#also why did I just find out the games are airing earlier than normal today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

miraculouscontent · 3 years

Note

so... could you write some more adrien/chat salt? your fics and posts salting on him are always so good 🥺

Thank you! And of course~

—————

Ladybug had considered what to say multiple times over the day she'd had to think about it. She'd thought about all the different ways she could've said it, and what would've been the most effective when who she was talking to was taken into account.

However, sitting there on the rooftops with Chat Noir, there was a point where she just had to say it, no matter how it came out.

"Give me your miraculous."

Chat jerked his head over to her, jarred from the silence and eyes wide as his brain seemed to process the statement. Ladybug, meanwhile, stared ahead at the night sky, as if she hadn't said anything out of the ordinary.

After a few more seconds, she got a reply in the form of laughter, Chat buckling over with a hand on his stomach. "That's quite the Hawk Moth impression, Bugaboo!" he exclaimed, though calming himself enough to give her a half-lidded gaze and add, "But you don't have to do that to impress me, you know."

She didn't reply, only turning to look at him with her expression entirely flat, not showing any reaction to the mixture of teasing and flirting.

He was still grinning for a while, but as the silence dragged on, he began to falter. "...Ah—" He shook his head, leaning towards her and trying to force a smirk. "—if you want a wish that badly, all you need to do is say the word, m'lady! I can grant all your wishes."

She remained stoic, maintaining eye contact with him but not encouraging his banter. She could practically hear the gears turning in his head as it became clear to him that she was very much not joking.

One of Chat's ears twitched in confusion. He leaned back to his normal distance from her, seeming at a loss for what to say now that the atmosphere was finally registering with him.

Ladybug took a breath, noting that she had his attention. She straightened and looked back over Paris, saying, "I can't do this anymore."

He followed her gaze, squinting as if the answer would be written out there in bold letters for him. "Being a hero?"

"No, us. Us being partners." While he gaped at her, she stared down at her lap, her hands clutching her thighs as if that would give her some sense of stability. "...Chat, do you think this is a game?"

Chat shifted and rubbed the back of his neck, clearly not having expected the conversation to go here. It was hard to tell whether he was trying to keep things light or if it was just his genuine reply when he responded, "W-well, I'm definitely in it to win if that's what you mean—"

"I talked to Xavier Ramier today."

She watched his expression carefully, his hand leaving his neck and hovering awkwardly in the air as he looked at her. He seemed puzzled, not knowing what this had to do with the conversation, though his brows rose briefly like he'd remembered something.

She continued, trying not to show too much in her reaction as she explained, "Since I'm not as busy right now, I thought I'd check in on some of the people who got akumatized but I didn't have time for earlier. He was one of them." Idly, she pulled out her yoyo, almost mindlessly tapping away at it as she navigated through the various menus. "He said you came by to check on him a while ago; said that you were sitting there, just enjoying the day with him. He told me that you asked him if he missed being Mister Pigeon, or if he was feeling any negative emotions."

"I—" Chat tried to interject.

She didn't hear him, too focused on telling the story. "Then I asked him when you showed up, and he didn't know exactly when, but..." She showed him her yoyo, the messages Chat had sent clearly being timestamped for reference. "I figured out from what his rough guess and asking around that it was when you were supposed to be on patrol."

"I was on patrol!" Chat protested. "I was just checking up on him."

"You were relaxing on a bench," Ladybug reminded him., her tone remaining consistently flat. Snapping her yoyo shut and returning it to her hip, she added, "I even asked around and people told me they saw you go into the Grand Paris Hotel. I heard from one of the butlers there that you were sulking, and got excited when you saw Chloe and Sabrina fighting."

He opened his mouth to explain himself, but she could tell that he was struggling to come up with an excuse; he honestly believed that she'd never find out about any of this.

"I trusted you, Chat. I trusted you to cover for me when I'm not there, no matter what." She needed to swallow back her emotions for that one. "Why would you do that? Why would you hope for akuma to happen? Why would you lie to me?"

"I didn't!" Chat insisted, waving his arms frantically. "I—see... it was an off day! I was just—you know I can always do my best around you, and I did patrol! I just... made a few stops along the way! I wouldn't lie to you!"

"So you don't lie to me," she stated cautiously, "and you've never lied against me."

"Of course not!" he assured.

She paused for effect, just long enough for him to grow uneasy, then said, "Theo Barbot waved me down a while back."

Chat visibly cringed, and she could hear a hissing sound as he sucked in a breath.

"He wanted to congratulate me. He saw the picture of us kissing on the Ladyblog and said that he was glad we could finally go public about our relationship." Her gaze sharpened even as she stared at nothing in particular. "I asked what he meant, and he told me that you said that we were a thing. He said that that's what got him akumatized."

"It wasn't..." He averted his gaze. "...a lie exactly."

In response, Ladybug stood, throwing her arms outwards as emotion began to seep into her voice. "This is about more than lies, Chat; it's about everything! If you can only do your best around me, then what happens if an akuma gets me?" She didn't need him to answer. "You'll lose it. I need someone who I know will take care of things even if I'm captured."

"I would!" Chat retorted he stood up, the nervousness now showing on his face. "I would do everything to get you back, I—"

"Party Crasher," she cut in without missing a beat.

He recoiled like she'd physically struck him.

"And it's not just that I can't rely on you if I'm taken out; I can't rely on you not to take yourself out," she said pointedly, turning away from him and taking a few steps away to distance herself. "You're always throwing yourself in front of me and sacrificing yourself, sometimes when you don't even have to and always without just talking to me about it! Do you have any idea how that feels? You tell me all the time that you'll listen to me and how I'm the planner here, and then you go and make plans without me."

She heard Chat's hurried footsteps from behind her as he tried to match her pace and argue, "It's not like that! It's just—it's because..."

She turned just as he reached her, her stern gaze making him stop. "Because my anger is so irresistible?" she asked. "I'm just so adorable when I'm mad that you won't listen to me?" She advanced on him, forcing him back. "Thanks, Chat, that makes me feel so much better that you can't take me seriously because you just love me that much," she said sarcastically.

"That's not what I meant!" he argued, though at that point it seemed like all he could do was weakly protest that he didn't mean anything that way. "I'm only teasing, Bugaboo!"

"Then what do you really mean?" She clenched her fists at her side. "I've told you to stop calling me Bugaboo and you never do! You're too busy bantering and talking about our relationship to focus on the fight, and when that kiss happened - the one that happened because you got shot by Oblivio and I had to save you - you laughed at me for being upset and you didn't care. I'm tired of having to deal with all of that; I'm dealing with enough as guardian!" Reminded of her own status, she steeled herself up and held a hand out to him, managing to calm down enough to say, "Now, revoke your miraculous. I'll give it to someone else."

Chat retreated, his hand moving to cover his ring protectively. The nervousness had partially faded away into him being generally upset, though he also didn't try to defend his actions anymore. "You... if you give the ring to someone else, you'll know their identity!"

"I've already got a plan for that," Ladybug stated, holding her hand out more insistently.

Because of course she did. She wouldn't have been doing any of this if she hadn't given it a lot of thought first. There were pros and cons to bringing in a new cat, and when she really weighed it all together, this was the only way forward. Chat wouldn't learn, and she'd been stuck in a limbo of shouting at him, being ignored, and having to push down her feelings in the future or risk damaging their teamwork. She'd devalued herself - devalued her emotions - in order to believe that she could make it work because she needed him.

Except, she didn't. She needed a cat; someone to use the more active miraculous to balance out the lack of firepower that the ladybug miraculous had. It wasn't that it could be just anyone, but it certainly didn't have to be Chat. While she deeply regretted going back on one of Master Fu's decisions when he couldn't even have a say in it anymore, the fact of the matter was that she was the guardian and she made the rules.

Chat backed away a few more steps, his eyes darting around as he sought a way out of the situation. Then, facing Ladybug, a mixture of upset and offended, he argued, "We're a team! We still come out fine no matter what happened! You don't even know my identity, I've kept it a secret just like you wanted!"

He was reaching, and they both knew it. That had always been the reason for revoking someone's miraculous: someone else knowing their identity. However, there were reasons beyond that, and them "coming out fine" from a battle was hardly a high bar for someone getting to keep theirs. Ladybug knew that well enough after having dealt with Miracle Queen; even if Chloe's identity hadn't been revealed, she was still a bad person who felt entitled to a miraculous.

But Ladybug also understood the game Chat was playing at: that it wouldn't be right to take his miraculous when he's protected his identity. The logic was flawed, but she nonetheless crossed her arms and gave him a blank look, staring into his green cat eyes and starting to fit pieces of a metaphorical puzzle together.

Kung Food, Horrificator, and Startrain: those at minimum were times where Chat's civilian form had to have been inside at the time the akuma happened. Chat had also mistaken Francoise Dupont for an elementary school after they'd defeated Kwamibuster, but she mentally acknowledged that he could've been lying. He had to have been, if they were trapped in that building together with Horrificator. It narrowed things down significantly, and she knew that he had to have been a teenager like her due to the timer on his miraculous.

And while she was aware that Chat's green eyes meant nothing considering that she got green eyes as Lady Noire, there were little coincidences sprinkled throughout their history together that didn't add up unless she came to one final conclusion.

Chat showing up at the museum even though he'd have no way of knowing that an akuma could've been there. Chat knowing that Volpina's illusion was fake. Chat's mysterious loss of his miraculous when Style Queen was attacking.

The feather allergy.

Then, Ladybug glanced at the hand he was covering; the one she knew had the cat miraculous on his right ring finger. She almost felt like congratulating herself for constantly resisting the temptation, because when she actually thought about it, it was so obvious.

She knew that hand, as she'd seen it so many times. She had pictures of it plastered all over her wall and the realization made her feel sick, her heart dropping as opposed to skipping a beat.

"...Adrien Agreste," she said finally. "You're Adrien Agreste."

He blinked, his expression blank at first before dread started to take its place. His mouth slowly fell open, words trying to escape but there weren't any to be found.

She let the moment drag, stepping forward to close the distance between them. Adrien's face flashed over Chat Noir's for a moment and she swallowed, summoning all of her confidence to address him properly.

"Tell me, Adrien. Tell me that this hasn't been a game for you. Tell me that you wanted to protect Paris all this time. Tell me that this hasn't all been about you."

She waited, not expecting or hoping for any answer in particular, because it no longer mattered; the conclusion would the same regardless.

Ultimately, she got no reply, and within the next ten minutes, the cat miraculous was in her hands and Adrien was promptly taken home.

—————

Marinette took a breath of the cool night air, having chosen to walk home rather than get there as Ladybug. She needed time to think, and walking helped her clear her head from the rush of everything that'd happened.

Her purse rustled, Tikki popping out and leaning off the side to look up at her. "Is everything okay, Marinette?"

"Yeah." She nodded her head, just to reassure Tikki further. "It was for the best. It's a lot, but... I wanted to do it; for me, and for Paris."

Regardless of how many emotions she had to deal with, she was glad she knew. She supposed that she could've taken Chat's miraculous without seeing his identity - though it would've been complicated - but it helped her sort through so many thoughts in her mind.

She let out half of a chuckle, idly thinking that she dodged a bullet. If dating Adrien would've turned him into any level of Chat Noir - or, honestly, just knowing that he was Chat Noir - then it was definitely for the best that she figured out his identity. She wasn't sure how she'd behave around him the following days, but just the idea of things being any semblance of "normal" in the face of "the famous model Adrien Agreste," with no stutters or freak-outs...

It was nice, making everything feel a little brighter. Maybe Alya would even stop claiming that she's just "jealous" of Lila, the girls would stop teasing her so much, and she could put all that time she used to spend thinking about Adrien into something more productive. There hadn't seemed to be a downside in sight, actually.

As Marinette kept thinking on the subject, her gaze wandered off to the side, taking in the sights around her, and she paused when she noticed that she was right next to the Seine. The revelation didn't surprise her - she knew she'd have to pass by it to get home - but it did inevitably remind her of Luka, especially since they'd broken up only a day ago.

The metaphorical wound was still fresh, not helped by the fact that Lies had come right afterward as if to remind her of why she had to break up with him; she couldn't have a normal life, and she certainly couldn't have a boyfriend. It didn't matter if she loved Luka and he loved her back, because she would always have to leave their dates at the first sign of an akuma.

Yet, nevertheless, there was some form of comfort in staring out at the river, and she found herself traveling down the nearest set of stairs to walk right next to the Seine instead of so far above it, her eyes trailing along the surface of the water to search for the Liberty.

It took a few minutes of walking, almost making her wonder if she'd passed it without realizing, but then she saw the ship resting in the water, right where it always was. She approached, taking in the various colors and the silly rainbow weathervane, her body automatically relaxing at the memories of those two weeks of crafting kittycorn-themed costumes from paper mache.

Curiously, she noticed that the gangplank was up, as someone presumably had forgotten to pull it back before going to bed that night. Marinette walked over, crouching down and wondering idly if it was possible that it had been put up but had just fallen over at some point, yet it was clearly set perfectly in place.

Mentally trashing the thought, she placed her hands on her knees and started getting up. As she straightened her back, her eyes involuntarily scanned over the deck of the ship, a familiar color palette of blues, blacks, and whites registering in her mind before she fully recognized what—who it was. Her eyes locked onto the figure, and she had to slap a hand over her mouth to prevent herself from letting out a yelp.

It was Luka, sitting down on an instrument case with his guitar in his lap, though Marinette noted after a moment that he was actually asleep. Concern furrowed her brows as she took in his posture, one of his arms resting on the case while the other was perched on the guitar's base. His back was arched against the taffrail of the ship and his head was tilted back to the point where his hair was falling into his face.

There was no way that was comfortable.

Marinette hesitated, feeling almost like she was trespassing, then gave Tikki a look to hide inside the purse while she walked across the gangplank Any footsteps against the deck of the ship seemed unusually loud due to the otherwise quiet night, but Marinette tried to ignore it, approaching Luka cautiously so as not to startle him.

He was frowning, and she involuntarily copied the expression onto her own face. Outside of the bumps in their dates and the break-up itself, it was rare to see him as anything but calm or happy, and she got the distinct feeling that it wasn't just because he was asleep that he was making that face.

She reached up, lightly fixing his hair in case to try and keep it out of his eyes when he woke up, then lowered her hand to his shoulder. She gave him a light shake, then another with a little more effort when the first failed to stir him. When that failed as well, she leaned close, looking side to side like she was afraid someone would see her and think she was doing something strange. However, no one else was around, allowing her to safely whisper his name to him.

"Luka."

She stiffened when she got an immediate response to that, Luka letting out a low humming noise as he shifted. She jolted back, trying to give him space and blushing at the thought that shaking hadn't woken him in the slightest but her voice had immediately.

Luka's eyes opened halfway, staring blankly up at the sky. Brows lowering in confusion, he tried to move, though a whine escaped him when his body protested at the uncomfortable position he'd gotten himself into. He winced, but eased forward and leaned on his guitar for support, only then looking forward and meeting her gaze.

She shifted in place, feeling awkward but knowing that it was too late to back out now.

"...Mmmarinette?" he asked, squinting like he wasn't really sure she was there. He blinked a few times, his eyes widening a fraction when he confirmed that she was real. "Marinette?"

"Ah—hi," she replied, waving awkwardly. "Um, sorry, it was just—I was walking, and I saw you, and you were sleeping weird—not that you sleeping is weird or you look weird when you sleep!—but you seemed really uncomfortable so I just..." She gestured vaguely at his current state of awareness.

He let out a tired sound that may've been an "oh," then ran his fingers into his hair and rustled it, like he was attempting to shake the tiredness out of himself. That done, he managed a small smile at her that didn't stretch anywhere near the amount it usually would. "Thank you. I'm glad you care about me that much."

"Of course I do!" she blurted out, a little offended at the idea that she wouldn't. She realized belatedly how loud she'd been and rubbed an arm in embarrassment, but didn't take anything back either.

Deep down, she knew where he was coming from. It must've been hard for him to watch her ditch him and then deal with her ending their relationship with next to no explanation. Even with the confidence he constantly radiated, not having any information on the 'how's or 'why's must've been difficult, and she hated keeping secrets from him.

Even Chat got better than that...

Luka tilted his head at her, the anxiety probably written all across her face. Concerned, he began to ask, "...Is everything—"

"Luka," she called suddenly, straightening to face him fully. "I—" She swallowed, needing a few seconds to compose herself. "I know this is a bad time, because I'm not really supposed to be here, and you can say 'no,' but... can we talk? About what happened?"

She bit her lip nervously as he sat up, his body noticeably more awake than before. She felt like he deserved to know more about the whole situation, but he also had every right to refuse her for waiting - even if it wasn't that long ago - so the possibilities were nerve-wracking.

Thankfully though, Luka relaxed after a moment, lifting his guitar out of his lap to set it aside, the bottom of the body resting on the deck of the Liberty while the neck was supported by the taffrail. Settling his hands in his lap, he then gave her his full attention, even offering a soft look of reassurance.

Her shoulders eased; he was going to hear her out. Part of her almost felt bad, wondering if maybe he was forcing himself, but she also knew it was important for him to get closure on the matter.

"Okay..." She breathed, acknowledging to herself that she hadn't planned this is the slightest. After some internal debate, she sat down on the deck of the Liberty in lieu of a proper seat, earning a look from Luka but no further comment otherwise. Running her hands along her capris, she stared up at him and finally began, "It—it wasn't you."

He raised a brow, silently encouraging her to go on.

"I mean, maybe you weren't worried about that, but I just... I needed you to know that." She shrugged half-heartedly. "You didn't do anything wrong, Luka - you're amazing - and if it wasn't for me always having to leave and rush off and make you feel bad, I would've stayed with you."

"...Really?"

She blinked at his tone, the corners of her lips quirking up as he covered his mouth, clearly not having intended to blurt that out. She simply nodded at him, falling back into her serious state as she continued, "You deserve someone who can be dedicated to you, and I just—I can't, and I can't tell you why either." She slumped, ashamed at the secret she was forced to keep. "I wish I could. I do trust you, but it's not about that. It's—" She pursed her lips, struggling to find the right words. "—it's not really something I can say?"

She dropped her gaze to her lap, but didn't miss the flicker of understanding in his eyes. It was important to her, for him to know that she believed in him and that he'd done everything right in their relationship.

"...Are—" Luka paused, voice laced with worry. "Marinette, are you being blackmailed or something?"

She almost laughed at that. His deduction wasn't entirely wrong, as "go defend Paris from a supervillain and tell no one about it, and if you do then they might be in danger," certainly did sound like blackmail. Still, she shook her head, reassuring, "It's nothing like that. I'm sorry. I really want to tell you, a-and even be with you, but I can't do either." She clutched at her knees in an attempt to ground herself, glancing back up at him with a mixture of sorrow and guilt. "I don't know what you see in me, Luka, but I feel so lucky that you like me so much, and then unlucky because—" She choked briefly, her cheeks heating up as she realized that she'd never said the exact words to him before. "—because I like you too and I want it to be that simple but it's not. You want the truth and the truth is that I can't tell you no matter how much I want to. I know I forget things and had to skip out on dates because I was so stressed out, but you made everything fun and not stressful and I loved every date we went on until... you know." She gestured wildly to imply 'unsaid things happening.'

He was quiet, not showing any particular reaction, though she'd spent enough time with him to know that he was glad that she was talking more openly about it and clearing some things up that he might've been wondering about. His expression seemed blank on the surface but he was relieved to know something even if her words were pulling his emotions in every direction.

Mentally preparing herself for the next step, Marinette pushed herself up and walked over to him, finding it hard to meet Luka's gaze even as she hunched over and boldly placed her hands on top of his. Out of the corner of her vision, she could see his eyes searching her face, not knowing what to expect next.

"...I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know I apologized already but I'm sorry. I should've known things would end up like this but I wanted to date you anyway. I can't even tell you when this is all going to end so I can't ask you to wait for me either because it's not fair. You deserve a relationship that isn't so complicated... that doesn't involve me."

She flinched at the emotional punch to the gut she'd just given herself. She'd already known that dating would be near-impossible so long as she was Ladybug, but it was a completely different feeling to face Luka and say it to his face. She wasn't sure if she'd been his first crush, but the thought left a bitter taste in her mouth that it'd all gone so wrong and there was no hope of getting it back.

She took another breath to calm herself, slowly raising her hands away from his. "Anyway, that's all I wanted to say," she murmured, still not making eye contact with him. "Thanks for trying to show me a good time, Luka, but... maybe you should fall in love with someone else."

She turned away before her emotions could get the better of her, about to walk off when a hand suddenly grabbed her wrist and jerked her back. She squeaked in surprise, glancing behind her to see that Luka was on the edge of the instrument case, arm stretched out like he'd impulsively hurried to stop her. She opened her mouth to ask what he was doing, but he spoke first.

"Why?"

"W...why?" she echoed.

"Why should I fall for someone else?" he asked, his tone somewhere between hurt and serious.

"Ah." She tilted her head, confused and with no idea of what he was getting at. "Because of everything I said?"

"That you enjoyed our dates? That it wasn't us who cut the song short?" His other hand reached up, holding her hand as well while he looked at her tenderly. His voice grew quiet, like he couldn't believe what he was saying. "That you like me?"

Marinette blushed, but found it hard to look away from him this time. "I...I do like you. Um—only you, but—Luka, the dates..."

Luka slowly stood up, gently squeezing her hand in a show of support. "I didn't even think that I'd be taking up too much of your time, Marinette. I wanted to be together with you, but I didn't want it to be hard either." He offered her a lopsided smile, adding, "And I'm glad you told me, because I don't think you being busy means we can't be together."

"...What?" Marinette gaped at him in disbelief. "I thought you said that you wanted the truth, and—"

"You gave it to me," he reminded her. "You said you can't tell me and I believe you."

She waved her free hand wildly. "Y-yeah, and I'll have to run off and we'll never know when!"

"Then we don't have to date, or we don't have to date as much." He'd said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and maybe it was. "Why should we be playing sad solos when we can play a happy duet instead?"

She went to retort, but he'd so swiftly shot down her arguments that she was left speechless. She hadn't even considered that - trying to compromise with him on their dates - because she thought she wouldn't be worth it for him, yet here he was, offering himself to her again now that everything had been laid out for him. It seemed too good to be true, but...

He was her Second Chance, and every moment she spent with him just reaffirmed why she'd adored being given that chance in the first place.

She made a small noise as she tried to hold back emotion, her hand shaking in his. "You want me that much?"

His smile grew wider and more genuine, clearly recognizing that she was about to accept him. "Yeah. Do you want me too?"

Afraid her voice might crack and ruin the moment, she nodded and turned fully towards him. She held out her other hand for him and he took it happily, both of them able to enjoy each other's company once more.

Once things had properly settled down, she held back a shy giggle and asked, "S-so, do we just... pick up where we left off? Or just—before everything started going wrong?"

He hummed, seeming to honestly think about it. "I guess so. What verse do you want to start from?"

She retraced all of the bad dates in her mind, like she were rewinding a movie. One moment in particular stuck out to her, and she tried not to grin too much as she suggested, "The cinema? After I gave you the necklace?"

She didn't have to clarify any further, his eyes lighting up in remembrance. He grinned and leaned down to be closer to her level, her getting up on her tiptoes to meet him halfway in a kiss, thus finishing what they'd started from what felt like forever ago. She could feel Luka's hands caressing hers, as if to reassure that everything was alright and he was happy.

She waited until the kiss broke apart, then looked at him to ask teasingly, "Better than setting up a whole date to do that?"

He pressed his forehead to hers, sighing happily. "Definitely."

She beamed at him, almost tempted to kiss him again before she remembered what time it was. She gasped, inadvertently surprising him with the sound, then recoiled and placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, sitting him back down on the instrument case.

"You need to sleep!" she told him, then corrected a second later, "But—not here! Not right here anyway! It needs to be in a bed! Your bed!"

He laughed at the abrupt shift in tone, but nodded obediently at her, resting his fingers along her wrists. "I will. You'll sleep too, right?"

She nodded back, her heart skipping a beat at his care for her. "Yeah, I promise."

Her hands lingered on him, as did his with her as she pulled away from him. As much as she would've liked to stay with him, it was late and she still had a lot to take care of.

Rushing across the gangplank, she waited until she was safely on the other side so she wouldn't risk tripping as she turned to face him, walking backward and waving excitedly. "Bye, Luka!"

He suppressed a chuckle at the happiness-induced loudness of her voice, then waved back at her. It was only when he got up to take his guitar inside that she finally turned around and started officially heading home.

—————

When the last of the Adrien photos had been shoved into her trash bin - even the ones on her corkboard - Marinette allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief and collapse into her chair. It'd taken a little longer than she'd thought, but she was still satisfied with the change. The walk home and conversation with Luka had brought all of her thoughts together and made her feel optimistic about how the day had gone.

"Marinette?" Tikki looked up from the chocolate chip she'd been nibbling on, her being the only kwami awake at that hour. Voicing the inevitable, she asked, "What are you going to do about the cat miraculous?"

Marinette turned, acknowledging her, then reached into her purse to pull out the ring in question, turning it a few times in her hands. It was weird having it in her possession while she still had the ladybug earrings on, but it wouldn't stick around for long anyway, so she wasn't concerned.

Tikki continued, an urgency in her voice, "You're Ladybug, and you're not supposed to know anyone's identities, but you're also the guardian now, so you're supposed to give out miraculouses and know everyone's identities!"

Marinette, much to Tikki's apparent surprise, flashed her a smile and held the ring up confidently. "That's exactly why you're going to pick the next cat, Tikki."

Tikki blanked, dropping the chocolate chip in shock. "Wh—me?" Her voice squeaked. "Why me?"

Marinette would be lying if she said that she didn't find some amusement in Tikki's befuddlement. With a bit of effort, she pushed herself up from her seat, setting the ring down on the table and walking towards the sink at the other side of the room. "Because you've been with every ladybug who's ever existed, which means that you've known every ladybug and cat duo that's ever existed." Giving Tikki an expectant look, she added, "If anyone knows what kind of cat I'd need as a partner, it's you."

"But—" Tikki floundered, the thought clearly having never occurred to her. "It's the guardian who has to hand out miraculouses!"

"I won't know the new cat's identity this way," Marinette reminded her, idly tracing her fingertips along the sink's edge. "Sure, it'll be someone we both know, but if I didn't figure out that Adrien is Chat Noir until I tried, then I won't figure out this one either."

Her eyes scanned over the various drawers in her reach and she pulled open one in particular, a small box jerking forward from the momentum. It was the same box that held her ladybug earrings all those months ago, and now it would be the box for the new cat as well.

Holding the box to her chest and silently wishing luck upon it, Marinette returned to her table to see Tikki staring quietly at the ring in thought, apparently still processing what she'd been told. Marinette paid her no mind for the moment, setting the box down and searching various other drawers for a white cloth big enough for the box to be wrapped in. Then, once she'd successfully found one, she laid it out neatly on the table and opened the box to place the ring inside.

The moving of the ring snapped Tikki out of whatever trance she'd been in. She flew up, clinging to Marinette's hand and begging, "Wait! At least tell me what you'd want in a cat!"

Marinette supposed that was a win, since Tikki wasn't outright rejecting the idea and had little argument against it. She dropped the ring inside the box and smiled at the gentle 'click' it made when she closed it, then turned to address Tikki. The nervousness on display made a modicum of sense when considering that kwami were supposed to obey the guardian, so being told to do what they wanted was probably a little strange.

Marinette just took it in stride. She leaned against her chair as she considered her ideal cat, having been so used to Chat Noir that she needed a minute to imagine someone who really matched her.

"Thoughtful," she answered, nearly blurting the word out when it finally came to her. "Someone who thinks the way I do so I'm not doing everything myself. They can be selfless, but they have to have limits, and with good instincts so they won't throw themselves in front of me." Her expression growing fond at the idea of such a partner, she took the cloth and wrapped the box in it, sealing it with a strong knot as she added, "And... they have to be understanding, where I can cover for them and they can cover for me and we'll just—click."

She snapped her fingers for effect, watching as Tikki flew over to the wrapped-up box and tested it to ensure it was safe to carry. While she was tugging at the knot to confirm it was tight enough, Marinette stood and headed up the stairs to her bed, opening the way to her balcony so Tikki had a way out.

By the time Marinette peeked over the bed to check on Tikki, Tikki had already taken hold of the cloth and flew up to be eye level with her, the box being a noticeable yet manageable weight. Marinette moved to the side, allowing the straight-faced Tikki to go past her and go up to the balcony.

Thinking that Tikki had already gone, Marinette was about to close the trapdoor when she heard a soft, "Marinette?"

Her head turned to see Tikki, hovering above the little table with the box still held in her paws. She seemed conflicted, like she was struggling to find words, but eventually settled on, "You're a great guardian."

And with that, she left, Marinette blinking in surprise for a moment before a smile formed on her face. She closed the way to her balcony, then slipped back down the stairs to start getting ready for bed.

At the same time she'd be settling in to sleep that night, her tiny Miracle Box would be set down delicately in the Liberty, specifically on Luka Couffaine’s amp.

#((And some Lukanette obviously because I have no self control.))#MC's Writing #writing: story #category: salt #salt: chat noir #episode: Lies #other: ml spoilers #relationship: Luka Couffaine & Marinette Dupain Cheng

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td-scenarios · 3 years

Text

How they react to seeing their S/O crying

First scenarios are a go!

Cody

Will most definitely start panicking at your status and start asking you various questions.

“Are you okay? Did I do something? Do you need space? Should I hug you? Do I need to punch someone?” And you better believe he’ll do that last one based off that one scene of him and Duncan in World Tour.

Goes and brings his stash of candy to you for you to enjoy

If you don’t need space at the moment but instead comfort, you better believe this boy will turn into the biggest cuddlebug. His arms just wrapping around your entire body and him resting his head into the crook of your neck. Would totally start kissing you all over the face until you smiled and were laughing as you told him to stop in a lighthearted manner

Trust me, Cody is not leaving until there’s a smile on your face. Even if you ask for some space he’ll be sending you memes or stupid little drawings.

Also would totally do the really cheesy thing of wiping away your tears and resting the palm of his hand on your cheek so that you can lean into it.

Scott

Doesn’t really understand what’s going on at first. He’s clever, but he ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed at times.

“Why are you crying? It better not be somethin’ stupid, cuz, ya know, back on the farm-” cue you punching him in the face or on the shoulder

That’s when he’s like ‘Oh fuck, something is ACTUALLY wrong. Oh no this is a time where I have to step up as a boyfriend oh no oh no’

Him awkwardly being all “So....um....what’s wrong?”

His face absolutely breaking upon seeing your shattered expression. Protective boyfriend mode = activated.

“Did someone hurt you? Babe, you better believe that I’ll go and make their life a living hell, trust me.” And then you just slowly shaking your head no and leaning your head onto his chest, which just makes this big softie melt.

Y’all cuddling for a long time until you eventually fall asleep on him and he’s just brooding on the fact that if someone did cause it, he really was gonna go and beat them up, He doesn’t make idle threats, but for now, it’s just calm between the two of you.

Brick

He gets back from running one of his bi-hourly jogs with Jo to see your form shaking from under a blanket in the cabin. Since you’re under the blanket, he can only assume you’re not cold and immediately comes to the conclusion that you are upset

“Y/N! What has got you feeling so blue right now?” He would try to lower his voice for you, but his same tone only wavers a bit. Habits and all that.

You already know that this sweet boy will drop whatever other plans he had for today to stay in the cabin and comfort you until you were better.

He’d try to suggest going outside and getting some fresh air, but you two would go out for a bit and you’d either see the person who upset you or get reminded of your homesickness or whatever else made you sad, so you two would just go back inside.

Brick being Brick would probably find a way of accidentally making you laugh and he’ll just continue with that until you forgot why you were sad in the first place.

Mike

Taking a break from the others, Mike finds you sitting on a rock near the beach with your head buried into your folded arms. He instantly comes jogging up to your side and sits across from you, gently saying your name which gets you to look up. When you ask for alone time, he softly shakes his head.

“I can’t leave you until I make sure you’re okay, Y/N. You know me, it’s good knowing that the people I care about are good.” Those words kind of put a smile on your face as you look at the gap toothed boy.

Mike counts this as the start of working your mood back up. He wouldn’t want to make you more sad by making you talk about what upset you, so instead he decides to start telling you funny stories of shenanigans his alters have caused.

“They’re quite the cast! I remember when Manitoba was really proud of himself for digging up some new material, but the guy was already a little bit tired so instead he was just holding some dried cow patty! Vito wouldn’t let him live it down for weeks!” More and more stories of that caliber, all of which would make you giggle in some way or another.

At some point, Mike ends up wrapping an arm around your shoulders and it’s become night time so you’re both just looking up into the stars. A nice serene way to forget about what was plaguing your mind earlier

Dakota

“O M G, babe, are you okay? Your skin is getting a little blotchy.” You would wince a little bit at that prompting her to apologize as you wipe one side of your face with your hand.

The blonde would sit next to you on the cabin bed and ask that you “spill the tea, sugar.

After telling her what’s wrong, she insists on taking care of you for the rest of the day. Bringing you any food she can scour off the island, asking the other teens of the cast to leave the two of you alone, and once your crying dies down a bit she starts doing your makeup.

“I like doing your makeup so much because it gives me a great view of your gorgeous face.”

This comment of Dakota’s immediately gets the waterworks started up again.

She starts panicking, thinking she said something wrong while carefully putting her makeup brushes down. You just shake your head and hug her tightly, to which she’s confused about, but reciprocates anyways.

Leshawna

This girl immediately hugs you as soon as she sees how distressed you are. She gives the best hugs ever, I would know, Fresh TV told me.

“Alright baby, tell me what’s got your feathers in a bunch! Leshawna will make all the problems go away.” Her voice is so calming at that point that you break down even more and choke out what’s been bothering you.

If it is someone, she would definitely start making threats, but wouldn’t dare to leave you alone in this state, so whoever did this to you would definitely get some knuckle sandwiches later.

The girl would take you back to her cabin and lay both of y’all down on her bed and softly sing to you (even if it’s not the best, it’s endearing.) Until you fall asleep in eachother’s arms.

Leshawna would be the first to wake up and would smile upon seeing your face, now with a soft smile instead of the heartbreaking expression it carried mere hours before. You were definitely her everything.

Heather

She really wants to keep up her mean façade like she does in front of everyone and say “ew, you’re showing emotions right now?” or something like that, but she decides that she could never do that to you. Even if anyone else was watching her at the moment.

Heather would take a seat next to you and put a hand on your shoulder. “Tell me what’s up.” And before you could say anything she interrupts, “and no, I won’t tell anyone what you tell me. I would never.” She made sure to keep both her hands up so you could see that she wasn’t crossing her fingers.

You let out a sigh and then hesitantly began telling her what’s up.

“Are you kidding? Hun, you need to put your game face on! Come with me.” She then grabs your hand and takes you around to do calming activities all around the island. Being bitchier to everyone else, but the most soft, kind, caring person in the world for you. She doesn’t let go of your hand at all just to let you know she’s there.

At the end of your day together, your tears long forgotten, both of you sat on a blanket watching the sunset, she looks over at you. “You ready to go kick some loser butt?” She says with a smirk, you sniffle a bit and nod yes. “Cool, lets go.” Her hand finally leaves yours, which saddens you, but she waits for you so you can head back to camp together. Who knew you could go a whole day with your girlfriend without her being TOO focused on the million?

Dawn

You thought you had found a quiet spot to let your feelings free under a shaded tree that may be capable of eating you any second, but how wrong you were. You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear a familiar soft voice speak, “your aura is stained with anguish. What is plaguing you so?”

Dawn’s statement startled you out of your tears for a bit until you began to explain to her what had happened with a shaky voice and it all became too much so you stopped talking.

The look on her face gave away that she knew more than she let on.

“Here Y/N breathe with me.” You would give her a confused look but go along with it since your girlfriend was weirdly knowledgeable in some areas.

“Very good. You’re shaky, but there’s nothing your position won’t fix. Here follow what I do.” Dawn got into a position perfect for breathing exercises and you followed suit. “Your chakras will align in the median in your body and your mind will be freed of its chains, do not be afraid.” She repeated the affirmations in a hushed tone as you two breathed with one another.

It was actually pretty calming. The sounds of the toxic island along with Dawn’s hushed voice made for the perfect aura around you two and you can’t remember a time when you have felt so at peace.

“I can sense that your aura is back to its normal state. Are you feeling any better?” The different words took you out of your zen and you looked up at her and nodded, which made her smile.

“That is nice to hear. Would you like to go look at the flowers with me?

#total drama #total drama island #total drama revenge of the island #total drama scenarios #total drama cody #total drama scott #total drama brick #total drama dakota #total drama leshawna #total drama heather #total drama dawn #total drama imagines #tdi imagines #tdi scenarios

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nugnthopkns · 3 years

Text

felt the lightning under my skin

word count: 13.7k

warnings: explicit!fem reader, cursing, little bit of asshole joel, alcohol consumption, slight innuendo, moderate depiction of injury, needles

recommended listening: under the spell | springtime carnivore

a/n: i know figure skater/hockey player romances are terribly cliche but i couldn’t help myself. as an ex-skater hopefully i can make it a little less cringe. there’s probably an obscene amount of technical jargon in here and i sincerely apologize. the injury mentioned actually happened to me and let me tell you, it was not fun lmao. enjoy!

Joel swears he’s going to kill whoever’s in charge of renting out the practice facility.

Realistically, he knows it’s impossible. The rink can be rented by anyone when the Flyers aren’t using it and he typically thinks it’s a great way to promote ice sports in the community. Joel just wishes the facilities manager didn’t rent it out to figure skaters. They kick the shit out of the ice with their toe picks and leave the ice in terrible quality. It frustrates Joel because while community engagement is important, his career and the team take precedence.

No one else seems to be bothered by the recent decline in ice conditions. Most of his teammates are used to poor ice, growing up playing pond hockey and at rinks that also housed figure skating clubs. While Joel had those experiences as well, he clearly never developed the same nonchalance as everyone else. He complains in the dressing room after every practice until Kevin finally says something.

“Christ Beezer, relax. It’s only for another month or so until renovations at the other rink finish.”

Others chime in, telling him to not take it so seriously, with a couple of them defending the right of the other athletes to use the ice as they so please. The grief Joel catches is enough to shut him up, but he still stews privately over the fact figure skaters are destroying his happy place.

☼☼☼☼

You want nothing more than to return to your home rink. The Flyers Skate Zone has been nice, the staff are incredibly accommodating, but something feels off. You’re having a harder time landing jumps and skating clean programs. The change in routine is enough to knock you off your game, which is something you absolutely can’t have. You’re coming off a breakthrough season, finishing on the podium at nationals and landing a spot on your first world championships roster. People are expecting you to replicate your success and you want to do that and more.

US Figure Skating had taken a chance placing you on the national team for the current season. Though it was expected, they could have easily chosen the fourth place skater instead. She’s much younger than you, barely fifteen, and is yet to have a serious injury. At twenty you’re barely an adult, but this could be the last time you get an opportunity like this. The sport keeps getting younger and you’re going to get left behind if you don’t prove yourself. The grand prix circuit has been kind to you, allowing you to earn medals at some of the smaller competitions and hold your own against the big dogs in the majors like NHK Trophy.

☼☼☼☼

“Try the triple flip again,” Brenda, your coach, instructs. “You could be more solid on the landing.”

“It’s this fucking ice! I can do one at home that would get me a high GOE,” you complain.

She rolls her eyes and thinks about telling you off, but decides against it. No matter how many times she tells you it’s a mental block you need to get over, you find a way to blame the training facility. “Just give me five solid ones and we’ll call it quits.”

