room. “There you go.” In his hand was the biggest glass of water she had ever seen. The fact that she found such a small gesture endearing was enough to let alarm bells ring in Norah’s head. These mushy feelings and musings about his interior and its relation to his state of mind had to stop. She really knew next to nothing about the young man stood in front of her and based on the way their previous interaction had turned out, he most definitely wanted it to stay that way.

Gathering her wits, she accepted the glass filled with water from his outreached hand and took a tentative sip. Once again, Norah found herself in an awkward position that made her throat dry up just a little bit. “Thank you”, was all that erupted from her vocal chords.

Raising his hand to touch his glasses - which she knew for a fact had no need to be rearranged, remembering the way they hadn’t really moved an inch when he bowed his head to focus on the icing of the cupcakes - he spoke up again. “Alright, let me show you the spare room so you can get some sleep.”

#HI LOOK AT ME ATTEMPTING ANOTHER SERIES EVEN THOUGH I HAVE THE SHORTEST ATTENTION SPAN PROBABLY EVER #really hope you guys like this though #harry styles #harry #styles #one direction #one direction fanfiction #one direction fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #harry styles one shots #harry styles angst #one shots #harry imagine #harry imagines #het fic

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brittysaucefanfic · 5 years

Text

A Fate Unclaimed

Part 22

(First)(Previous)(Next)(Last)(AU 1)(AU 2)(AO3)

Yoooo I just realized I didn't post the new update on this story on tumblr and I am very ashamed. On the bright side I actually updated something! When I go through to fix this tomorrow I'll add an under the cut and the links but I'm lazy and tired. Lmao I won't keep you guys any longer. Let's go!

******

Lance stirs as the sun begins to set, and Keith is the first to notice. They had set up camp, which pretty much meant they just walked until they found a small plateau and hunkered down in an overhang. Shiro and Keith are the only ones awake, whereas Pidge and Hunk had passed out as soon it was clear they were all safe for the time being. They huddle close to Lance, one of his hands in each of theirs.

Shiro stands on watch at the edge of the overhang, a good few feet away, a sword pierced into the ground, hands settled over the hilt. He looks like a sentry, and Keith actually wishes for once he had some sort of artistic talent so that he could draw Shiro. Sadly, all of his skills lay with battle. Lance’s head shifts to the side to look at Keith, eyes still closed, tear tracks stained on his dirt covered face.

His eyes open to reveal a brilliant blue.

Keith and Lance have a tenuous friendship at best, but with the nonstop action the past two days, they haven’t had a chance to figure out which side of the scale they tilt towards. Friends or enemies. Even then though, a crushing relief surges into Keith’s chest. He’s lost a lot already, he won’t lose Lance, friend or enemy, doesn’t matter.

“Welcome to the land of the living sleeping beauty,” is the first thing out of Keith’s mouth. It doesn’t come out smooth whatsoever, and he feels his ears burn at the blurted pet name. He has never said anything like that. Not once in his life. There’s a silence for a moment, then Lance smiles, something slow that makes Keith’s pulse race just a little.

“Perhaps I’m still asleep if you’re using pet names now Samurai.” Lance mutters, he goes to sit up, but stops mid way when he realizes his hands are trapped. A soft look crosses his face as he eases free his hands, careful not to wake the demigods clutching onto him in their sleep.

“Lance, you’re awake.” Shiro says, easing over to the two of them, his shoulders losing some of the tension they had been holding as he stood guard. Shiro moves to sit beside the bundle of demigods so that he may look out for dangers.

“So it seems,” Lance muses quietly, smile slipping into a disturbed frown. The change is confusing to Keith, why does Lance seem so troubled? “How long was I out?” There is nothing in the way he asks it that seems out of place, but Keith still frowns when he senses something off.

“Only a day, thanks to Apollo.” Shiro says, and Keith is reminded that the wait wasn’t as long as it had seemed. To Keith it seemed like days. He’s never been the best when it came to patience, one of the many things Shiro bemoans about him.

“Apollo to the rescue? Did he,” Lance pauses. “Say anything?” It’s Shiro’s turn to look troubled. Keith realizes with a jolt that it’s so easy to read Lance’s facial expressions because they look almost identical to Shiro’s. Not his face, just the faces he makes. Perhaps if he imagined everyone to make the same expressions as Shiro, it would help Keith in his ‘social awkwardness’ as Shiro calls it.

“Yeah, Pidge asked why you weren’t claimed,” Shiro starts. “He said something about you not being for the Gods to claim yet."