It’s your turn to roll your eyes, but you peel away from the boards anyways. Some juniors are mingling in a corner and you warn them to watch out as you skate by gaining speed. The first attempt feels natural, and though you could have been a little stronger on the exit it’s a significant improvement from what you were doing earlier in the session. Jumps two and three also go well, but things go wrong on the fourth try. You catch a bad edge just before takeoff and aren’t able to correct your center of gravity while in the air. Two and a half rotations happen before you slam into the ground. The entire right side of your body feels like it’s been run over by a bus.

“Fuck!” you scream in frustration as you pick yourself up off the ice. Circling back to examine just how bad the edge was you notice your pick created much too large a hole, something you’d get points deducted for in competition. Brenda signals you over to her, and you hang your head as you skate over.

“You’re done,” she sighs. You can tell it pains her to see your progress plateau, but you’re doing everything you can to get out of this rut. Before you can protest, try to convince her to let you stay on, she’s speaking again. “Our ice time is up anyways. Go cool down and meet me in the conference room when you’re done.”

There’s nothing for you to do but sulk off the ice. The other skaters clear out of your way, not wanting to be on the receiving end of your anger. You direct it at the dressing room door, kicking it open so harshly it flies back on the hinges. It makes you feel a bit better but you’re still in a sour mood as you untie your skates. It’s frustrating not being able to perform at the level you know you can, even in practice. If you could just get out of this rink and back into the one you’re most comfortable at.

After a much longer stretching routine than normal, you pack up your bag and head upstairs for what will no doubt be one of those meetings where you sit silently and take the heat. You realize that your behaviour today was childish, but you couldn’t help but let your emotions overcome you. The next group is well into their ice time when you pass by, and you realize it’s the Flyers. Most of them don’t acknowledge you and keep running drills, but one who looks about your age is sending you daggers. You have no idea why.

The meeting goes much better than you thought it would. Brenda takes your anger in stride and lets you apologize for your outburst before shifting the conversation to altering your training plan. She suggests you take a few days off from the rink, working strictly off-ice, and you begrudgingly agree. There isn’t anything you can do or say to change her mind so you take the updated workout plans with a fake smile. She also tells you that your appointment with your sports psychologist has been moved up a couple of days, which you’re grateful for. Things then move to talking strategy and watching tape of competitors to see what to expect at this year’s nationals. The event is just over a month out, and you have the goal of landing on the podium once again, hopefully with the gold medal dangling around your neck.

A couple of hours pass with you holed up in the conference room, and it’s dark when you gather your stuff and head for home. The complex is deserted and you assume no one but the staff are still here. It turns out someone else was there, and they follow you out, their own gear bag slung over their shoulder. You don’t really pay them any mind, holding the door open out of habit, and fail to recognize the person as the boy who glared while you walked by hours prior. He notices you, however, and makes a point to voice his distaste.

“Hey!” he calls out, “Next time you eat shit don’t put such a big hole in the ice. Other people need it too.”

“Get fucked,” you yell back. You really don’t have the time or energy to be accosted by a hockey player. He continues to talk, but you don’t hear it because you slam your car door shut and drive off into the darkness.

☼☼☼☼

Joel doesn’t feel like he was in the wrong until Claude suggests he apologize a few days later. In his mind, he has every right to be upset about you damaging the ice because it directly affected him. The hole you caused couldn’t be fully repaired, and he tripped at a really key moment during the scrimmage. His bad day was your fault.

“You can’t blame a tough practice on her man,” Claude says as the two of them skate a few warm-up laps. “She didn’t mean to fall. Hell, she didn’t want to do it.”

“I get it, or whatever, but it’s still her fault. We’re professional athletes G, we need to be at the top of our games.”

Claude swats Joel upside the head. “So is she! Did you know that she’s favoured to win both the national and world championships? And that things look good for her to be on the Olympic team next year?”

Joel didn’t know, and guilt twinges his stomach. The next time he runs into you at the rink he’s going to apologize.

☼☼☼☼

You spend your time away from the rink conditioning and regaining focus. The first couple of days are tough, but then you settle into a routine you believe will ultimately make you a better athlete and competitor. Your cardio and weights are upped, and you’re anxious to see how the increase improves your performance. At the suggestion of your psychologist you take a few more days off than originally planned, but it’s the best thing you could have done. You return to the rink ready to nail the final few weeks of training before nationals.

Any other coach would have detested you for taking a week off this close to a major competition, but not Brenda. She understands that you needed time to refocus and that you’ll work harder than anyone else in the time until you leave for Salt Lake City. Your first practice is fantastic – every element is clean when isolated and within your programs. The timing is off a bit during your free skate on the first run-through but your jitters settle quickly and the next one is spot on. It feels good to be back in control of things.

“I think you’re over that mental block kid,” Brenda laughs when you stop along the boards to get some water. “You’re skating better here than at home.”

You can’t help but agree. “You know, I don’t hate it here as much as I used to. Think we should move here permanently?” The comment earns you a slightly aggressive hair ruffling, but it’s worth it. You spend the last hour of ice time alone, running through both of your programs in a mock competition setting.

It’s nearly silent in the complex when Joel sneaks through the doors. The only thing he can hear is the faint sounds of your music from inside the pad. He had been worried that you were never going to reappear at the rink but learned you were just taking a break when he cornered your coach in the parking lot. The middle-aged lady had told him when you’d be returning and Joel immediately put it in his calendar so he wouldn’t forget. Now, as he stands against the glass watching you, he’s nervous. What if you don’t accept his apology?

Joel knew you were a good skater. Well, he was pretty sure you were. He spent the short three-day road trip to Florida watching as many videos of you competing on YouTube as he could find. Though he’s murky on the specifics of what makes a good figure skater, Joel knows you put heart and soul into every performance and that your elements are strong technically. Your scores reflect that. Regardless, Joel is blown away at how talented you are when he watches you skate in person.

You’re looser than in the videos he’s seen, probably because there isn’t any pressure, but you don’t give it any less than your all. The music drives you forward in a way Joel’s never seen before – you’re an extension of it, and it of you. As you round a corner to pick up speed he holds his breath. From watching footage of this program from earlier in the season, he knows you’re about to attempt your hardest element. The quadruple salchow is one of the hardest jumps female skaters are attempting at the moment, according to his research, and it’s been your most inconsistent element this season. You’re completing the jump before Joel realizes you’ve taken off the ground, but you don’t fall. He exhales and watches the rest of the program in awe.

When the music stops and you take in your surroundings, you notice the applause. Thinking it’s just from Brenda, you shrug it off, but when you turn around she isn’t clapping. It’s coming from someone else – the boy who was a douchebag the last day before your break. The chances are he’s here to make another stupid comment, but Brenda insists you should talk to him. You wave him over to a section near the benches that dosen’t have glass so you can hear him better.

“What do you want?” you ask bluntly, taking a sip of water.

Joel’s taken aback by your abrasiveness but recovers quickly. He deserves it. “I, uh, wanted to apologize for what I said last week. That wasn’t cool. I was having a bad day and took out on you, I’m sorry,” he rambles. “And you’re like really good.”

“It wasn’t fucking cool,” you agree, “But we’re fine. I had just been kicked off the ice when you caught me, so I’m sorry too. For snapping.” There’s nothing more for either of you to say, and Brenda is calling your name, so you skate away from him. Over your shoulder you call out, “Thanks for the compliment unnamed Flyers player!”

“It’s Joel!” he responds. “Joel Farabee.”

☼☼☼☼

A sort of truce befalls you and Joel. More of your ice time overlaps, but neither you acknowledge each other more than the occasional nod in each other’s direction. It doesn’t bother you in the slightest. Preparing for nationals is the only that matters currently, and trying to navigate a possible friendship would be too much of a distraction. Joel is a little put off you don’t try to extend pleasantries, but when it’s explained to him that you’re entering a period that is similar to the lead-up to playoffs he understands.

However, he finds himself making up excuses to stay at the rink to watch you practice. He blows off dinner with Kevin and drinks with Morgan when you have the slot after practice, and when you skate before him he’s at the rink hours early. His schoolboy crush becomes the topic of locker room gossip. Though Joel swears up and down that he just likes to watch you skate, none of the guys believe him. They don’t go as far as to embarrass him in your presence, but Travis certainly tries. What Joel doesn’t know is that you’re developing the same sort of fascination with him. You find yourself turning on every Flyers game you can fit into your schedule, watching him intently, and keeping an eye on his stats.

“That boy sure has a lot of interest in you,” Brenda muses one day while you’re talking strategy on how to increase the points total on your short program.

“I don’t know why,” you sigh. “So I was thinking, if I raise my arms during the triple lutz it should give me at least three more points.”

She looks at you like you’ve gained two extra heads. “Are you insane? You’ve never raised your arms during a triple.”

Your smile turns into a wicked smirk. “It can’t be that hard.”

It’s a lot harder than you thought it would be. Though you’ve added the extra step to jumps in the past, it’s been on single and doubles to rack up points and GOE scores. Jumping has never been your strong suit, and trying to navigate the change in your centre of gravity is difficult. You spend the rest of your ice time popping, under-rotating, or slamming into the ground. A couple of juniors snicker at your failed attempts, but when you remind them they’re stuck on a double loop they stop laughing. It was a little mean, and you remember how hard it was to prove yourself as a junior, but you can’t find it in you to care. There’s no need to laugh at someone trying to improve their skating.

Bruises start to form on your sides from falling the exact same way so many times, and you trace them lightly through the thin material of your compression top. They’re going to look nasty in a few hours if you don’t ice them soon. A knock on the door stops your actions, and you invite the person on the other side in. To your surprise it’s Joel, and he’s holding an ice pack.

“I thought you might need one of these,” he says, extending it to you.

You thank him and hiss slightly when the cold hits your skin. There’s a beat of awkward silence before Joel speaks again. “Can I ask why you’re trying to change that jump?”

“You noticed that?” you know it isn’t a response to his question, but you’re shocked.

Joel smiles and nods. You explain how changing the position of your arms increases the difficulty of the jump and therefore raises the amount of points it can receive. “So you’re doing it to get more points?”

“Pretty much. It’s a gamble this close to competition, but I’m confident it’ll work out.”

“You’re afraid your program won’t gain enough points to put you in a good position for the free skate,” he notes, “Or you wouldn’t be doing this.”

Once again, you’re floored by Joel’s understanding of your sport. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” you say as confidently as you can. “But maybe I just want the challenge.” If Joel notices the shake in your voice and the worried look in your eye he doesn’t say anything.

You go through your cool-down routine but are surprised Joel doesn’t leave. In fact, he stays at the rink until you’re finished and follows you to the parking lot. His car is parked a few spots over from you, so you have to raise your voice a little to get him to hear you. “Hey Joel,” you call, “Do you not have practice?”

“Day off,” he yells back. He’s grinning like an idiot, which prompts you to ask him why. “That’s the first time you’ve said my name.” The smile on his face doesn’t go away, and you try to settle the butterflies in your stomach as you drive home.

☼☼☼☼

Something shifts between you and Joel after that day. It’s subtle, but you’re well on your way to becoming friends. Phone numbers are exchanged, with him insisting his contact name be ‘King Beezer’, and the two of you chat regularly outside of the rink. He still watches as many training sessions as he can, and you start making appearances at his practices. It’s far more awkward for you but you push through it if for no other reason than wanting to be a good sport. Once Joel’s teammates catch wind of your budding friendship, they’re pestering you to go to a game. You politely decline each time, explaining that your training schedule is rather rigid and you can’t change it so close to nationals. The competition is just over a week out, and you’re catching a flight to Utah in three days.

Joel doesn’t let you know he’s a little upset you won’t shift your schedule for him. Instead, he brings you lunch on days where you’re at the rink for eight hours and does his individual workouts alongside you. The two of you fall into the easy routine of enjoying each other’s company and everyone else is beginning to take notice.

“So,” you say with a mouth full of the pita Joel brought you, “What are your plans for the All-Star break?”

Joel has been toying with an idea for a few weeks now, but he’s keeping it a secret. “I’m just gonna spend it at home with my family,” he shrugs.

“You’re fucking joking. Joel, you could be someplace warm enjoying the beach!”

“I don’t want to go to the beach,” Joel retorts.

You open your mouth to argue with him, because you’re of the opinion that everyone should love the beach, but you’re cut off by Brenda calling you to return to the ice. “This conversation isn’t over Beezer,” you say sternly, poking him in the chest to prove your point. He rolls his eyes.

“I’ve gotta be at Wells Fargo in an hour for a team meeting, so I can’t watch this session,” he tells you. You’re a little deflated but understand he can’t play hookie from his job to watch you do yours. Brenda is banging a skate guard on the boards to get your attention, so you wave goodbye and jog over to her. “Y/N,” Joel yells loud enough that you’ll hear him over the chatter on the ice, “Keep your core tight!”

Your coaching team is perplexed at the comment because it’s second nature to you at this point, but you think it’s sweet. Some of the other girls poke fun at your ‘boyfriend’ and it makes you irritable. Brenda tells them off and suggests they get back to work which makes you feel better. You keep Joel’s advice in the back of your mind for the rest of your practice, and land every jump almost flawlessly.

The day before you board your flight you have a terrible practice. Brenda chalks it up to nerves, but you that’s not it. You feel good about the competition and are confident it will go well. Something is off – you just can’t put a finger on it. Frustration eventually boils over and practice is called early. Everyone stays out of your way, letting you cool off, and you huff out a goodbye after promising to meet Brenda at the airport in the morning. Before you’re even out the door you’ve got your phone pressed to your ear, waiting for Joel to pick up. The Flyers got to start their break a day early due to a scheduling conflict and you hope he doesn’t fly home tonight.

“What’s up?” Joel says casually. Judging by the background noise he’s playing video games, no doubt some dumb first-person shooter game he seems to play constantly. The sound of his voice is enough to send you into tears and you can’t get out a reply. His tone changes instantly and the noise stops – the game paused and forgotten about. “Hey,” he soothes, “What’s wrong?”

“Practice was bad,” you choke out, “Like really bad. Joel, I don’t think I can do this.” Now across the parking lot and at your car, you throw your bag in the trunk and crumble into the driver’s seat.

“Of course you can. Want me to bring dinner over and we can do whatever?” You agree, not wanting to be alone, and hang up only after insisting you’re okay to drive the twenty minutes to your apartment.

Joel must have drove well above the speed limit because he pulls into the parking lot at the same time as you. His engine is turned off jarringly fast, and he’s popping your trunk to grab your bag before your gears have settled in park. Though you put up some rather weak protests about carrying your own stuff, Joel ignores them. When you insist on holding something he tosses you the bag of food he brought with him. Opening it up, you realize Joel had stopped at your favourite sushi restaurant even though he doesn’t like the food. A smile creeps onto your face, possibly the first one all day, and you lean into Joel slightly when he wraps an arm around your shoulder.

The two of you eat in silence, but it’s far from awkward. Joel’s waiting for you to open up, knows you will eventually, and you’re trying to find the words. However, they’re yet to appear, so you let Joel lead you to the couch and put on an episode of some crime show he’s currently watching.

“Thanks for coming over,” you say as the credits roll on the second episode.

Joel sends a smile your way, which you do your best to reciprocate. “Don’t worry about it. This is what friends do.”

Slowly, you open up about practice, venting about how you skated sloppily and couldn’t nail any element no matter how simple it was. You tell him about how tense your muscles are and how scared you are that your fifteen minutes of fame are over, that you’ll never get another chance to represent America on the world stage. Joel listens attentively, letting you speak for as long as you need. At some point you start crying again and he tucks you into his side. Your tears soak through his sweatshirt but he could care less. When you’ve laid all your emotions out on the table he speaks gently, dispelling your doubts and letting you know that you can do it and he believes in you. Joel’s words make it easier to believe in yourself.

The two of you spend the night on the couch, and you’re disheartened when your alarm goes off. You can’t stay in the little bubble Joel created for the two of you – the world and its responsibilities taking precedence over your fantasy. He drives you to the airport, rationalizing it by telling you it’ll be safer to keep your car at home. Realistically there isn’t a difference, but you thank him anyways. Parking is just one last thing you have to worry about. When you reach the airport entrance, Joel pulls into the idling lane and steps out of the car. You follow him, dragging your feet a bit because though you’re excited for nationals you don’t want to leave Joel. This will be the longest time the two of you have been apart since becoming friends.

“Make sure you don’t forget about me when you win and get all famous,” Joel jokes, handing you your suitcase.

You swat his shoulder playfully. “Like you’d let that happen.”

“Of course I wouldn’t. Come here.”

He takes you in his arms. You’ve hugged Joel a couple of times before, but they didn’t feel as serious as this. This time he’s holding you for a purpose and you’re gripping the back of his jacket tightly because you want him to let go. It’s longer than people who are just friends are meant to hug for, so you begrudgingly pull away. Besides, Brenda and some of your teammates are waiting.

“Have a good time at home,” you mumble.

Joel wraps a single arm around you for one more squeeze. “You have a good time,” he says seriously. “Remember to enjoy the moment. I’ll be watching on T.V.”

With your goodbyes said you wander into the airport. Joel says parked in his spot until he sees you embrace Brenda before driving off. The boarding process is painless, and once on the plane you take your seat beside a junior and put your headphones on. Downloaded to your Spotify is one of Joel’s hip-hop playlists, and though it’s the farthest thing from the music you enjoy you listen to it the whole flight.

☼☼☼☼

Utah’s nice, but you can’t help feeling like something’s missing – Joel’s missing. You’ve become so accustomed to him watching you train, clapping like an idiot every time you land a jump, that the silence is unnerving. Everyone notices the shift in your performance, and eventually Brenda crumbles and uses your phone to facetime him while you practice. It’s a decent enough substitute – Joel watches your pixelated figure zip around the ice and though he doesn’t always make comments, just know he’s with you in some capacity is enough to let your mind focus on the task at hand. You do the best you can at pushing away the butterflies that appear every time you think about how he’s giving up his freedom to make sure you succeed.

When you aren’t training or doing press you’re talking to Joel. You call him constantly, narrating what you see on walks around town to settle your nerves and eating at the same time to make it feel like you’re together. The only person to support you in Salt Lake City is Brenda, so talking to Joel frequently makes you feel far less alone. You wish he could be here with you, but understand he needs time to recharge and can’t just follow you around the country no matter how much you’d like him to.

“What time do you skate tomorrow?” Joel asks, mouth full of the pizza he’s enjoying. The features behind are different, so you assume he’s settled into his childhood home.

“Um, I think 11:35? I’m not entirely sure,” you respond. Due to the way the event is seeded you’re skating second last, which both settles your nerves and makes you more anxious. There isn’t the pressure of closing out the event, but there’s hope that you’ll score high enough to win the short program and skate last in the free skate.

Joel hums pensively. “I’ll check the website.” Conversation shifts away from skating, which you’re grateful for. It’s the last thing you currently want to think about. You listen with interest as Joel recounts stories of the pond hockey matches he’s played since getting home. The two of you are on the phone until nearly ten, when you have to say goodnight and head to bed. Tomorrow marks the start of the biggest week of your year.

You follow your pre-competition routine to the letter. At other events this season you’ve been more relaxed, but your professional skating career depends on your performance at nationals so you aren’t taking chances. Five-thirty comes faster than you thought it would, but you’re out of bed and eating your first breakfast quickly. A quick two mile run follows, and then you’re having a shower and grabbing a second breakfast to eat at the rink. You meet Brenda in the hotel lobby before ubering to the rink. A solid practice follows, and you manage to keep your imposter syndrome on a leash in the presence of the other skaters.

“It’s Joel,” Brenda says as she tosses you your phone.

“Hey,” you say, squeezing the device between your ear and shoulder. “I don’t have much time to talk. My warm up call is soon.”

Joel laughs and you find yourself cracking a smile at the sound. “I know. Just wanted to check in and see how you’re feeling.”

“Honestly? I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous for a competition.”

His response is cut off by a loud noise. “Where are you?” you ask.

“Just at home,” he says quickly. “My sister has some friends over and they’re being loud.”

The line is compelling enough that you don’t question how hastily it was delivered. Joel stays on the phone until you have to go, keeping your mind off the jittery feeling in your stomach. The TV cameras catch you talking but you give them a cheery wave and continue telling Joel about how good the soap at your hotel smells. You hang up when they call your flight to take to the ice for warmup and give your phone back to Brenda for safe keeping.

☼☼☼☼

Joel tries hard not to feel too out of place while he takes his seat. For someone who practically lives in arenas he feels like it’s his first time within fifty yards of one. Everyone around him is dressed nicely, and he’s acutely aware of the fact there is a neon orange pom-pom attached to the top of his hat.

As much as he feels like a baby deer trying to stand, Joel’s beyond excited to be here. It’s been a while since he’s gone somewhere that wasn’t hockey related and getting to support you while he does it is the best scenario ever. There are some potential looks of recognition from those around him, but thankfully no one approaches.

Skaters begin to take the ice and he scans vigilantly for you. You’re doing the best you can to stay warm, jacket zipped all the way up and gloves on your hands. Joel notices you seem to be the loosest of the girls below him but isn’t sure if that’s a good thing. You skate a few quick laps before warming up some jumps. Everything goes well, though he can tell you under-rotated a few of them and didn’t attempt the one quad in your program. The warm up is over as quickly as it began and you’re herded off the ice. Joel sinks a little further in his seat as gets ready to watch your competitors.

☼☼☼☼

There’s just over five minutes until you take to the ice. You keep your body moving, walking up and down the corridor, and blast your pre-competition playlist so loud you’ll probably have hearing damage when you’re older. Only one other girl in the hall with you but it feels too small. Brenda comes to grab you and the pair of you walk to the side of the boards. You don’t watch who’s currently skating, choosing instead to focus on adjusting your feet slightly in your skates.

“Go out there and put on a show,” Brenda says. “Fuck the judges.”

You laugh at her remark. “Okay Bren, when I lose points for flipping them off I’m blaming you.”

“Fine by me. I have a bone to pick with Mark Johnson anyways.”

The scores for the previous girl are being announced, so you peel your jacket from your frame and do a couple more laps. Right before your name is announced you press your forehead to Brenda’s. It’s a ritual you started back when you were barely as tall as the boards and you’ve done it every single competition since. You feel grounded looking in her eyes, and you break with a fist bump. It’s go time.

Every inch of your skin feels like it’s on fire. You didn’t come to play, and leave everything on the ice. The skate isn’t completely clean, you stumbled on the landing of a triple axel, but you’re happy with it. Despite your fears, both the triple lutz and quad salchow go smoothly. Audience engagement was at an all time high and you finished to deafening applause. Brenda wraps you in a tight hug when you step off the ice before leading you over to the kiss and cry. You chat idly with her and your choreographer, trying to catch your breath, while you wait for your score.

The announcer’s booming voice crackles over the PA as he reads the judges’ decision. “The scores for Y/N Y/L/N please.” You don’t pay attention to the individual numbers, just the final total. “For a total score of 74.83.”

It’s lower than you had hoped for. Not by much, just two or three points, but it could mean all the difference in tomorrow’s skate. Brenda pats your leg sympathetically and whispers in your, “It’s alright. You skated well.”

You head back to the dressing room to watch the final skater on the small T.V in the corner while you get undressed. She’s phenomenal, and you end the day falling to third place. Joel’s hip-hop playlist blasts through your headphones as you do your cool down routine. The average tempo is upbeat and helps to take your mind off the fact you’re not where you want to be. Just as you’re about to exit the room and find Brenda to talk strategy there’s a knock on the door.

“Yeah?” you say dejectedly, the word coming out as more of a sigh than you had intended.

The door is cracked open, and the head of your best friend peaks out from around it. “Hey there rockstar,” Joel says softly, stepping further into the room. Once you comprehend that he’s really here you’re sprinting in his direction, jumping into his embrace. Joel’s laugh reverberates in his chest, and you feel it as you settle further into him.

“Why are you here?” you whisper. Though you’re elated Joel is here, you’re confused as to why he would want to spend his break in Utah.

He lets you down gently and shrugs. “I had to see if you’d land the quad.” Joel’s smile matches yours as you shake your head.

“You’re fucking insane,” you quip, but there’s no malice in your voice.

Before you can pester Joel into answering all your questions you’re whisked away to a press conference. Talking to the media is something you don’t particularly enjoy, and it’s even more difficult to stay present when you know you could be spending time with your best friend. Most of the questions are directed towards the girls who placed higher than you which you’re thankful for. It’s easier for you to zone out, and you root through your mind of places around the city to take Joel.

“Y/N, how tough will it be for you to better your scores in tomorrow’s free skate?”

The question is one that you expected, luckily, and you’re able to recite the response you worked out with Brenda without really engaging with the reporter. “I mean I obviously didn’t aim to be in third place heading into tomorrow,” you joke, “But I’m fairly happy with where I ended up. The other girls had fantastic skates and deserve to be above me. My plan for tomorrow is to leave everything on the ice, skate cleanly, and be proud of myself regardless of what happens.”

Pens scribble furiously by those that don’t have recording devices to get your words down on paper. There’s some chatter, questions for the other girls, before a young reporter fresh out of journalism school is allowed to speak. He identifies himself as Theo Rateliff before jumping in. “Y/N,” he says, “How excited are you to get back to training on home ice when you get back to Jersey?”

“Um, I didn’t know the renovations were finished,” you stammer. “As far as I know, I’ll be at Flyers SkateZone until the end of the season.”

Theo shakes his head. “My partner was informed this morning that the rink will be good to go by the time you get back.”

You turn to the side to look at Brenda, who just shrugs. “Well, to be quite honest I’ll miss being in Voorhees. I had fun skating there and feel like the rink prepared me well for this competition.”

“Obviously not well enough,” Theo retorts, not missing a beat. “Your odds of winning dropped by seventy-seven percent.”

“Thank you for the reminder Theo,” you snap. “Are we done here?”

The press-coordinator shakes their head in confirmation, and you rip the microphone off your jacket before stomping off. People clear a path for you, not wanting to get caught in your storm. You run right to Joel who lets you direct him out of the arena and into the uber he called while you were wrapping up.

It’s a silent ride, Joel knowing you aren’t in the mood for light conversation. He lets you take a ridiculously long shower and orders take out that arrives just as you step out of the bathroom.

“Where are you staying?” you ask as you detangle your hair.

“Nowhere yet,” Joel says, “I got in early this morning and went straight to the rink.”

You think carefully about your next words before you speak. Your competition routines can be excessive and annoying, and you don’t want to inconvenience him. “You could just stay here. The room is massive and there’s more than enough space for both of us in the bed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, voice taking a soft lilt. “I’d really like it if you stayed.”

Joel smiles wider than you’ve ever seen him do before. The two of you sit comfortably in bed, eating the burritos Joel got and going down a conspiracy theory youtube wormhole. He asks how you feel about him coming to watch your evening training session you have to leave for in twenty minutes. You tell him you’d be angry if he didn’t stand beside your coach and clap every time you landed a jump.

It’s chilly but the sun is shining bright so you decide to bundle up and walk to the rink. Joel pokes fun at you beanie and you swat him in the chest, shutting him up for the time being after his giggles subside. The view is gorgeous, mountains framing the setting sun. You squeeze Joel’s bicep to get his attention and relish the feeling of his muscle in your grip.

“Look! An owl!”

Sure enough, a barn owl is flying over top of you, in the middle of downtown Salt Lake City. “That’s my good luck charm. Means I’ll skate well tomorrow.”

Joel pokes your cheek lightly. “I thought I was your good luck charm,” he gasps.

You roll your eyes. “I guess you can be my secondary one.” Joel doesn’t seem to mind the fact your arms are still wrapped around his, so you stay that way until for the rest of the journey.

☼☼☼☼

The night goes according to plan. You skate well in practice and feel comfortable for tomorrow’s event. Joel executes his role perfectly, cheering when you do things well and squirting water at you to make you squeal in laughter when things get a little too serious. Once back at the hotel you collapse into bed almost immediately. You’re so exhausted you can’t even be bothered to climb under the covers, and wait until Joel pulls them back for himself to crawl in. There’s no awkwardness at sharing a bed with Joel, and you sigh contently as he pulls you into his side. Sleep comes easily then for the both of you.

You wake before both your alarm and Joel. It takes you a second to get your bearing and realize you’re pinned against his body, though you don’t mind. There’s worse places to be stuck. You lay curled into Joel for as long as you can, but eventually you have to shake him awake.

“Beezer,” you whisper, ruffling his hair, “You’ve gotta let me out.”

He groans something unintelligible but instead of heeding your words pulls you closer. “Joel come on,” you try again, “I’ve really gotta get up. Need to shower before I get to the rink.”

Joel listens this time, but only lets you go after squeezing you tight for a second. You go about your routine with him still passed out in bed and giggle at the way his hair curls around his ears when you pass by. As you’re leaving to get to your practice ice slot Joel wakes up, lumbering into the bathroom. He reappears a minute or two later to say goodbye.

“Will I see you after practice?” he asks, voice still gruff with sleep.

“Probably not,” you reply, leaning down to tie your shoes. “I won’t be coming back here until after everything is done.”

Joel nods and wraps you in a warm hug. “You’re going to do great,” he says as he pulls away. “I’ll be there, cheering so fucking loud.”

“I expect you to throw a teddy bear on the ice after I finish.”

The walk to the arena is lonely without Joel, but you push the thought out of your mind. You need to stay focused on putting on the skate of your life in a few hours and not on how lately you’ve been having more-than-friendly thoughts about your best friend. Brenda is there when you arrive, making conversation about what you did last night with Joel before explaining how you’re going to run your practice.

Your hour of semi-private ice passes in the blink of an eye. The other girls in your flight are just as tense as you, popping jumps and doing a lot of stroking to loosen up. A lot is riding on today’s event and you’d be lying if you weren’t feeling the pressure. When you get back to the dressing room and check your phone, you notice there’s a text from Joel.

Don’t want to disrupt your pre-comp routine, but I thought I’d share a playlist. It’s songs that remind me of you.

Included is a link to a spotify playlist entitled ‘my golden girl’. You open it with a smile, noticing that it starts with some of your favourite songs even though they aren’t the kind of thing Joel regularly listens to before turning into things you’ve never heard before.

Thanks <3, you respond, going to listen to it during my off-ice.

That’s exactly what you do. It filters through your headphones for hours as you stretch, do a quick interview for those watching on television, and get dressed. Though it’s a break from your typical routine, it’s welcome. Knowing Joel thought about you enough to make you a playlist and send it to you helps calm your nerves.

“Hey kiddo,” Brenda says as she walks to where you’ve taken up root on the floor. Your left hamstring is tight, and you’re trying desperately to fix it before you have to go on the ice. “Go out there and absolutely kill it. This is your best program, and I haven’t seen anyone skate better than what you can do today.”

“Gee thanks for the confidence booster Bren,” you chuckle before hoisting yourself onto the bench to tie your skates.

She doesn’t laugh. “I mean it Y/N. You can still win this thing.”

You’re left alone to finish getting ready and then join the other girls in the tunnel. No one talks, which you’re grateful for. When you were younger and coming up through the ranks the other competitors liked to gossip while they waited and it was your least favourite part of an entire competition. A camera man waits at the end of the walkway, filming your arrival to the ice pad, and you wave cheerily as you pass by. It can never hurt to endear yourself to those watching at home – maybe they’ll be nicer to you on the internet.

Joel is standing at the edge of the boards during your warmup, watching and cheering intently. In a moment of insane confidence you blow him a kiss as you skate past, and giggle hysterically when he catches it and holds it close to his chest. You’re called off the ice then and spend the time really getting into the zone.

It’s considered bad luck to watch the performances before your own, so you face the wall as you do jog lightly to keep your body temperature up and the adrenaline flowing. Much sooner than you’d like it’s your turn to take your guards and jacket off. Brenda holds your skating hands as she whispers last minute words of encouragement, and you stumble through the traditional handshake before presenting yourself to the crowd.

Once the music starts your brain checks out and instinct takes over. You learned when you were younger that your best skates happened when you just allowed yourself to feel, and you desperately need the skate of a lifetime. Going into the first jumping pass you can feel yourself tense up so you think about Joel’s smile while you guys sat by the lake last night. It works to loosen you up, and you spend the rest of the program thinking of your favourite moments with Joel. As you strike your final pose the music fades out and the roars of applause cascade in. You know you had a flawless performance, beaming as you fist pump the air in the same manner you chirp Joel for doing while he celebrates goals.

You bow to the crowd in all directions, waving and laughing as flowers and teddy bears fall onto the ice in front of you. An orange blob of fur catches your eye, and you skate to pick it up before one of the volunteers could put it in the bag that will join your garment bag in the dressing room. You know Joel is the one who threw the Gritty toy – no one else really knows of your affiliations with the team. As you sit in the kiss and cry awaiting your results, you examine the stuffed animal. Instead of the regular Gritty jersey Joel replaced it with his own, the number flashing vividly at you and pulling a smile from your nervous features.

Brenda keeps her hand clasped tightly in yours as the PA system crackles to life. “And the scores for Y/N Y/L/N are,” the announcer begins, and your knee begins bouncing rapidly. “The free skate score is 155.79, for a total score of 230.62.”

You jump up in amazement. Despite your slow start to the competition you managed to get a season’s best. You’re also five points ahead of the second place skater, guaranteeing you a place on the podium and depending on the final results, a spot at worlds. A volunteer ushers you out of the kiss and cry and you skip all the way down the tunnel. To get out some of the adrenaline you jog the corridor a few times before returning to Brenda.

“Come on,” she laughs, “Joel’s waiting at the edge of the public area. We can watch the final skate together.”

At the mention of Joel you’re jogging again, wanting to see him as fast as possible. “Beezer!” you shriek as you approach, launching into the elaborate handshake the two of you have perfected at this point.

“Hey golden girl,” he chuckles, returning your actions with just as much enthusiasm. “You looked fucking great out there. I see you got my gift.”

The Gritty doll is still in your hands but there’s no shame. Instead, you tuck it under your arm and rest your head against Joel’s shoulder to watch the final skater. The girl after you had fallen a number of times, dropping her total significantly and landing her in fifth place. Victory is so close you can almost taste it.

It’s the longest six minutes of your life. Watching her skate increases your anxiety – she’s good, has almost as great a skate as you, but she under-rotated a jump and rushed through her program so there was extra music at the end. The clock above your head rings throughout the silent corridor as everyone awaits the scores with baited breath. In under a minute you’ll know whether you’re returning to New Jersey with a gold or silver medal in your suitcase.

You don’t hear anything as they announce her score – just see the numbers flash of the small T.V screen and calculate that it’s not enough for her to beat you. After years of blood, sweat, and an immeasurable amount of tears you’ve crossed another goal off your list. Those around you are jumping and screaming, Brenda letting a few tears escape. All you can think about is Joel, who’s celebrating like he just scored the game winning goal in the Stanley Cup finals, and how much you love him.

Without thinking, you smash your lips against Joel’s. It’s adrenaline filled and mostly teeth until he wraps one hand around your waist and the places the other along your jaw. Then it becomes purposeful, both of you moving in tandem and never wanting it to stop. When Joel pulls away and rests his forehead against yours you can’t stop smiling. The kiss might have happened in the heat of the moment, but you know it’s the culmination of feelings building inside of you for months.

“You’re a national champion,” Joel says, pulling you flush against his chest in the biggest hug you’ve ever received.

“I’m your national champion,” you whisper.

He pulls back and grins, kissing you again. “You’re my national champion. My golden girl.”

The rest of your stay in Salt Lake City is a blur. You’re swept up in the numerous press events, galas, and enjoying your blossoming relationship with Joel. When you finally got back to the hotel after what seemed like hours of people complimenting your comeback, the two of you sat down and talked about the kiss and what you wanted to happen next. It was scary, being so vulnerable, but it needed to happen – you’re both adults and communication is important. So, you’re returning home with a gold medal and boyfriend, two things you’re ecstatic about.

☼☼☼☼

“J, it’s not straight,” you giggle. Joel’s trying, and failing miserably, to hang the shadow box with your nationals medal in it above your couch. It’s been almost a month since you returned home but you’ve been so busy that decorating the apartment you barely spend time in has been at the bottom of your to-do list.

He grunts out a response. “Fuck. Do I have to go left or right?”

“Left.” The picture shifts in the opposite direction. “The other left Joel!”

A few minutes later the decoration is sitting perfectly in place. Your child of a boyfriend insists on getting rewarded for his achievement, so the two of you bundle up and get dinner. It’s nothing fancy – just sandwiches from the deli down the street from your apartment, but spending time with him is nice. Joel’s been on a string of short road trips and you’ve been training anxiously, waiting for the organization to announce who they’re sending to the world championship.

“How’s practice been lately?” Joel asks, mouth full with a bite of his BLT. “I miss being able to watch you skate whenever I want.”

After returning from Utah you were shuttled immediately into the freshly renovated rink of your skating club. It’s a little farther into Jersey and certainly not as convenient for him to get to, especially now that the NHL season is picking up and the Flyers are clinging desperately to the final playoff spot. “It’s been interesting,” you shrug, “I’m skating well, and physically I feel great. There’s a mental block or something though because everything feels a little bit off.”

The smile that graces Joel’s face can only be described as shit-eating. “Duh, I’m not there.”

“Fuck off.” Though you try to make the words come out in a serious tone, there’s no malice in them.

Conversation flips to some ridiculous story Travis told at practice that morning, and you giggle as Joel recounts it with failing arms. You tell a few stories of your own, that leave him in stitches, and as you walk home hand in hand he asks you again to come to a game. With your schedule a little more flexible as you wait for a decision about the upcoming competition stint it will be much easier to see Joel play. You say yes with a shy smile and don’t miss the way the boy beside you blushes under the streetlights.

Joel stays over, and the next two nights after that. It’s nice, falling into a relationship with your best friend, because there’s no awkwardness. You know what kind of cereal to keep in your pantry and he knows you don’t eat meat on Mondays. Everything is easy. There are a fews in the road, as can be expected with any budding relationship, but for the most part your lives fit seamlessly together.

After some meticulous planning, you found a home game on the Flyers schedule that will coincide with yours. It’s a Friday night near the end of February, and it’s actually the last day US Figure Skating can announce their assignments for worlds. You figure watching your boyfriend is the perfect way to distract yourself from the decision, whether or not you make the team. Joel’s ecstatic about your attendance, wanting you to be immersed in as many aspects of his life as possible. The entire day he’s bouncing around your apartment, beyond ready for puck drop.

“It’s literally three in the afternoon,” you grumble as Joel corrals you into the hall to put your shoes on. “You never leave this early! Why do we have to do it today?” In an attempt to save gas and lower your carbon footprint you’re carpooling with Joel.

“Because being in this house is making you more anxious,” he points out. “I’ve caught you staring into the distance one too many times today. Besides, this way you can meet up with some of the other girls and relax before the game.”

Joel’s right, as he so often is. Your agent hasn’t called to let you know if you made the team or not, nor has US Figure Skating made an announcement on social media. So you’ve spent the entire day pacing back and forth around your living room and fretting that perhaps the best performance of your season wasn’t good enough. He twirls his car keys around his index finger in an attempt to speed you along and you roll your eyes at his impatience.

After ensuring your home is safely secured you hit the road. The drive into Philadelphia is easy, with little traffic, and you spend it laughing at Joel’s ridiculous freestyle raps. It doesn’t surprise you that the staff lot at the Wells Fargo Centre is sparsely populated – most of the guys don’t show up until around five, Joel included. However, a group of women are standing near the entrance. While this isn’t the first time you’ve met significant others of your boyfriend’s teammates, it’s the first time Joel won’t be around.

“It’ll be alright,” he whispers as the car settles into park. You offer a small smile that mustn't have been convincing because Joel lifts the hand that’s intertwined with his to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss to the knuckles. The smile becomes genuine and you tease him the entire walk to the door.

Joel greets the other girls before setting his bag down on the concrete and wrapping you in a hug. “Have fun,” you say softly against his lips, landing a short kiss. He winks and opens the door, disappearing inside and leaving you in a fit of giggles.

There was no reason for you to be nervous – everyone is incredibly kind. You seem to be the youngest in the group, but the other girls pay no mind and treat you as one of their own. There’s a small amount of confusion when your phone chimes with a notification, a few glances of possible distaste, but as soon you explain you’re waiting on a very important call they understand. Dinner is wonderful, filled with sincere questions about your skating career and how you got together with Joel. By the time you get back to the arena for the game it feels as though you’ve been a part of the group for years.

You spend the game in the family and friends box, sipping a glass of wine and following Joel around the ice. Practice is early in the morning and you want to be productive, so you’re relaxed in your alcohol consumption compared to some of the others. One of the older girls, though you can’t remember what player is her significant other, recently got engaged and is celebrating with as many drinks as those around her will allow. It’s fun to experience a hockey game in this way, but you’re a little on edge. You haven’t anything about worlds assignments all day and the organization doesn’t typically leave the announcement to this late in the evening. There’s seven minutes left in the game when your phone rings. You quickly excuse yourself from the group and step into the hall.

“Hello?”

“Y/N,” the chipper voice of your agent Megan says, “How are you?”

A nervous laughter tumbles from your lips. “I think that depends on what you’re about to tell me.”

“I imagined you’d say something along those lines,” she responds. “You’ve always been quite witty.” Before you ask her to just get to the point of the phone call, Megan speaks. “I have some good news and some bad news for you. You’re going to the World Championships, but you aren’t leading the team like we hoped.”

It’s not as bad as she made it sound. A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes, and you try your best to remain professional in the hallway of the arena. “Honestly,” you sigh, “I think that’s better. There’s going to be a lot less pressure for me to bring home three Olympic spots. Thanks for letting me know Meg.” She hangs up then, no doubt having to tell another girl she didn’t make the cut.

When you slip back through the door, you find all eyes on you. “What was that about?”

“I made the roster for worlds.”

Earth-shattering applause erupts from everyone in the room, and no one pays attention to what happens on the ice for the remainder of the game. The congratulations continue until you’re waiting outside the dressing room for Joel to exit. He had a good game, featuring two assists and a blocked shot, and smiles lazily when he sees you leaning against the brick wall.

“This is something I could get used to,” he chuckles, pulling you into him by the belt loops of your jeans. The two of you kiss for a moment, letting it stay chaste in fear of getting chirped by teammates.

“Well,” you sigh dramatically, drawing out the suspense of what you’re about to say, “You’re going to have to wait a bit longer for it to become a regular occurrence. My training schedule just increased exponentially.”

Joel sits on your words for a moment before it registers. “No fucking way!” he shouts, picking you up by the waist as the two you are a pairs team. “You got the spot?”

Having Joel be so excited about the accomplishment makes it seem that much more real. Tears well in your eyes and you shake your head up and down to signal he’s correct. Joel presses his lips to yours once again, this time not caring about any insults his friends could throw at him. The kiss makes you feel loved, fully and completely, and you hope you’re conveying the same amount of emotion he is.

“That’s my girl.”

☼☼☼☼

“Oh my fucking god,” you grumble, picking yourself off the ice for what feels like the hundredth time in the past five minutes. There’s two weeks until you leave for Milan and it looks like you’ve never skated before. Jumps are being under-rotated, spins aren’t being entered properly, and your footwork sequence is abysmal. Nothing about the way you’re performing would let a newcomer know you’re a world class athlete.

Brenda gives you a sympathetic smile. “Just try again kiddo.”

You do try again – fifteen more times to be exact. Each attempt at a triple axel getting farther and farther from what it should be. Before you get even more frustrated you abandon the element altogether, hoping to avoid a complete meltdown. No one questions it when you shift disciplines completely and move about the ice completing a simple foxtrot pattern. Ice dance has always been a great de-stresser for you, and after a few passes you feel your heart rate return to normal. At some point during your break Joel had entered the rink and is now standing beside your coach, making pleasant conversation. You smile as you skate towards them, ecstatic that the two most important parts of your life blend seamlessly.

“Farabee!” you shout when you get close enough for him to hear you. At the sound of your voice Joel smiles, turning to pick up your water bottle and toss it in your direction.

“I’m wounded babe,” he feigns pain as you take a drink, “I really thought that we were on at least a first name basis.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics and playfully squirt water at him. “I’ll call you whatever I want. What brings you this far into Jersey?”

“Thought I’d see if you wanted to grab lunch after you were done. We’ve got a late practice today,” he explains. “Whatever you want, eh? Does that mean I say whatever I want? Because I think you’re looking particularly good in those leggings.tum” You don’t miss the suggestive tone to his voice, but choose to ignore it.

Joel watches the rest of your practice from his spot at the boards and lays himself across the dressing room bench as you complete a quick cool down routine. You have a meeting with your massage therapist in the afternoon, so you follow Joel to the restaurant he chose. It’s a small vegan place that you sometimes stop at on your way home from the rink. They have the best burrito bowls you’ve ever tasted and since you’ve gotten together Joel has become rather fond of them as well.

The two of you sit outside on the curb. New Jersey is uncharacteristically warm for March and you want to enjoy the sunshine as much as possible. The rest of the day will be spent in dark rooms receiving physical therapy and trying to ease your tired muscles. There isn’t much conversation, but you’re more than content just to be with Joel. Life moves incredibly fast and your schedules don’t always line up nicely. It’s difficult to spend time with him, especially when you’re weeks out from a major competition, but small moments like this keep you from missing your boyfriend too much.

“Have I asked you to take me to the airport yet? I can’t remember,” you admit as you finish the last bite of your meal.

Joel laughs at your lapse in memory, knowing he gets the same way when high stakes games roll around. “No, but you would like me to?”

“Do you mind?” you ask, “That way I don’t have to leave my car at the airport for a week and a half. But if you can't, don't worry about it, I’ll grab an uber.”

“Babe, the uber will be like fifty bucks. I’ll take you. What time do you have to be there?”

You give him a much too detailed itinerary of your departure plans and listen to him talk about the drills they’re going to run at practice. Time passes much quicker than you would have liked, and soon you’re kissing him goodbye and watching him wave from your rearview mirror.

It’s almost a week later when you see Joel again, showing up at a Flyers practice for the first time since training moved back to your home rink. You’ve been instructed to have a rest day, the team wanting to push you too hard before taking off. The arena attendants know you well at this point, and chat with you as you sit on a bench away from the media. You know better than you alert them of your presence – some of them no doubt wanting a comment from you about worlds. Joel has no idea you’re even there until long after practice, when he sees you leaning casually against the driver’s side door of your car, conveniently parked next to his.

“Hey all-star,” you say as casually as possible, twirling your keys around your index finger.

He leans down to kiss you sweetly, and though you probably shouldn’t in a parking lot, you push your body closer to his in an attempt to deepen the kiss. Joel obliges you, tongue gently slipping into your mouth, staying there until you both hear the shouts of his teammates.

“Fuck off,” he yells at Kevin, who’s hollering so loud people can probably hear him all the way back in Philadelphia. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a day off,” you smile, and I thought I’d come see if I could hitch a ride to your place.” You had originally planned to attend the game in person, but a rough day of training yesterday had you too sore to do much other than lie on the couch.

“The chariot awaits m’lady,” he says in a terrible British accent, bowing for good measure as he opens the door. Your car will be fine in the parking lot overnight, so you slip in and enjoy the journey into the city.

Joel’s pre-game routine changes only slightly with you in his apartment – instead of napping alone, you curl into his chest and snore softly, lulling him into one of the most peaceful sleeps he’s ever had. You tie his tie for him and riffle his hair before kissing him good luck. Being alone in Joel’s apartment isn’t as strange as you thought it would be, and you familiarize yourself with his kitchen while you make dinner. The pre-game show plays quietly in the background, and when they mention how well Joel is playing you can’t help but smile.

It’s much more comfortable to watch the game in your boyfriend’s hoodie and pyjama pants on the couch than it would be to sit in the stiff arena seats. Time passes at a pretty leisurely pace, with nothing too exciting going on within the game, and sometime in the third period you fall asleep. The rest of the game and all the media appearances pass you by. Joel figures you must be sleeping when he doesn’t get a congratulatory text when Claude pulls off a buzzer beater to win. His suspensions are confirmed when he slips through his front door to see you drooling slightly on the throw pillow his mom bought him as a housewarming gift.

You don’t remember climbing into bed, but you wake up with Joel’s socked feet pressed against your calves. He stirs behind you and mummers something unintelligible.

“What was that sleepyhead?” you giggle, turning around to run a hand through his hair. It’s rather unruly at the moment and you find it adorable.

“Good morning,” he repeats.

“That’s what that was?”

“Leave me alone.”

The two of you lay in bed for a few more minutes before starting the day. You navigate around Joel flawlessly – like you’re there every morning. Breakfast is quick and you’re out the door before you have a chance to cherish the domesticity of it all. You have a pretty intense day of training and Joel has to be at the airport in two hours for a trip to Toronto. He drops you off in Voorhees, kissing you gently before making his way back into the city. You hate to see him go, wishing you could spend more time together before you head to worlds, but you know you’re both adults with real-world responsibilities.

For the first time in the final push you have a practice that is up to standard. Things click into place and you feel good. Really good. Each time you skate a program it’s clean, and the elements don’t feel weak when completed individually. Maybe you’ll actually be able to pull this off.

☼☼☼☼

Italy is beautiful, but you don’t get much time to enjoy it. A scheduling mishap has team USA leaving two days later than you were supposed to and now you’re all scrambling to find a groove. Every moment is being spent preparing for the competition – off ice training, multiple practices a day, press conferences. When you get a moment to spare you call Joel, but oftentimes he’s at practice or fulfilling other obligations. The time difference is brutal and souring your mood. You feel alone, and just wish Joel could be by your side like he was at nationals.

As soon as you step on the ice something feels wrong. You run through a mental checklist and assure that nothing is – your skates feel they way they should and you didn’t forget any gear. It must be nerves. The competition officially starts tomorrow and you’re eager to cheer on the pairs teams America has brought. You do your best to skate it out, and by the time you’re allowed to have the ice to yourself you can almost convince yourself everything will be fine.

The music starts and you snap into character. Your short program music is punchy and so are you – all sass and sharp angles as you navigate the opening step sequence. A lump forms in your throat as you set up the first first jumping pass, but you push it down. You’ve done a thousand triple lutz-triple toe-loop combinations and could execute it flawlessly in your sleep.

Everything happens so fast. One second you’re rotating through the air and the next you’re sprawled across the ice. Nothing feels off until you try to pick yourself up. When you can’t move your left leg you look to see what the issue is and find your kneecap where it most certainly should not be. It’s rotated nearly one hundred and eighty degrees, now residing in the back instead of the front.

“Help me!” you scream, mostly out of shock. There’s no pain which surprises you, but you know it definitely should hurt. Everyone around the ice surface is frozen in place, not knowing what happened or what to do, and you continue to sob helplessly.

Someone sprints to get the onsite emergency responders and Brenda runs to you as fast as her dress shoes will allow. “Don’t look at it honey,” she soothes. “It’s just going to make things worse.”

“It should hurt,” you croak out through the tears, “Why doesn’t it hurt?”

“You’ve got so much adrenaline pumping through your veins you can’t feel anything,” the EMT explains in flawless English. “Can we take your skates off?”

You nod, and the right skate comes off breezily. Brenda unlaces your left skate and the medical team works to pry the boot from your foot. A sharp pain shoots up your leg and you wail in agony. “Shh, it’s okay,” your coach coos, “The skate is going to stay on until we get to the hospital.”

The ride to the hospital feels like time is moving through sludge. The paramedics keep an eye on your blood pressure and do their best to keep you calm. Brenda is typing furiously on her phone, and you ask what she’s doing as the vehicle pulls into the ambulance bay.

“The ISU rep told me to keep him updated,” she explains. “And I’m trying to vote on which alternate is going to take your place.”

You knew that was going to happen, you couldn’t possibly skate, but it makes you unbelievably sad. All your hard work is going to amount to nothing. No one cares about national champions who don’t place at worlds, and the injury is going to sideline you in next year’s olympic race. The emergency room has a bed ready for you, and the doctor arrives as you’re being transferred into it.

“Miss Y/L/N, I’m Dr. Morelli. We’re going to put your patella back into place. It’s going to be incredibly painful, so we’re to sedate you. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you say as strongly as you can, though it comes out feeble and hoarse.

A nurse inserts an IV into your arm and smiles at you. They have you count backwards from ten, and by the time you get to eight you’re asleep. There’s a brief moment of panic when you wake up as you forgot where you are. “You’re awake,” Brenda speaks softly from the bedside. “How are you feeling?”

“Like shit,” you admit. “It hurts so fucking bad.”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “I know. They’re going to come get you for x-rays in a few minutes and then we’ll go back to the hotel.”

“Oh my god,” you gasp. “I’ve gotta call Joel. Bren, give me your phone.”

Laughter comes from the device’s speakers, and you realize she’s one step ahead of you.

“There’s my girl,” Joel whispers, eyes landing on yours as the phone lands in your hands. “Are you okay?”

The question makes you laugh. “You’re quite the comedian Mr. Farabee. Of course I’m not okay. My leg is currently being held together by a brace and my dreams are ruined.” You soften when you realize how upset Joel looks. “I’ll be fine J, I promise.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. It was a freak accident. You can pick me up from the airport.”

He agrees in a heartbeat and tells you about his day to distract you from the pain. You’ll have to ask the nurses for some pain meds before you leave. A nurse comes to take you to the radiology department, and you hang up after reassuring him for the hundredth time that he doesn’t need to fly to Italy to bring you home himself.

Brenda holds you as the adrenaline wears off and your legs twitches rapidly as a trauma response. She helps you navigate around the small room and makes sure you’re able to use the bathroom. Luckily none of her other skaters are competing, and she’s able to travel back to Philadelphia with you once the doctor clears you. It’s a rough flight – there’s a fair amount of turbulence and each bump makes your leg throb. You don’t get a wink of sleep and are grumpy by the time you touch down in Philly. Joel’s waiting at arrivals with a giant sign and a sweet smile. You wheel yourself over to him as quickly as possible, wanting nothing more than to collapse into his arms.

“Welcome home baby,” he whispers, leaning down to catch your lips in an airport appropriate kiss. The reason you’re home so early isn’t brought up which you're incredibly grateful for. Your untimely withdrawal is still a very sore spot.

“I wasn’t gone long,” you laugh, trying to poke fun at the situation before reality gets you too down.

“Long enough for me to miss you a tremendous amount.”

The three of you exit the airport, and Joel drops Brenda off at her house before taking you back to his place. Chuck and the rest of the management team were allowing him to miss a few games until you become more mobile and can’t exist on your own for a few hours. Joel’s bed is calling out to you, but he insists you’ll feel better after a shower and you know he’s right. Showering isn’t something you can do yourself, so Joel keeps your leg straight and elevated as you sit on the stool he bought while waiting for you to return. The grime of travelling is washed away and you feel lighter when you swing into bed, stubbornly refusing Joel’s help.

You convince him to let you watch the broadcast of the event you were supposed to be skating in. It’s probably not the best thing for your mental health, but you want to see how everyone does. Joel sits besides you, arm wrapped around your shoulder, and listens to you explain the rationale behind every element’s score. When your replacement takes the ice you go silent. It’s too much to see her skating in your place so you bury your face into Joel’s neck. There’s no jealousy like you thought there would be, just an infinite amount of sadness that you’re not able to be there.

“You’ll be able to get back there,” Joel reassures you when he feels a tear soak through his sweater.

“That’s not guaranteed,�� you sniffle. “I might not ever skate again, let alone compete at any level.”

He shakes his head in disagreement, leading you to quirk a brow. “I know you. You’re going to do it. It won’t be easy, but you’re the most determined person I’ve ever met. People bounce back after major injuries all the time. I’ll be by your side the entire time, helping you through.”

“I love you,” you blurt out. The gravity of your words sinks in and you gasp. You haven’t said those words to each other yet, but they feel right.

“I love you too,” Joel smiles, kissing the tip of your nose. “Now pay attention to the TV, that girl you beat at Skate Canada is up next.”

☼☼☼☼

Recovery hasn’t been easy. There have been so many days where all you want to do is throw in the towel and cry, but Joel keeps you going. He insists you to your physical therapy exercises with him so you aren’t alone, and he comes to as many doctor’s appointments as he possibly can. After the Flyers get eliminated from the playoffs he doesn’t return home for the summer, choosing to stay in the Philly area with you. Having him there is a massive help, and you power through the pain.

The Flyers are hosting a family skate before training camp, and it will be your first time on skates in nearly six months. Your doctors have cleared it as long as you take it slow and basically let Joel pull you around the rink but you don’t care. It gives you hope that one day you’ll be back to full strength.

“Ready to do this thing?” Joel asks, grabbing your hand and intertwining your fingers.

You nod enthusiastically and let him pull you from the bench to the tunnel and down to the boards. Joel steps on the ice first, keeping his hands up in case you need them for support. A few of the significant others notice what’s happening and they erupt in applause once both your feet are planted on the surface. Joel joins them, his eyes watering when he sees how happy you are to be skating again.

“I do believe you promised me a few laps lover boy,” you wink.

“Yes ma’am,” Joel giggles as he mock salutes. He places his hands in yours and guides you gently, careful not to go too fast or get too close to other groups. The two of you giggle and stop to kiss frequently but no one says anything. You’ve worked incredibly hard to get here and they’re perfectly content letting you have your moment. Standing at centre ice you feel complete, and you know it’s all thanks to Joel.

☼☼☼☼

taglist: @samsteel @kiedhara @tortito @boqvistsbabe @iwantahockeyhimbo @himbos-on-ice if you want to be added just shoot me an ask :)

#this right here is my baby #joel farabee imagine #joel farabee x reader #joel farabee fic #philadelphia flyers imagine #hockey imagine #hockey fic #nhl imagine #nhl fic #cwrites

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prettylittleheartfilia · 3 years

Text

The Usual

Neither of them knew how they ended up in this situation. One moment she was yelling at him for sneaking into her house, as usual. Then they began sparring, as usual. And now they found themselves on the couch, Natsu’s lips capturing hers, Lucy’s hands cupping his cheeks, which was not usual at all.

It was a soft kiss, neither of them really sure of what they were supposed to be doing with their mouths. They pulled away, pressing their foreheads together. The two stayed like that for a while, eyes closed, basking in the realization of what had just happened.

Lucy slowly opened her eyes and, just as she was about to speak, Happy flew in through the open window in her apartment.

“Lucy! Did you get any fish for me?”

Both Natsu and Lucy jumped at the sound of the exceed’s voice, scrambling to opposite ends of the couch so as to not raise any suspicion on what they had been doing less than a minute ago.

“Hey, buddy!” Natsu said a little too enthusiastically, his voice an octave higher than normal. “I thought you were hanging out with Carla.”

“Yeah, but I wanted to give her my fish and then I realized I actually ate it on the way to the guild, so I’m looking for another one.” He explained as he made his way to Lucy’s pantry.

“You already ate the fish I saved you.” Lucy called out, trying to hide her still reddened cheeks.

“What? Lucy~, that’s why I tell you to keep a bunch of them in the pantry!”

“I’m not saving any more of your stinky fish!” She got up and started pushing both of them towards the front door. “If you want more then go fishing and stop annoying me!”

The blonde slammed the door on their faces, leaning her head on it and letting her body slide down onto the floor. She normally didn’t mind their company, as much as she constantly berated them for invading her personal space, but today she needed to be alone in order to process what the hell had just happened.

The days following the incident were… weird. Lucy started avoiding Natsu like the plague. She dreaded going to the guild out of fear that she might run into him. And when she did inevitably run into him, she would make up a quick excuse as to why she couldn’t go on missions with him or sit with him to eat. The dragon slayer hadn’t sneaked into her place after that day either, which should have been a relief for the blonde, but it just made her feel like he thought what happened between them had been a mistake.

But what right did she have to feel this way? She was the one who continued to run away from him, too afraid of what might happen if they got the chance to be alone together. And now, she was all by herself in her apartment, deciding to focus on her novel instead of trying to go to the guild for a futile game of hide and seek like she had been doing all week. Except that this wasn’t working either. Every time she tried to write words on the paper, her mind went back to Natsu and that day. The way his lips felt against her own—chapped but sweet, the way his hands felt on top of her hips, how his wild hair smelled of-

Lucy flinched at the sound of someone knocking on her door. She jumped out of her desk chair and quickly opened the entrance to her apartment, not really caring who was behind the door as long as they could make her think of something other than her best friend’s lips.

“Hey, Lu!” As soon as the door opened, Levy jumped on the blonde, hugging her tight.

“Hey… everyone. What are you guys doing here?” Still a bit flustered from her earlier thoughts, Lucy hugged Levy back as she glanced up to see Cana, Juvia, Erza, Mira, and Lisanna all standing in her doorway.

“We thought today would be a perfect day for a girls’ night!” Mira explained as she and the other girls made themselves comfortable in Lucy’s home.

Lucy smiled softly. A girls’ night was just what she needed to clear her head, even if it was unexpected.

Or so she thought.

Not even ten minutes after her friends’ arrival, Cana exposed the real reason why they had suddenly come to visit. “So, Lucy, did something happen between you and Natsu?”

“Cana!” Levy smacked her arm as the other girls looked at the brunette with wide eyes.

“What? Might as well just come out and ask instead of beating around the bush.”

The blonde’s face glowed red as she hurriedly denied her friend’s question. “No! No no no, everything’s fine! W-why do you ask?”

“Please. We all notice how weird you’ve been acting lately. You run away if you see even a glimpse of pink hair.”

Lucy looked down. Maybe she should tell them what happened. She’s not used to talking about her feelings, normally just shoving them down and distracting herself by writing or going on a mission. But none of those distractions seemed to be working right now. And most of her friends had much more experience in this department than her, surely they would know what to do. Plus, she trusted these girls with her life.

“Natsu and I… we, we kissed… last week.” She muttered, still looking down. Part of her hoped they didn’t hear her but, alas, they did.

There was a resounding “WHAT?” from all of her guests and Lucy simply nodded, still too afraid to look up.

“Oh my God! Pay up, guys!” Cana jumped up, thrusting her open palm in front of Mira’s face.

“I really thought it would take them years.” Mirajane grumbled as she took out some rolled up jewels from her cleavage and handed them to the brunette. Both Lisanna and Erza also stood up and begrudgingly gave Cana their money.

“Juvia knew it was coming. They’ve been flirting more and more these days.” Said the water mage with a smug grin as Cana divided the bills with her and Levy.

“Wait, what?” Lucy finally looked up indignantly, “You guys made a bet about this?”

“Of course. We all know you two idiots are in love. You’re the last ones to realize it.” Cana shrugged as she sat down again.

“We’re not in love.” Lucy responded, but even she knew it was a weak protest.

“How did it happen? Who kissed who? Was it like you expected your first kiss to go?” Levy jumped from question to question excitedly.

“I don’t even know. We sat down on the couch after a sparring match and we were just playing around and then…” She trailed off.

“Did you like it?” Erza spoke up for the first time.

“...Yes?” Lucy responded after a while and groaned after she saw her friends’ cheeky smiles, burying her face in her hands.

“If you liked it so much, then why do you keep running away from him?” Asked Cana.

“I don’t know,” The blonde mumbled, face still buried in her hands before she moved to hug her knees instead, “Things are just… weird right now. I don’t know what I want, or what he wants.”

“Well, do you see yourself in a relationship with him?” Mira asked softly.

This got Lucy thinking. Ever since she was little, she had always fantasized about marrying her Prince Charming. Someone who was elegant, classy, a gentleman on all counts. But, after meeting Natsu, somehow the idea of that Prince Charming started fading away from her mind until there was no trace of it left. Now, whenever she thought about the one person she wanted to spend forever with, the only things she could envision were wide, warm smiles and pink hair. She never spent too much time thinking about what it could all mean, too afraid of what she might find if she dug deep enough in her heart. But the truth always found its way to the surface.

“I do.” She admitted in a whisper, more to herself than the people around her. “I want us to be together forever.”

“Then, what are you so afraid of? Go and talk to him.”

“I can’t. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? I don’t think he’s interested in relationships. And even if he was, he’s my best friend. I would never want to do anything that could jeopardize that.”

This time, Lisanna interjected. “Luce, I’ve known Natsu for a long time. I probably know him better than he knows himself in certain ways. I can assure you, the boy is head over heels for you. And I’m not the only one who sees it.” The other girls made gestures of agreement and Lisanna chuckled.

“You’re missing out on what could potentially be a beautiful thing because you’re scared of the what-ifs. Yes, maybe along the line something happens and you guys break up. But, maybe you don’t and you get to grow old together. You’ll never know unless you try. Life is all about risks and I know you’re brave enough to take them. I’ve seen you do it.”

Mira’s speech almost brought tears to Lucy’s eyes. She was right-- as she usually was about everything. If Lucy was able to leave everything behind at seventeen to become a mage and get through countless adversities in her way, even when all odds were against her, what’s stopping her from confronting a boy?

“No matter what happens, we will always be a team.” Erza added, and it was just the validation Lucy needed to make her mind up.

“Thank you, guys. Really. And you’re right. I need to stop running away and just talk to him.”

———

Today was the day. After going over everything the Strauss sisters had said to her in the mirror to gain courage, Lucy took a deep breath and made her way towards the guild.

As soon as she opened the grand doors, she was met with the familiar ruckus of Fairy Tail; chairs being thrown in the air, groups of people singing while drunk-- Cana being the most notable of all, of course. People yelling out what missions they were planning on taking to Mira, and what seemed to be a crowd of people cheering on a fight. She smiled. As much as Lucy loved peace and quiet, there was something so comforting about all the chaos that went on inside the guild. It felt like home.

Only when she got closer did the celestial mage notice that the people who were fighting were none other than Natsu and Gray. Gajeel seemed eager to join the fight from where he stood in the crowd, but he was being pulled back and chastised by Levy.

Rolling her eyes, Lucy squeezed her way through the group until she was standing on the front row. “Natsu, Gray! You better stop before Erza sees you.”

The threat fell on deaf ears, the two mages too entranced on beating each other up to even notice the presence of their friend. Sighing, Lucy made her way to where the two of them stood. Before either of the boys could process what was happening, Lucy grabbed their heads and crushed them together. The hollering crowd instantly went silent and slowly dispersed, knowing not to cross the blonde when she was in one of those moods.

“What the fuck, Lucy!” Cried out Gray as he rubbed the injured area.

Deciding there were more important matters at hand, Lucy ignored him and turned to Natsu who was also rubbing his head until he noticed the girl looking at him. He straightened up with wide eyes.

Before he could say anything though, Lucy hurriedly asked, “Can you come over for dinner later?” Knowing that if she didn’t ask now she would lose all the courage she worked so hard to build.

The question seemed to throw Natsu off. He sent a panicked look at Gray, as if questioning whether he heard her right, and answered after a few seconds. “S-sure! I’ll be there.”

———

Lucy decided to leave the guild early not only to make the food, but to mentally prepare for what was about to happen.

She was going to ask Natsu how he felt. And she had no idea what to expect. The boy had never been good with words or expressing himself, his thoughts always a mystery to whoever he was around. Perhaps if she hadn’t kicked him out of the apartment after their kiss and avoided him every day since then, she would have an idea of what was going on through his mind. But it’s too late for regret now.

Just as she finished setting up the small table, she heard someone knocking at her door. Taking a deep breath, Lucy opened the door to find her pink-haired partner scratching the back of his neck, a soft blush dusting his cheeks. Part of her was afraid he was going to fly in through the window with Happy, but she was glad to see he understood that she wanted them to talk alone.

“Natsu.” She breathed, suddenly at a loss for words.

“Hey, Luce.” He gave her one of his signature big smiles, but Lucy noticed that it didn’t reach his eyes. He seemed… nervous. She never thought Natsu was capable of feeling that emotion.

They stood awkwardly on the doorway for a few seconds before Lucy realized it was her turn to speak.

“C-come in! I made some of that spicy chicken you really like.” She looked down at the floor as she opened the door wider so he could pass.

“Thanks!” He chirped as he sat down on one of the dining chairs.

Lucy gulped. The entire speech she rehearsed over and over again had completely been erased from her mind the moment she saw him.

This was going to be a long night.

———

Once again, Lucy had no idea how they ended up like this. Dinnertime had been very awkward, the two of them eating silently for the most part, making small talk every once in a while, both of them too afraid to mention the elephant in the room. But, somehow, they had gone from barely talking at each other, to making a bet on who would win a sparring match. Even in the most difficult situations, Natsu always found a way to wreak havoc. And Lucy found a strange sense of comfort in that.

At first, the blonde was hesitant on accepting the bet, still feeling the discomfort of all the things left unsaid. But, when Natsu sent a Fire Dragon Iron Fist her way, breaking her favorite vase as she ducked, she decided to make good use of her Fleuve D’étoiles. After a few minutes of going back and forth, Lucy pretended to point at something surprising behind Natsu, which gave her the opportunity to wrap her whip around Natsu’s ankle when he looked back and tug him until he collapsed on the ground. The oldest and cheapest trick in the book, Lucy knew, but a win was a win. Honestly, she was more surprised that it had actually worked.

She unwrapped the whip from Natsu’s ankle and placed it gently on her desk. The dragon slayer was still laying flat on the floor, so Lucy decided to lay down next to him. She sighed as she felt all the tension she had been feeling lately leave her body. It had only been a week but she had seriously missed being around her best friend. It didn’t matter to her what they were, she just wanted to be with him. That was enough for her.

“Now my face is all red.” She muttered as she pressed her hands to her cheeks.

“I like your face.” Natsu mumbled and, as they both whipped their heads to look at each other with wide eyes, Lucy realized that he was just as surprised by what had come out of his mouth as she was. “I, I mean your face is cool! I-it’s nice. Even when it’s all red and sweaty like now.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow at his poor attempt to save himself but made no effort to stop him.

“But not only your face!” He continued, “Gray told me you should never just talk about a girl’s appearance.” He grumbled, as if upset he had broken some sort of special rule and Lucy could not stop her amused smile. “Like, yeah, your face is nice, but you are also nice! And smart. And I like how I feel when we hang out. Ugh, what am I saying?” He turned his face towards the ceiling again and covered it with his hands.

It took everything in Lucy’s power to not burst out laughing right then and there. Was Natsu… confessing? She had never seen him so flustered. Ever. Normally, that was her thing. She had to admit, it was nice being on the other end every once in a while. All this time, she tried her hardest to muster up the courage to talk to him, trying to convince herself that things would be fine even if he didn’t feel the same way and now here he was, making a fool out of himself in the most heartwarming way Lucy could have asked for.

After a couple moments of silence, Lucy finally decided to speak up with newfound confidence.

“... I like your face too. Just so you know.”

Natsu dropped his hands from his face and whipped his head to look at Lucy. She raised her eyebrows, hoping he would understand exactly what she meant. She knew he understood by the way his lips slowly formed a giddy smile, one to match hers. Without the need for any more words, they both turned to look at the ceiling as their hands found their way to each other’s, fingers entangling.

This definitely wasn’t the usual for them, but maybe it was time for a new normal.

#fairy tail #nalu #nalu fanfic #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #my writing #i think this is the longest one-shot i've written so far #not pictured: gray threatening to cut natsu's balls if he ever hurt lucy after finding out about the kiss #also not pictured: the bags under my eyes because i decided to proof-read this at an ungodly hour

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cryptiql · 3 years

Text

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

#⛓.dabi #dabi x male reader #dabi x reader #anime x male reader #mha x male reader #touya todoroki x male reader #my hero x reader #my hero x y/n #boku no hero x reader #x male reader #bnha x you #dabi fluff #dabi angst #dabi imagine

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marveldc-imagines-hub · 3 years

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Subtitles: Episode 1, Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience

Subtitles Masterlist

Summary: [Y/N] has been living in Westview for more almost a month now and yet to properly put down roots. What they hadn’t been expecting was to work so much, have unpacking be so hard, and for a new couple to move in the other house for sale, directly across the street.