The look on Lance's face tightens considerably, darkening. The conversation seems to have woken up the two sleeping beauties. Hunk stirs first, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with a yawn. Before he even opens his eyes, the first thing he does is straighten his slightly crooked orange headband, tightening it, then he reaches over to Pidge and goes to wake her up.

What's interesting to Keith is the fact that he doesn't shake her shoulder like one would expect. Instead he reaches underneath her chin and lightly runs his nail back and forth on her chin like she's a cat. Pidge scrunches her nose, then like lightning, she snaps her teeth at Hunk's hand. He pulls away like he was expecting it. This all happens with neither of them opening their eyes, and Pidge sits up grumbling.

"That's still unnerving you know." Lance says casually.

"Hey if it works it works." Hunk mumbles, still rubbing his eyes with continuous yawns.

"Lance can you hand me my glasses?" Pidge says as she stretches her arms above her head. Lance silently hands her the pair of glasses that are too big for her small face. Pidge is midway between slipping on her glasses when both Pidge and Hunk freeze and tense. Their eyes snap open almost simultaneously, and just as simultaneously they both screech Lance's name. Again, nearly simultaneously, they lunge at Lance and take him to the ground in a pile of limbs. Lance's breath rushes from him in an audible huff.

"Lance!" They yell, then Pidge's voice takes over Hunk's briefly.

"We thought you were a goner!"

Hunk then takes over the screeching. "Don't scare us like that!"

Lance laughs breathily, patting both of their backs with a groan and a wince. As they lean back away from him Lance rubs his once injured shoulder. There are still a few prominent black veins around where the wound originated, the last vestiges of the poison in his veins. The hole itself has closed, though ungracefully, looking more like a knot in a tree than skin.

It doesn't bulge prominently, but it's obvious that the skin healed far faster than it should have, leaving being a small raised knot. The skin twists around almost in a full circle, and with the black veins still prominent it isn't the nicest sight to look at. Keith looks away from the wound to Lance's face, locking eyes with a piercing pair of blue eyes. Lance offers him a small, tight smile and they break eye contact like it never happened.

"Yeah, I don't exactly plan on doing anything like nearly dying again." Lance says, then his lips form a grin that Keith might imagine to be a leer. "At least not until I've had sex first."

"Ugh!" Pidge cries out in disgust, shoving Lance back onto the ground as he cracks up laughing like a maniac. "You're deplorable!"

"Ooh that's a big word Pidgey. Good job! Such a smart girl you are!" Lance mocks, baby voice and all. She picks up a small rock and aims it at his head. Lance dodges with hardly a blink of surprise. Her face slowly drops the playful glare, and turns somber.

"We were really scared Lance. I-" she cuts herself off with a shaky inhale. "I've already lost my brother, but there's still a chance to find Matt. You- you nearly died. There is no return from death." She stops, not saying anything more, but the tears welling up in her eyes say everything. Lance gathers her in his arms and strokes her head, Pidge clinging onto him. Hunk, not one to be left out of an emotional hug, gathers them both into his arms, thick fat tears rolling down his cheeks. He cries silently though, nothing to hear but sniffles.

There's a moment of silence as Keith watches the three of them.

Something wells up in his chest, making him look away with a lump in his throat. Shiro's hand settles on Keith's shoulder, and Keith doesn't have to look up to know that Shiro is smiling at him in that big brother kind of way that he does.

"Okay that's enough!" Pidge snaps, squirming out of the group hug and settling herself on the ground with huff. She straightens her glasses and wipes at her eyes. "So, now that Lance is better do we need to start moving on to whatever it is we were sent on this quest to do?"

Suddenly it's business?

"Actually," Hunk chimes, wiping at his own eyes but still sitting with an arm around Lance. Pidge scoots quietly closer, so that Lance's knees and hers touch but nothing more. Lance and Pidge both hide their hands behind the touching knees for some reason. Are they a couple maybe? For some reason that image makes Keith want to separate them two with his own body. He doesn't, though, because that would be weird.

"What are we supposed to be doing?" Hunk asks. "Like we have a map, but no clue on what the quest is actually about? Are we stopping a bunch of monsters? Killing some ancient evil entity? Fighting rogue demigods?"

"Rogue demigods?" Lance repeats, one eyebrow arched high into his hairline. Hunk shrugs defensively.

"Maybe something Macaria talked to you about will give us a clue?" Shiro hints at Lance, his usually top notch subtlety somehow not being put to good use. Lance looks away, at the ground, the hand not hidden behind his knee picking at the torn up jeans he wears. He shivers as a breeze picks up suddenly, and Keith realizes Lance is still completely shirtless.

Keith pointedly does not look away from Lance's face as he slips off his dark red leather jacket and hands it to Lance. He takes it gratefully and slips it on. Keith ignores the chill that racks his spine when another cool breeze passes. Lance is the one who almost died, Keith can suffer a little chill. Not that he hasn't done so before anyways.

"We talked about a few things, but not much about the quest. Though," Lance trails off. "I have a decent idea of what's going on."

"You do?" Shiro asks, surprised. It seems he never expected Lance to answer.

"I had a dream while I was," Lance swallows thickly, Adam's apple bobbing at his throat. For some reason Keith is enthralled with the movement. "Dying. A nightmare more like actually." They're silent as they wait for Lance to elaborate. "I was in Camp, and it was empty. Then a strange man spoke to me like he knew who I was. He said-" Lance pauses, hesitates.

"Well it doesn't matter what he said, but I think he plans to overthrow the gods. He showed me the camp in ruins, flames, and the camp looking like some Disney villain army encampment. The same thing with the Roman camp. As well as two others I don't recognize, but I'm fairly positive they were demigod camps. Of some kind." Lance explains. His face turns twisted like he's in pain.

"Do you have any idea who it is?" Hunk asks. Lance shrugs unevenly, one shoulder higher than the other.

"I don't know, I've never seen the man before but Coran gave me a- the journal!" Lance bursts out in panic surging to his feet, wobbling, then rummaging through all of the packs and supplies. The sudden burst of movement makes Keith flinch unintentionally.

"Journal?" Hunk asks. "What journal?"

Lance finishes off one pack, the contents strewn across the ground haphazardly, and moves onto the next in much the same manner. Lance mutters frantically underneath his breath. He forgoes taking everything out one at a time and just dumps the pack upside down. This one is clearly Hunk's pack as a bunch of random gadgets and mechanical pieces crash to the ground.

"Hey!" Hunk whines, though he doesn't sound that upset about the mess. More like he's concerned. Or worried. Or scared. Or a lot of things actually. Keith needs to learn how to read people better.

"Coran gave me a journal that seemed really important and necessary and I need to find it!" Lance says. Pidge is the one to cry out indignantly when it's her pack being turned over.

"Geez lance be careful! And have you thought to look in your pack first?" Pidge huffs. Lance pauses in his rummaging and looks for his pack, as if he had suddenly remembered he had one of his own. He dives for it like a volleyball player diving to save the ball from touching the ground. Soon Lance's stuff joins the mess.

His stuff isn't quite so unique compared to the gadgets in Hunk's pack and the computer and stuff in Pidge's. In actuality his pack almost resembles Shiro's, the first pack to be rummaged through. Shiro seems to have no concern over Lance going wildly through their stuff as he watches out into the darkness of night.

The flames of the small fire cast flickering shadows on the wall of the overhang, coating the entire group in an eerie glow. Once again Keith wishes he could draw, to capture the moment on paper. The way the fire dancing across Shiro's face makes his scar almost dance with it, his metal arm shimmering with the light. The way Pidge is cast in Hunk's shadows, and how Hunk looks looming and dangerous with the flames touching his dark brown eyes.

And Lance.

The way Lance moves so frantically through his pack, the flickering light making Lance's movements seem like he's moving through water. Like he is water. A form barely held together as a whole. It's makes his tan skin glow gold like Apollo's. His blue eyes nearly glow, white teeth gnawing at his lower lip. Dark hair twisting around his head in flashes of flame and flashes of darkness. Keith's red jacket like their own flames engulfing Lance's body.

Keith swallows thickly and looks away.

Somehow his eyes land on the very thing Lance is looking for. It's hidden beneath his jacket, now torn at the shoulder where Lance was injured, a dark red stain surrounding the hole. It makes sense that no one thought to look there. The jacket is pushed up against the wall in a heap, dark enough that it blends with the dark dirt and far enough away that the flames don't cast light upon it. The journal that peeks out from beneath is dark too, but the pale cream of the pages on the side is a bright spot against so much dark.

Keith eases up slowly, not wanting to cause any unwanted attention. Everyone's eyes are on Lance as he gives a short shout of frustration. Keith grabs the book before Lance can start making a mess of his pack too and stops Lance from going after it with a hand on his shoulder. He holds the journal out delicately, looking Lance in the eyes. His pretty blues are misty with tears that haven't fallen.