Word count: 8,425

Warnings: Sit down and grab a snack because this one’s a bit long! Otherwise nothing, really. Maybe second-hand embarrassment caused by a thirsty Reader.

~~~

Ever since you left both home and family behind some years ago, you’ve always felt a little out of place in the world. It was a hard time for you, leaving everything you knew behind and instead branching out and trying to find your place in the world. Actually, not only was it a difficult time in your life, but a confusing one; when you attempted to reflect on those memories, all you get is a head of foggy feelings, including a particularly sick sensation that leaves you out of commission for the rest of the day if you’re not careful.

When you settled in Westview, it was like a breath of fresh air. Finding a home in a nice neighborhood was easy and the moving was done in a pinch thanks to a local moving company helping you get the boxes to your door, though you couldn’t afford to pay for them to do more. You were even lucky enough to find a street with not one but two open houses to pick from; you chose the smaller, more modest abode, as you had no family in town and no intention of getting married or starting a family any time soon. Despite this lack of them nearby and generally solid memories, though, you knew you had a good relationship with your family because as soon as you found a place, you were receiving housewarming gifts and postcards and letters from not only your family but close and extended relatives alike. Needless to say, it didn’t take long for your new house’s already installed fridge to be covered in pamphlet-worthy pictures of places across the nation and kind words from your mother, grandmother, and cousins.

There was still unpacking, now of both the furniture and gift variety, that needed to be done before anything else. Then there was the question of a proper source of income—while the money you received from your relatives would cover a month or two while you got yourself settled, you suspected there wasn’t going to be anything else for a long while and, either way, you wanted to be able to fend for yourself. Finally, after the necessities were dealt with, there was the matter of making your house and the neighborhood your home and by making some connections; while you were perfectly content living alone, it would be nice to not feel like such an outsider, to have friends to go out on the town with or take the occasional trip with on the weekends. These were normal goals, you figured, and, with as easy everything else has been so far, they should be simple enough to complete.

Right?

Well, at least getting a job was easy enough, you thought as you sat on the stack of boxes that, over the last month, had become a chair by the door that you used to pull on your shoes before work, as you were doing now. It also functioned as a coat and hat rack, as proven by your growing collection of jackets and headwear piled on it, and the occasional bookshelf after a trip to the local library. It used to be a place to hold your keys but you have yet to make that mistake again after sitting down one day and getting a sharp jab to the backside.

You were right that getting a job was easy enough—you received a callback for a secretary job at a computational services company only after a week of job searching—but you had yet to follow through with your other aspirations. It’s not like you haven’t tried, but when it came to unpacking, your job left you with very little energy to do much other than collapse on a couch-shaped collection of boxes when you get home and only a semi-decently decorated bedroom to show for your work. In terms of bonding with the locals and making some friends, let’s just say that Dottie is convinced you purposely spilled red wine on her perfect white parlor gown—who wears white when drinking red wine?—and now all you received from the neighborhood husbands were side-eyes and grumbling after telling them you found their attempts at humor in poor taste. At least you’d managed to charm your boss and his wife when they came over for dinner and now Mr. and Mrs. Hart invited you over for the occasional drink and gossip; Agnes, a woman from across the street and down a house, was also among your few successes, and she was a hoot to be around in a big sister or wine aunt type of way, despite her loudness.

Speaking of which—

“Hey, [Y/N],” Agnes hollered from somewhere outside, “haven’t seen you out of the house yet! Better hurry up, the streets are antsville today! Or, at least, you could come with me to say welcome the other new neighbors!”

Agnes came knocking on your door the same day you moved in and since then, she’s apparently committed your daily schedule to memory because if you’re not heading to work right on time, you get a holler from across the— Wait. New neighbors? You hopped up from your boxy perch after making sure your shoes were secure and peeked out the nearest window. Sure enough, the other house that you had considered moving into, the one immediately across the street from your own, no longer had a FOR SALE sign stuck in its yard and the yard and curtains appeared to have been decorated. Your heart lept into your throat as you wondered when that had happened; you desperately hoped that it hadn’t happened too long ago because you’ve been on a work rampage for the past few days and haven’t noticed much else. Yet another thing you haven’t done correctly.

Agnes was also by the front yard, leaning against the fence and chatting with the mailman as he walked by. After he passed, she looked up and caught your eye, grinned, and waved. “Come on, [Y/N], no time like the present!”

You wanted to join her and introduce yourself to the new neighbors, you really did. Unfortunately, you would definitely get to work late if you didn’t get a move on, especially if the streets were as crowded as Agnes mentioned them to be, and you definitely didn’t want to greet the neighbors without a housewarming gift in hand. Perhaps you could stop by a shop on the way home and pick up a plant or a pie and welcome them this evening.

“Now, don’t flip your lid, Agnes,” you teased back with a smile as you walked outside. This response earned you a mock scowl, then Agnes’s smile again; you walked over to your vehicle and tossed your bag into the passenger’s seat. “I wish I could join you but you caught me; I am in fact looking to wind up late and I’ll be cruisin’ for a bruisin’ if I don’t leave now. I’ll try to stop by after work!”

“Well alright then,” came Agnes’s reply, while you hopped into the driver’s seat and started your chariot up. “I’ll tell them you say hi. Congrats on no longer being the new guy!”

Too bad I still feel like the new guy, you mentally grumbled, rapping your fingers on the steering wheel. You took a breath, checked that your hair was in place and your shirt wasn’t wrinkled in the mirror and headed on your way.

“Oh, hello dear; I’m Agnes, your neighbor to the right! My right, not yours. Forgive me for not stopping by sooner to welcome you to the neighborhood. My mother-in-law was in town, so I wasn’t.”

Wanda watched the woman on her doorstep, visibly a bit perplexed but smiling either way. She was confused about what special event she and her husband were supposed to be celebrating tonight after seeing a heart on the calendar but now that she had an unknown woman—no, not unknown; one of her neighbors—here, Wanda couldn’t possibly be a bad hostess and turn her away.

Not that the woman, Agnes, would have let her do so anyway. She shoved the plant she was holding into Wanda’s arms and walked inside, talking without giving Wanda any space to chime in. “So, what’s your name, where’re you from, and most importantly, how’s your bridge game, hon?”

Wanda quickly shut the door and trotted after the woman. She was newly stressed over the unknown event but now also giddy; this was the first neighborly welcome of many, she was sure of it! She reached Agnes’s side and stretched out a hand with a big smile. “I’m Wanda.”

“Wanda,” Anges repeated as if to see how the same felt on her tongue, before taking Wanda’s hand in a solid shake, “Charmed.” She paused, glancing around the house—Wanda felt an odd pang of anxiety—then continued, “Gol-ly, you settled in fast! Did you use a moving company?”

Wanda struggled momentarily for an answer. Of course, she didn’t; she’d used her powers to unpack and decorate quickly, but she couldn’t say that to this stranger. She decided to go with an affirmative answer as it was the easiest route. She went to reply—

“If you did,” Agnes went on, “I should get the name from you. Our other new neighbor across the way still has a house full of boxes!”

Wanda blinked, her head tilting to one side out of curiosity. “Other new neighbor?”

“Why the house directly to your front!” Without waiting, the other woman walked to the front window and yanked back the curtains; she gestured to the house in question. “[Y/N]. They live on their own, you see, and probably could have done well with the help. Actually, they were going to stop by with me but they were running late for work. I told them I’d tell you hi for them—Hi for them!”

The loud car Wanda had heard a few minutes earlier must have been this other neighbor rushing off to work. It was nice to know that even though it hadn’t happened, there had almost been a party of two to welcome her and her husband to the street; it’s too bad that he had left for his own job only a while earlier.

Wanda made her way over to the window as well and took a look. It was more modest in size and build than Wanda’s own home, much more suited to house a single person. Despite Agnes’s claim of them having not unpacked, a few lawn decorations were set up and a pair of [F/C] curtains hung neatly framing the home’s front window. Wanda could make out various boxes leaning up against the window, evidence to Agnes’s statement, but otherwise, the place seemed well-kept. The yard was taken care of, though Wanda wondered if it was because the person had moved in just as recently as she and her husband did or if they just enjoyed garden work.

Apparently, she’d wondered this aloud because Agnes responded, “They’ve been here for about a month, just been too busy making a good impression at work and making a fool out of themselves to the other neighbors to make their house a little more homely. Poor thing’s a darling but struggling in the social department.”

Wanda continued to watch the house as if this other, slightly older newcomer was about to drive back up the street to home. Consider her interest piqued. Wanda wanted to know more about [Y/N], all of her neighbors really, but more importantly, why there had been multiple houses open and if it was common. She hoped this neighborhood was as friendly as it seemed and that it wasn’t danger or unkindness that had made multiple people move out. She opened her mouth to ask—

However, Agnes had moved on to a different subject, as well as a different part of the house. “So what’s a single gal like you doing rattling around this big house?”

“Oh no,” Wanda, sighing softly, switched gears with her and replied, “I’m not single.”

You gulped down a gasp of air as you tumbled out of the elevator of Computational Services Inc, which earned you a few odd looks from unknown coworkers passing by. You’d bumped into one of them while skidding to a halt and you felt a blush creep up on your cheeks and ears and you stepped away, apologizing profusely. You tried to reach your desk in a quick but professional manner, only stopping briefly to make sure your clothes and hair were still in order in the reflection of an office window. As you got closer to your desk, a small thing in an area separated from other employees, you heard the comforting sounds of typing and radio music. You got to your desk, pulled out your chair, sat your bag down, and began to sit, only for a voice to catch your attention.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, there is. Would you be so good as to tell me what exactly we do here?”

A British accent? Not something you hear every day around here. You pushed your chair back into place to prevent another worker from bumping into it and walked over to peer around the corner. You recognized Norm, a kind and well-mannered employee that filled out computational forms in this section of the building, standing and chatting with a taller, paler, glasses-wearing man that you didn’t know.

The British voice spoke again and now, at least, you could put the voice to a face. “Do we make something?”

The British gentleman was very tall indeed and quite handsome. He had light wavy hair in a side part, with a sliver’s worth that looked like it could fall into his eyes at any moment; you felt the strange urge to push it back before the idea of running your hands through a stranger’s hair made you blush again. His suit fit his lanky body well, though you’d expect nothing less as Mr. Hart was very strict about his workers’ appearance. His tie was interesting, a dark color with a simple, lighter print of four spots, two larger ones encased in a rectangle, and his glasses framed his curiosity-ridden face very well. Above his lovely-looking, light-colored eyes, his brows were furrowed as he looked animatedly around, as though his workplace was a puzzle he was trying to solve. You noticed he talked with his hands quite a bit and you also noticed that his large, long-fingered hands seemed slightly out of place compared to the rest of his body. They seemed like nice hands, though, and they probably did their job well.

Goodness, [Y/N], now you’re just being ridiculous. You squeezed your eyes shut and pressed your head against the wall you were hiding around. No, not hiding, because that would make your creeping seem even more bizarre. Definitely not creeping. Investigating.

You shook your head to refocus and looked towards the men, listening again. He is a bit of a dreamboat, isn’t he though?

Norm was answering the man. “No and no.”

“Then what is the purpose of this company?” the stranger continued.

“All I know,” Norm replied with a smile, “is since you’ve gotten here, productivity has gone up three hundred percent!”

Three hundred? That was a startling thought, almost enough to give you a headache. So you’re the reason I’ve had more files on my desk.

The stranger picked up one of said files and flipped through it. “Yes, but what is it that we’re producing?”

He’s quite interested in figuring out the answer to that question, isn’t he? You felt another pang in your temple. How strange.

Your brows knitted together as you, curious, leaned into the pain a bit. The pain seemed to follow the British employee’s questioning, so you focused on it.

What did they do here anyway?

The harmless pangs quickly turned into a full-blown migraine, similar to what would happen if you thought too hard about your past. You grimaced in pain and reached for your head, only to lose your balance completely and fall forward, into the room you were observing. You hissed as your knees hit solid ground and you braced yourself with one hand while the other gripped the hair closest to your temple. You tried to look around for something else to focus on but your vision was blurry and you couldn’t tell if you were even moving your head.

Then there was shouting, which didn’t help the throbbing pain at all, and you felt what seemed like a hundred pairs of hands grasping at you. You couldn’t understand the yelling other than recognizing the voices as male; you tried to tell them you were alright, shake the hands off and get yourself some space, but nothing in your body seemed to be working quite right. Because of this, the voices and the various hands—or was there just two hands?—didn’t know what you wanted and instead of space, they crowded you. You felt grips on your shoulders and arms, even on your back— Then you were being lifted. Completely off the ground or only to your feet, you couldn’t tell.

Then the hands—only one on your back and another pair holding your arm now—guided you to a place where you could properly sit.

It was quieter now and you could feel the floor beneath your feet and an office chair holding your weight. You realized your eyes were closed so you opened them and you found your vision beginning to refocus. You looked around.

“Goodness, are you alright?”

You could feel how red your face was—it was probably bright enough to be used as a neon stop sign—when you found yourself staring into a man’s torso. A torso that was quite close. You looked up and directly into the face of the British man, who no longer looked troubled by curiosity but rather quite concerned by you.

Oh, yes, definitely a dreamboat, you thought without really meaning to.

Then Norm came rushing over, a cup in hand. “[Y/N], are you alright?”

“[Y/N],” the stranger repeated. He took the water cup from Norm, who hovered nearby, and squatted down to be at eye level with you.

You wouldn’t mind hearing him say your name again.

Good Lord, stop it, you almost passed out!

“That is my name,” you managed. You even managed a definitely awkward smile, a couple of seconds of definitely awkward eye contact.

“Here, you should drink this.” He offered you the cup and once you took it, he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “You’re burning up!”

I would imagine so, with how I feel. You sipped the water. Maybe you didn’t look as bad as you thought you did.

“Looks like you’re about to throw up too,” Norm very helpfully added.

Thank you for the commentary, Norm.

“[Y/N],” the other employee said, drawing your scowling gaze back from Norm, “do you have someone you could call? You look ill; perhaps it would serve you well to go home.”

“I’m fine,” you assured him. He did not look convinced but you pushed on, whipping up a quick white lie to cover up your jarring headache. “I didn’t eat this morning and I rushed to work to escape the antsville. I must have gotten overheated on the way and I’m sure an empty stomach helped that. Sorry for worrying—”

“What is going on out here?”

You both jumped to your feet; you moved too fast for having just recovered and stumbled but luckily both Norm and his colleague caught you and straightened you up before you fell over. No one wanted to be seen out of place by the boss and you were currently both out of place and sorts. Even though you knew Mr. Hart already saw you—hell, he was standing directly in front of you three—you glanced around for a place to hide. Instead, you saw files and papers scattered across the floor, the result of your migraine-induced fumbling. You groaned and dropped your head into your hands.

“Well?”

There was a moment of silence. You felt Norm take a step away from you and you expected the other man to do so as well. He didn’t but you raised your head and squared your shoulders, preparing for the worst.

“Sir—” you started.

“Sir,” the British gentleman interrupted, taking a step forward. “[Y/N] here was walking back to their desk and tripped, and in my haste to help them, I knocked over a pile of files on my desk. I apologize for the racket and the mess I’ve caused; I’ll deal with it right away.”

Mr. Hart looked from him to you to Norm, who was quaking in his nice shoes, then back. There were yet a few more moments of quiet before he spoke again. “Vision.”

Vision?

“Yes, Sir.”

You glanced at the man to your right. Vision. What an interesting name for an interesting person.

“You better hope dinner tonight goes well after this charade,” Mr. Hart barked. “This better be cleaned up by the next time I come out here.”

Rather than looking upset or stressed, Vision looked relieved. He made a heart with his hands and muttered, “Mr. Hart. Of course…”

“And you,” the boss’s glare now settled on your face. “You were late this morning. In my office. Now.”

“Dammit,” you muttered after Mr. Hart had turned his back.

“Sorry, don’t think I can help you that one,” Vision chimed in. He was rubbing the back of his head and squinting at Mr. Hart’s back. “You’ll be alright?”

“Promise, it was just a bit of the spins.” You gave him a friendly pat on the arm and made your way to hopefully not get fired. “Nice meeting you!”

“You as well, despite the unfortunate circumstances. Good luck!”

Mr. Hart was waiting for you by his desk when he entered. He gestured for you to shut the door before he sat and as you did, you saw Vision beginning to clean up your mess before the phone on his desk started ringing.

“Ugh, I’m exhausted.” You were exiting a shop downtown, squinting against the light of the setting sun. You held the door open with a toe of one shoe while you adjusted the bags on your arms, then moved around to properly hold the door for Agnes, who strolled out after you. “Hart was an absolute villain today! Barks at me for coming in late and not getting work done but then does it for an hour! Well now who’s keeping me? Then this British gent—I swear I’ve never seen him before but he’s apparently the cause of my last few busy work days!”

“The looker?”

You blushed a bit; Agnes will never you live it down now that you’ve slipped up and said you’d found the man attractive. “I may have mentioned that earlier—but I digress! As charming as the man was, helping me out even after I knocked over a bunch of his things, he’s still a powerhouse of an employee. Tripled my load of work with his own; now I get what Norm meant when he said productivity has gone up by three times! Imagine, being yelled at by my boss—who was one of the few well-off relationships I’ve had since moving to town—for an hour, and then, when you finally get back to business, your desk is buried in files! I’m barely breathing at this point! Ain’t that just a bite.”

“Who’s flipped their lid now?” Agnes said with a cheeky grin. You responded with a tired glare and she scoffed. She moved her own bags to one arm so she could give your shoulder a good pat. “Just teasing you, dear! We can’t all be superhuman, unfortunately. Although you’re damn near close; thank you for helping me home, by the way. Ralph had a last-minute “meeting” with some “coworkers” tonight and I’m helping out our new neighbor plan a very important date!”

That’s right, you had a new neighbor across the street. You’d almost forgotten. You knew there was a reason you’d felt the urge to pick up a small houseplant on your way through the checkout.

“You have the mouth of a sailor, ‘Nes,” you quipped, cracking a grin.

“And a drinking tolerance that would put any soldier to shame!” Agnes agreed with a short laugh. After a quick pause, she added, “It’s not like I said ‘fuck.’”

That time both of you laughed and for the first time since your disastrous day, you felt yourself relax. After bringing up sailors and soldiers, Agnes lept into one of her half-complaint, half-stories about how, one time, her husband Ralph got drunk and tried to fight an entire bar—“Everything including the stools!” While she talked and you escorted her to your car, your mind wandered, curiosity about your new neighbors piqued again. You reached the sidewalk’s curb and helped Agnes stepped down, then opened the vehicle’s passenger door and took her bags.

Instead of sliding inside, Agnes watched you as you moved around to the other side of the car and put the bags in the backseat. “You’re a bit of a flutter bum yourself, dear. Look at those manners; you’ve been out and about all day and still came to help me with the groceries! And that voice! Absolute apple butter sometimes, when you want it to be. I’m surprised you aren’t already circled with a couple of children along the way!”

You snorted as you opened your door and slid behind the wheel. “Just not in my plan, I suppose.” You gestured for her to join you in the car and started it up when she did so. “You didn’t see me today either. Creeping around corners, then these annoying headaches got to me and I was stumbling around knocking down everything! Not to mention the new guy, sweet as pie, saw me do all this and go absolutely red just from looking at him. Sweating, cottonmouth, everything. I must have seemed bonkers! It was awful.”

Agnes offered, “I’m sure it wasn’t as bad as you think.”

“I’m sure if he ever sees me again, he’s going to turn heel and walk in the opposite direction,” you stated. Then you shifted into gear, pulled away from the sidewalk, and turned towards home.

You were in the one room in your house that wasn’t a part of the United Boxes, your bedroom, standing in front of one of the few pieces of furniture you’d managed to unpack since moving in. You fussed over your reflection in the mirror, pushing your damp hair from one side to the other, adjusting your tie one moment then readjusting it the next, holding up various hats and cardigans.

Your casual wardrobe was much more unique than the business attire you kept for work, which was generally neutral in both color and style. Tonight, you wore a collared button-up in a bright pattern of your favorite color paired with a tie that was darker in shade but equally bright in color, and you were debating between various cardigans in complementary colors. The pants you wore were more muted, a neutral color to go with the shiny black dress shoes and good quality belt that you usually only broke out for special social occasions. For a little more pop, you also wore a few colorful bracelets on each wrist and a ring or two. You even added a little more color to your still tired-looking face, despite you feeling much better after a nap, shower, and change of clothes.

You finally settled on the combination of a brighter colored cardigan a more muted hat to pull your entire look together. Slipping the cardigan on and flattening out any creases, you flashed your mirror self your friendliest smile for practice’s sake. Then you gave yourself a twirl, craning your neck over over your shoulder to make sure everything looked just as nice from the back as the front.

Now we’re cooking with gas, you thought. Hopefully, the neighbors think so too.

Satisfied, you made your way out to the living room where your outfit-appropriate handbag and housewarming gift waited. The young plant, a pachira, sat in a pot whose color accented the color of the house you were going to visit this evening as opposed to the simple white it’d come in. The pot itself wore a big ribbon bow that you’d attached yourself and sticking out of the soil was a card welcoming the neighborhood’s newcomers.

Perhaps you’d finally make some friends tonight.

You picked up the plant-based gift in one hand and placed it securely in the crook of your arm, then picked up your handbag in the other and made your ways outdoors. It was a quick walk across the street and once on the neighboring house’s doorstep, you steeled yourself with a deep breath. You smiled, then frowned, then smiled again and repeated this a couple of times to make sure the first smile your neighbors saw wasn’t a strained one and raised your hand to use the oddly realistic-looking lobster door hanger.

Much to your surprise, however, the door opened before your hand ever reached it.

And there, in front of you, looking just as shocked as you felt, was your boss and his wife.

“Mr— Mr. Hart?” you stammered, stumbling backward and almost dropping the plant under your arm. Remembering the last time you and your boss “conversed,” your friendly face twisted into more of a deer in the headlights look. “Mrs. Hart? What are... What are you doing here? You didn’t just move in, did—?”

“Is there a problem, Mr. and Mrs. Hart?”

Not only did you recognize the Harts but you recognized the British voice that came from behind them and the face that appeared with it.

“Vision?”

“[Y/N]?”

The two of you stared at each other in surprise. That is until Mr. Hart cleared his throat; he and Mrs. Hart still stood directly in front of you, with Vision unintentionally blocking them from stepping back inside. You yelped an apology and stepped to one side, then had to catch yourself on the doorframe as you almost tripped down the front steps.

“Yes, that’s right,” Mr. Hart said slowly as he stepped outside, giving you a particularly unpleasant look, “[Y/N] here lives in the neighborhood as well. Say, you live directly across the way, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” you responded immediately with a tilt of your head in the direction of your home. Then you glanced over at Vision and raised the pot you held slightly for him to see. “I was just coming over to introduce myself and offer a housewarming gift.”

Mr. Hart gave a strained nod, clearly still out of sorts about your work performance today. “Well, we were just out the door after the first dinner with the Maximoffs.” He made it sound like having dinner with your boss, while important, was something more of a religious experience.

You hoped Vision did well.

“He did just fine,” Mrs. Hart piped in.

There you go, accidentally wondering things aloud again.

“Congrats!” you chirped in Vision’s direction. You noted that he seemed as uncomfortable being in this situation as Mr. Hart acted and you felt. Perhaps you should have just visited in the morning.

Out of the group, Mrs. Hart seemed to be the only one unphased. She gave your shoulder a friendly squeeze and complimented your outfit—the one that her husband eyed distastefully—then lowered her voice so only you could hear. “I heard about your little brawl at work today. Don’t get bent too out of shape about my husband’s behavior; he has to work the weekend and he’s about excited as a cat that doesn’t get fed on time. We’re still on for bridge this weekend, right?”

You always liked Mrs. Hart. She was a good counterweight to her ever so charming husband and she always made sure to make you feel at home here in Westview, even if you struggled to do so yourself. You gave her a smile and a nod. “Of course, ma’am. You look stunning tonight, by the way.”

“Charmer.”

As you were talking to Mrs. Hart, Vision settled things with the mister, and things finally seemed to be calming down. However, Vision was wishing the Harts a safe way home, and you gave them a “Good night!” and a wave while wondering if you should just go home yourself, when a clatter came from inside the—what was it?—Maximoff household.

A voice followed, “Vis? Is everything alright out there, dear?”

You felt yourself deflate a bit; you already forgot that Mr. Hart had mentioned Maximoffs. Maximoffs, not one Maximoff. You were somewhat disappointed that, from what it sounded like, your new dashing British acquaintance had a partner, not that it was a surprise. He must have had people throwing themselves at him at one point in his life before he settled on The One and they immediately got married and moved into their cozy-looking, bigger than your own, house. Or, perhaps, maybe he was the awkward one falling all over himself to impress the person of his interest and when they finally picked him, he felt like his heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that found their home in his stomach.

Of course you were the only one on the block who was single and living alone.

You wondered if they had kids.

“... come in!”

You zoned back in from being lost in your thoughts to catch only the end of what Vision was saying. He stepped back from the doorway and held the door open for you and looked at you expectantly and, not wanting to make more of a fool of yourself that you already have in front of him today, you made your way inside, just hoping he hadn’t said anything important while you had been wondering about his romantic life. You felt heat on your ears and cheeks.

Vision, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. Now that the Harts were gone, he appeared much more relaxed, leaning on the door with one leg crossed over the other and even smiling at you as you walked into his spacious and already unpacked living room.

That was the first time you’ve seen him smile, you noted. He had a very charming smile, one of those that made his eyes smile too and seemed much more in place on his face than any other expression.

Vision closed the door behind you as you looked around the space with mild surprise—how long have they been moved in? How had they gotten unpacked so fast?—then he gave you a friendly squeeze on the shoulder. It was then that you noticed more clattering coming from behind a door that you assumed belonged to the kitchen.

“If you’ll excuse me for just a moment,” he said, making his way to said door, “As you know, my wife and I just finished dinner with the Harts, and my darling Wanda is doing all the dishes. I’ll tell her to wait a moment and come join us! Do you drink fluids?” You must have looked at him oddly because then he stumbled on his words a bit before clarifying, “Alcohol? Or would you like water, juice?”

He certainly did talk with his hands a lot. You liked the way he clasped his hands and fiddled with his fingers while trying to untangle his words.

“Water’s fine,” you replied with a friendly smile.

Seeing that you weren’t bothered by his slip-up, he smiled back and made his way into the kitchen. Halfway through the door, he chirped over his shoulder, “Please feel free to take a seat! I’ll return momentarily!”

Being alone again for only a few minutes still had you beginning to feel the weight of the day’s chaos again. You placed your housewarming gift on the coffee table and rubbed where the pot had been digging into your arm, then wriggled your toes; because these were shoes for special social occasions only, something you didn’t go to very often, they weren’t very well broke in and your feet were beginning to hurt.

The clattering in the kitchen had stopped but now the muffled voices of Vision and Wanda, which was somehow comforting. You looked around, taking in the classy but simple room. How on earth they’d managed to get unpacked so fast unless they used a company or stylist or somehow bought the place pre-furnished, you had no idea—well, you had a few, clearly. It was still surprising though. However they managed, you hoped your own living area looked half as nice. When you got around to it.

You perked up again as you heard the kitchen door creak… and then felt like your heart exploded into a billion heart-shaped butterflies that immediately found a home in your stomach.

If Vision was a dreamboat, his wife was a, well, literal vision. Wanda wore a dress that was just as simple and charming as the house she lived in, paired with a pretty necklace and pair of heels. Her curled hair perfectly framed her face and despite appearing as frazzled as Vision had when you first showed up at their doorstep, she wore a smile so gorgeous that your heart, which had apparently recovered from its explosion of butterflies, decided it preferred to do somersaults in your throat.

The pair of them were standing hip to hip with Wanda carrying a set of glasses and Vision a pitcher of water. They were chatting lightly about how well dinner went as they walked into the living room before turning their set of beaming smiles in your direction.

Your body couldn’t decide whether it wanted to melt, tie itself in knots, or spontaneously combust. You decided to make it stand to properly introduce yourself instead.

Just living in the same neighborhood as these two was going to be cataclysmic.

“Wanda, darling, this is my coworker [Y/N], the one I told you about earlier this evening.” Vision detached himself from his partner’s side and began snagging glasses from her hands to fill and place on the coffee table as she walked closer. “And [Y/N], this is my wife, Wanda.”

You and Wanda watched him hop around from her to the coffee table and back two more times with amusement, then Wanda looked at you and gave an incredulous shake of her head, offering her hand. “Hi, hon. Don’t mind him; he’s not usually this dancy but dinner with the boss was a bit unexpected on both our parts. I had to pull something together last minute and he’s trying to make up for it.”

“You did so much in such a short amount of time,” Vision added, finally settling on the couch beside Wanda after the two of you shook hands and got seated. “You deserve a break. I can handle filling a few glasses and doing up the dishes.”

“Speaking of which, I hope you got a break yourself, [Y/N].” Wanda’s comment and concerned look made your eyebrows raise with confusion. She elaborated, “Vision mentioned covering for you at work today.”

You flushed slightly and rubbed the side of your neck. Vision noticed and gave you an apologetic look.

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I get these awful migraines sometimes. One just happened to hit me at a particularly bad time today and I fell and knocked over a bunch of files. Your husband was an angel, did something he absolutely didn’t need to do and said it was all his fault.”

“And yet you got punished anyway,” Vision said, still looking apologetic. He wrung his hands a bit as well; you wanted to hold them to make him stop.

Wanda did instead, giving him the sweetest smile in the process.

“But if it weren’t for you,” you chirped, “I may have just gotten fired. So I have to thank you for that. And I can’t imagine how that may have affected your dinner tonight, if I had known you were having the big boss dinner tonight, I wouldn’t have let you. I’m so sorry, by the way, for barging in immediately after your dinner, too; you two must be exhausted!”

“Oh, nonsense,” Wanda piped up again. She patted you on the wrist; you kind of wished she’d left her hand there but she went to pick up her water instead. “Dinner went quite well actually, if not a bit ill-planned. We had a bit of a misunderstanding of what the calendar said.” She gave Vision a playful glare and he responded with a bashful smile that he tried to hide by running a hand over his face.

“I drew a heart, for Hart,” he explained. “We forgot and thought we missed an anniversary instead.”

You thought back to when Mr. Hart mentioned the dinner at the office and Vision had made a heart with his hands, then tried to suppress a grin of your own. “That’s an easy misunderstanding. Happy to hear I’m not the only one good with planning, though, no offense.”

“Well, maybe you two should be married.” Wanda glanced between the two of you, the playful look in her dark eyes paired with her suggestion making your throat dry.

“You couldn’t remember it either, darling,” Vision countered, giving her a peck on the forehead, “If that’s the case, maybe all three of us were meant to be.”

You went to swallow and ended up having to suppress a choke. You reached for your glass, only to see it empty—when did you do that?—but Wanda was quick to refill it.

You gave her a sheepish smile and soft “Thanks” in return, took a drink and decided to play along. “That would explain why we ended up living directly across from the street and why I’ve been single almost my entire life.”

You mentally kicked yourself for mentioning that last part and coming off way too desperate. However, when you glanced the couple’s way, Vision was chuckling, and Wanda was giving an understanding nod with a pleased look on her face. Maybe she thought her joke was going to hit wrong? Maybe it hadn’t been a joke?

Don’t get your hopes up, you thought.

Then Wanda spoke again. “You must be joking. You’re living on your own in that house?”

You shrugged and responded, “I have a fish.”

“I’m sure they’re wonderful conversation,” Wanda quipped back.

“No romantic interest in sight?” Vision asked.

Well, I wouldn’t say that but I’m certainly not going into that right now. You shook your head and decided to shift the conversation to a topic that was less likely to make you feel, if either or both of them did happen to ask you to marry them at that very moment, as if you would immediately throw yourselves at them. “Speaking of houses and all that, what a coincidence that we happen to find each other living next door the same day we meet. That’s what I originally came over to do, introduce myself to my neighbors and give you a housewarming gift.”

You gestured to the pachira on the coffee table and Wanda reached over to touch its leaves, then used Vision’s still-full water glass to water it. “That’s right. It is a lovely plant, thank you very much. I think it will look nice in the kitchen, or perhaps over by the window.”

“It’s supposed to bring good luck to the house,” you offered, “and red ribbons are often associated with it but I’m not sure why.”

“Well here’s to good luck then,” Wanda said, clinking Vision’s empty cup with your half-full one. She read the card you’d attached, smiled, then picked up the plant and offered it to her husband. “Here, dear. Since you’re taking on the role of house-husband tonight, why not take this and see how it looks over by the window.”

Vision was already standing and taking the plant from her hands before she finished her sentence. “Of course, darling. Tell me where you think it looks nice.” Then he added to you as he walked by, “I may be skilled many things, like filling out computational forms, but the interior decorating is all her. I’m practically color-blind. And furniture-blind. And generally design-blind. Possibly blind-blind, if I’m being honest.”

Wanda rolled her eyes but she still giggled, then pointed out where she thought the plant would look best. It was off to one side of the window and she explained that she thought it would be visible from your window as well, and thus give both houses good luck.

“Maybe it will give me the luck to finally unpack and decorate like you two already have,” you pondered allowed, finishing off your water a second time; Wanda promptly offered to fill your cup again but you politely declined. “The two of you have been here, what? At least a few days now and your home is already made in the shade. I’ve been here in Westview a month if not more and I usually spend my time lounging on a couch made of crates and boxes.”

You noticed Vision glance oddly at his wife as he sat back down but Wanda didn’t seem to catch it. Still, she answered quite quickly, “We used a company.”

“Ah.” You glanced between them but the strained energy that suddenly appeared just as quickly as it came when Wanda gave you another sweet smile and offered to write down the company name for you. “No need, I couldn’t afford it anyway. Thank you, though.”

That response didn’t seem to please Wanda all that much. She pursed her lips in a way that looked partially pondering and partially pouty—it was a very cute pout—before leaning over to Vision and muttering in his ear. His attention was immediately drawn to focus only on her and they chatted quietly among themselves for a few moments.

You suddenly felt awkward again and took to looking around a bit. You first looked at your feet and noticed how close one of Wanda’s own was to yours; in fact, the three of you were sitting so close together that her dress poofed out over your leg. Then you happened to look over at where your arm was resting across the back of the couch. Vision’s was too and you suddenly became keenly aware of how, if he were to start talking with his hands like he does, his would most definitely brush your own. You wondered if it already had while you were too engrossed in conversation to notice, then you wondered if you should move farther to the other side of the couch.

You began shifting to do so when Wanda suddenly leaned back to her normal spot and grabbed your wrist. “Why don’t we come over sometime this weekend and help you unpack?”

You blinked. She seemed closer than she had been earlier, or maybe it was just the fact that hand hadn’t pulled away yet. Her eyes were as bright and welcoming as they had been since you first saw them, eyebrows raised in what you could only place as eagerness, and you officially decided that if you were to look up the word “sweet” in a dictionary, there’d be a picture of her smile.

You were so suddenly flustered that for a moment all you did was stare while you figured out how to talk again. When you did, you were surprised at confident your voice sounded when you replied, “Sure.”

“Great!”

Wanda and Vision looked equally excited when you looked at them both, which confused you before you remembered that you were only the second person from the neighborhood to visit them since they moved in. Thinking of it now, you were also feeling energetic from the conversation and not just because you happened to be sitting next to a very attractive-looking pair. This was the first time you sat down with people from the neighborhood and it did not only go well but you were thoroughly enjoying yourself; you also enjoyed spending time with Agnes but Agnes was just outwardly friendly to everybody and even if you ran out of things to say, she had enough stories to add filler to seven different conversations at the same time. Wanda and Vision seemed to be just as awkward as you, making unusual jokes that might not make it through and fumbling over themselves and on occasion just being awkwardly silent at times, but it was a weird kind of awkwardness that also felt comfortable, comforting. You felt like you were among friends.

Conversation flowed easily for the rest of the night. The three of you made plans to spend the next day at your place, unpacking and decorating and just getting to know each other better, then conversation shifted smoothly from one random topic to another. Wanda had a lot of questions about the neighborhood and the people in it and she and you swapped stories of first meeting Agnes. You were somewhat fascinated with Vision’s almost eidetic memory and couldn’t help quizzing him on random subjects but luckily, he seemed to be just as eager to answer. Wanda mentioned Vision’s ability to play ukulele at one point and he felt is was absolutely necessary to perform and after mentioning Wanda’s breakfast cooking ability—and your stomach grumbling in curiosity—she brought you to the kitchen and made the best breakfast you’d ever had, despite it not being morning, while Vision kept to his word and washed the dishes. Eventually, though, the night caught up to the each of you and you said your goodbyes, hugs included, at the door and you headed back home with a goofy grin on your face.

Upon getting home, you kicked off your shoes that you’d long since forgotten were causing your feet pain and went to your bedroom. You quickly stripped, put on your bedwear, and faceplanted onto your sheets. You laid there for a moment in comfortable bliss before turning your head and catching yourself in the mirror. Though looking utterly exhausted, it was mixed an almost childish happiness. You finally felt content in Westview, like you’d finally found your place.

You scrambled around to get under the covers and curled up. Quickly dozing off and still grinning, you muttered, “I think I’ll like it here.”

408 notes · View notes

nicka-nell · 3 years

Text

HQHQ Collab - First Choice

Pairing: Atsumu x reader, mention of Bokuto

Words: 6.822

Warning: mention of unnamed cheating ex-boyfriend, angst if you squint really hard, fluff, friends to lovers

Beta-reader: thank you for beta reading the fic @xmyshya

Summary: You’ve been living with your best friend for a few weeks, crying to him about your ex-boyfriend cheating on you. But Atsumu no longer wants to see you sad and offers himself as Wingman once more when he tries to set you up with his teammate.

This story is part of our HQHQ server collab with the prompt: When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when? You can find the other stories here. So check out all the other wonderful writers.

“Y/n now go on and get up!” Atsumu’s loud voice wakes you up. With swollen eyes you turn to him, your hair still ruffled, left and right of you lie the crumpled handkerchiefs with which you have cried yourself quietly and secretly into sleep.

You’re tired, your head hurts, and Atsumu’s loud babbling doesn’t help your headache to settle. Reluctantly you pull your blanket over your head, but in vain. Because even before you can get used to the darkness and the warmth underneath, to the calm without the voice of the dyed blond-haired man, he pulls the coat off your body with a jerk and confronts you with the cold morning air, through the open window in your room.

“Tsumu, you idiot, give me the blanket back!” You whine, but he doesn’t even think about it. “Why does your bed look like a mess again? It’s been two months, and you’re still crying after this asshole? It’s enough with moping around.” Before he can finish his sentence, you can feel his hands curling around your ankles and how your legs were jerking forward, setting your entire body in motion.

“Tsumu what are you doing?” You scream and try to hold on to the upper edge of the bed. For a few seconds you manage to resist his tug, but you soon realize that he is stronger than you.

But Atsumu has apparently forgotten to calculate that you would let go and pulls you off the bed with so much momentum that you both land on the floor.

“Ah, Tsumu you airhead! Now my ass and feet are hurting. Why did you do this?” You want to know while you’re rubbing your butt, which you landed on a few seconds ago. Sulking, you look over to your best friend, who is also sitting on the floor, supporting his weight on hands behind his back.

“Sorry, I forgot how weak you are.” He teases you with a grin. “But you seem to be awake now, eh?”

“Yeah, awake and angry…” You quickly add to his statement and look at him with a wrinkled forehead. “Don’t look so evil. That wannabe look doesn’t suit you. I told you before, if you want to talk, I’m just a room away. No need to cry yourself to sleep.”

Even if he annoyed you earlier, you realize in his words that he’s worried about you. It’s been two months since you saw your boyfriend… No Ex-boyfriend with another girl. Just “saw them” is wrong. He had kissed her, touched her, and you were sure that if you hadn’t confronted them directly, more would have happened.