"Is this it?" Keith asks near silently. The misty look disappears from his eyes and he goes to grab the book from Keith. The movement at first is violent, reaching to grab the book and yank it from Keith's hands. Then as Lance settles his long fingers around the spine, their fingertips touching just barely, his movement slows to a crawl. He slowly takes the book from Keith's grasp. The brief contact wasn't a lot but it still sent hot tingles up his wrist.

"Thank you." Lance says. And then the charged moment snaps as their eyes look away from each other. Lance settles on the ground with a heavy thump and an even heavier sigh.

Keith returns to his place on the other side of the fire. The seating is no longer one sided though, the four of them no longer on one side and he on the other. Shiro, Pidge and Hunk still sit across from Keith, facing out into the openness beyond. But now Keith and Lance sit on the other side, next to each other, knees almost touching.

Keith is not a thinking type of person.

He doesn't think about his actions most of the time, he just goes for it and damned be the consequences. It's gotten him kicked out of many schools, thrown out of many foster homes, and unintentionally made him a bully or a victim. Sometimes (most times) he was the stronger one, making Keith the bully even though the other kids started it. Other times he was the smaller one and the other kids had the advantage so Keith became the victim.

So he's no philosopher, and he's no ponderer.

But it seems even Keith can make an exception. He knows he's not the brightest when it comes to other people. It's hard to understand the emotions and feelings on their faces, and the intentions behind their actions. He's not even used to being so thoughtful about what he isn't.

He's never before lamented he was a fighter and not an artist. He's never lamented that he sometimes can't understand other people unless they explain it to him in clear words. He's never lamented the fact that he's technically only ever had one friend, and that's Shiro. But now? Now he wants it all with a burning passion.

He wants to understand jokes so he can laugh with other people. He wants to understand facial expressions and body language so he can be the one to comfort someone else for once. He wants to have friends other than Shiro who won't just disappear when he gets too much of a burden.

There's always been a metaphorical line that separates him from other people. One that he tries desperately to cross but he can't see it. Only those on the other side know where the line is and refuse to let him cross into their world. Up until now Shiro was the only one who ever crossed the line to Keith. Now, just as Lance sits beside him on one side of the fire, so might he stand beside him on Keith's side of the line.

Or perhaps Lance has one foot on either side, ready to cross either which way but not decided on which side he would choose yet. Keith vainly hopes Lance leans to Keith's side, but he won't know until Lance crosses completely.

"So," Shiro finally speaks up, drawing the word out with a faint southern drawl. Shiro isn't southern, but Keith is. It makes Keith wonder if maybe Shiro picked up on Keith's barely there southern accent. If that's even possible. "What's so important about the journal?" Shiro asks.

"I don't know yet. I haven't read anything from it but something about the man in the dream made me think of Coran and subsequently the journal." Lance explains. He cuts himself off with a yawn before continuing. "Whoever he was though he was good at controlling my dream. He had me paralyzed, barely able to speak, let alone move. And he said something along the lines of him seeing my impending death on my soul."

"Huh." Pidge says, a hand on her chin in thought. "A son of Hypnos maybe? Since he could control dreams?"

"No," Lance says as he shakes his head. "He's too powerful. If he's a demigod, which is still unclear, I'd say he rivals the power of Shiro and Allura. I could see it."

That makes Keith curious, the way he said that. As if the power coming off of the strange man in the dream was something he could actually see. Something corporeal, something he could touch. His mouth is speaking before Keith has a chance to realize he's doing it.

"What do you mean by you can 'see it'?" Keith asks. Lance snaps his head to the side to stare at Keith with wide eyes, then stares at the journal in his lap, picking at the leather cord binding the pages closed.

"Uh, well." Lance stammers. "Okay so, you can't laugh at me. I swear I'm telling you the truth."

"Lance." Shiro says in a calming voice, finally looking away from the nighttime darkness. "You can tell us anything. We're your friends."

Lance stares at Shiro for a long moment, making the silence between the five of them grow tense. The only sounds in the air are the crickets and the distant howling of bobcats or coyotes or whatever big predator animals the desert have. Lance finally slumps his shoulders with a sigh.

"So ever since I was young I get these," Lance pauses to try and figure out the words. "Flashes of color around certain people, and it didn't really happen until I learned of my godly blood. Then it happened more often but I kind of learned to ignore it like it wasn't there. To the point where sometimes I don't even realize it happened again until after the fact." Lance explains. He starts drawing little runic designs in the sand that look vaguely familiar.

"I get them for everyone, or at least the demigods and Gods. Usually the color is muted gold, maybe with another color kind of mixed in. Sort of like auras? But not quite. Some demigods shine brightly, blindingly like Macaria and," Lance pauses and swallows thickly. "Shiro and Allura too. They all nearly blinded me the first time I saw them. The gods, or at least those I've met, which isn't many, all shone the brightest. First time I met Apollo I nearly passed out from being overwhelmed by the glow."