Atsumu was there for you, caught you with open arms and told you that everything would be fine. Because that’s how he always was. Back then, when the kids at school had teased you, when the girls had blasphemed you because you had always gotten along better with the boys. He was also the one who comforted you at your first lovesickness.

Ironically, you had a crush on his brother, who at the time had no thought of such trifles as love. The first time you were really in love with someone, it was Atsumu who tried to set you up with that person. Because it was none other than his volleyball teammate Suna who had twisted your head.

The fake blonde had really tried everything to make you as interesting as possible for Suna, had always invited you and Suna to ‘learn’ and then left the room for hours to leave you alone. But in the end, it didn’t work out because Suna told you he had feelings for another girl.

When your heart broke into thousands of pieces for the first time, it was Atsumu who had carefully tried to pick up all the shards and cautiously glue them back to the right place. He was always there for you. And even though you know what your heart wants, you shut yourself away from it. Because Atsumu is your best friend. The man who will always stand behind you to give you a push forward so you can finally find your happiness. Without him.

“That’s enough sulking! What do you say you come to practice with me today? Get to know my teammates and friends? Maybe there’s someone in there who piques your interest, eh?” He grins mischievously and wiggles his eyebrows before he straightens up and stretches his hand forward to help you up.

“Mhm… You’re not gonna leave me alone before I say yes anyway, are you?” You mumble as he pulls your body upward.

He still grins as he nods and lets go of your hand just to bring it to your hair. “But before that… you go take a shower and make sure that this nest on your head becomes the normal beautiful hair you actually have. All right?” He laughs as he pulls a scrap of a handkerchief out of your hair.

Oh God, how embarrassing you think and at the same moment you have to laugh. No matter what you look like, even if you are wrinkled, with greasy hair, mustard stains on your top and swollen eyes, Atsumu still likes you. After all, he sees you as a buddy.

“Well, I guess… I’m gonna get ready. Can you make breakfast, Tsumu?”

“Are you nuts? There is no more time for breakfast. I can heat the last slice of pizza from last night’s movie.”

“Oh, you’ll be such a good husband someday, Tsumu.” You answer him sarcastically as you shake your head and pass Atsumu.

“Sure, and you eventually become a good wife Y/n.” He calls after you, but you already lift your middle finger and slam the door behind you with a smile on your face. “Tze… Tsumu you idiot.”

The knife slices the butter with ease as Atsumu greases the butter on a toasted slice of bread to put your favorite cold cuts on top. Because he was just joking. Your first meal shouldn’t be a piece of old pizza.

When you’re with Atsumu, you forget all the things that made you sad. You’re happy and glad to have such a good friend by your side. And even though you said it sarcastically earlier, you still meant it like this, that he would make a woman very happy. Just with the thought of him and another woman, you feel a short sting in your chest, but you are sure that deep down you have to think about your ex-boyfriend and that you still miss him.

“Ready to go! Give me that slice of pizza or I’ll eat your friends.” You shout out to Atsumu as you enter the hallway through the doorstep. Once in there, you can hear his muffled voice calling out to you while his voice comes closer and closer.

It is only a second where Atsumu stops in the doorway, looks at you before he continues his walk and pushes the slice of bread and an apple into your hand. “I can’t let you smell like tuna and garlic the first time you met my friends.”

With rolling eyes you take the bread from him, push it into your mouth before putting on your thin cardigan and place the apple in your jacket pocket. According to your phone, the weather today is anything but cool and gray.

But just as you want to pull your zipper up, you feel something heavy landing on your shoulders, looking confused from left to right before your gaze sweeps up from the yellow fabric on your shoulders to the fake blond-haired man.

You don’t need words, your gaze is filled with the question of why he gave you his jacket. But again he just lay down his arms against his hips, grins casually. “Well, you’re with me or not? Not that they’ll think you’re a paparazzo at the gym entrance and not let you in.”

With the words ‘you’re with me,’ your heart gives a beat. “Don’t you think your friends will think we’re together, Tsumu? That this is more such a friend-girlfriend thing?”

The entire car ride is quiet, but it’s not an unpleasant silence. Only the radio rattles quietly, while Atsumu complains about the careless drivers or cyclists, and that there is never a parking space in front of the gym.

“Ah, don’t talk such nonsense. You can tell we’re just friends, you dummy.” Another bang, no stab, making your chest heavier. “Sure… right.” You just mumble quietly. So quietly that Atsumu cannot understand it as you breathe in the fine fragrance of his harsh deodorizer as you walk past him and leave the flat.

You have to admit you’re a little nervous standing outside the hall with Atsumu. You can hear voices from inside. Probably his friends. As if Atsumu understood your feelings, he puts his arm over your shoulder to give you more security, and enters the room freshener smelling hall with you.

It doesn’t take long for all eyes to be on you until the first person beckons Atsumu and the next one goes on you. A boy with orange hair that you remember very well. Atsumu’s school team had a game against him. They lost and Atsumu was talking to you for weeks about how he wanted to play with this little boy sometime.

Behind him stands a dark-haired man, hands in the pockets of his jacket, while he lingers in place, watching you only from a distance. That should be Sakusa. The guy Atsumu always talks about, how clean and special he is when it comes to hygiene.

Just when you want to turn to Hinata again, as he is still waving towards you, another man runs towards you at an incredible speed, shaking your hand vigorously with sparkling eyes. Your whole body is shaking, you’re getting headaches, but somehow you find his overactive anticipation cute.

“Hey, hey, hey! I‘m Bokuto Koutarou! I’m a super ace and I’m really successful!” He grins proudly, which makes you giggle. Of course he is. After all, he plays in the same team as Atsumu.

Yet Bokuto does not remain long in his proud posture. His shoulders collapse after a few seconds, while his gaze wanders to Atsumu. “Hey, Tsum-Tsum, why didn’t you tell me you were coming with your girlfriend today?” He wants to know from the fake blonde one.

Irritated, you look over to Bokuto, wanting to clear up the misunderstanding as the voice of an older man interrupts you. “Miya, the next time you bring someone, please report this to me first. Now, warm up and let’s start training.” The man you consider to be the coach says to Atsumu, who nods in agreement before pointing at a bench where you should sit, before he goes to warm up with Bokuto and Hinata.

Although you talk little to people, you’re not bored watching them train. It pleases you to see how everyone is with full passion. From time to time the man who introduced you as Bokuto grins at you, waving a little awkwardly before Atsumu admonishes him and turns his attention away from you. He’s kind of cute.

“Oh Tsumu…” you mumble quietly while chuckling unconsciously as you watch Atsumu reprimand Bokuto for being so easily distracted, and how Bokuto lets his shoulders drop apologetically.

“You seem to have had a lot of fun today, eh?” The question is rhetorical, because of course you did. He recognized that in your face. With the rest of yesterday’s pizza and a salad with smoked tofu, he sits down next to you at the dinner table.

The training passes, and your attention on Bokuto grows. First a few glimpses you exchange, then words and sentences, up to such long dialogues that he completely forgets his break and is called back to the playing field by Atsumu to finally finish the training.

“You could have introduced me to your friends earlier. Especially Bokuto. He’s kind of cuddly.” You babble while you are in your thoughts about the cheerful man.

“So, so… Bokuto, huh? Looks like I got a new job as a wingman, eh? Give me a few days to figure something out. Operation Lovebirds begins.” His eyes are narrow and playful, while his face is only a few inches away from yours.

As Atsumu had said, a few days pass. Days in which you were always at his training, always with the yellow jacket which makes you feel much safer and more comfortable. Days when you often talk to Bokuto during breaks.

Your heart gives a quick blow as the warmth of his breath hits your lips. From the excitement? Excitement to see Bokuto again soon, right? With an unnaturally bright laugh, you slap him on the shoulder, turn to the pizza, before you both go to your own rooms and get ready for bed.

Atsumu has the idea to take Bokuto to Osamu’s store, like he’s doing almost every Saturday to eat together. Sometimes the other teammates come with him, but this time he will only ask Bokuto.

He wants to lure him to the store and write to him shortly before, so that he has no time. You would sit already in the store and then pretend after a few minutes as if you had randomly noticed Bokuto. You could eat, talk and maybe even exchange your numbers. The idea was perfect.

As agreed, you sit at a table near the kitchen, looking at the menu while watching Bokuto from the corner of your eye. How he reaches for his cell phone and how his cheerful look is slowly getting sad, because he probably reads the message from Atsumu that he will not come.

You consider going straight to him, but your vibrating phone prevents you from it. A message from Atsumu with the words ‘Mission lovebirds can begin’. An unconscious grin spreads across your face as you read the message before a voice makes you shrink.

“Has someone also dumped you?” You hear Bokuto’s sad voice and make a brief shout when you see him standing right next to you. “Bokuto!”

You laugh a lot, seem to have a lot of fun and get along great. At least that’s what Atsumu can see from his brother’s kitchen. Because of course he didn’t want to miss out on seeing if you two really come along well with each other.

“Ah! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you! Uh… mind if I sit here?” He asks clumsily, pointing to the free chair opposite of you. Nodding, you invite him to sit down before quickly putting your phone in a pocket and start talking to Bokuto.

“Why are you here, Tsumu?” His brother’s voice makes him look away from you.

“Eh? What do you mean, Samu? I want to see if I’m successful with my mission.”

“Sure, stop lying to yourself.” Osamu quietly talks to his twin while he continues to prepare the Onigiri for his guests. But his brother doesn’t answer him, just looks out of the round kitchen window at the table where you talk to Bokuto with a smile on your face.

“You know I didn’t reject Y/n back then because I had no interest in girls. So finally get some balls in your pants.” With a full plate of Onigiri, Osamu crosses his twin, passes the plate to his server at the counter, before he enters the kitchen without a word.

“If she’s happy, I’m happy for her too. Why don’t you understand, Samu?” He now turns his gaze away from you, instead looking at the unfinished rice that Osamu had prepared for the next order. It annoys him that his brother has to address this topic again and again. It’s not up to Atsumu to decide what you want. After all, it’s up to you.

“So? So you don’t mind if I invite her on a date if it doesn’t work out with Bokuto? As long as she’s happy, it shouldn’t be a problem for me to taste her lips.” He deliberately tries to provoke his brother, and for a split second he sees Atsumu twitching his eyes, his cheekbones sticking out from his clenched teeth before looking his brother in the eye.

“If that’s what makes her happy. Then make her happy, damn it, understand?”

“What the hell, what’s wrong with you, Tsumu!” His brother yells at him, furiously stomping to him and grabbing him by his collar. He expected such an answer, but not this flat, indifferent response, which is supposed to hide Atsumu’s feelings.

Atsumu also grabs his twin by the collar, pushes him away from himself and continues the scramble. Again and again he tries to explain to him it is not Osamu’s problem and he should not interfere in his things and anew Osamu tries to convince him to finally listen to his feelings. Plates fall over, knives that lay on the work surface as the voice of the server stops the two men.

“Eh… I’m sorry, but at table four, the lady was asking what was in the spring drink because of her allergies.” Both let off from each other while Atsumu’s steps carry him quickly back to the round window to look at your table. Because he’s irritated that you’re asking that question.

The fake blond man hardly notices the voices of the two men in the kitchen. His heart suddenly beats restlessly. A young girl your age sat next to you and Bokuto. Atsumu’s plan to set you up with Bokuto seems to be failing.

“Nobody ditched me, Bokuto. Actually, I just wanted to drop by and leave Osamu a nice greeting when it becomes a bit quieter here. But it always seems to be full here.” You lie because you wouldn’t even have come here without this plan from Atsumu.

He feels bad that a small part of him hopes Bokuto finds the other girl interesting, but Atsumu quickly talks himself up that he just wants you to be happy.

With a quick beating heart you hope that Bokuto does not see through your lie, but when he smiles at you, you are sure that he believes you.

“Oh sure, right! If you know one Miya brother, you automatically have the other on your back, don’t you? Especially when you’re so close.” He grins, and his words remind you of the incident in the gym. There, Bokuto said something similar. He wrongly portrayed you as girlfriend and friend, which was certainly due to Atsumu’s jacket. And just as you were about to correct him there, their trainer babbled something into the room.

You definitely need to clarify that you two are just friends, otherwise you can’t ask Bokuto for his number. Just friends…

“Uh Bokuto? I think there’s been a misunderstanding. Tsumu and I-”

“Y/n? Oh my God, is that you?”

Again, someone interrupts you. This time not Atsumu’s coach or Atsumu, but a person you haven’t seen for ages. Your old school friend, who was with you at the same club and with whom you really got along well.

Because of your ex-boyfriend, your paths somehow separated, but you’re thrilled to see her now. “Oh Mei, is it you? You’ve really changed, wow.” You smile at her before you greet her and sit down again.

“I don’t want to bother you guys, and I’m sure that’s rude, but is it okay if I join you? If I annoy you, I’ll leave!”

Mostly you’re just here to get a date with Bokuto, but sending her away now would be too suspicious. For a moment you think about how to best handle this situation, but Bokuto takes the decision off you by inviting her to join you and just stay as long as she wants.

You talk partly to Mei, partly to Bokuto for a while when you check if Atsumu has written anything to you. You’re surprised he hasn’t asked you how the date goes. Is he on a date right now himself?

“Y/n? Did you hear?” Mei’s voice gets you out of your mind again, before you look at her absent-minded. “I have to go now, but… I was really happy to see you again and I hope we can repeat that soon. And I was also pleased to meet you Bokuto.” She adds, before she smiles at you both and goes to the counter to pay her bill and leave the bar.

Just when Bokuto wants to say something, his phone rings and he apologizes to you for a moment. You take the opportunity to write to Atsumu, ask him if you should take some Onigiri with you from his brother’s shop and hope for a hint if he had a date. Because if he doesn’t want some Onigiri, he sure is having dinner with another woman.

Two minutes go by, four… Ten minutes until Bokuto comes back in, and you feel your phone vibrating at the same moment. A simple “No, I’ve already eaten.” is his answer. An answer that suddenly makes you feel so weird.

“I’m so sorry I kept you waiting. Akaashi, my best friend, called me. I have to see him. Is it okay if we postpone our meeting for another time? So… I mean this random meeting.” He smiles embarrassed, and scratches the back of his head as he puts his jacket around his shoulders and shoves the chair back to the table.

“Oh hm? Sure. I would be happy to meet you again Bokuto!” You answer him enthusiastically, even if you’re still on Atsumu’s date in your mind. Did he really go out with a girl? Why do you not know her? Why didn’t he tell you?

“Perfect! So, I’ll see you at practice tomorrow?”

“Sure, I’ll be there.”

“Then let’s talk about some meetings during my break. I’ll go to Samu and pay the bill for us.”

“Wa-!” You want to stop him, pay your own bill but Bokuto already stamps away from you and knocks on the kitchen door to lure Osamu out and pay.

He doesn’t know how fast he ran to be home before you. Good thing he didn’t tell you about the shortcut, or you’d have run into each other. Fully sweaty, he jumps into the shower, trying to get the smell of Osamu’s kitchen out of his hair as he hears your voice dull from the hallway in the bathroom.

Together you leave the restaurant, but then go your separate ways. Although this is not the first time you walk this path, even though you don’t need twenty minutes on the way, it seems like an eternity to you. Absorbed in your thoughts, you kick a round stone along the sidewalk, burying your hands in your trouser pockets while watching it roll. The long gray road matching gray walls on the sidewalk, no car to see. Everything is dreary and you feel odd, but also happy at the same time. After all, Bokuto seems as interested in you as you are in him. You can quickly overlook the fact that Atsumu is probably on his own date right now.

“Tsumu? Are you home airhead?”

Hissing, he shakes his head, rubs his towel through his wet hair, ties it around his hip and glances into the mirror before he goes out.

“Tsumu! Put some damn clothes on!”

“I’m also pleased to see you. Got my clothes in the bedroom. Don’t worry, I’ll put something on. But first, how was your date?” The question was unnecessary. Of course he knew, because he was there, watching you. But you don’t know that.

Atsumu studies how you dance on your tiptoes, how you swing your body forward and backward, and tap your lower lip. You always do that when you’re nervous. But before he can even give another thought to you, your body moves forward in his direction.

Just a few seconds pass when your soft skin lies on his, your arms wrap around his neck and you hug him. Atsumu stops as if petrified. Because his heart beats fast, your body so close to his triggers so much in him.

Carefully, he pushes you away from his chest, hoping you didn’t hear his raging heart. Yet, your arms remain on his neck, your warmth on him, although this on his chest slowly fades.

Lovingly you look at him, a look that gives him an unknown sting. An expression that you would probably turn to a big brother, otherwise he cannot interpret it. But he cannot look away from your warm eyes. Those bright, happy eyes that captivate him.

“The date was really great and tomorrow at the training we want to make a new one! Bokuto is such an incredibly great guy, and he is so funny. He made me laugh so many times and it’s sweet how emotional he always is and ah! He is really fine. Thank you for introducing him to me.”

Silently you look each other in the eyes, speak with your eyes instead of words. Subconsciously, your fingers move, gently stroking his neck up and down, while your sugar-sweet laugh makes Atsumu even crazier.

His body acts on its own as it bends forward, coming to a halt just in front of your face. But his mind quickly catches up with his body, for his words wander down your cheek to your ears as he whispers to you quietly that he is happy for you.

“So mission complete, eh?” With a mischievous grin, he tries to distract you from his previous action, patting on your shoulders with his hands before he walks past you and strolls towards his room door.

“I’m gonna put some clothes on. You should take a shower and get some sleep. You stink and need your beauty sleep for Bokuto tomorrow.”

“Haha, very funny! I love you too, you idiot.”

Days go by when you talk to Bokuto a lot. At training, to the detriment of everyone else, eating ice cream after training or just sitting around in the park and doing nothing. You get along well, laugh a lot, talk a lot about his buddies - Akaashi and Atsumu. After your dates you always tell Atsumu how much fun you had and are sure that you deafen his ears with your Bokuto-talk.

Words that come so easily out of your lips, for they are meant amicably. Words that are so easy to understand, but leave a bitter heavy feeling in his heart.

Today you both sit on a wall in the park again, fooling around like good friends. For a moment your shoulders brush against each other, when Bokuto twitches and stares embarrassed down at you. You too feel your body getting more restless, out of balance as you look into his golden yellow eyes. Both of you are silent, always opening your mouth to say something, but then close it again.

“So, eh… Do you… remember our first random meeting? In Osamu’s store?” Bumpy, he tries to find the right words, starts playing with the moss growing between the grooves of the stone wall.

Your chest suddenly stops moving. Out of panic you hold your breath because you are afraid that he has found out that Atsumu is behind this coupling action.

“I was wondering if… Well, there was your school friend there, and I was wondering if maybe you could… could give me her number?”

“Her number?” You realize how anger slowly boils in you, how an unpleasant feeling rages in your body and you suddenly feel so uncomfortable and stupid. With a bitter hiss you laugh up, turn your face away from Bokuto so that he cannot see your sparkling eyes. Eyes that don’t sparkle with joy, no. Eyes that sparkle with tingling tears and leave small wet spots, like those of rain, on the stone wall below you.

Of course he wanted her number, of course he did. After all, it was always like this. Whether it was Osamu or Suna, your ex boyfriend or any other man you found cute or attractive. You were always the second choice. You were always good as a friend, but not good enough as a girlfriend. There was always another who came before you, who had taken the place that you had so longingly aspired to. It was always like this.

So why did you think things should be different with Bokuto right now? Did you really think there was a man who had only you in his mind? A man who adores you as much as you do him?

“Why all the dates Bokuto? Why did you invite me to all those dates, get my hopes up if you only wanted my friend’s number, anyway? Why...? Never mind, forget it!” You sniff and jump off the wall to get out of here as soon as possible. Only Bokuto remains, sitting on the wall in confusion, trying to understand your last words.

With his cell phone in his hand, Atsumu scrolls through your messages, through your enthusiastic and joyful words about Bokuto while lying on the couch, the free hand behind his head. On the table is the last bit of a spinach-garlic pizza he ordered shortly after you went on your date with Bokuto. His thumb stops at a note in which you jokingly wrote to him that you also love him when he teased you with your crush on Bokuto. Words that hurt more every day, the longer you stay at Atsumu’s flat.

“Get your hopes up? H- Hey, Y/n wait!” He calls you, but your silhouette gets smaller and smaller. You’re not thinking of turning in his direction again.

His gaze is focused on his cell phone, the thumb still on that one message as a new message covers it. Irritated, he looks at the name of his teammate, who sends him one message after the other. Although he hasn’t read the messages yet, he has a bad feeling. He doesn’t know if it’s worry or something else, but he must think of you directly as he opens the messages with shaky fingers and straightens up on the sofa.

>> Tsumu-Tsumu! Get on your phone! I think I screwed up! I thought Y/n is your girlfriend and today something weird happened, and! I screwed up, man. Tell her I- <<

Atsumu is still reading Bokuto’s incoming messages, can hardly keep up with them when the loud banging of the front door makes him startled. As if he has just been caught in something forbidden, he throws his cell phone in panic behind the couch and looks in the direction of the living room door in which you suddenly stand.

Your eyes are red, nose runny, and your words come to him only as a loud sob. In him everything hurts at this sight of you.

“Tsumu!” You sniff and want to make a step forward to your best friend, but Atsumu is faster. He takes you in his arms as you press your head against his warm chest. His fingertips glide slowly through your hair, calming you while his grip around your waist becomes firmer.

“It’s okay, I’m here.” His words that softly kiss your ears calm you down. He knows exactly that there is no point in questioning you now, because you are still too busy collecting yourself again. So he just keeps silent, caresses your head and listens to you as your sniffing gets less and less, your fast, hasty breathing gets calmer and calmer.

“You want to tell me what happened?” His muscular arm loosens easily from your waist, his hand stroking you, now raises your head and makes you look at him. With a loving smile, he wipes away your tears, puts his arms on your shoulders and waits for your answer.

Hard you breathe out, try to pull yourself together, but your voice remains shaky.

“Bokuto… He just wanted her number… He didn’t care about me.” You notice how your voice becomes unclear again, begins to tremble more and your sniffing is again to take over your voice. But Atsumu’s thumb, which caresses your shoulders, calms you down again and you try to spell your words back into clear sentences.

“He wasn’t interested in me. At least not so… Tsumu, it’s like that every time. Men always fall in love with other women. I’m always just the third wheel. Am I that ugly? Am I so unattractive that every man sees me as a buddy? Tsumu… When will I be someone’s first choice? Tell me, when?”

Your eyes glittering with tears, search for his eyes. His heart breaks with the sad look you give him. And although the answer to your question is on his lips, he would like to scream it out of himself, yet a big lump sticks to his neck and keeps him silent.

“Tsumu when?” Is the only thing that comes out of you broken, now that not even your best friend can give you an answer to that question.

It was probably his fault you’re so sad now. Because Bokuto didn’t mention that school friend of yours once. He probably only said that because he thought you were Atsumu’s girlfriend and he didn’t want to destroy the friendship of the two men.

It was Atsumu’s fault that when he introduced you to his team, he didn’t make it right that you weren’t his girlfriend. The fake blond had not done this on purpose. His words just didn’t want to come out of him back then. Only later he had understood why he had tried to make his friends believe that you are his girlfriend.

He’d have to answer his cell phone, read Bokuto’s messages to be one hundred percent sure he wasn’t serious about your school friend, but his body isn’t moving. Actually, he can’t move anyway, because you clenched your hands into fists and clutched them into his shirt.

Atsumu should set it right. But in him, Osamu’s voice pushes forward. The words Atsumu wanted to deny. ‘You’re in love with her… Stop lying to yourself… Finally, get some balls in your pants.’

Not even your best friend can answer your question. How could he if he met with others every time you were with Bokuto? But even though it hurts that Bokuto rejected you, it hurts more that Atsumu doesn’t give you an answer.

With a sad sigh, you push his hands off your shoulders and set your legs in motion to go to your bedroom and be alone. But you can’t take many steps, because Atsumu holds you to your wrist just to turn you back to him.

Slowly, without strength and without joy, you look up to him. In his face, which shows so many emotions at once, yet he tries to hide them all from you. You notice how he struggles with his words, not knowing how to begin. His grip on your arm gets tighter. It almost hurts, but you say nothing.

“You… You have always been… my first choice.” He says hesitantly, in such an uncertain tone which is unlikely for him. His words are so quiet that you don’t understand them, just look at him questioning.

“Y/n, you have always been and always will be my first choice. Shit, I know I’m gonna ruin our friendship with this, but I can’t do this anymore. I’m selfish, yes, I know. I didn’t correct the statement when Bokuto said that you were my girlfriend because I didn’t want to see you with someone else who would just hurt you again. Y/n I can’t see you sad anymore. I don’t want to see you like this anymore. It just doesn’t work anymore. Ever since you’ve began living here, swinging your sweet little ass around my apartment, eating with me, spending evenings, and almost all days, I can’t think of anything but seeing you as more than just a buddy. Do you understand what I’m trying to tell you? Shit, you airhead, I love you.”

His words become clearer and clearer, on the contrary to his expression. Then, as his tone becomes firmer, his gaze becomes more anxious. And now you understand. You always wanted the perfect boyfriend. Wanted to have a man by your side who loves you, who Atsumu gets along with since he is your best friend and had never noticed that he was always your second choice.

You always wanted someone who liked your friends, who understood you, and that person was always at your side. You knew why Bokuto’s words didn’t hurt you as much as Atsumu’s silence a few minutes earlier. You knew why you enjoyed wearing Atsumu’s jacket, and you knew why it didn’t bother you that Atsumu had not corrected the statement, and so the rumor arose that you two were a couple. Also you knew why you wanted to convince yourself that Atsumu met other women to not feel bad about going out with one of his friends. You knew, but you never wanted to face it. Because like Atsumu, you were afraid of losing the person you needed most.

You open your mouth soundlessly. If you say nothing now, you are sure that the man in front of you will immediately lose his temper with excitement and fear.

Although you have said the words many times, your heart is racing like crazy, your belly is tingling and your chest is almost painfully contracting. You’re nervous, nervous like when you had to introduce yourself to the big class full of people.

“I love you too, you idio-” Before you can finish your sentence, the warm lips of Atsumu, which lie gently on yours silence your last words. Full of pleasure you give a quiet whimper, trying to calm your loud throbbing heart in vain. Because your body burns, trembles, is numb and awake at the same time. Your thoughts are going crazy.

Atsumu also gives a relieved sigh, almost as if a huge load has fallen from his shoulders. His arms quickly wrap around your cheeks, stroking your face while his lips open a little and you feel his wet tongue on your mouth. You have the feeling that your body has just gotten warmer, reducing the last distance between you and giving off a gasp as you also open your mouth slightly to allow him to enter. His hand, which stroked your cheek earlier, seeks its way to the back of your head to bury itself in your hair and pull your head back a bit to kiss you better.

For a moment your tongues dance together, your bodies almost link as you interrupt your kiss and look into Atsumu’s excited face. His cheeks are reddish, lips slightly puffed up from your kiss, while his breath lands warm on your body.

“What’s the matter Y/n?” He whispers hoarsely, the expression slightly playful. But you just look at him with a slightly silly grin.

“Did you eat garlic, Tsumu?”

For a moment he looks at you, as if a fuse blew through him. He’s thinking about what you meant by that, before he starts sulking while stretching his head backwards, so that he’s looking at the ceiling.

“Ah shit, if I had known I’d tell you that I love you, that we would be kissing, I would have bitten into a rose and not into a pizza with extra garlic.”

Laughing, you put your head on his chest, looking up at him while he continues to stare at you sulking. “Is there still a slice, bunny?”

“One piece, but it’s already bitten, babe.” He grins and reminds you of all the nights you two sat on the sofa watching series and arguing about who gets the last piece of food. Once Atsumu had licked the last piece and thus reserved it for himself, sometimes you were faster. You were acting like toddlers, but you were having an incredible time. You just had fun with him, always.

“Your tongue was watching if all my teeth were still in my mouth a few seconds ago. Do you think it bothers me that the pizza piece is bitten?”

“Guess not. But give your sexy boyfriend a last stinky kiss. Okay?” He smirks and sharpens his lips playfully to tease you and brings his arms around your body so that you can’t escape. Only so you press his lips away from you, laughing until Atsumu finally gives you a fleeting kiss and you act as if you faint and lean against his chest.

Your loud laughter resounds through the room and your hands do not let go of the other until you are quiet and enjoy the moment in silence.

“I love you Y/n. You, my first choice.” He whispers to you as he gives you one last kiss on your crown.

#haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #miya x reader #hqhq server collab

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theasstour · 3 years

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𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟎.𝟏𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐚𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭

Monday, 25 September 2017

It was strange to Y/N that she was enjoying herself as much as she was just then in an educational setting. In school, she had never really liked any of the subjects besides English, and here at uni, she got to sit and listen to professors who were truly experts on English literature ramble on about Othello and specific analysis on act 3 scene 3. She loved every single second of it, and was sure she could sit there for hours on end just listening to her professors. At one point she was sure this would all get tiring and she’d hate University, but in that moment, hearing her professor, Richard, talk about things that truly interested her, was such a breath of fresh air compared to what she had experienced previously.

The door to the lecture hall opened, and since the doors were right by the blackboard where Richard stood talking about Othello and the ‘temptation’ scene, all eyes landed on the blonde girl in pink shorts and a white jumper. She smiled at Richard, mouthing a “sorry” before taking the first free seat she could find, which was conveniently right beside Y/N. The two girls shared a small smile themselves before Y/N went back to focusing on the lecture happening in front of her. Y/N was hunched over her notebook, writing something off from the PowerPoint slide displayed on the wall in front of her. She did not know how much time went by, she was listening too intently to care about that, but suddenly, the blonde beside her rested her back against the seat and leaned a little closer to Y/N.

“This is quite boring, innit?”

Y/N looked to her left, and to her surprise, realised that the girl who had walked in late was Chloe. The same Chloe who she had met when she registered a week and some ago. She must have been too caught up in the lecture to pay proper attention to her surroundings.

Chloe let out a small chuckle, nodding in the direction of the PowerPoint before she continued to whisper. “The lecture. I knew we’d be discussing Shakespeare in Introduction to English Studies, but Othello’s just fucking boring, innit?”

“I…” Y/N looked at the PowerPoint for a few seconds, then back at Chloe. “Sure.”

They were quiet for a few seconds, Chloe just studying Y/N, eyes searching her face. “You like Othello.”

Y/N felt a sudden urge to relate to Chloe. Since they had met earlier and since she hadn’t made tons of friends on her course yet, she wanted Chloe to be her mate. If they got off on the wrong foot today, they might never sit next to each other again.

“It’s not as good as Twelfth Night, not as bad as Julius Caesar.”

Chloe continued to just look at Y/N, but suddenly, a smile came creeping over her lips. “Take it you like Shakespeare.”

“I like analysing his work, yeah.”

“More of a Modernism, and sometimes Postmodernism, girl myself.”

“I’m not big on either of those.”

Chloe let out a small chuckle again. “You won’t be taking Postmodernism next year then?”

“Not if I can help it.”

Chloe only crossed her arms and stared ahead, still smiling. For a second Y/N was afraid she might have said something to make Chloe detest her, but the next, she reminded herself that she had to live her truth regardless of what anyone said about it. “Guess we’ll just have to enjoy each other’s company in the core modules then.”

Y/N felt a few butterflies in her stomach at that and could not help smiling back at Chloe when their eyes met again.

“How come I haven’t seen you at any Freshers parties yet?” Chloe asked.

“Been busy applying to jobs and such,” Y/N explained. “Gotta get one as fast as possible ‘cause I need money to live.”

“Ahh, fair.” Chloe nodded. “One of my course mates, Hayden – think they’re up there somewhere –“ Chloe pointed with her thumb over her shoulder, indicating further up the lecture hall. “Has decided they’re going to start an Uno society.”

“Uno?” Y/N frowned. “As in the card game?”

“Yeah,” Chloe laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be nice and all, but they’re very passionate about it. Have yet to come out with me, Thian, and Annalise. Those are my other course mates, by the way.”

Y/N nodded. Was she just incompetent at making friends or was Chloe just very good at it? How had she made so many friends, made a small group by the sounds of it, and Y/N had barely talked to anyone on her course yet?

“Hayden promised to come out this Friday, though,” Chloe smiled. “You should come, too.”

For some reason, both nerves and excitement rushed through Y/N at that. She smiled back. “I’d love that.”

“Wicked. It’s at my Dinwiddy flat.” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Uni accommodation at Helmond is a huge piss take, I tell you. I feel like there’s mould everywhere.”

“That’s just UK houses in general. We’ll all die from it one day.”

“It’s literally disgusting,” Chloe said. “Also, one of my flatmates never does his dishes. It’s minging. And it’s started smelling, too.”

“Oh, my days.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m glad I just immediately moved in with my best mate instead of going through the whole uni accommodation thing. At least I can be assured that they do their dishes and no food’s left on the kitchen counter for too long.”

“Oh, that sounds lush.”

The people around Y/N and Chloe were all starting to pack their things and get out of their seats. Seeing as the two of them were sat by the edge of the row, they had to get up rather fast and let people through. So, that’s what they did. Y/N put her notebook and pencil case in her rucksack and slung it onto her back before she and Chloe made their way out of the lecture hall and out into the hallway beyond.

“There they are,” Chloe grinned, waving as she saw a small group of three standing by the wall a bit further down. “Come say hi.” Though Chloe wasn’t looking at her, Y/N assumed she was talking to her, so she followed her over to the rest. “Gang, this is Y/N, the one I met while we were both registering.”

“Ah, you’ll be Y/N, then,” a man with protruding cheekbones, a strong jawline, and deep set, brown eyes said. The Viet man’s smile lit up the room they were standing in, and it made Y/N’s overthinking ebb. “I’m Thian, pleasure to meet you. Chloe told us she met you, but never saw you since.”

“Proper rude of the universe to keep us away from each other for so long,” Chloe said.

“I’m Hayden,” a smaller person said with the greenest eyes and long brown hair. They too had a smile like Thian’s, but this one displayed crooked teeth, which made Y/N more at ease with her own bottom teeth that were the same.

“And I’m Annalise,” the last one said, her hair dyed an unnatural dark red colour that Y/N absolutely loved. “I think I saw you in a Critical Reading seminar.”

“Oh, yeah, I think we might be.”

“We’ll have to sit next to each other next time!”

Y/N could detect a slight accent, but she could not tell where Annalise was originally from. She suspected Germany, there were tons of international students here after all, but Y/N did not want to assume.

“Guys, we have to plan the first Uno society meeting,” Hayden said, looking at the time on their phone. “It was so nice to meet you, Y/N, but we’re in a bit of a hurry.”

She just smiled. “No, totes get that. I need to get back to my flat, anyway.”

“See you around, then,” Chloe smiled, waving as the four of them walked off.

Y/N walked home to Orsman Road. Though she knew there would be less walking if they took the tube, it would also mean that she had to walk on and off boiling hot tube trains and stations, and she was not about to do that. She was sweating enough in the late September sun as it was, she did not need the tube to contribute to her sweat moustache as well. Instead, she plugged her earbuds in and listened to her most recent playlist on Spotify, humming along to her favourite tunes as she walked.

She stopped by Gregg’s by Dalston Kingsland station, buying herself a sausage roll and an iced latte before walking the rest of the stretch home. Hackney bustled around her, with tons of cars, double deckers, and mopeds driving by, as well as all types of people milling to and from work. The early autumn sun was still a little too hot, but it seemed like most Londoners were soaking up the sun while they could. They were walking by in shorts, tee shirts, and summer dresses, while the only reason why Y/N was dressed in her tee shirt and trousers, was so she would not quite literally go up in flames on the way home.

Y/N arrived at Orsman Road not long after her trip to Gregg’s, and walked up to the flat. She locked the door once she was indoors, checking the kitchen and the living room to see if anyone was there. To no one’s surprise, none of her three other student flatmates were home in the middle of the day on a Monday. She walked up the stairs and to her room, letting her door be open so she could air out a bit more. Her windows had been open all day, so her room smelled fresher than normal as she entered. That just reminded her that she had to buy some scented candles or air fresheners to liven up her room.

Putting her rucksack down by her door, Y/N started looking through the two bags that she had yet to pack out from. In one was most of the stuff she’d put on her desk when she finally bought that, and in the other were loads of decorations that she had yet to bring forth. She started pulling out fairylights that she wanted to hang across her room or over her wall, when she heard footsteps. Out of the door directly to the right once you came up the stairs, came a man with short dark hair and a strong build, thin lips and pale skin. He must have heard movements outside his door, because his eyes landed on Y/N almost right away. However, he smiled at her and Y/N immediately knew who this was.

“You’re Y/N, then,” Mason said, walking over to stand in the doorway of her room. “Mason, your third flatmate.”

“Thought I’d never run into you,” Y/N smiled, making his smile grow.

“Yeah, got here like two days ago, and have been all over the place since. Helped some of my mates move into their flats, been at work, and at rugby practice.”

She nodded. “Busy man.”

“Very busy.”

“Lucky I caught you now, then.”

Mason nodded his head. “Would have eventually. Knowing Nath, he’ll probably end up forcing us all to bond as a flat at one point.”

“Sounds horrific.”

“It was. It will be,” Mason laughed, leaning against the doorframe and pushing his hands into his grey joggers.

Y/N furrowed her brows. “It was? He’s done it before?”

“Yeah, our first year. He made everyone in our flat bond, he especially talked about flat yoga sessions and shopping trips when he was drunk or high as a kite.”

She dropped the fairylights and turned her full attention on Mason. “You lived together your first year?”

Mason just looked at Y/N, blinking a few times. “Yeah.”

“All three of you?”

“All three of us. Me, Nathan, Harry, and like five girls.”

Y/N felt like screaming, but lucky for her dignity and Mason’s ears, the front door opened and closed. Nathan’s singing could be heard all the way upstairs. Instead of screaming, Y/N called Nathan’s name, not caring that Mason saw just how annoyed she was now. Poor bloke had no idea what he’d just said. Nathan strolled up the stairs and looked in Y/N’s room’s direction, his face lit up at the sight of Mason and Y/N together.

“What a view!” he grinned. “What’re you two bonding over?”

“Right now we’re bonding over being your friend,” Y/N said.

“Which I’m sure you’re both honoured to be, yes.”

“And I just heard you’ve lived with Mason and Harry for the last year, but have not told me,” Y/N said, ignoring Nathan’s previous comment.

Nathan looked to Mason, and then back at Y/N. “No, Harry moved in later. He lived in another flat first, hated it, and since him and Mason were good mates, he got to move into our place since one of our flatmates dropped out our first week.”

Not caring that she would smudge her makeup, Y/N ran her hands over her face. “How long did he live there, Nate?”

Silence for a second or two. “Start of second semester till we moved out.”

Y/N let go of a heavy sigh. “Nathan, why didn’t you just tell me?-“

“-I know, I know, I know,” Nathan started, walking into Y/N’s room and sitting down on the floor beside her. “I’m a shite friend.”

“You really fucking are,” Y/N said, swatting Nathan’s hand away when he tried to take hers. “Harry was both of our friend when he lived in Notts those months, and I literally had sex with him.”

Mason took a small step back in pure shock, blinking rapidly as if an eyelash fell onto his eye.

“Don’t I have a right to know you’re living with him?” Y/N asked.

“You do. Of course, you do. I just… I thought I told you at one point, and when I got home and I found out I hadn’t told you… I didn’t know how to break the news.”

“How about just telling me?” Y/N shrugged her shoulders. “Instead of hiding it from me like that.”

“Technically, I didn’t hide anything ‘cause I thought I-“

“-Nathan, I’ll literally skin you alive-“

“-Fine, I should have told you,” he groaned, taking her hand this time and holding it tight in his. “How can I make it up to you?”

Y/N thought for a moment, but came up with the perfect solution. “By coming with me when I go out with my course mates on Friday?”

Nathan just looked at her, blinking once. “My punishment is to… go out with you and your mates?”

“Yes. I barely know them, I need moral support. No matter how bad the person giving me said support actually is.”

Nathan looked down at their hands, patting hers slightly. “I’ll come.”

“Thanks.”

He continued to look down at their hands as Mason’s quiet footsteps back to his room sounded throughout the first floor. “I do have a lecture that finishes at 7pm-“

“-You’ll skip that lecture if you so have to.-”

“-Yes, ma’am,” Nathan answered without hesitation, kissing her hand and getting up from the floor. He gave her a small smile. “And I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you.”

Y/N nodded. “Is there… Is there more you haven’t told me? In regards to Harry?”

Nathan pretended to think for a few seconds, eyes getting big as if he remembered something.

“Nath?”

He chuckled. “No, nothing.”

Y/N hit him on his calf before he walked away. “You’re bloody buying the first round of drinks on Friday.”

“As I should,” was all Nathan said before he danced off to his room. Y/N picked up her fairylights again, trying to get them out of the messy tangle they were currently in so she could finally make this room look like her and her new home.

Friday, 29 September 2017

Y/N was nervous. She was usually nervous before going someplace she had never been before, or to meet people she had never met, but it was never like this. Her nerves were almost always drowned by her natural eagerness to be around people, to be surrounded by friends and strangers. However, this, her first pre-drinks at uni with other people, had her feeling a little too nervous for her own tastes.

She loved parties. Fuck, if she could party every single day, she would. She did not care about the hangover that came the following day, as long as she had a good time the night before. At home in Nottingham, she would have loved to party as much as she had in London, but for some reason, meeting as many new people as she had, made her nervous for some reason. It was weird to Y/N because she loved making friends, but it was different here. She had yet to figure out what about University that triggered this reaction out of her.