"Glow, as in what Macaria said?" Pidge asks tentatively. Lance nods.

"She knew what it was, and she explained only that it made me unique, that I was gifted due to my heritage. It's supposedly one of many things that are in my power that makes me stand above other demigods or whatever." Lance says, and Keith can practically feel the waves of bitterness rolling off of him. "And I'm sorry, by the way."

Lance looks up and eyes them all with a sorrowful look.

"Macaria she, she used the glow against me. Used it like Shiro and Allura didn't know they could." Lance says. Shiro nearly jerks back in shock.

"What do you mean?" Shiro asks.

"I mean, there's a reason I'm always hanging off of you two." Lance says wryly, a dry smirk quirking at his lips. "The glow, when it's bright enough, enthralls me. Makes me crave the close proximity to it. At least that's what Macaria said it was. She told me to learn to resist the thrall or I won't be a help on this quest, I'll only hinder it."

"But what does the glow mean? What's it there for?" Hunk asks. Lance goes to answer, then pauses, eyes wide and bewildered.

"You guys are making it sound like you believe me." Lance says. Keith tilts his head curiously to the side, eyeing Lance's profile.

"Why wouldn't we?" Keith asks. Lance looks at him and Keith stares into glowing blue eyes. "You said you were telling the truth, why wouldn't we believe you?"

"Exactly." Hunk says, nodding. Pidge hums her agreement.

"I've never known you to lie about something so important Lance. I doubt you would start now." Shiro says. Lance blinks and then smiles a tiny little smile.

"Thanks guys. But to answer Hunk's question I don't know. I don't think Macaria knows for sure either. She said she was the only person she's known for centuries who sees it until I was born." Lance says, a shrug of his shoulders. Then he wrinkles his nose. "And apparently she felt it when I was born too, which weirded me out so I changed the subject."

"Well first," Pidge starts. "Creepy. Second. Did she say anything else about what she does know?" Lance shrugs to her question.

"Just that the fates put her through hell in back a few times, even literally. That I should be careful of my own self and of others if I want to survive." Lance says. He throws it out there casually, but even Keith, antisocial Keith, can see the hard line of Lance's lips, and the tense set of his shoulders, the strain of his voice to stay casual.

"Anyways." Lance explodes out suddenly, jumping up and quickly repacking everything he made a mess of in no time flat. He soon turns on heel and places his hands on his hips. "I'm tired. Who has first watch? And no, Shiro, it won't be you. When I woke up you were standing watch." Lance says, beating Shiro to the punch.

Shiro actually pouts and concedes to Lance's demand.

What a pushover.

Keith goes to offer himself up as watchman when Lance glares him down. Apparently Keith is lumped in with Shiro on the whole being forbidden from taking watch thing. Seems it's up to Pidge and Hunk.

"I'll do it." Pidge says, standing with a languid stretch of her body. Keith winces as he hears her neck, knees, and fingers pop. Then she twists her body and her back pops too. Keith suppresses a shudder at the sound. He hates that sound. Why would anybody do something like that to their own bodies? "I've got enough sleep anyways. Y'all get some rest, I've got your backs."

Pidge then swipes up her weird boomerang blade thing and strides out to the edge of the overhang with a blanket, settling up against a rock and crossing her legs. She's a far more relaxed sentry then Shiro was, but Keith has no doubt she's twice as deadly.

Lance is the first to stride over to where he had been unconscious earlier as he healed, laying down and sliding the heap of a jacket underneath his head as a pillow. Hunk isn't far behind, and for that matter neither is Shiro, though he simply lays on his back where he had been sitting, arms beneath his head. Keith looks back towards Lance and freezes when glaring blue eyes lock onto him.

With a huff he slides onto his side to fall asleep, or at least pretend to.

Every time Keith peeks his eyes open Lance is still looking at him with a deadly glare. Eventually the allure of rest conquers and he's soon falling asleep to Hunk's snoring and Shiro's sleepy whistle noises he makes in his sleep.

"Goodnight Keith." Lance whispers and Keith doesn't have time to return it before he's falling under the veil of unconsciousness.

******

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#voltron #voltron fic #lance mcclain #keith kogane #katie holt #pidge gunderson #takashi shirgane #shiro #hunk garrett #broganes #hunay #shadam #adashi #klance #percy jackson universe #greek gods #greek mythology #pjo!voltron

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