A knock sounded at her door and she grunted, which Nathan took as a good enough sign for him to be allowed entrance. He grinned, sitting down on Y/N’s fluffy dark blue duvet cover and looked his best friend up and down.

“Lush,” he said.

Y/N glanced at the mirror in front of her again, running her hands down her sides. Her black ruched detail ribbed crop top fit her perfectly, making her tits look exceptionally good, and the gold necklace and earrings topped it all off. The crop jeans in light wash blue were tightened at the waist by a black belt with silver eyelets, the black lace up boots made her almost as tall as Nathan. Though Y/N had been out on town in Nottingham with this very same outfit, she was unsure about it now. There was a familiar fear in the back of her head; one that had not visited in a while, one that would lay low until it saw fit to paralyse her. Y/N was experiencing only the tip of the iceberg now. The rest would reveal itself later, it would all melt and drown her in nervous ticks and anxious tendencies.

God, she hated how nervous she was. This was not like her at all. Nathan knew this, which was why he picked up on how unusually quiet his best friend was. He got up from where he was seated on the bed, walking over to Y/N and placing his hands on her shoulders.

“What’s up?”

She took a deep breath, looking at him in the mirror. “You remember the party at Jack Lloyd’s?”

“When we were 17?”

“Yeah, and I was nervous to wear that tight-fitting dress? ‘Cause of my stomach?”

“Yes, even though you had no reason to be nervous.”

She sighed. “Well, I’m feeling like that now,” she admitted. “Not as intensely, but it’s there and… I haven’t felt this nervous about being seen in a long time.”

“What do you mean ‘being seen’?”

“When… When you’ve had and still have a hard time accepting yourself, it’s hard to let others look at your body ‘cause you don’t want to exist outside your own head, if that makes sense? Being seen means people will have an opinion, it means they’ll piece together this image of you before even getting to know you. It means them judging you on your looks alone before they get to actually know you.” Y/N shrugged her shoulders a little, Nathan squeezing them ever so slightly. “My confidence is much better now, but I still have those moments every so often when that 17-year-old girl I used to be will come back and whisper something discouraging into my ear.”

Nathan nodded, wrapping his arms around her neck and bringing her to him. She melted into her best friend, taking a grip of his forearms. “I know it’s much easier said than done, but focus on now. You’ve come so far, and though that 17-year-old is part of the reason why you are who you are today, she’s got nothing to do here. 19-year-old Y/N has come so far, she has no time revisiting the past ‘cause she’s going to a party tonight, and it’ll be fucking fantastic, yeah?”

Y/N chuckled, closing her eyes as Nathan planted an encouraging kiss to her cheek. “Guess you’re right.”

“Of course I fucking am.”

She laughed.

“Now, get your vodka, tequila, sourz, or whatever the fuck you’re drinking, and let’s go.” Nathan let go of her and walked to the door, opening it. “You got Chloe’s address?”

“Yeah, it’s Dinwiddy, flat 10.”

“Uni accommodation?”

Y/N huffed, reaching for her purse and putting it over her shoulder. “Did you expect my first-year mates to live anywhere else?”

“Not really. Dunno why I’m shocked.”

Y/N searched through her purse, checking she had everything she needed before reaching for her plastic bag where her drinks were.

“Still remember when I lived in Coopers Court with Harry and Mason. Oh, how time flies.”

Y/N stopped short, narrowing her eyes. “I still cannot believe you didn’t tell me anything about you living in the same flat as Harry your first year at uni.”

Nathan sighed.

“Cannot believe you didn’t tell me he went to Helmond. Cannot believe you wanted us to live together without at least informing me-“

“-Mate, are we done with this?”

“Don’t think I’ll ever be done. You tricked me into this.”

“I did not.”

“What did you think was gonna happen when I found out?”

“We’ve been over this,” Nathan said. “I didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. Harry did not react like this when I told him I promised to live with you my second year, your first year.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, having already heard this.

“In fact, he did not mind one bit living with you.”

“I mind living with him.”

“Clearly, or else we wouldn’t still be having this conversation.”

Y/N tutted, walking past Nathan and down the stairs. “I’ll let this argument be for the time being, but expect me to pick it back up again tomorrow when my mind’s not all over the place. I want to be able to fucking destroy you.”

“Great. Can’t wait.”

Y/N and Nathan started walking in the direction of Dinwiddy, the biggest uni accommodation at Helmond, where most students ended up staying. Parmiter Street was a mere 30-minute walk away, and though they could have easily taken the tube, they both knew that it would be best for them to get some fresh air before drinking. Y/N also wanted to walk off some of her anxiety, though she was fairly certain that would not happen. On one hand she was looking forward to meeting Chloe and the rest of her English Lit gang, on the other, she was nervous. Her nerves came more from fear of experiencing the same blinding anxiety she had when she was younger, for that same feeling of helplessness and bottomlessness that it had brought her. What if it appeared when she was drinking? What if it got worse as she got drunk?

She hated how moving away to London and to University had brought her so much doubt. It was like she had to figure out who she was all over again. Here, it was only Nathan who knew her. Well… him and Harry, but the latter did not count. If Y/N so wanted, she could become a new version of herself. She knew that was something uni offered; finding a new you and shaping it into a person you want to be. There were several things Y/N wished she could change about herself. She had a horrible temper, was a little too loud at times, took many things far too personal, and more. She was unsure how much independence and a new environment could help make her a better version of herself, but she hoped Helmond and London could help her to some degree.

Once they arrived at Parmiter Street, Nathan walked straight onto Dinwiddy campus grounds and showed them the way to flat 10. The brown brick buildings rose five storeys high around them, shaping a small T formation with some benches along the stone path where people could sit on the few occasions when the weather would allow it. Nathan had been there the year before, loads of his friends from his Criminology course had lived at Dinwiddy accommodation and therefore hosted pre-drinks there. Nathan knew his way around, and, sure enough, he showed them right to flat 10. On the right hand-side, the first building, Nathan strolled over to the entrance.

He met Y/N’s eyes, trying to get a picture of just how nervous she was. After all, these were her friends, and had they been home in Nottingham, she would not have been this nervous at all. Nathan was not anxious at all, and he had never talked to – never met – Chloe or any of Y/N’s course mates.

“Listen,” Nathan said, giving Y/N a small smile. “If it gets too much, we’ll just go home, yeah? I won’t leave your side.”

Y/N smiled back, nodding her head. “Yeah. I’ll send Chloe a text saying we’re here.”

“We could just ring the doorbell.”

She looked at him. “Nath.”

“Y/N.”

“What were phones invented for if we’re just gonna ring people’s doorbells? I’m sending her a text.”

Nathan reached forward and rang the doorbell, making Y/N raise her eyebrows at him and take a deep breath as not to throw him against the brick building.

“Yes?” came from the speakers beside the doorbells. It was Chloe.

Nathan nudged Y/N, nodding in the direction of the speakers. She glared at him. “It’s Y/N.”

“Ahh, brill!” Chloe unlocked the door for them and Nathan opened it, letting Y/N enter first. They walked over to the stairs, looking at a sign there that showed them flat 10 at the topmost storey.

“They don’t even have a bloody lift, do they?” Y/N asked Nathan as she looked around.

“Gotta walk, mate.”

“Fuck me,” Y/N groaned as they began their ascent.

“I’d rather not.”

Despite herself, Y/N laughed a bit. They made it to the fourth floor, and Y/N knocked on the door as Nathan breathed heavily beside her.

“Hi,” Chloe smiled as she opened the door, stepping aside to let Y/N and Nathan in.

“Hiya,” Y/N smiled back, feeling her heart beat hard inside her chest. Something about Chloe’s smile, the reminder that she had invited Y/N over, that she wanted her there, settled atop Y/N’s shoulders, making them sag to a comfortable level. “Brought my housemate, hope you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!” Chloe said, turning to Nathan.

“Nathan,” he smiled. “Thanks for letting me come here.”

“Don’t mention it,” Chloe said, closing the door and showing them the way down a corridor towards the shared living space where a heavy bass was throbbing. The fluorescent lights overhead in the hallway resembled those at a petrol station, making Y/N squint as she entered the living room. There sat everyone she had the pleasure of meeting earlier that week. Hayden, Annalise, and Thian were all around the table with a glass each to drink. Y/N smiled at them, waving her hand as they all grinned back at her. She still felt like she was intruding.

“Y/N, Nathan, do you like sambuca?” Chloe asked, walking over to the kitchen bench to fetch plastic shot glasses.

“Never say no to sambuca, ey?” Nathan grinned, nodding for Y/N to go sit down so he could follow her lead. “We’ll have a shot each of you’re handing out.”

“I am, indeed,” Chloe said, getting two shot glasses and walking over to the table, placing the glasses in front of Nathan who looked absolutely ecstatic.

“Thanks, babe,” Y/N said.

“You lot playing a drinking game?” Nathan asked, getting his drinks out to mix them all together into his paper cup.

“Yeah, we’re playing Never Have I Ever,” Hayden answered. “However, if no one drinks, everyone’s got to take a sip except for the person asking, but the person asking’s gotta take two if no one drinks.”

“Ahh, alright,” Nathan said. “Creative. Love it.”

“This is Y/N’s friend, Nathan, by the way, guys,” Chloe said as she came back over with shots for everyone.

“Oh, yeah, this is Nathan. He’s a second-year, we live in a flat together in Haggerston.” Y/N suddenly felt stupid for not introducing him right away so that Chloe had to. She felt her cheeks heat up, but she refused to look like she felt headless. Instead, she got her vodka and cranberry juice out, mixing it as Nathan spoke beside her.

“We’ve known each other forever, so she moved in with me and my flatmates this year instead of moving into uni accommodation,” he elaborated.

“You knew each other in Nottingham?” Chloe asked, and, for some reason, the fact that Chloe remembered that made Y/N feel all kinds of warm.

“Yeah, been best friends for years.”

“How nice that you got to live together here,” Chloe smiled in Nathan’s direction, then at Y/N.

“It is, isn’t it?” Nathan said, looking at Y/N and giving her a small wink before going back to his drink.

“Right, we need to take advantage of being first-years and get drunk as often as possible,” Thian said. “So, tonight needs to be good.”

“It’ll be good regardless,” Annalise retorted, taking one of the shots from the tray Chloe had brought to the table.

“Where are we going, anyway?” Hayden asked.

Thian nodded. “Pub or club?”

“Don’t really feel like clubbing tonight, you know what I mean?” Chloe asked, the other three coming with exclamations of agreement or nodding slightly. “Pub then?”

“We have a pub right by us,” Nathan said. “Only 30 minutes away and it’s the best one in Haggerston, in my opinion anyway.”

Y/N wrinkled her nose some. “The Stag’s Head?”

“Yeah, it’s always full and they sometimes got live music and everything.”

“We could go there, yeah,” Chloe said. “If everyone’s in.”

“Could we take a bus there?” Hayden asked.

“30 minutes isn’t a long walk, though,” Chloe chuckled. “As long as Nathan and Y/N show the way, we won’t get lost.”

“Don’t count on my navigational skills when I’m under the influence, babes,” Nathan said, making the others laugh.

“We’re better off using Google Maps, he might just show the way to the Gregg’s by Dalston Kingsland where he thinks the entire staff’s got a crush on him,” Y/N said before taking a sip of her drink, laughter erupting again. It felt good, like a pat on the shoulder, and Y/N instantly eased. Maybe she had not lost her old self at all, maybe she could still feel at ease, even around new people.

“They all flirt with me, and who can blame them?” Nathan shrugged his shoulders, whipping his head to the side so his lush, curly red hair dangled at the top of his head, grinning his wide smile and making the lip piercing shine in the fluorescent lights overhead.

The rest of the night went on, and it was easier to talk to everyone as time progressed. Not only because Y/N got more and more intoxicated, but she also just felt better after getting to know them all. Hayden always laughed the loudest, and their laughter was also very infectious, making it hard not to chuckle along with them. Annalise, though she sometimes stuttered over a few English words, was incredibly considerate and would urge Y/N to continue on with her story when others did not hear her. Thian offered Y/N tons of shots and complimented her on her outfit, making it easier for Y/N to feel good and seen, as she had been terrified of back at the flat. Chloe was easily the boss, and did most of the talking, though no one seemed to mind. After all, Chloe had introduced everyone to everyone, so people knew her the best out of everyone.

As time went on, Y/N just felt better. It was easier to talk to everyone and, at one point, she thought she was back at home in Nottingham, introducing herself to strangers at a party. They all made it easy to forget just how nervous she had been. It made her look forward to seeing them in her other lectures and seminars the coming week and all those weeks after that. Maybe these were the people she would spend her time at University with, and that excited her.

Bottles emptied and the volume inside the uni flat had increased massively. It was close to 9 when Chloe suggested they leave, and assured Y/N that she could leave the little she had left of her vodka at her place to pick up another day. Y/N took her up on the offer, insides warm from both alcohol and Chloe’s hospitality.

Nathan showed the way towards Haggerston and The Stag’s Head, arm entwined with Y/N’s for most of the way there. At one point however, Y/N let go of him and ended up walking beside Annalise and Thian, talking about one of the texts they had to read by Tuesday. It was such a mundane conversation, complaining about course work and talking about coming deadlines, that it felt like they had been mates for ages. The chat flowed so easily, the laughter rolled off their tongues, and it just made sense for all of them to be together, walking along the dark London streets in their tipsy states, making their way towards what would hopefully be the first of many trips to a pub.

They arrived at Orsman Road and they could hear The Stag’s Head before they saw it. Y/N had never paid it much attention. She knew she would end up popping by once or twice during her time at uni, but she had not envisioned her checking it out that first week. Nathan held the door open for everyone, resting a hand at Y/N’s back as he followed her indoors last.

The pub was small, but Y/N was sure that it was bigger than it appeared late on a Friday evening. Straight ahead, in a V formation, stood the bar, a wall filled with bottles of all alcohol imaginable behind it, lit up by red light which fit the dark red of the counter surrounding it. Far down to the left, it seemed the rest of the pub disappeared from view, but judging by the stairs Y/N could see, she supposed there was a loo somewhere in that direction, and it also looked to be where one could go to reach the smoking area. People were both sat and stood by the bar as well as booths along the walls. What appeared to be the stage further down to the right was unoccupied by any performers, though a few lads stood there with a pint each. There were no free tables, and this put a damper on the mood quite quickly.

Nathan, however, pulled them all towards the smoking area and they were all pleasantly surprised to see a free table and two benches untouched. Fairylights hung over the outdoor space, from the house and over to the fence on the other side. It lit up just enough, made it possible to see, but not too bright for people to squint when walking out into the night. A few empty pints and a smoky ash tray stood in the middle of the table, but Nathan put the glasses on the brick fence before everyone sat down.

“Alright, I’ll pay for your drink,” Nathan said, smiling at Y/N. “Anyone wanna come to the bar? Y/N’ll watch the table.”

“Ah, yes.” Chloe got up, the rest of the gang following along and walking towards one of the two entrances to the pub. Y/N got her phone out, looking to see if she had any notifications she had to check out, but there were none. She was about to resolve to scrolling aimlessly through Instagram, when she heard a slightly familiar voice.

“Hi there.” Mason sat down on the edge of the opposite bench, a cigarette in hand and a small smile on his lips. “Didn’t know you and Nath would come here tonight.”

“Oh, hiya,” Y/N smiled. “No, we didn’t know where we’d go after pre-drinks. He suggested this place, so we brought some of my course mates with us here.”

“You going out later?”

“No, think we’re just gonna stay here.”

“Yeah, this is a chill place,” Mason said, puffing out some smoke.

“This is my first time here.”

Mason raised his eyebrows. “Is it?”

Y/N smiled. “You think I should’ve come here earlier?”

“More to do with the fact that our flat just loves this place, thought Nathan would’ve at least taken you here already.”

“He did now.”

“It’s my favourite pub around here, and Harry-“

“-Mase!” Nathan exclaimed, grinning as he came over with two gin and tonics. “You’re here as well!”

“Yeah, it’s a Friday night, innit?”

“Hi,” Chloe said, sitting down beside Mason with a wide grin on her face. It seemed like she wanted to introduce herself or to be introduced, but before Y/N could say anything, the conversation resumed.

“Hey,” Mason answered, looking back to Nathan who seemed to be ecstatic to see one of his flatmates. “Hear you haven’t taken Y/N here till now.”

Nathan sighed. “Not like I didn’t want to, just haven’t gotten the opportunity.”

“What’s so good about this place?” Y/N asked, looking from Nathan to Mason.

“Just close, innit? Also, it’s crowded, but it’s not as crowded as most pubs down by Kingsland Road,” Nathan elaborated.

“You lot have a good night, yeah? Need to get back to my mates.” Mason leaned past Chloe, stumping the rest of his cigarette into the ashtray before he got up, walking over to a big group of lads. Chloe stared after him as the rest of the conversation around the table started back up again, Y/N pretended to not see how she was checking him out. It felt like she was intruding on a moment that was not meant for anyone but Mason to see.

“You’re living with him?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah.”

“He’s well fit.”

“Guess.”

Chloe giggled. “You’re taking the rule to not shag one of your flatmates seriously, then?”

“Shouldn’t everyone?” Thian asked, furrowing his brows. “It only complicates everything.”

“How? It’s only a shag. It’s not like you’re gonna fall in love with them,” Chloe said.

“Can’t really control your emotions, though.” Nathan shrugged. “Two of my flatmates last year shagged. He had feelings for her, she just wanted a one night stand. Didn’t end well.”

Y/N put her drink back down on the table after a long sip. “Well, if you’re clear beforehand and make it clear that it’s only for this night and there’s no emotions behind it other than temporary bliss, then that’s okay, isn’t it?”

“Nah,” Hayden said, shaking their head. “It’s an unwritten rule. Don’t shag your flatmates.”

“Is it a serious rule?” Annelise asked, furrowing her brows.

“It’s got serious consequences,” Hayden answered.

“But if you’re both aware it’s only a one time thing, then is it serious?” Y/N asked.

“Babe, sex is complicated. You’re always just gonna be connected in a way, you know?” Nathan said.

“I can promise you I’m not connected to Ollie Lee in any way, shape, or form,” Y/N huffed, sipping her drink again as Nathan laughed, the other joining in because of Y/N’s obvious distaste in this Ollie Lee.

“Was he awful in bed?” Chloe asked, smiling as she looked between Nathan and Y/N.

“No, I was just desperate one night last year.” Y/N rolled her eyes at herself. “Let’s just say that mid-shag he asked me if I had to go to the toilet, and when I said no, he told me that whenever I felt like I had to, just pee on him instead.”

Gasps erupted around the table, and a second later, everyone started howling with laughter. Nathan kept on hitting his thigh, leaning into Y/N and laughing. Though it was a fairly embarrassing story on Y/N’s part, her definite lowest of low, she could not help feeling good about making everyone laugh like this. Looking around at everyone, she suddenly felt very good about herself, despite this being her worst sex story ever.

It was not like Y/N had fucked her way through Nottingham and had tons of stories to tell. In fact, she hadn’t shagged that many. She had had sex with eight people, three of them being women, one non-binary, and the other four men. She had been very vocal about the fact that the best sexual encounters she had had, were with women. They had all been so nice, and though it had never escalated to anything romantic beyond that one night together, they had made Y/N feel the best she’d ever felt. She suspected women just knew what to do, that they cared how she felt and did not solely care about their own release.

The group ended up just sitting around and talking for a while. It was nice to go somewhere outside of the uni setting and get to know some people, this was what uni was all about, or so Nathan had told her countless times. These people were as anxious about making friends and being liked as she was, but there they all were, making friends and going outside their own comfort zone.

At one point, Y/N had finished her drink and went to get another round for her and Nathan. The pub seemed to be even more packed now that it was closer to midnight. Everyone wanted to drink the week away, to forget about their lives for a little while and just spend time in good company. Y/N strolled over to the bar, looking up and down the counter to see if any of the bartenders were free to help her. The second her eyes landed on a familiar figure, she halted.

Harry’s eyes were already on hers as he stood almost right opposite her mixing a drink. He let go of a sigh, looking down at whatever he was mixing.

“You…” she started, raising her eyebrows. “You’ve got to be fucking everywhere.”

“Only ‘cause you’re every single place I usually am,” he said, continuing to make whatever drink he was making.

“Do you work here then?”

He looked over at her, raising one of his eyebrows. “I’m not a hallucination now?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Can’t believe you thought I was a bloody hallucination.”

“Believe it. It’s all Nathan’s fault anyway. I’ll never forgive him for forcing me to live with you for a year.”

Harry let out a dry laugh. “To answer your question: no, thought I’d help out behind the bar to get me adrenaline going.”

“Well funny,” Y/N said. “You got me cracking up, can you tell?”

“Last time I checked, I got you laughing pretty hard, yeah.”

“That’s literally two years ago now.”

Harry finished the drink, putting it in a glass and placing it in front of the person standing just beside Y/N. Her eyes first landed on the watch on his wrist, the nice brown leather, and then her gaze travelled upward. She looked up at the man who was already staring at her, giving him a smile when she smiled at him. Their eye contact was put to an abrupt end when Harry poked the man’s hand holding the drink with the card machine. Y/N looked back at Harry, and then at another man with strong build and big, curly hair who stepped into view beside Harry.

“I’ll take care of her, Kai,” Harry said.

This Kai looked at Harry, blinking once before he met Y/N’s eyes again.

“She’s my flatmate,” Harry elaborated, making Kai study Y/N a bit more closely before he nodded once. He was very good looking, with a broad nose, almond-shaped eyes, and full lips, his brown skin glowed in the dim lights of the pub.

“That new one,” Kai said.

“Yeah.”

Kai smiled then, nodding in Y/N’s direction. “Nice of you to come check on Hazza. It’s always hectic on Fridays.”

“Oh, our other flatmate took me here, I didn’t come by choice.”

Kai’s eyebrows rose on his face and he looked at Harry who barked out a laugh, shrugging his shoulders at Kai as they exchanged a look. Harry walked over to stand right in front of her, signalling to Kai that he could take care of this one. Kai walked off, taking someone else’s order.

“Even feistier than I remember, you are,” Harry said.

She cocked her head to the side as Harry gathered a glass for her drink, already assuming that was what she was going to get. “You didn’t seem to have a problem with it before.”

It left her lips before she even registered she was thinking it. Harry only took a deep breath before meeting Y/N’s eyes again, clearly choosing to ignore her statement. “What can I get you, Y/N?”

“Sex on the Beach, please,” she said. “Two of them.”

“Alright.” Harry started making them right away, signalling to someone that he’d be right with them after this. Y/N looked around her, meeting the gaze of the man who had just stood by her at the bar. He raised his glass in her direction and she smiled back. She definitely had to go talk to him after this. He seemed to be a bit older, maybe five years older than her, but just for tonight, she did not care.

Y/N glanced back at Harry and watched him, fascinated by how fast he managed to make the drinks. “How long have you worked here, then?”

“A year abouts,” Harry said. “Worked in a hotel when we moved to Brum. Tended to work at the bar when the bartender was out.”

Y/N nodded, eyes on his hands as he poured ice, shots, and all types of alcohol and liquids into her drink. “You lived there till you moved to London?”

“Yeah.” They were quiet for a moment, both of them remembering all of the things that were left unsaid between them. All of those words, moments, and memories they had created during those months the two of them had crossed paths in Nottingham.

He cleared his throat as he put the drinks down in front of her. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t much like Brum.”

Y/N took a grip of the glasses. “And why’s that?”

“Dunno. Just didn’t find my footing proper.”

“In the two years you lived there?”

He shrugged. “Guess not.”

Y/N clicked her tongue. “Was it that bad?”

“Nah, I met tons of ace people and Birmingham’s a decent place, but…” He shrugged again. “Dunno.”

“Hmm,” she said, trying to decipher his words and if he was being truthful or not.

“Anyway,” Harry said, nodding to the drinks. “Take that other drink to Nathan – as I’m sure it’s for him – and when you bring that middle-aged man home later: please, be quiet. I have rugby at 11 tomorrow morning.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open. “How dare-“

“-Y/N, what’s taking so fucking long?” Nathan shouted as he came up next to her. His eyes fell on Harry behind the bar. “Oh… forgot to tell you Harry works here.”

“Nath, shut the fuck up,” Y/N said, looking from Nathan and back at Harry.

Harry nodded towards the door, silently telling them to fuck off, and they did. They walked back to the rest who were still sitting by the same table outside. Nathan took his drink from Y/N and sat down, but just as Y/N was about to sit down, she heard someone clear their throat behind her. She looked over her shoulder rather fast, blinking a few too many times when she locked eyes with the same man who had been standing beside her by the bar.

“Hi,” he said, giving her a broad smile.

Y/N almost felt herself blush. “Hey.”

“I’m George.”

She smiled. “Y/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/N,” he said, he gestured at the bench where she had just been about to sit down. “Mind if I sit down with you?”

Her smile widened. “Not at all.”

Y/N felt fucking terrible. Her room was too hot, too humid. Body sticky with sweat, limbs aching, throat burning with yesterday’s alcohol, and head throbbing, she opened her eyes slowly before shutting them again, groaning into her pillow. She hated herself for not drinking as much water before bed as she usually did when coming home from a night out. Sitting up, she looked down at the man beside her, racking her brain to remember what his name was. She ran her hands over her face, reaching for her glasses so she could see something, but quickly realising she left her contact lenses in the night before. Her eyes were so dry it hurt to blink and she suddenly realised why her head was hurting more than normal. Cursing herself, Y/N got out of bed with her glasses perched at the top of her head, picking up a tee shirt and some tights, pulling on her fluffy dressing gown before she made her way out of her room as soundlessly as possible.

She stumbled her way to the bathroom, locking the door behind her. First thing she did was take her contacts out, struggling to do so as the contacts were so dry, her eyes having dried out with them. She splashed water in her face next, then drank the equivalent to the Atlantic Ocean before splashing even more water on her face. She then put her glasses on, realising that she had to let her eyes relax some after what she had just put them through. It took her awhile to gather up the courage to go to the toilet, where she made herself throw up the nausea she was feeling before having a very long peeing session.

Moments of the night before came rushing back to her, and as she sat there on the toilet, she remembered more and more. The name George came to her like out of a fog, and then the details started falling into place. She remembered how he’d bought her more drinks, how the two of them had sat talking all night about nothing in particular. She remembered his hand on her thigh and him leaning into her to whisper in her ear. Then they were in her room, her front against the mattress and his weight on her back. It was all hazy after that, most of it just a mess of limbs and chasing a release that she had never caught up with. Though Y/N usually made it clear that she hadn’t come, she was too worn out to tell George. She remembered falling asleep almost the second they were done. To say she had been underwhelmed was an understatement.

When she was done, she walked down the stairs for the kitchen. Once again, she was left stopping right in her tracks as she walked in. Harry stood by the stove, eyes on the pan in front of him where he was making eggs, a few asparagus and peppers cooking beside the two frying eggs. For a moment, she debated walking back upstairs and leaving Harry to it, but then he glanced over at the door to his right, meeting her eyes right away. He gave her a tight-lipped smile before turning back to his breakfast. God… Y/N wanted to set herself on fire. It’d be better than staying inside a room with Harry alone after years apart.

He wore rugby shorts that reached mid-thigh, a white tee shirt to go with it, and a hairband to keep his hair out of his face. Y/N realised just then that he was getting ready to leave for rugby as he had told her yesterday he would. She could remember him doing rugby when they knew each other three years ago as well, but she didn’t think he’d still be doing it.

The small conversation they had in The Stag’s Head the night before lingered in the air between and around them. That was reason enough to turn and walk upstairs again. But as Y/N remembered who was waiting for her in her room, she stepped into the kitchen. She got two slices of bread and put them in the toaster, getting some butter and milk out of the fridge as she waited. She watched Harry’s back as she filled the kettle with enough water, quickly looking away when he moved to put his eggs on the two slices of bread on his plate. Biting her lip, Y/N got a mug and a teabag, looking back over at Harry as he stood holding his breakfast plate. Y/N took a deep breath, knowing exactly what she had to do.

“Okay,” she said only a second before Harry turned around to face her, mouth open as if to say something. He must have noticed the tension as well. “We need to talk this through. We can’t live together for the next year if it’s gonna be like this. Just gonna put that out there right away.”

“Yeah,” Harry sighed. “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

Y/N leaned her hip against the counter, feeling relieved that she was not the only one out of the two that had thought about how incredibly awkward this was. “You’ve thought about it too?”

“Of course. I’ve been fuming ‘cause Nathan didn’t tell you sooner, and I’ve also found it annoying how I’m the bad guy in your eyes when this wouldn’t have happened if it wasn’t for Nate.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I haven’t thought of you as the bad guy-“

“-Y/N,” Harry said, putting his plate down on the counter again. “You’ve been angry at me this whole time. I can tell.”

“My frustration with you has got nothing to do with this situation, but all to do with how you just left without even saying goodbye before you moved away.” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m trying to not blame you for this as well, but you’re right, Nathan’s the one that made this happen, we should be angry with him.”

“So you have been mad at me.”

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Isn’t it just easier, no matter how stupid the reason, to just find more things to make you angry at a person? To make you hate them even more? Isn’t it just satisfying to find other ways to be frustrated with them?”

“No.”

“You’re no fun.”

“I am.”

“Anyway,” Y/N continued, getting her bread slices out of the toaster to put butter on them. “Why didn’t we say anything? If we’ve both thought it’s been awkward, I mean.”

“You’ve been busy shagging men 10 years older than you, I didn’t get the chance.”

“Look at you not being frustrated or annoyed with me.”

“I told you to be quiet last night,” Harry said, getting a fork and putting some asparagus and paprika in his mouth. “You weren’t.”

Y/N got the kettle as it finished, pouring some hot water into her mug. “So, what you’re saying is that you’ve been angry with me.”

“Not angry, just…” Harry sighed. “Fine. A little angry last night, yes.”

Y/N smiled. “And he wasn’t 10 years older than me, he’s five years older.” She paused. “I think.”

“Right,” Harry said, eating more of his breakfast. “Listen…” He swallowed. “I think we should just… We should just address it.”

“Yeah.”

They were both quiet, looking at the other and waiting for them to say what they were both thinking. Though it looked like he was about to reach for his bread to take a bite, Harry stopped himself. Instead, he took a deep breath, and said, “It was fucking terrible. That first time…” He trailed off, narrowing his eyes before he ran a hand over his face, remembering it all over again. “I didn’t even last a minute. It was mortifying.”

“It wasn’t half as mortifying as you trying to go down on me afterwards.”

Harry let out a small laugh. “Yeah, that wasn’t really…” He sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“No, we were both part of it. You don’t have to apologise for that.”

“You hear all these stories about how losing your virginity is supposed to be so beautiful, but it’s not. It’s really fucking not. Especially if you lose it to someone else who hasn’t had sex before, it just makes it double as awkward.”

Y/N nodded. “It was shit. Both of us were shit.”

“Exactly.”

“But I hope you know the reason I’m frustrated with you isn’t because of that.”

Harry looked away, biting at his bottom lip before he said, “Yeah, I know why.”

“Good, just wanted that to be clear.”

Harry nodded, taking his bread slice in his hand, making sure the egg wouldn’t fall off before he brought it to his mouth. “Well, now that we’ve addressed that, let’s just move on.”

“Let’s.”

She gave him a small smile before taking her teabag out of her mug and throwing it in the bin. There was still some tension in the room, but not enough for Y/N to want to set herself on fire like she had wanted to before. Just as she was about to take a grip of her plate and cuppa, the sounds of footsteps made her look up. George, who had been asleep last time Y/N checked, walked by the kitchen, halting as he saw Y/N and Harry standing there in the kitchen. He gave them both a smile Y/N could tell was forced, and then walked straight for the door without a single word or a second glance. Y/N and Harry looked at one another, sharing a look before they both chuckled ever so slightly.

“Cracking bloke,” Harry mumbled.

“Innit,” Y/N huffed, picking up her breakfast. “Have fun at rugby practice.”

“Cheers.”

She walked by him, hoping that her room did not smell of George or anything resembling alcohol or sweat. If it did, she would hit her head against the wall. But, lucky for her, George had left the door open, which had given the room a little bit of time to get the smell of last night out. After putting on her fluffy duvet cover, she opened the windows to let some fresh air in, and left her door open as she sat down in bed with her laptop, tea, and breakfast.

Just as she was about to put her plate down on the nightstand, she noticed something already laying there on top of her books. Adjusting her glasses, Y/N squinted at the object. She put her plate down on her duvet cover and reached for the wristwatch George had left. It was the nice leather one she had seen last night by the bar, the one that had caught her attention first. The digital clock seemed to have stopped working, displaying a random time that Y/N in her hangover state could not tell anyone what was. She was too fucked to even try and understand the numbers in front of her.

She put the clock back on her desk, hoping that she’d run into George soon so she could give it back to him. Or maybe Nathan could stalk Facebook and find him so she could message him there to tell him. She was glad she hadn’t exchanged phone numbers with George as she did not want to meet him again, but right now, she wanted to give him his watch back.

Y/N heard the front door open and then close, indicating that Harry had just left for rugby, and, as far as she could tell, she was the only one currently awake in her flat. The morning was quiet, she felt oddly at peace as she put on Fleabag and sipped her cuppa, and little did she know, this would be one of those rare moments over the last three years that this emotion inhabited her body.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 7th March, 9PM GMT!

Huge thanks to my AMAZING beta reader! 🏛️ @aileenacoustic 🏛️ @devil-in-bw-the-sheets 🏛️ @sunflowerstache 🏛️ @fromyourstrulyh 🏛️

FIC PAGE | COME TALK !!!

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fic #1dff #AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHGIWGOJGI PLS COME TALK !!!!

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xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Text

Falling from grace for you.

(this wasn’t requested, and I should probably be catching up on those XD)

|Dazai x Female Reader|

This is a darker (that’s an understatement…) and longer (very long) piece than what is typically written on my account. It’s taken from one of my current ongoing fics.

Warnings: Dazai’s typical antics (his jokes of suicide, making light of suicide, disturbing thoughts) depictions of severe gore/violence. Mentions of darker themes: torture, implied abuse. Some slight out-of-character actions. A large amount of insanity, questionable thoughts, and in the end suicide. Seriously, I warned you this piece is dark as hell

Heavy angst without a happy ending. (starts getting very dark/disturbing/unsettling under the cut.)

~You have been warned, enjoy the angst love~

Words-5,081

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hiding behind clouds, scarlet red glared down in shimmering beams. The night was given a red hue, a contrast to the normal silver peeking past the darkness. A male, in his early twenties, fiddled with the edges of his coat. Its tan folds, keeping his body from feeling the frigid atmosphere. His finger lightly traced the white, slightly dirtied fabric of the cotton wrapped around his arms. As unusual as it was, most of the agency had stayed past its usual hours of operation. A feeble sigh remained stuck in the man's throat, a sigh that could tell the others he was troubled. He was a man of many mysteries and unsolvable puzzles. The empty hue of his coffee-stained eyes closed the door to what he felt. That was if this man was capable of truly feeling much at all.

Taking a seat on the couch, his mind trailed to the thoughts of a woman. If he dared to admit the wrongs of his life, maybe the situation they were all in would be… different. Maybe, just maybe, this case would have been solved in seconds. It seemed even Ranpo had met his match here. Of course, the only reason he had met a roadblock, was for the same reason nobody had claimed the pool of money placed on his past occupation. His name was Dazai, Osamu Dazai. Sure, by now, the people around him knew what dangerous job he had in the past. Ranpo had probably finally deduced he was somewhere up in the ranks. He doubted they knew just who he had been, doubted they knew the full extent of the crimes he had committed. If they knew surely Ranpo would have said something or given signs of distrust. If Kunikida knew there would have been insults thrown and judgments made. He’d probably be in jail if they truly knew the details about him.

His eyes self-consciously looked up to the clock, his eyes flicking with the smallest flame of confusion. His fingers ran to his pocket, pulling out a phone that wasn’t used for work. The way he rushed to check for a missed message caught the attention of several co-workers. They were all used to his slacking off, even when he was working, he appeared to be relaxing. For instance, this entire time, from the moments spent staring at the window, to the second leading to his hands gripping his phone, were all moments that involved his mind. A plan carefully piecing together. He happened to be the only one who could solve this case. After all, he knew you. The details of this case, the ones that had no evidence, nothing to deduct anything from. By now, he was sure Ranpo knew that too. The only reason he hadn’t been questioned was the uncertainty of how he was involved.

There had never been a day when you missed sending the nightly text. Now, he always received a text no later than 9 PM and no earlier than 8:45 PM. Every day for 6 years, he received the same question. You would ask him when he’d be home, what he’d like for dinner. No matter what the message was, you never sent a text shorter than 2 words. Never screwed the grammar up, nor did you ever leave a text unfinished. Not only was it 9:05, but the text was also missing. He was almost tempted to call you, feeling a panic settling in his stomach. The two of you had so many unspoken feelings between you. He knew you were not really missing, you had run away just over six months ago, after all, you had wanted freedom from the chains of your prison. That home, which had never truly been home. He restarted the phone over and over again, maybe he didn’t have enough service, maybe he was overthinking things? As much as he wanted to believe you were completely fine, he knew something had truly happened to you.

It was his fault, in the past, he had been such a bastard, there were people all over wishing to find a spot in his inhuman mind that would cause him to bend down like a dog; he hated dogs. If somebody ever found that he and you had more than just a business relationship, there would be hell to pay. Having known each other since his mafioso days, you were always a danger to be caught around with. He still remembered the way you had met, the only woman who had not given in to his womanizer ways. The only person on this planet who understood his mind. Your ability, as long as he didn't touch you, told you everything that his mind was reeling under. The pressure of his deepest regrets, the dying, screaming agony that wrapped his heart. So, it was only natural that in his new world of light, he had come to see you differently. This woman who had impacted his life just as much as his dead friend never ceased to surprise him. The way she stayed silent about her own troubles, the way she revealed only what she could with him. The way she remains smiling, like him, despite sharing the same pains that crushed him. He had asked her once, a few years back, to join him in a double suicide. It had been a joke, but the laughing, smiling expression that you wore as a mask had fallen. Those eyes he came to adore fell to replicate his own expression. So used to the word no, his heart nearly shattered when you chuckled darkly and ran a finger over the sleeves of your shirt. The way it acted like it traced scars broke him. The simple sure that whispered from your lips led him to stand shocked. Few people in this world managed to surprise him, so seeing you turn his thoughts into scrambled letters in a scrabble game had him panicked.

Just as he was about to start panicking over your lack of a text, a simple ding echoed in the silent room. The breaths of every agency member halted, it seemed even Kunikida paused to see what this man was up to. For what felt like the first time in his life, that unsettling pit of despair that laid deep within his gut overtook his consciousness rationally. His fingers expertly unlocked his phone, dragging the notification bar down to click on the text that came from your number. That pit that he had been feeling since he left the apartment today rose to consume his mask. Pure, discernible fear placed itself within his irises. The dilation of his pupils, followed by the sweat that fell from his forehead, gathered a panic within every member. Laying on his screen a simple message that he’d never wanted to see; a simple help. The time was now 9:15, Dazai’s hands shook as he tried to remain calm, keep that personality of his from rising past the new him. There was nothing he wanted more than to slip into the darkness of his alter-ego, the original him.

When things that belong to him, things that he deeply connects to are hurt or taken from him, he can’t help but become a monster to protect such things.

Another text followed as he tried to keep himself together. If you want to see her alive, find us within the hour demon prodigy. To send such a thing from his belladonna’s phone created another crack in his expression. Unfiltered rage poured from his eyes in fiery streams. His hands nearly cracked the delicate glass of his phone. Clicking the phone off, he set it down. Walking to his desk, he slammed open every drawer. Nobody spoke, they only watched this man rummage around his desk. His stoic eyes were now full of dreadful emotions. The aura this man was giving off dragged the somber room into a dark state of horror. It was as if a serial killer had walked into the home of its unsuspecting victims. The only thoughts with their heads were of concern for the coworker, whose laid-back attitude had disappeared in seconds. Was this how he was in the mafia? That question suddenly popped into some of the heads turned towards him. One girl sat next to an older boy. The teenage child tilted her head at the recognition of the room's mood. The mood resembled the still air that she’d experienced in the mafia. When she was nothing but a worthless assassin, she had seen this happen before. Whenever a high-ranking mafioso walked into a room, one known for their bloodlust and demonic ways, such as Akutagawa, the room felt heavy and sticky with fear and worry. While this was different, it had that same tingle.

Dazai pulled out a pistol, why he still had this was a question even he couldn’t answer. It had been the one he used in the mafia. Slamming it on the desk, his hand traveled for other items. Grabbing a container of pins, he set that down along with pens in both black and red ink, a notepad about the size of his palm, a file, and lastly, the girl's photo. He grabbed his phone again, this time walking to a computer and downloading information from it. It was easy to get the location of which the texts were sent. If the GPS was correct, her phone was currently several blocks from the house, after moving within the three minutes, it took him to search the drawers. The text had been sent from inside their apartment. Popping the pen lid off using his teeth, he rushed to a map. His mind had blocked all consciousness of the world around him out. The unadulterated need to find you and save you from harm, or in the worst case, death, controlling him. Never in his life had he felt this way for anybody. No subordinate, no friend, no co-worker, no enemy had ever filled his body with so much emotion at once. A man normally dragged on by only logic, a man who discarded his heart for his mind now laid within the opposite. His emotions controlling his thoughts, his heart pumping within the hundreds as he raced against the clock. Marking every move possible in his head, he scanned over the map once, twice, and even a third time. His lips curled into a nasty snarl as he realized how you had been caught.

On your way back from working that bar, you had been followed into the apartment, heard the noises, and texted him a quick plea. You're meant for it to be longer, but hardly had time to send help. No capitalization, no punctuation, and help had been misspelled. A simple typo only your terrified fingers could manage. Then when they realize your phone is unlocked and laying on the floor after knocking you out, the attacker had sent him the warning. With that scenario, he became completely encased in displeased anger. His eyes scanned the map with frustration, trying to narrow the possible routes down. He used the black pen to mark the important events with times. He marked everything from his leave to the current second. Using the red pen, he sketched a draft of the route being used. The phone had been carried as a distraction. Any person of his mind would instantly disregard that route. But without Ranpo needing to point out which route was most likely, he tapped it with his finger. Crossing out certain marks as he intertwined all three routes to come across the place he’d met you. An amused, almost ironic snicker parted his lips as he tugged his jacket tighter around his body. His hand using the small notepad to jot down the location. Not for himself, but for the others in case they decided to follow him.

Walking to his desk, he grabbed the pistol, its weight nearly disgusting him. A conflict parted through him, his promise to Oda, then your life. Looking towards the ceiling, he sighed. He’d visit his grave later to apologize for breaking his promise. He had all intention to kill, whether it’s called for or not. “Dazai, what is going on.” Kunikida's cold voice cut through the heavy atmosphere.

Snapping back as if only now realizing the other existed, he fell to look at Kunikida. The look he gave was full of nothing but emotionless despair. With a simple response, he walked over and dropped the file on the desk. “Taking care of this case… alone.” The last word was spoken with an emphasis as if to warn them. This case was tied to his past actions.

Making a full 180, he dramatically raised his hands and spoke with nothing but a childish facade. “If I’m not back before midnight, my dreams have come true!” he hummed before walking out of sight.

Now that he was alone, that facade dissipated, and he sighed walking briskly down the streets. It didn’t take him too long to arrive at the building. An abandoned shipping room that provided a perfect height for suicide. He smiled slightly at the thought. Yes, that would be so much more relaxing than this. Simply taking your hand as the two of you fell gracefully in each other's arms. Then with no pain, the two of you would part from this meaningless life and find peace. His hand touched the door, pushing them open, the red glimmers of light, provided by the blood moon, filtering in through the now open doors. He whistled to signal he was there, and as his feet stepped inside, the doors closed and latched behind him. A trap well fit for him, but he already predicted such. “You really did go all out to catch me off-guard. It’s too bad this really isn’t much~.” he purred the words calling out to whoever laid within the shadows of the building. Tracing steps of the two men behind him, he ducked before grabbing two fists of hair and slamming their heads together. “Now, I suggest you give her back.” His voice became cold as he held himself straight, brushing his hands against the tan fabric.

Instead of a vocal response made of words, there was only a light laugh. With a sudden glare that nearly blinded him, the light turned on in only one specific spot. The middle of the room glowed with vibrant white light. Revealed by the sudden change was a body. Slumped against a chair with the smallest rising and falling of the chest. A piece of cloth wrapped around both your eyes and your mouth, successfully gagging and blinding you. Around your waist lay a thick rope that was most likely tied in the back, and was coated in duct tape to keep you secured to the chair. He assumed your wrists were bound behind the chair, judging that they were not loosely hung by your sides. The rope around your ankles was wrapped around several times. Already your body was showing forms of bruises. Blood trickled from your nose and your head. Your clothing was in tatters, the white lace of your bra showing in parts. It was as if your attacker had tried inflicting as much pain as he could. Perhaps you had woken up from the pain before passing out. He could see the wet stains on your cheek, probably from the feeling of pain. He went to take a step forward and pull out his gun, but before he could make much movement, a gun aimed itself at you. His eyes flared, and he looked to the man who had taken you. The time was now 10:05 PM. He had arrived exactly at 10 PM. within the hour the text had said, so logically speaking he had 10 minutes until an hour from when the text was sent to now.

So where had he gone wrong? Why did that gun fire at your stomach? It missed anything vital, in fact, it was a spot he knew well. Fyodor had once had a sniper shoot him in that exact spot. He knew it wasn’t lethal, but the blood loss could kill you. That death would be slow and painful. It was pure luck that you had been shot there, that gun was meant to put you to death.

Never in his life had he lost to his emotions. Even in his moments of insanity, he had never acted rashly. Even when he shot a dead body over and over, he had not been completely lost. He had relished in the enemy’s pain, but he was not lost. He understood his surroundings. Even as his lips parted and cusses left his lips and insane demonic laughter parted his lips, he tried keeping his mind together. His left hand covered his eye, the eye he had once kept bandaged for no particular reason. His right hand fumbled for his gun, before snapping his eyes back to the enemy. “You really shouldn’t have done that~” he hummed taking steps closer. “Were you expecting me to fall and weep? If this is revenge over something I did in the past, I hate to tell you… I don't remember a single one of my past victims. I mean that would be a ton of people to remember. Between the murders and the blackmail along with all the other crimes I’ve committed, I would never remember anybody who held no importance.”

With the room's descent into a hellish atmosphere, your attacker tripped falling down. Dazai walked to you and brushed a finger over your cheek. “It’s alright, I’ll save you.” Maybe this possessive protectiveness this event had induced could be classified as slightly yandere? He would never lose you, your happiness was of course important, but this feeling was beyond normal rage. He walked up to the cowering form of your attacker. He guaranteed the man's death would be painful. He normally wasn’t this violent, even in the mafia he carried out his assignments and assassinations quickly. He hated pain himself, so it was natural to show some pity when it came to physical pain.

All that went forgotten as he approached the shaking male. He fiddled with the trigger of his pistol, before shooting both of your attacker's hands. Watching as crimson carefully spill and the shriek of horror, that twisted Dazai’s heart with pleasure, echo within the walls, he smiled. The smile was created from pure insanity. Without a shred of remorse, he glanced at you before his foot lifted to slam against the male's jaw. He did it once, twice, and thrice. When his foot shoved the man's skull down to the cement flooring, he laughed trying to keep control. His emotions were slowly wrapping dark webs around his reason. He knew that was enough, that he should stop and lay down a final blow. He knew he should do the right thing, which would be to slam some cuffs on this man's wrists. Yet, in the back of his head lay a voice telling him this man deserved a punishment far worse than a jail cell he’d likely be out of in a few years. This man deserved death for hurting you. There was only one light in his life, that light was you. Losing that light would break him. There was one fear for this man, that fear was losing all hope. Plummeting into true pain, a life without you would be empty. It would be too much to go on. He’d toss away his ideal death to escape the chains of this mortal world. He’d accept death, whether there was an after-life or not. As the thoughts ran rampant inside his head, his decision was made. No, this decision had been made the moment his slender fingers touched the metal of this discarded pistol.

Kneeling down, he got into the man's personal space, his hands clasped behind his back as if this were one of his many interrogations. “Tell me, when you laid the first blow on my belladonna, what were you expecting would happen? Was it A, you thought you would manage to bring me to my knees? Or maybe B, you thought your actions would have no consequences because the feared demon prodigy was now an ex-demon prodigy? You thought you would be able to act out revenge by taking the one thing he clings to. People are easy to read, when they are terrified for their lives their life story is portrayed through their eyes. I wonder, would you beg for mercy if I gauged them out?” the sadistic curl of his lips leading to the crack of his fingers echoed in the room. The only other sound to challenge such a disturbing noise lay the whimpers and shaking chatter of the enemy. “If you want forgiveness, then beg for it.” Dazai's lips quickly fell to a snarl as his finger ran from the man's cheek up to the base of his eye socket. Already pushing with pressure, he waited. Just before his finger could start any damage, the man's words leaped.

“I’m sorry, spare me!” he would shout more and more pleading for his life. Dazai merely laughed, running his other hand over the man's lip before dragging it down over the man's neck, imagining the sight if he were to take a pin and drag it along the skin.

“Did she plead for you to stop? How many times did she beg you not to hurt her? Did you do more than simply hit her?” he knew the answer to that already, which is why even if this man pleaded and begged and swore his life to Dazai, he’d never make it out alive. “If you're honest, I may… be gentle.” A lie, a believable cunning lie all for you. He was doing this for you, all to take revenge for you.

“No!” the man screamed for only a moment before Dazai dug his finger into the socket, letting blood soak the tan of his coat. Flinging his hand to the side, the excess blood splattered.

“Too bad, I knew you'd lie to me anyways. Humans are truly despicable creatures, aren't we? Was it fun? Listening to her beg for you to stop? Did she ask you to just kill her already? Did you keep her conscious just to traumatize her? Tell me, did you think I'd let you go?” lifting his foot, he slammed it against the man's chin, sending him into the wall. Watching the stone crack and small pebbles fall, he walked over with nothing in his eyes.

His thoughts were blank.

His expression is blank.

His mind blank.

His heart… full of anger and merciless vengeance.

His hands, despite lacking the same strength as some of his opponents in the past, snapped bone after bone. He tore through the skin until the floor was coated in blood. The game continued until the man bled to death. When Dazai noted there was nothing left, he stared and watched in satisfaction. That was until a groan made its way into his ears. Slowly, he turned around to look at you. Your head had shifted slightly, but small drops of crimson were now dripping down from your abdomen. Pulling the bloodied knife from the corpse, he rushed over to cut you free. Letting your body collapse into his he hummed. His mind was still gripped in insanity. He slid down to the ground, running his blood-stained hands through your hair. “I came for you.” A half-hearted smile lifted his lips, but your voice did not respond. Your eyes still remained closed as he laid you on a clean spot of cement. He lifted the tatters of your shirt just enough to view the wound.

With a hesitant movement, he grabbed your wrist. The pulse was seeming to slow down. “Fuck…” he cursed the word under his breath as he came back to his senses. As if coming from a trance, his eyes scanned around. A single drop of water left his eyes before more came crashing down. He grabbed your body and pulled it towards him. Cradling you as he whispered an apology.

It seemed as if an eternity had passed, but in reality, the time was 10:35. Hardly half an hour had passed since he arrived. You would last another twenty minutes before that tiny wound became a problem, and you died. He knew this fact, and so he searched his pockets for his phone. He’d disappear before anybody got there. He’d sound as if he were running. He’d stage something to hide what he had just done. Everything he’d worked for could be unraveled soon. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, hoping you'd wake up, so he could tell you what he wanted to say. Even as he gripped the phone and dialed his co-workers, all he wanted was to look into your eyes. The eyes that reflected himself. Before he could hit the dial button and start the call, those metal doors which had been sealed shut opened. Light filtered in from the moon and flashlights. The click of guns pointed at the two of you.

Dazai glanced to the side before hiding you behind him, still protective over you. Until he heard the sound of a familiar blonde's voice, he would not let you be exposed to danger. “Stand down, he’s… one of ours.” Kunikida yelled, before storming in with the other members behind him. They had all seen him rush out, the state he was in… it was only recommended by Ranpo they call in some officers just to surround the building. “Dazai...” Why was it so hard for the blonde to speak? Had he truly believed there was a shed of moral sense within his work partner? “Hands above your head… step away from the girl.'' It was a plea more than an order.

Hesitation wasn’t something he normally dealt with. Dazai looked back to you before realizing the smallest movement of your fingers. Immediately he grabbed your hand. A warning shot echoed missing his head by mere centimeters. It wasn’t like he cared though, a bullet could kill him right away. There would be no pain, so what if it wasn’t suicide. At this point, he was fed up with living in a world like this. He was tired of not having a purpose. The only purpose he had was to protect you. He’d managed to fail that too. So without any emotion, he waved dismissively. “If you shoot me, you know I won’t care right?” There was silence as a gurgled noise escaped your lips.

It was relatively fast, your eyes shooting open as your hands reached to grab your abdomen. Nearly screaming out in pain until your eyes adjusted and noticed Dazai. Relief flooded into you as your body weakly reached for him. He let out a relieved choked noise, similar in sound to a sob. He cupped your cheek with that feeling in his chest before another warning shot fired. This time missing him by even less and cutting it close to your hands. Terrified your body reeled back.

Dazai put your safety first before comfort. So despite wanting to kiss you and finally express the feeling he knew you were aware of, he stood up and raised his hands above his head. Walking towards the lights, he kneeled and hung his head. He was rather surprised with how gentle he was pushed to the floor. The feeling of metal clasping his wrists wasn’t new. He’d been caught many times before this. Of course, he always escaped, returning to you. If he tried that now, he knew he risked your safety. Yet your shrieks passed the air as you were grabbed by two officers. Watching from the sidelines with solemn looks stood the rest of his co-workers. Atsushi, a young male orphan, Dazai, had been saved from starvation and death, couldn't understand what was going on. “Why… Dazai, why?” he whispered far too soft to be heard.

As Dazai was pulled to his feet and led away, you were left to scream and ignore the pain of blood gathering in your throat. No matter how much splattered from your lips you screamed for him. You struggled weakly against the arms of the officers. The blonde who had cuffed Dazai walked to you. Kneeling to your level, your eyes moved to read him. Using your ability to see his emotions, personality, and troubles. He was a good man, one who had strong morals. Only at that did you react and calm down. Letting a woman who shared his presence and whose aura you trusted heal you. “This is… my fault,” you whispered, finally feeling warmth fall down the soft skin of your cheeks. As a brunette looked over the crime scene with anger and disgust, he deducted everything within minutes. It was done by Dazai, and there were things he didn’t understand, but he knew enough to locate why this had happened.

“Please… don’t lock him away! If I had been stronger... if I had listened to Dazai’s advice none of this would have happened!” Despite being the victim of all of this, you couldn’t help but blame it all on yourself. “We still haven't gotten to try out the method I found.” gripping the sides of your arms, you looked up with the same expression Dazai often wore. The startled expression of his co-workers was expected. “We may have succeeded this time.” You whispered the words softly in your head, before passing out from exhaustion once more.

Dazai never ended up in prison, he’d slipped away the moment he could. All of this had been in your line of expectations. Walking into the apartment to see Dazai reading the suicide book had you running over to express your love in the form of asking him the question he always asked you. “Shall we commit a perfect, flawless double suicide?” you asked before seeing an excited glimmer in his eyes. Taking your hands in his, he nodded.

On that fateful night, two months after your abduction, two bodies were found. Cuddled close together under the sheets. Their bodies cold and pressed closed. A swift easy death within slumber.

#bsd #dark bsd fic #bsd x reader #bsd angst #bsd x reader angst #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo strayd dogs angst #bungo stray dogs x reader angst #dazai #dazai x reader #dazai angst #dazai x reader angst #dark dazai fic #dazai x y/n #slight dark content #mentions of abuse #heavy gore #seriously this is dark

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amor-immortalem · 3 years

Text

Can I Stay Up Here With You Forever ch.8

Warning(s): Nothing just fluff

If you want to be tagged or if you’re already tagged and wish not to be, please let me know.

Tag list @mediocredetective @it-hurts-when-i-blink @ima-simp-uwu @luckyauthorlampknight

The pair of brothers spent the rest of the night in Mammon’s room. Around dinner time they were joined by the twins who had brought tonight’s dinner. They had decided to eat with their second eldest brother, having heard from Satan who had heard from Lucifer that Mammon had had a particularly rough day at school and figured sharing a hot meal together would be a good way to comfort him. Even Levi stopped by after they had finished eating, bringing plenty of games that he and Mammon enjoyed playing together -along with the appropriate console- after they had first fallen so Levi wouldn’t go feral from his self-isolation.

It felt like they were a proper family once more- light teasing and proper brotherly bickering occurring between the five of them, making sure to keep things at a level that was normal for siblings and a far cry from the vicious words they would throw Mammon’s way. They had all spent so long playing that eventually they had all fallen asleep together on or around Mammon’s couch with Belphie being the first to conk out for the night.

When they all awoke in the morning, Asmo told their brothers about the plan to help Mammon escape to the human world and about how they were going to be uncles.

“Let me go with you,” Beel responded eagerly, “If Lucifer finds out before you guys can get away, my strength will come in handy to buy you all a little time.”

“Beel, as much as I appreciate it, I can’t let you do that ta yourself.” Mammon says, a worried look in his blue and gold eyes. “Ya know what happens if ya stand against our brother’s authority. I mean look at what he did to Belphie when he went against Lucifer and Lord Diavolo over the exchange programme.”

“Yeah, locking me in the attic was a shitty move on his part but still, Lucifer is acting like a fucking tyrant.” Belphegor agreed. “I mean we’re all pretty scared of the monster he’s turning into, but what he’s doing to you is wrong. And we heard about the gaslighting incident at school yesterday. That was really fucked up- and you’re the favorite. Imagine what will happen to us after he finds out.”

The brothers all nodded at that.

“An’ that’s why I don’t want y’all doin’ it.” Mammon said sternly. “You two’re the youngest an’ while yer both strong in yer own right, the two of ya can’t hold a candle ta our brother.”

“What if Satan and I went along with you?” Levi asked, “Sure, Lucifer’s power output is over 9000 but Asmo, Satan, and I should be enough to at least match that for enough time for you and Solomon to get through the portal...”

“That would work.” Asmo nodded as they had a contemplative look on their face. “Actually, we’d stand a better chance if the twins go too.”

“You guys would really do this for me?” The Avatar of Greed looks around the room at all of his brothers before letting out a soft chuckle, “Guess Lucifer was right ‘bout one thing... you guys really do care.” He can’t help the tearful smile that creeps its way onto his features.

“Of course we do. We always did but we never showed it in the way we should have,” the fifth-born threw their arms around their older brother and was soon joined by their other brothers. “I mean we’re the ones who promised we’d change and we went back on that almost immediately.”

“We’re a family and you’re an important part of that too.” The Avatar of Envy says as they all press their foreheads together like they did back in the Celestial Realm before they went to war. “You keep things lively for us.”

“So it’s decided, right?” Beel asks, “We’re really going to do this? Together?”

“Together.” A sixth voice echoes from the upper level as the five of them pull away and turn their attention to Satan. He has a genuine smile on his face as he slides down on the railing of Mammon’s staircase like he used to do as a toddler. “Lucifer’s gone, by the way. Went up to the Demon Lord’s castle for a weekend meeting with Diavolo. If we’re going to make our move, it has to be tomorrow. So, everyone, get packed. I already booked four of us a hotel to stay at so Arella doesn’t have to put us up for however many months it is before the baby’s born. Asmo, you said you’d be staying with Solomon, right?”

“Right,” The Avatar of Lust nods. “Alright everyone, get ready.”

And just like that, the siblings dispersed to go about their packing.

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Arella can’t wait. After hearing of the news from Solomon a few days ago, the excitement started to grow. What she didn’t know was if Mammon had found out if she was pregnant yet. What would his reaction be? Surprise? Excitement? Something else? Anxiety filled her as it had been doing over these past few months so she picks up her D.D.D. that no longer has service and opened up her photo gallery which also had little videos of her and Mammon together.

The sound of his voice is comforting to her. It makes things feel much less lonely in the silent house- even with Aubrie visiting- but it also has the added effect of helping their baby recognize his father’s voice. With the little one showing signs of being able to hear the outside world earlier than expected and hijacking her magic to protect them when he felt frightened, the last thing she needed was the sound of a voice he didn’t recognize setting off one of the many protective spells in her repertoire. His favourite thing to do was erect a magical barrier around them to keep a threat away. Thank heavens normal humans weren’t able to see things like that.

As she selected a video- one of all the brothers and her together at Diavolo’s birthday party last year- she set it on top of the small bump that she had started showing a couple weeks ago. She could feel her son’s powerful little kicks to the side of her womb.

“Easy now, little one. You’re going to cause bruising with kicks like that.” Arella says as she rubs a hand over the front of her belly and she feels a turning sensation shortly after. “You certainly are active this evening. Your Daddy’s coming back to us tomorrow, okay? And five of your uncles as well so don’t be scared when you hear their voices. They won’t hurt you or me. They may be demons but deep down they’re a good lot.”

As the video playing on the D.D.D ended, Arella picked up a children's book and began reading aloud to her unborn child.

“Rells, I’m going to go back to my hotel. Do you need anything before I go?” Aubrie asked as she leaned against the door frame. “I’ll be back tomorrow to help you out before the boys get here- tomorrow is the day, right?”

“I don’t need anything but yes, tomorrow’s the day.” Arella smiles.

“Oh, I bet you’re excited.” The ginger smiles. “Alright, I’ll get going. See you tomorrow.”

Arella only nodded as she watched Aubrie go.

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The House of Lamentation held a slight air of chaos to it this morning due to the brothers running around for last minute packing. They barely had time for breakfast but since Mammon had the least number of items to pack, he was voted for breakfast duty while Satan covered dish duty. Today’s breakfast: Pancakes, scrambled eggs, and bacon. As everyone sat down to eat, there was constant chatter about things they would do while up in the mortal realm during the months they would be staying.

While they were cleaning up, Solomon made his appearance. Asmo welcomed him with a hug as they quickly pulled the sorcerer along to Mammon’s room to get him so they could go. They both watch as he doesn’t react to their entrance instead seeming lost in his thoughts as he runs his thumb over an old, worn piece of grimm. Not even calling his name was enough to pull him from his zoned-out state. It wasn’t until Solomon placed a careful hand on the second-born's shoulder that Mammon looked up at them.

“Are you ready to go?” Solomon asks with a smile.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” The demon returns the smile, “Whenever everyone else is ready...”

Soon the rest of the brothers join them and it's time to go. Everyone grabs their bags or suitcases and load them up in the van that had been rented for them. Solomon was in charge of driving them to their destination.

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Find more on my Masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #obey me! shall we date?#obey me fluff #obey me mammon #mammon fluff #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me solomon

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theleemark · 3 years

Text

christmas lights.

genre: strangers to lovers; royal au; lots of fluff

word count: 4091

pairing: prince!johnny suh x princess!female reader

synopsis: an arranged marriage between you and the prince from another kingdom whose name you didn’t even know.

warnings: language (uhh i think that is it)

a/n: hello! happy holidays and merry christmas (if you celebrate it)! i hope everyone is having a good time! this fic is for my secret santa, @notnctu!! i tried to add angst but absolutely failed :( but i still hope you enjoy it! much love to you!!

thank you for hosting this amazing event, @neoculturechristmas! this was really fun :)

“Are you fucking serious?” You crossed your arms, scoffing in disbelief.

“Does it look like I’m kidding?” Mark Lee said, leaning against your doorframe. Like all princesses (aka to-be queens), you, Princess of Astoria, had a personal knight or butler who would be by your side till the very end- and that was Mark Lee. However you and Mark became super close to the point where he was your brother from another mother.

You huffed, tugging on your blouse to adjust the way it fits your body. “Did Mother tell you that I was meeting him tomorrow? As in a couple of hours from now?”

Mark glanced behind your shoulder, checking the time. “Yes, the Winter Ball is in fact in a couple of hours. And yes, you will be meeting your future husband there.”

Your lip formed a tight smile, moving aside to let Mark into your room. He gently bowed down out of habit from greeting the other royals before sitting down on your bed. Closing the door, you rushed over and flopped right beside him.

“I think it's so stupid that I’m getting married off,” You started, staring up at the smooth ceiling.

“It’s a tradition in Astoria for the Princess to be married off once she comes of age,” Mark’s gaze lingered on you for a second before he let out a sigh. “Yeah, I guess it sucks but at least I’ve heard good things about your to-be husband. Cause some of the princes from other kingdoms are so terrible to the point where I don't even know if I can be civil around them.”

“Is that so?” You raised an eyebrow at him.

“Yeahhhh,” he stretched his limbs out and lied down next to you. “The drama I hear from the maids is very spicy.”

You let out a soft chuckle before sitting up, turning your head to look down at Mark. “I don't even know what this guy’s name is though.”

“Johnny,” Mark’s eyelashes fluttered open and shut as a small smile lingered on his face. “Johnny Suh. Prince of Neo.”

The Winter Ball hosted by Astoria was an annual event that gathered all the surrounding kingdoms. Consisting of traditional dances, games of poker, and tons of food (including a chocolate fountain), it was normal for not only noble people to attend but also people who live in the kingdoms.

Therefore the ballroom had to be gigantic- and it was. The fairy lights sprawled across the room, dangling from the ceiling like stars. Sky blue and white, Astoria’s colors, were splattered across the walls making the room feel open and inviting. Tables covered with sweets and appetizers lined the middle of the room, creating a zig-zag pattern. In the very front of the ballroom was a stage with ruby red drapes adorned with white snowflake looking crystals shining from the light.

The microphone that was front and center of that stage was where your parents would announce the news of your wedding, and just the thought of that made your stomach churn.

“Good afternoon, Princess,” a woman with soft brown eyes and silky dark hair announced. You watched her through the mirror as she moved elegantly, hips swaying slightly. “I’ll be doing your makeup for today. Is there anything in particular that you want or I should know before starting?”

As your eyes met hers through the mirror, a smile danced upon your lips before shaking your head from side to side. “Not really. Whatever you feel suits me, do it.”

“Alright,” Her smile emulated yours as she picked up your moisturizer, pumping out a bit and dotting it across your face. “Let's get started, shall we?”

“Holy shit, you look beautiful. L-like ethereal!” Mark exclaimed, wide-eyed. His grin took up the entire bottom half of his face as he saw you do a twirl. “The outfit, the makeup, the hair, everything works and makes you look stunning.”

“Thank you, Mark,” you replied giddily, gently bowing down to greet him.

Softly, you placed your hand into his and let him escort you into the ballroom that was now packed with people from a diverse number of kingdoms. Your heart was thumping and almost burst out of your chest at the thought that you would be meeting your future husband in less than a minute. Remembering what Mark said, you tried to not make any negative or super positive assumptions about Johnny- just a neutral perspective until you got to know him.

“Calm down, ____. You’ll be fine, I promise,” Mark whispered in front of a large ballroom door. “Plus, I’m only a couple of feet away from you, shout for me if you need anything.”

Opening the doors was like entering an entirely new world. Liveliness filled the room, and the smell of food wafted through the air.

However, as people noticed your presence, the casual conversation was replaced with gaping mouths and awes- The Princess of Astoria was here.

With one last look of reassurance, Mark let go of your hand and let you walk through the crowded room. Step by step, you had heads turning as you made your way up to the stage. On your way, you made sure to give everyone soft smiles until your eyes gazed over a figure in the background. Tall, with a smirk on his face and curious eyes. Who was he?

As you got up to the stage, you stood by your parents who proudly beamed down at you.

“Greetings everyone. Welcome to the 70th annual Winter Ball of Astoria,” your father, the king, said through the microphone. “This year’s ball is endearingly special because I am proud to announce that my daughter’s marriage with the Prince of Neo, Johnny Suh.”

Applause erupted throughout the room and glasses clinked from either end. Your eyes scanned the crowd to find the mysterious man from earlier, but he seemed to have disappeared.

But then he was next to you- and wow. Although you could only see his side profile, you could tell he was ethereal. His sharp jawline angled eyebrows, and chiseled cheekbones seemed to compliment his styled black hair. The suit he was wearing was expensive- a rich black adorned with a silky satin dress shirt. The watch on his wrist seemed to shine like a diamond as he briefly adjusted it before locking eyes with you.

You forgot where you were for a second.

They say eyes are the window to one’s soul, and if that is true, Johnny Suh’s is the most beautiful. The deep brown pierced into yours, and everything faded. Your attention was on nothing but him and him only. Time warped and you didn't even notice until your mother, the queen, gently tapped your shoulder.

Breaking the strong gaze between you two, a glass of champagne was passed into your hand. You raised it in the air, mimicking your mother.

“To a successful marriage filled with respect and longevity!” Your father clinked his glass with Johnny’s father, King of Neo, before also doing the same with Johnny.

You raised your eyebrows at Johnny, urging him to put his glass up to yours as well, but he just stared at you blankly before politely greeting your mother.

Withholding a scoff, you greeted both his parents with a tight-lipped smile before taking a long sip from your glass.

Let’s just hope this all goes okay.

“Look he’s hot, but he's kind of distant. Cold almost,” you blurted to Mark as you packed your bags. As to adhere to traditions, the princess must stay with the husband-to-be a day before the wedding, which was in two days.

“I mean at least he’s hot,” Mark shrugged his shoulders only to be smacked in the face with your shirt. “But seriously, I’ve heard that he's a sweetheart.”

“Okay well, I guess not with me,” You said, slightly disappointed since you didn't even get the chance to talk to him.

Mark let out a sigh before passing you a folded bathroom robe. “I’m sure once you start talking to him he’ll show more of his true nature.”

“And if it makes you feel better, he probably thought the same way about you,” Mark suggested, chuckling as he did so. “You do have a cold aura when you aren't smiling.”

“Really?” A surprised gasp left your mouth.

“Really,” Mark confirmed, reaching over to finish zipping up your suitcase. He patted it once to ensure everything was secure before placing it upright on the ground.

“Now,” he started with a grin, “have fun with your future husband.”

You rolled your eyes at him before flicking his head. “I’ll try, Mark.”

You have never been to the Kingdom of Neo before, but you could already tell it would take some time to adjust.

Neo was known for its music and weaponry- two contradicting things but also why Astoria decided to form a treaty with Neo in the form of your marriage. Astoria did have a handful of top tier blacksmiths and weaponry makers, but nothing like Neo.

In Neo, every street has at least one weaponry shop and blacksmiths scattered across the kingdoms like stars. Each with their specialty, a diverse number of weapons comes with schools specialized for each one. Neo not only has weapons, but they damn well know how to use them.

You have only been trained with a bow and arrow and a dagger, which you always keep on you. Although you are pretty damn good with it, you know that it's nothing compared to Johnny, who grew up with training his entire life.

The engine of the car turning off halted your thoughts. In front of you was a massive stone castle with a rose garden around its perimeter. Johnny stood in between his parents at the huge front doors. He had a blank expression on his face- no excitement but disappointment either.

“Welcome, sweetheart!” His mother said, rushing up to give you a tight hug. A smile automatically took over as you squeezed her back; Her happiness was contagious.

“I hope you enjoy your stay here,” His father comes and pats your back. “The wedding plans are practically done and now we just need to finalize them before tomorrow.”

You gave him a silent nod as he ruffled your hair. Looking over at Johnny, you noticed his gaze was on you guys but his expression hasn't changed. He starts coming over when he notices you looking back at him. Your heartbeat began to quicken, and you quickly bowed down to greet him.

Likewise, he bowed down and greeted you with a small, short-lived smile. “Welcome, Princess.”

Stunned by his low pitched and raspy voice, your mouth gaped before you gathered yourself together. “T-Thank you.”

Johnny turned around quickly, and you, along with his parents, followed him into the palace.

“Johnny,” his father announced. “Why don’t you give ___ a tour?”

“Maybe they’ll get to know each other a bit as well,” his mother giggled in response, looking up her husband.

“Yes father,” Johnny replied curtly, eyes shifting to your figure in between them. With a simple nod of the head, he silently asked you to follow him.

Leaving his parents behind, you quickly-paced yourself to catch up with him, walking by him, shoulder-to-shoulder.

The first place he took you to was the main room, one filled with gold adorned couches and expensive bottles of wine lining the walls. The silence was so thick you could cut it with a knife, but that all changed when he eventually showed you his room.

“Yeah, this is my room,” he opened the door, and you were greeted with a dark blue room. Scanning the area, your eyes fell on a specific poster that seemed to stir up memories.

“You listen to Coldplay?” you asked, taking a closer look at the poster hanging above his bed.

Johnny whipped his head towards you with brightened eyes and a grin on his face. “Yeah! I love them!”

Mirroring him, a huge grin took over your face. He looked so happy talking about Coldplay, and the image of his smile was now embedded into your memory. “Do you have a favorite song by them?”

“I’d say ‘Yellow’ or even ‘The Scientist’,” he replied giddily looking down at you. “What about you?”

“Hmm,” you started, fingers grazing over the bouquet of sunflowers underneath the poster. “I’d also say ‘Yellow’, but ‘Christmas Lights’ hits different during this time of the year.”

“‘Christmas Lights’ is so good!”

“I can’t celebrate Christmas without it,” you laughed back. His deep brown eyes lightened at your response.

Although the conversation was short-lived, your eyes caught a flutter of something outside.

“Hey,” you pierced out the window. “Is it snowing outside?”

Quizzically, Johnny walked over to his window. Peering over his shoulder, you saw flurries of snow coating the grass. “Yes, Princess, it is in fact snowing.”

You frowned at the way he addressed you. “You can call me ___, you know?”

“Okay, ____,” Johnny teased, but the way your name sounded in his voice just felt right. “It is snowing- and a lot.”

“Well…,” Impulsively, you grabbed his arm and pointed outside. “You want to go out? Maybe have a snowball fight? Or not, that's okay-”

“No, no, no,” Johnny interrupted, bashfully looking at your hand before meeting your eyes. “Let’s do it.”

“Just know,” he smirked, walking over to his closet and tossing you one of his coats. “I won't be going easy on you.”

“Never expected you to,” you said, putting on his jacket which was way too big on you, but kept you comfy. You zipped it up and smiled up at him, watching his once cold demeanor melt.

Maybe Mark was right.

Johnny was a master snowball fighter, and as much as you hate to admit it, he was a tiny bit better than you. Only a tiny bit.

“Are you ready to give up?” He taunted with a gigantic snowball in his hands, ready to drop it on you. You slipped on the ground a minute ago and haven't stopped laughing, so Johnny took that as defeat.

“W-wait please,” you pleaded, still in a fit of giggles as Johnny brought the snowball closer to you. “I surrender! I surrender!”

“Too bad,” Johnny shrugged and proceeded to drop it on you.

“I’mf gomma kill you!” your words were muffled by the snow, causing Johnny to erupt with laughter. Huffing, you got on your feet and chased after him, throwing snowball after snowball.

Chasing him around the front of the castle, you finally hit him with a snowball in the back of his head.

“Ouch!” Johnny dramatically stopped and turned around. “I’m so getting you back for that.”

Not being able to stop yourself you crashed into Johnny’s chest. The snow being slippery, Johnny slid backward but managing to wrap his arms around your waist, stopping you from getting hurt. His back hit the ground with a thud, and your eyes widened.

“Johnny!” Still on his chest, you looked up at him to see if he was okay. Sitting up, your right hand automatically cupped his jaw and the other lifted his head up from the ground.

“I’m fine,” A small groan escaped his lips as he rolled over on his right side, facing your body. His face melted into your touch as his eyes fluttered open to see you. “Don't worry, cutie.”

“Uh..” Your body temperature spiked, and you didn't know whether to blame it on chilly weather or Johnny calling you ‘cutie’. “L-let's go inside.”

“It is getting dark anyway,” With your right hand gripping his, you dragged him up to his feet. Johnny dusted the snow off from his pants and also dusted some off from the top of your head. The small contact made your heart flutter, and the feeling was taking over your mind.

After eating with Johnny's family, it was time for you to get some rest before the wedding ceremony tomorrow.

The maids guided you to an extravagant bathroom for you to wash up, and right after they pointed towards Johnny's room.

“Princess, you’ll be sleeping in Johnny's room tonight,” the maid said nonchalantly.

“What?” You gasped, neck-snapping to face her. “W-we're not even married yet? Is that even okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, handing you a nightgown for you to change into. “You two will be married in less than twenty-four hours so…”

“Goodnight, princess,” she winked at you before gently pushing you in the direction of his door. “Sleep well before your big day tomorrow.”

As the maid left, leaving you stunned, you turned the doorknob to Johnny’s bedroom. Taking a step instead, you expected an empty bedroom but instead, you were greeted with Johnny in nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

“I’m sorry!” you squeaked, covering your eyes and slamming the door behind you. You never attempted to imagine Johnny without a shirt, but now that you’ve witnessed the sight, you can't seem to get it out of your mind. The water dripping from his hair onto his chest, the flex of his biceps, and the toned abs made you crazy. Before you knew it, a blush settled across your cheeks and the heat seemed to fog your thoughts.

“___, I’m dressed,” Johnny calling your name broke you out of your trance. “You can come back in.”

You hummed in response, cracking open the door to see him with his arms crossed.

“Also,” Johnny grabbed a pillow from the bed and placed it on the small couch beside him. “You can take the bed, and I’ll take the couch.”

“Wait,” you said, looking at the couch and then at him. “You shouldn't have to, I can take the couch-”

“It's okay,” he interrupted, raising an eyebrow at you as he sat down.

Your mouth opened to retort back, but seeing no point you smiled at him and went to go change into your nightgown. The satin nightgown slipped over your body, and you patted down any creases.

When you opened the door, leaving his bathroom, you saw Johnny cramped onto the couch. His body was shifting, turning right and left to find a comfortable position to sleep in. Guilt surged inside of you as you watched him squeeze himself into an uncomfortable position to ensure that you weren't uncomfortable.

“Johnny?” Heart swelling with love, you gently tapped on his shoulder, causing him to shudder in surprise. “Do you want to sleep beside me on the bed?”

Johnny blinked a couple of times. “Huh?”

You pointed towards his bed with your thumb. “Join me.”

“A-are you sure? Wouldn't y-you feel uncomfortable?” He sat up, looking up at you.

“No,” You shook your head, laughing at his innocent eyes. “We can put a little pillow barrier between us.”

With his eyes, Johnny silently asked if it was really okay, and you rolled your eyes at him. You grabbed his arms and dragged him to the bed before you slipped under the covers. Taking a cylinder-shaped pillow, you placed it between the two of you before smiling at him. “Goodnight, Johnny.”

Johnny looked at you with sparkling eyes. “Goodnight, ___. Sleep well, cutie.”

And with butterflies in your stomach, your eyes fluttered shut, and sleep took over.

The morning sun beamed onto your face, causing you to grumble. Your eyes peered open, and it hit you that you were not in your usual room- you were in Johnny’s room. With widened eyes, you tried to move but an arm with a strong grip on your waist kept you from doing so.

When you turned your head to the side, you were met with Johnny peacefully sleeping. His forehead rested on your shoulder, and his breathing was steady. His messy hair sprawled across the pillow, and the arm that was not tightened around you was underneath his head.

This was a sight you could get used to every morning.

Not knowing what suddenly urged you to do so, you placed a small kiss on the top of his head before trying to squeeze out his grip. You knew Johnny was strong, but you didn't expect him to be this strong. And there was no way you would be leaving the bed anytime soon.

Sighing in defeat, you laid beside him, finger twirling a strand of his hair until he finally let out a small groan.

“Morning,” you smiled, watching his face contort in tiredness.

“Morning, cutie,” he grumbled. His morning voice was even deeper and much raspier, causing your stomach to churn. “Can we just stay like this for a second?”

“Sure,” you laughed, continuing to play with his hair as he snuggled closer to you. “What happened to our pillow barrier though?”

“Don’t know and don't care,” he mumbled into your shoulder. His hot breath tickled your skin, inciting butterflies, once again.

Before you could reply, a knock on your door interrupted the moment. “Prince. Princess. Ceremony in four hours!”

“Four hours?” you say in disbelief. “Get up, Johnny. We need to get ready.”

“But ____,” he whined, pulling you closer to him.

You rolled your eyes and flicked him on the forehead. Your heart swelled at how clingy he was. “If we're late, it's your fault.”

“That's okay!” he sighed with content, eyes still closed but a smile formed on his lips. “As long as I have you, I’m good.”

You and Johnny barely made it in time to your own wedding.

Scrambling, the maids quickly got both of you ready and pushed you out the front door and into a large room where all the people from Neo and Astoria gathered. On an elevated platform, your family and Johnny’s family both awaited your arrival. Although you and Johnny entered the room from opposite sides, both of you walked up the platform and sat on the large gold-adorned chairs in the front of the room. Everyone's eyes were on you two, but you and Johnny couldn't get your eyes off each other.

“You look beautiful, Princess,” Johnny smirked, looking you up and down. “Blue has always been and will always be such an elegant color on you.”

“Thank you, my Prince,” you replied, hiding any bashful expression that may have resulted from his comment. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

His smile grew wide, causing yours to match his.

“Welcome to the marriage between ___ of Astoria and Johnny Suh of Neo,” your father announced, patting Johnny’s father on the back. “Through this marriage, both kingdoms will form a lifelong alliance, and I am pleased to say that I am very happy about this.”

“We will start by exchanging rings,” Johnny's father said. With a snap of his fingers, two rings were brought and handed to both you and Johnny.

You put your hand out, and Johnny gently took it. His fingers wrapped around the diamond ring and, carefully, he slid it onto your ring finger. Before he let go, he placed a small kiss on your hand.

With a big grin, you took his hand in yours, sliding on the ring as well.

Everyone erupted in joy. You look over to your parents, only to see Mark, who gives you a smile along with an “I told you so” look on his face. He mouthed “congratulations” and you couldn’t help but want to give him a big hug. Your mother and Johnny's mother seemed to be holding back tears while both fathers were excitedly toasting their drinks.

Happiness oozed out of every person, which in turn made you feel so happy that you felt as if your heart would burst any second.

“Snowball fight after this?” Johnny jokingly whispered amongst the beautiful chaos that filled the room.

“We just got married and you’re thinking about having a snowball fight?” you replied, teasing him a bit to see his reaction.

“Well we could do something else,” Johnny winked at you.

You scoffed at his suggestive thoughts, lighting punching his bicep. “Hold up, buddy. You don't even know my favorite color!”

“Shit, you're right,” His eyes widened in realization before he whispered back. “What’s your favorite color?”

“White, my love,” you giggled.

“My love?” He placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. “I think I can get used to you calling me that.”

“You should,” you retorted. “Also wanna listen to 'Christmas Lights’ after this?”

“Not a snowball fight, but I’ll take it,” Johnny chuckled before looking straight into your eyes. “Besides, I can’t say no to Coldplay.”

“And I definitely cannot say no to you, cutie.”

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floating-mid-air · 3 years

Text

The Princess of All Saiyans

Masterlist

Hey guys. I ended up taking a bit of a break from this fic, but I'm back now. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about this chapter yet. I've been getting a bit impatient as of recent. I just have so many ideas for this story that I can't use yet. I also just wanted to take a second to thank everyone for their support. I never expected anyone to actually read this story, so it means a lot. Anyways on to the chapter.

Chapter 8

Quite some time has passed since your initial imprisonment in this dim cavern. And yes, you're still stuck with the half-breed. Though Zarbon left some time ago. Leaving an alarming number of foot-soldiers behind, who now surround the ruins of what was once a Namekian village. You could effortlessly eliminate those vermin, but you're not willing to take the chance. Not with a Dragon Ball in your possession.

All you can hear are the grating voices of Frieza's men from outside the cave. They're somehow significantly more irritating than the kid. You didn't even think that was possible. So you do the only thing you could think of to block out the obnoxious murmuring. You decide to actually interact with the brat. "Your mother can't be thrilled about your excursion to Namek. Considering she's human and all." Would this be classified as small talk? Or is it too heavy of a topic? You've never been good with this sort of thing.

He looks at you, his eyes wide in disbelief. From the little interaction the two of you have had, Gohan never believed you would be the one to initiate conversation. "Actually, my mom died when I was little." Well, this turned out to be the worst topic you could've possibly chosen. You observe him carefully. He doesn't seem upset, so at least you won't have to deal with him crying. "Y/N. What's having a mom like?"

You're positive that Saiyan mother's behaviors differ from what would be considered normal on Earth. At least, you think, you don't have much experience with motherly figures yourself. "I couldn't tell you, kid. My mother died when I was an infant." Gohan's face falls. He might never know how an average parent should behave. "I'd ask Raditz, though. He can talk your ear off about your grandmother."

"Was she---you know---like you?"

You chuckle, tilting your head backward. "What? You mean evil? No, from what I've heard, she was one of those weak Saiyans. She lacked the basic instinct--- kinda like your moronic father."

A grin spreads across the brat's lips as his eyes meet yours. "You know, you're not so bad after all."

Your expression instantly hardens at his words. "This doesn't mean we're allies now." You direct your attention outside. Those underlings must have gotten careless. You can't even detect a singular soldier that stayed behind. "Come on, it's safe to go."

You push the boulder out of the way, finally exiting the cave. The brat follows, holding the camouflaged orb in hand. "Now, let's solve this little Dragon Ball issue." You cut yourself off, directing your gaze toward Vegeta's power level. He's currently mid-battle with who you believe is Zarbon. Looks like the green-haired narcissist was able to track down your brother after all. You're not worried. Vegeta seems to be inflicting most of the damage.

Something else piques your interest, though, the three other power sources near your brother. One of them is definitely Raditz. Another is unfamiliar to you. It's almost insect-like that must be the Earth woman. And lastly, you believe that bald earthling is there as well. He's much more powerful than he was when you saw him earlier today. How peculiar. "Well, looks like we're heading to the same place after all." You float up into the air. "You coming or not?" He nods, trailing behind you as you both travel to the location of the battle.

You and Gohan strategically maneuver yourselves behind a hill, your eyes intently focused on the battle. You can clearly see Zarbon and Vegeta, as well as Raditz. You move your gaze to the two earthlings, who are both quivering in fear. You can't help but wonder who they're more terrified of, whether it's Zarbon's hideous transformation or your brother.

You turn back to the half-breed, who's about to blow your cover. Before he can fly into the chaos to "save" his friends, you grab onto the back of his shirt. "You don't want to get yourself tangled up with Zarbon. There's no quicker way to get yourself and your friends killed. As long as Zarbon is focused on Vegeta, your friends will be fine." You maintain a tight grip on the purple fabric. You don't trust the brat one bit. "Did that Namekain teach you nothing about self-control?"

He looks up at you, furrowing his brows. "How did you know I trained with Piccolo?"

A breathy sigh escapes your lips. "Well, since Kakarot was dead, I figure someone competent must have trained you. Plus, you're wearing the same attire as that Namekian. It doesn't take a brainiac to figure it out." You switch your attention back to the battlefield, letting go of your grip on Gohan.

While Vegeta is distracted with Zarbon, you can feel energy rapidly approaching their vicinity. Your brother has his back turned, so it must be a sneak attack on him. Before whatever it is can even strike, you teleport in front of Vegeta, grasping onto the foot soldier's fist, freezing the creature in place. "Too slow." A devilish smirk appears on your features.

"Y/N. I was wondering when you'd finally make an appearance." It seems this transformation doesn't just affect Zarbon's characteristics, but it distorts his voice as well.

"Zarbon. I see you've let yourself go." Taking shots at his looks should be the best way to throw Zarbon off his game.

You let go of the orange alien, pushing him backward. His eyes narrow at you, clenching his right hand, checking for any lasting damage. "How dare you speak to Zarbon in such a manner! He's your superior in every way."

"Shh." You bring a finger up to your lips. "The grown-ups are talking." As fun as patronizing this insect is, you know this encounter will have to escalate sooner rather than later.

Vegeta turns to you, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. "I hope your intentions were not to involve yourself in my battle."

"I know better than to get involved when you're out for blood, Vegeta." You chuckle. "I'll make do with this half-wit. I just have to figure out a way to draw out the battle." You rub your chin, contemplating the best way to decrease your efficiency. "I got it." You wrap your dominant hand behind your back. "I'll fight this weakling one-handed."

"You cocky Saiyan, bitch." The creature snarls, stepping closer to you. "I don't think I've ever seen you fight one of your own battles. You know what I think. You're only feared because of Vegeta." Everyone around you grows silent, well except, for Raditz. His laughter echoes around the rocky terrain. The Saiyan finds this humorous, not because of the alien's words, but because he knows the orange creature has just taken his last breath.

Your aloof gaze remains locked on the ugly creature, your head slightly tilted. "You know what. I was being quite generous before." You move your other arm behind your back, clasping your hands together. "I don't even need one."

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the half-breed, who has now joined his friends. He's jumping up and down as Krillin stares at him in bewilderment. "I'm excited. We're finally going to get to see her fight."

"Gohan." Krillin's timid voice invades your ears. "I think you're starting to act a bit too much like your dad."

It becomes clear to you that your opponent won't make the first move, so you'll have to take charge of the situation. You turn to Vegeta, who has Zarbon in a headlock. "If you don't mind Vegeta. I'd like to go first."

He nods, chuckling to himself. "Oh, be my guest. The floor is all yours."

You descend to the ground, centering yourself on the terrain. "Alright, let's get going. I don't have all day. So show me the best you got." The alien shoots toward you, swinging his fists blindly. He doesn't even seem to have a proper strategy. Is this really the best the Frieza Force has to offer? A being who lacks basic combat abilities.

You dodge every single potential blow, speeding back and forth at a slow pace. An earthling could even evade these strikes. This is pitiful. It's clear that whoever's responsible for training these buffoons has been cutting corners.

"Stop dodging!" The creature shrieks in pure frustration.

A wolfish grin appears on your face. It's fitting you're the predator while he's the prey. "Well, if you insist." At light speed, you swing your leg upwards, kicking his chin. Blood rushes from the corners of his lips as the orange creature spits out multiple stray teeth. You continue your merciless assault, alternating between striking his face and torso. "Don't be mistaken. I don't fight because a woman of my status doesn't have to handle such demeaning tasks, like exterminating pathetic life forms. Beings similar to yourself, but don't get me wrong. I'm more than happy to make an example out of you."

You fling up into the air. Your boot effortlessly connects with his face. Sending the alien hurdling backward. As soon as he regains balance, you teleport behind him. You may not be able to use your hands to form a blast, but you think you'll be able to direct the energy to your lower body. "I like to call this the Dust Charge." Heavy winds form around the battlefield, dragging dirt particles into the air supply, causing numerous dust clouds to emerge. The Dust Charge is not an attack perse. It's more of a red herring, a simple distraction tactic for your actual move.

"What's this supposed to do?" He chuckles mockingly. "Take my eyes out?" You don't understand why everyone always underestimates you. It's frustrating to not be taken seriously by your opponent. Especially when you outrank them in all aspects of life.

You've navigated yourself into one of the many dust clouds. This should be effective in concealing your next move. You focus all of your energy on your lower body, causing a pink orb to appear right before your eyes. It lays motionless on the ground, almost resembling a soccer ball. It takes a few moments, but the pink ball of energy finally begins to swell. Now the orb compares in size to your pod.

Over the years, you've trained your eyesight to be unaffected by distraction tactics. So you can simply pinpoint the location of the alien. Once you do, you kick the orb in his direction. As soon as the creature absorbs the sphere, the dust clouds clear. Revealing your victory to the audience. You watch him crumble to the ground, screaming in agony. There is no visible damage to his body. Your nameless move is more of an internal attack. These sorts of attacks are much more sadistic in nature. Since they target your internal organs, resulting in complete organ failure.

You stride over to him, placing your boot on his head. Your aloof nature returns as you stomp on his head, crushing his skull. "Time to take out the trash." You unhook your hands, pointing them toward the limp body. You create a blast, vaporizing the corpse, successfully eliminating all remnants of the alien's existence.

"Alright. You've had your fun. Now it's time for the main event." There's no need to anger Vegeta. So you decide to comply. You fly over to the sidelines, landing next to Raditz.

The Earth woman turns to you, her eyes wide in terror. "Y- You squashed him."

You turn to meet her gaze. "That is how you kill insects, isn't it?"

"He was so weak. You didn't have to kill him!" Krillin interjects himself into your conversation.

"What the hell is wrong with your species?" You bring your hands to your temples, massaging them gently. "Let me put this in simple terms. If I let him live, he would've killed you, pathetic earthlings. Is that what you would've preferred? Because I can finish the job if you'd like."

The pair rapidly shakes their heads. "No. No. we're all good." Their voices shake, speaking simultaneously. Finally, you're getting the recognition you deserve. At least the earthlings take you seriously. That's better than nothing.

Raditz chuckles, shaking his head. "He challenged her pride. That's a death sentence itself." You don't think they have the brain capacity to understand the nature of a Saiyan. Being allies with the defect probably doesn't help either.

You look up at Raditz. "Is this what you've been dealing with?"

A breathy chuckle escaped his lips. "Oh, you have no idea."

You turn back to the fight, and it isn't that interesting. It's basically just Vegeta manhandling Zarbon. Your brother must have grown significantly stronger after getting the crap beat out of him so many times.

You suppress your laughter when Zarbon begs your brother for mercy. You're pretty sure that word no longer exists in Vegeta's vocabulary. Zarbon is one of the last beings in the entire universe, who your brother would even grant an inkling of sympathy. Similar to the other members of the Frieza Force, Zarbon offers to turn against his lord. It's apparent that none of Frieza's men are truly loyal to him. Bargaining with treason in return for you to spare their lives. Cui, Dedoria, and now Zarbon have all exhibited this same cowardly behavior. This is one of the many areas where you differ from those cowards. You'd never turn against Vegeta, even if it costs you your life.

Vegeta goes off on a tangent. The years of verbal abuse must have gotten to him too. "You want mercy? Oh, I'll show you mercy, all right." It's become transparent that Vegeta is going to show that narcissist the exact opposite of mercy. With a singular blast, your brother kills him. You watch Zarbon's corpse fling into the air, landing into the lake.

"Y-You call that mercy?" Krillin stutters. Well, apparently, your brother's intentions were not clear, to the earthlings after all. They really need to study the significance of tone.

"I'm disappointed." You huff. "I was expecting a bigger bang. Frankly, I would've been much crueler than that, Vegeta." You slowly stride over to Krillin. His comment from before did not sit well with you. So you intend to show him just how ruthless you can be. He also scares easily, so that's a bonus. He gulps nervously. As you tilt your head to become eye level with the human. "Firstly, I'd mutilate his face to destroy his vanity. Then I'd rip out his eyeballs and feed them to him. And then I'd kill Zarbon."

Vegeta chuckles. He knows how much you like intimidation. "Well, you have a much more sadistic imagination than I do, Y/N." He turns to Raditz, who's holding the one-star ball. "Now, a deal's a deal. Hand over your Dragon Ball." Clever, sparing their worthless lives for a possession of value. You wouldn't expect anything less from Vegeta.

Raditz looks from the humans to the half-breed. Before he can even calculate a plan, you sweep his legs out from under him. This successfully knocks the giant off balance, allowing you to catch the one-star orb. "Pleasure doing business with you."

You toss the ball to Vegeta. He looks down at the orb, smirking. "Now that we have all seven, immortality will be ours." You know for a fact that you only possess six Dragon Balls. Gohan has the four-star ball, and you don't care to let Vegeta know. Immortality isn't your desire. You want to die one day, at least hell, has your kind. An eternal life sounds more like a punishment than anything else.

Vegeta takes off first, and you shortly after him. It takes a while, but the two of you finally land in the ruins of that Namekian village. You're getting sick of constantly having to return to this horrid place. This better be the last time.

"So you didn't retrieve the Dragon Ball like I asked?"

"I couldn't find it." You flash him the best innocent smile that you can manage.

"Clearly, you didn't search hard enough." He sighs, running a hand through his spiky hair. "You know what they say. If you want something done right, you do it yourself." And with that, he jumps into the lake.

He's going to be furious when he figures out the Dragon Ball is gone. Vegeta hasn't wanted anything this much in a long time. This is where the two of you differ. As long as Frieza doesn't have the orbs, you're content. You don't care if the earthlings get them. And you care even less about what they desire to wish for. If they want to bring their loser friends back, so be it. You'll just have to kill them again. It shouldn't be difficult at all.

The splashes on the surface of the water become more erratic. Vegeta must be growing frustrated. He springs up from the water, shooting into the air. "That damn brat!" He takes off in the direction of the earthling's hideout. Looks like Vegeta figured out the truth all on his own, only you're not entirely sure how.

You chase after him, heading to the cave. But it's too late. They're already long gone. Vegeta murmurs various curse words under his breath, desperately trying to keep his temper in check. "Well, new plan. Y/N, you're going to babysit the Dragon Balls. While I have a play date to get to." He shoots back up into the air. "No one makes a mockery of me and gets to live to tell about it!"

"Wait! Vegeta!" You shout. "I don't know where you put them."

"That sounds like a you problem, little sister!" Vegeta takes off, escaping your view.

He's such an asshole. "This is going to take forever." You wine before taking off in your own pursuit. Only you're searching for several inanimate objects that lack a power level. If you wanna find those Dragon Balls, you'll have to think like Vegeta. So if you were Vegeta, you'd want to leave them somewhere secure, but where he'd be able to remember their location. With the land formations on Namek, the only place that makes sense is a cave system.

It was a shot in the dark, one that eventually paid off. You finally found those damn orbs. You sit down on one of the Dragon Balls. These orbs are much larger than the set on Earth. You sigh, placing your hands on the sides of your face. The reality of your situation has just set in. You could've very well run into Freiza, and that would've been game over for you. You could've died. You'll get back at Vegeta. Maybe you'll scare him half to death, make him think you did, in fact, die. The look on his face would be priceless.

Now you're bored. At times like this, you miss having Raditz to banter with or even having Nappa to mock. You have been wondering something for a while. Frieza must be running low on henchmen by now. Dodoria and Zarbon are dead, and you and Vegeta have taken out a fair share of his soldiers. You're also sure the earthlings have taken out a couple of those imbeciles as well. So isn't this about the time where Frieza will call for enforcements if he hasn't already?

You can sense a mass cluster of energy approaching Namek. The Ginyu Force, that's the only possible explanation. How didn't you come to this conclusion sooner? This is bad. This is really bad. From a glance, they appear to be a bunch of idiots, but they are far from that. Well, for the most part. Recoome may have suffered from some sort of brain damage.

This situation is far from ideal. You're all alone on Namek, and now the Ginyu force is running loose. Hopefully, they'll split up. If you encounter Jace, you'll probably be able to sweet-talk your way out, but if it's any of the other four, you're screwed.

You stop mid-panic. The perfect opportunity has just arisen. One that will make Vegeta eat his words, the perfect vengeance plan. He's probably going mad now. Filled with regret for leaving you alone now that the Ginyu Force is here. Oh, this will be good. You fly up, making a little burrow in a nearby hill. Hiding in the structure. This will give that dimwit brother of yours a good scare.

Meanwhile, with Bulma and Raditz:

Krillin and Gohan left a while ago, leaving the explosive pair alone in the ravine. This was poor thinking on Krillin's part. Raditz and Bulma had managed to avoid interaction while Bulma spruced up the hideout, making it more comfortable according to Earth standards. Instead of sitting at the table with Bulma, the Saiyan has placed himself on the stone floor with the Dragon Ball placed strategically beside him.

Bulma lets out an exaggerated sigh. It's taken all of Raiditz's energy not to kill that woman. He's honestly surprised with the extent of his own self-control. "I still can't believe Gohan and Krillin. They left me all alone. On an alien planet. With you." Is this how all Earth women behave? Do they just whine and complain all day? Raditz hopes that isn't the case. Maybe Bulma is just an irregularity.

Raditz shuts his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Do you ever stop complaining?"

"I'm a delicate flower Raditz. While you're a disgusting pig. I have the right to complain." Raditz snickers. If anyone's a disgusting pig, it's Bulma. She has the worst cleanliness he's ever seen. She never picks up after herself and then displaces her mess on others. She wouldn't last a day with Vegeta. One look at her uncleanly living quarters would cause the prince to throw a fit.

"A delicate flower that wanted to bang Zarbon."

"How was I supposed to know he'd turn all hideous? He was cute before."

Raditz cringes. Zarbon was a repulsive creature, no matter what form he possessed. "You must really love that boyfriend of yours, huh?" Yamcha may be dead, but from what Raditz has gathered, they're planning on reviving him. Unless do earthlings not mate for life as Saiyans do? That's a possibility Raditz hasn't considered yet.

Bulma's expression sours, her eyes narrowing at the taller man. "Yamcha was a stupid jerk who got himself killed." She crosses her arms. "I'm still mad at him."

Raditz furrows his brows, his mouth hung agape. "You know what. Remember how I said we did you a favor after we killed Yamcha. I've changed my mind now."

"Wow. Have you finally come to your senses?"

Raditz nods, a faint smirk ghosting his lips. "Oh, yes. Rather than you, I think we did Yamcha a massive favor."

Bulma proceeds to chew him out, which of course, the Saiyan ignores, rolling his eyes at the woman. Raditz holds up the orb, staring at it intently. If he were to bludgeon the Earth woman with this. How angry would the others be? It's a tough call for the Saiyan.

"Are you even listening to me?" Bulma shrieks as Raditz bangs his head against the rock. She's about to shout at him again, but three figures land in the ravine. Two of the creatures are Gohan and Krillin, while the third is unfamiliar.

Raditz stands up, looking up at the third silhouette. "Vegeta? What the hell are you doing here?"

"We need that Dragon Ball." Raditz picks up on Krillin's use of we. What could possibly be so dire to cause them to work together? Maybe hell has frozen over. Because that's the only explanation that Raditz could fathom.

"For what?"

"We don't have time for this, you imbecile!" Vegeta huffs. "The Ginyu Force is here!"

The larger Saiyan's eyes widen as he rabidly looks around. "Where's Y/N?"

"I left---" Vegeta's face drops, a twinkle of panic in his eyes. That's something Raditz has never seen from him in over twenty years. "God damn it!" Vegeta takes off, Raditz following him in pursuit.

Krillin sighs, picking up the Dragon Ball. "Thanks, Bulma. Let's go, Gohan." Gohan nods before they both take off.

"Hey! Wait!" Bulma shouts. "You guys can't just leave me here! Again!"

What is Y/N's true fate? Will Vegeta and the others find her in time? Or will it be too late? And where the hell is Goku? All will be revealed in the next chapter of The Princess of all Saiyans!

#goku #goku x reader #saiyan reader #vegeta #vegeta's sister #dbz fanfiction #dbz x reader #dragon ball x reader #dragon ball z #son goku x reader

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jimlingss · 3 years

Text

Moirai [7]

Chapter 6 - Chapter 7 - Chapter 8 [Finale]

➜ Words: 6.6k

➜ Genres: 60% Fluff, 40% Angst, Isekai!AU

➜ Summary: Death is supposed to be the end. Or at least that's what you assumed when you're hit by a TRUCK. But the moment you open your eyes again, instead of being sent to the afterlife, you've become a baby. And not just any baby. You're the female villain of a video game.

❇ Royal Romances Chapter 3 -Prince Route- ❇ The darkness is pitch black. It’s heavy. Comforting. Eerie. All at the same time. Anastasia lurks within the shadows, looking both ways with a flickering oil lamp carried in hand. She darts her head down the long corridor and when there isn’t a soul in sight, she sneaks past the archway before pressing her palm against a stone brick behind a marble pillar. There’s a shift, gears spinning and the wall pulls back and to the side, tucking itself in. She enters through the hidden passageway and the wall seals itself shut again as it never opened. The cobblestone spiral stairs are dusty and dank without a single window. She cringes and bats her hand in front of her nose, damning him for choosing such an awful place to meet. Who knows what’s down here! Ugh. A bastard son born will be a bastard life lived. No amount of effort can make someone noble if they weren’t already born with it. She doesn’t know why she was expecting that man to be dignified. “I didn’t think you would come so soon.” The King’s bastard son stands at the landing of the stairs. The spiral staircase seems to descend further behind him, but she isn’t curious to where it leads. “Hmph.” She turns away, lamp still in hand, and she pulls her shawl closer to her. “I already made up my mind. I want to get rid of that orphan whore, so I’ll do whatever it takes. She dares to try to seduce my fiancé when she doesn’t even know her place.” The corner of Taehyung’s thin lips curl. “Then by all means, I’ll erase that problem for you.” The Duke’s daughter turns and her eyes glimmer with intrigue. The man reaches into the sleeve of his cloak and hands her a tiny vial of green liquid. An emerald jewel on the cap shimmers against the dim candlelight that casts their ominous shadows on the walls. “It’s poison. One drop in the Empress’ tea cup and you can frame her for it. That’s all it’ll take.” Anastasia smirks, a rush of air leaving her nose in satisfaction. It might be easier just to dip the tip of a dagger in and stab that wrench with it, but framing her would make Jungkook lose his trust in the girl. He wouldn’t look at her twice. And she’d be executed without the real perpetrator ever being implicated in the crime. She takes the vial, holding onto it carefully. Yet her eyes flicker up to Taehyung’s. “What’s in it for you?” “All I want is the empire’s wealth.” ….. .. . ❇ Royal Romances Chapter 7 -Prince Route- ❇ Punishment does not come in the form of her stripped title or even her head rolling away from her neck. Punishment arrives in the darkened loneliness. That loss of sanity that whisper she has failed to capture the attention of the only person she ever loved. That she failed to make him love her. Everything she did, it drove him away. Every act of love placed distance between them. Everything. Liberation comes back with the music of trumpets muffled by the stone walls. “What’s going on?” her voice is hoarse through her parched throat. The servant screams when her arm reaches past the bars to tug on the girl’s dress. Her eyes are bleary as she looks up at the girl. “Why is it so noisy?” “T-The civil war’s over.” The girl backs away and the celebrations become more distinct with the realization. “The villain is dead.” The girl withdraws into the cell and cackles rip through her lungs, resounding across the empty chambers. The servant scurries away as the knight huffs out through his nose and shakes his head. But it’s the best news she’s received since she’s been stowed away. That bastard son — Taehyung. He was a liar. He tried to kill her beloved Jungkook. He dared to try and replace him. But no amount of effort can make someone noble if they weren’t already born with it. A bastard son born will be a bastard life lived. She may have been condemned as his accomplice — she may have been used as his pawn, too blinded by her own affections to realize. But she is mad with joy that she will not die alone. She can only hope he died a cruel and painful death. Anastasia cackles again.

You gasp. Your entire body jolts and you tear yourself up into an upright position. The covers pool in your lap, your white nightgown stuck to your back slick with cold sweat. You press your palm on your forehead, focusing on studying your heaving breath. It was just a nightmare. Or rather, it was scenes from the original game. The way it was supposed to be. It felt so real. As if you were Anastasia and those choices and decisions were the ones you made. The door opens and the maid entering is startled to see you already awake. “Good morning, my lady. It’s still quite early….” There’s no way you can return to sleep after that. “Today’s a busy day so I’ll get ready now.” The maid nods and follows after you to the vanity. “Lady Devon has a lilac gown prepared for you today, my lady. The late Queen wore the same colour during the inauguration of the last Head Priestess.” “Shouldn’t everyone wear it then?” “Of course not.” The young servant smiles as she runs the brush through your hair. “Only the future queen should.” Pft. Yeah right. It’s a ridiculous idea that you would ever be queen. Anastasia never had the chance in any route or lifetime and you doubt you will either. But rather than changing the dress like you normally would, your hand tightens in your lap. “Bring it to me then.” As the future Crown Princess, you’re dolled up by several maids. Your tutor paces back and forth, commanding the flurry around you on each of their actions, from a strand of your hair out of place to a loose thread sticking out. Your cheeks are powdered in a soft pink and your lips are painted in the same cherry blossom shade. You feel like a Barbie being dressed up and not in a good way. But thankfully, the dress is simple for the occasion and your hair is plainly clipped back on both sides. It isn’t a ball after all where people are going to be flaunting themselves. The next two days marks the inauguration of the new priestess. It’ll be a day of celebration and then a day of solemn prayer and song at the empire’s largest cathedral. Aka, it’s going to be boring as hell. Once you’re free from outstretched hands touching your body and making sure you’re a photoshopped version of yourself without the photoshop, you head to the gardens for a breath of air. And also to escape Lady Devon’s lectures of how you should ideally behave. But by now, you already know what she wants to say. Don’t chew with your mouth open. Keep your back straight. Don’t back talk to your elders. Most importantly, don’t speak to Tae— “Anastasia!” The corner of your mouth tugs. “Lucy.” You shouldn’t be so happy to see the heroine of this story. Not when her existence naturally opposes yours and you purely forged a friendship for your own self-preservation. But somewhere along the way, you found that she’s the only female who doesn’t look at you any differently. She doesn’t smile just to make you happy. She doesn’t call you just because she has something to gain. Unlike so many others, you know she has no intention of using you. The girl doesn’t have ulterior motives. Unlike you. “Good morning.” “Morning.” You meet her between the bushes of peonies on the cobblestone path. “What are you doing here so early? The play doesn’t start for another three hours.” “I didn’t want to be late, but I guess I came earlier than expected.” Her smile is sheepish and she lifts her arm, a single white lily held in her fingertips. “I saw this on my way here. I heard it was lucky to have white lilies on the day of the Head Priestess’ inauguration ceremony, so…” You take her gift. “Thank you.” The petals are delicate and the fragrance is subtle enough that you lift it to tickle your nose. It’s then and there, while you’re twirling the stem with your fingertips, that you notice a gaze upon you. By sheer coincidence and coincidence only, it seems like Taehyung was seeking refuge in his corner of the garden again and ran into you. The corner of his mouth lifts, distance kept yet he’s somehow close. You can’t pretend that he’s not there. Your eyes have locked together. Immediately, you grab Lucy’s hand and turn to her. “You have no one to accompany you to the Eastern Cathedral tomorrow, right?” “Uh…” Before she can answer, you take her to the dark-haired man and smile cordially at him. “Good morning, Your Highness.” “Anastas—” “This is Lucienne from the House of Liza.” You drag the girl to your side and she murmurs a timid greeting to him. “I’m sure the two of you must’ve met each other a few times. She has no one to accompany her tomorrow.” “Anastasia.” Lucy shifts to you. She’s visibly uncomfortable, her brows knitted together, fingers rubbing the skirt of her dress. “It’s quite alright, I don’t need anyone to—” “Nonsense,” you interject with another friendly smile. “It must be lonely to go by yourself. I’ll be busy with Prince Jungkook. It’s important that you get to know others as well. You shouldn’t latch onto the Prince all the time.” She’s visibly taken aback at your insinuation. It’s not like you want to be so blunt, but there has to be no room for refusal. This is the only way. It’s no longer about trying to avoid the three of them. It’s no longer about bringing Lucy and Jungkook together and remaining on the sidelines. If you want to save Taehyung too, you need to use the only person who can do so. You’ll find other ways to save yourself. But Taehyung needs her. “I…” Your voice remains firm. “You should go with Taehyung.” Lucy is the heroine of this game. It’s possible that they can end up together instead. She can comfort Taehyung, change his mind about revenge, ease his suffering, rid his grief. She’s the only one who can clear the darkness stowed inside of him. They don’t know it, but you do. You push her towards him. The girl stumbles from the loss of her footing and he steadies her by her shoulders. “S-Sorry!” “It’s fine,” he brushes off quickly and then turns his head, eyes boring holes in you. “What are you doing?” Taehyung holds his gaze, searching your impassive expression and the corners of your mouth pulls stiffly. “I’m just joining two people who I think really suit each other. Oh, look at the time! I should leave before I’m late for my morning greeting to my fiancée. I’ll leave the both of you to it then.” You curtsy hastily and spin around to walk away. But Taehyung is three steps ahead of you. His strides are long and he overtakes you easily, stopping your form far away enough that it’s out of Lucy’s earshot. He grabs your arm, pulls you back and stares deeply into your eyes. His frown deepens. “Is this because of what I did that night of the feast?” he asks in a quiet murmur that makes you swallow hard. You don’t want to be reminded of that. Not now. Not when you’re trying to pay back the favour of saving your life by saving his. “Anastasia, I meant everything I said that night. I meant everything that I was about to do—” You interrupt him, not wanting to hear anymore of it. It shouldn’t be this hard. “It’s not that.” You stare directly into his pupils, unwavering in your gaze. “I have to go now.” You brush past him and don’t glance over your shoulder, even when the temptation is overwhelming. It really shouldn’t be this hard. You know the future. You know what’s entailed in their destiny. But why does it seem like you’re making all the wrong choices. // Your knuckles rap against the surface. There’s a muffled ‘come in’ and you open the door. Jungkook is getting ready in front of the mirror. His cape is being pinned perfectly on his back, navy blue jacket with ribbons and golden buttons making him look like the picture perfect prince of every Disney movie. It’s no wonder all the ladies constantly swoon when he passes. To you, he’s always been that doe-eyed boy afraid of ladybugs. But marrying him wouldn’t be so bad. You’re sure it would be a good marriage. At least one full of respect and mutual understanding. It would be better than half the marriages in the twenty-first century that ends in divorce. Jungkook looks at your reflection in the mirror. “Anastasia. What brings you here?” “I have matters to discuss, Prince Jungkook.” “Very well.” He looks to the attendants beside him. “Please bring in refreshments.” “There’s no need.” You quickly stop them and the man in front of you turns, visibly surprised at your rejection of sweets and tea. It’s the main reason why you come to visit each other after all. “This’ll be quick.” They bow their heads and the doors shut a moment later, giving you and Jungkook privacy. He pinches the hem of his sleeve. “Did you get in trouble with your tutors again?” “Jungkook.” Your voice is solemn, your expression even more serious. He looks up and the corner of his mouth falls into a straight line. He follows you to the sofa and sits across from you. “What’s the matter?” He’s frowning, worried about your changed demeanor. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself. “We should solidify our engagement as soon as possible.” Jungkook’s eyes widen. “W...what? Why so sudden?” “Is it?” “You’ve never been interested in being queen before.” His eyes narrow in on you and his brows furrow more. “Is this about the Duke and Duchess? Are they rushing you?” “No.” You shake your head. “This is about me. It’s about us.” “But this isn’t like you, Anna.” “Why is it so surprising?!” Your voice is pitched and instead of anger, frantic desperation seeps in. You don’t know why everyone has to make it so difficult for you. “We’ve been engaged since our childhood! It’s only natural to move ahead. Who else are you supposed to marry—?!” As the words come out of your mouth, it slaps you right back in the face: you’re falling into the same pattern as Anastasia. Demanding the prince to marry you. Being blunt. Curt. Upset. It’s so easy. It was as if your entire life was set up to be the villainess. Oh god. You don’t know what to do. You don’t know what the answer is. You don’t know what choice to make to wind down the best path— “Anna!” Jungkook calls you for the fifth time in the midst of your meltdown. You lift your head to find him sitting beside you, his hands firmly squeezing your shoulders. He’s asking you if you’re alright, if you need a healer or some rest to clear your mind. He’s saying how the two of you can talk about this later. But you don’t want later. It’s always been later. Making choices now for later. Making plans now for later. Everything you’ve done is for later down the line and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to reap the benefits or find the happiness you were so desperate to have when you died the first time. Now. You want someone to shoulder your burdens with right now. “Jungkook, what if….what if I told you I was from another world and I know the future of this world?” “What?” You swallow hard and meet Jungkook’s doe eyes. He searches your visage, unable to comprehend where this is coming from, where you’re going with this. “What if...the only way to save Taehyung is through Lucy? The only way is if they fall in love and she saves him.” He’s completely lost on that. “Taehyung? What does he need saving from? Who told you he needs to fall in love with her? What?” Your mouth opens, but you don’t know where to start, how to explain, if he would even believe you in the end. “You just need to trust me, Jungkook. I know things you don’t.” “I...don’t understand what you’re talking about.” There’s a simmering pause between the pair of you and Jungkook looks carefully at your profile. Then his lips part to speak forbidden words— “Are you in love with Taehyung?” It’s your turn to be confused. Befuddled. Taken aback. And Jungkook must read the expression on his face, since he replaces your speechlessness with his own voice. “Otherwise, why would you care so much about him? You’ve never brought anyone up to me before. Not even your own parents, Anna, and I know they make things difficult for you. I’ve never seen you care about anyone else more than you care about yourself.” You rise to your feet in an instant and turn your back on the man. “That’s impossible. It’s impossible.” “Why? I thought you always told me it was okay if we ended up falling in love with other peopl—” “I said it was okay if you did. Not me.” You don’t get such a privilege. Jungkook is the protagonist, the hero. No matter what route it is, which way the story goes, he always wins. He will always live. But you will either die or be casted away. “It’s different.” Jungkook has nothing to risk. You have everything. “Anastasia.” “Don’t change the subject. I came to tell you that we should move ahead with the engagement. There is no reason you should refuse, Jungkook.” You turn and leave the room, ending the conversation there. He doesn’t know. He makes it sound easy. But you can never be with Taehyung. The Crown Prince’s fiancée and the bastard son. What a pair that would be. As long as you’re living in this world, in this society, any relationship deeper than an acquaintanceship would bring disaster. It’s not as simple as falling in love, calling off the engagement, eloping together far away. This isn’t a fairy tale. This isn’t a romance narrative. It’s life. A society that scrutinizes and shames. A culture that slanders names with scandals. The Devereux house will fail anyway and you don’t care about soiling your reputation and being outcasted. But the King would deem it treasonous. The royal family’s reputation would be marred and ruined, and he would never accept that. He was already unhappy when Taehyung danced with you at the debutante ball, when Taehyung handed you the Hunt’s prize, when Taehyung rescued you from being kidnapped. And you cannot risk your life and Taehyung’s like that any more than you already have. Jungkook is terribly naive if he thinks it could ever work. // The royal court is lively with warm drums and bright flutes that echo throughout the capital. Famous minstrels and troubadours across the empire have come to perform for the King, having made their way through the streets in the morning for the commoners as well. He smiles in approval from his throne, the middle-aged priestess to be coordinated tomorrow seated beside him and the pair look to be enjoying the show. Your parents are no exceptions either, seemingly relishing in the festivities. They’ve brought Edith and Joan in tow as part of their entourage, faces you never thought you’d miss. The former nods her head at you in silent greeting and the latter smiles, but you don’t get a chance to speak to either of them. Not when your parents have kept their distance. It seems like the last incident has made them rethink their involvement in your affairs. And for that, you’re glad you’ve been granted a little more freedom. Marquess, earls, counts, viscountess and barons seated around speak to one another in between performing acts, sipping on their wine as the afternoon sets into evening. Once in a while, laughter sparks through the courtyard and thunderous applause succeed performances. But unlike them, you can’t enjoy it. In spite of sitting next to Jungkook and visibly smiling, the space in-between the pair of you is tense and stiff. Lucy sits a few rows down from where she is beside her father and you can tell she’s uncomfortable with what happened earlier by her expression that never seems to ease. All of it would be easy to ignore. If not for Taehyung’s gaze. He’s standing in the corner against the stone walls that line the courtyard, inconspicuous but not to you. A glance at a crowd and you could still pick him out in an instant. But he doesn’t watch the play, doesn’t watch the musical performances or the acrobatics twisting around. He looks at you. As if that alone could figure out your intentions, like he could deduct what’s in your mind. You don’t spare him a peek. Even when it’s difficult to resist. You avoid him until the very end. // The moon is full, a perfectly round sphere that’s golden. Like a firefly amidst the blanket of stars. It isn’t brighter than the sun, but not any less beautiful. Taehyung stares up at the horizon and then his eyes stray to marble railings. He floats up to your balcony and his feet touch against the white, stone flooring. He won’t let you run away. The room is dark, but he makes out a lump in the bed that’s turning and twisting. Taehyung knocks against the glass door and the figure freezes before it moves a moment later. Within a minute, the door opens and you emerge into the golden moonlight. “Taehyung? What are you doing here? You’re not allowed to be here,” you whisper harshly, looking both ways of the castle grounds while tugging the white, laced shawl around your shoulders closer. “I had to come see you,” Taehyung gazes into your eyes tenderly and he leans down to capture your hand gently in his. The skirt of your nightgown flutters in the warm breeze. “I know there’s something wrong. Did Jungkook do something? Did he say something?” You shake your head. “Then why push me away?” You turn from him, ripping your hand away from his grasps. “I don’t know what you mean.” Taehyung grabs your arm and your head whirls back to him, eyes connecting. “You know exactly what I mean.” “I’m engaged.” “To a person you don’t even love.” Your eyes widen and your brows furrow. “You don’t know that.” “I love you.” It’s a bold confession spoken from his lips, his deep timbre that doesn’t lack any sincerity. An earnest proclamation that has your heart stuttering in your chest, your breath hitching in your throat. Your heartbeat is thunderous in your ears and something stirs in the pit of your stomach at the sorrowful expression Taehyung looks at you with. He murmurs, “I was going to take that secret to the grave, but I can’t stand by and watch you like this. I love you. Be with me.” Be with me. A three word plea. Whispered secretly on a full-moon night. An affection full of warmth that you never had the privilege of receiving before in your past life or this life. Until now. You never thought it would be like all those cheesy movies — Love Actually, Pride and Prejudice, the Notebook. But nope. They’re right. When you hear a love confession, when you hear someone say ‘I love you’ and ‘be with me’, it really does make you overwhelmingly happy. It makes you want to cry. It makes you want to hug him, kiss him, throw your arms around him and scream ‘yes’. It makes you imagine the rest of your life, growing old with someone you love. But you stagger away from Taehyung. No. No. It can’t be. He can’t love you. No. You aren’t Juliet. Elizabeth Bennet. Allie. This isn’t your love story. You aren’t the main character. And this most certainly won’t have a happy ending. Taehyung was never supposed to love Anastasia. This is a mistake. An accident. Repercussions to your actions. “Don’t mistake sympathy for feelings of love.” You surprise yourself at how stern your voice sounds, never once wavering. You suppose years of growing up in the Devereux household and being put under rigorous training allowed you to control your exterior well. “I don’t love you. You don’t love me, Taehyung.” “You’re wrong.” He steps forward, closing the distance, as firm as you are. “I’ll even fight for the throne if you want. I’ll fight Jungkook if that’s what it takes for you to be by my side—” “No!” The scream echoes in your own ears, loud and shrill enough to bring alarm. “Please. Don’t. Don’t.” It’s then and there, in the throes of his reckless promises, it slams into you — the realization of how desperately you don’t want to see Taehyung die. You don’t want to witness his tragic ending. And you don’t want him to do it for you. Taehyung’s expression is crumpled in anguish and his arm lifts, hand extending. The pad of his thumb tenderly wipes away the tear that’s streaked down your cheek. The corner of his mouth upturns, but the sorrowful smile never reaches his eyes. “Do you hate the idea of being with me that much that you’re crying?” “No...Taehyung…” He withdraws. “I’m sorry.” Taehyung gazes at you and then he shuts his eyes, falling backwards off the balcony. You cry out in absolute terror and your legs lurch forward towards the railings. Your arms snap out to grab him, but your fists merely catch the passing wind. He’s vanished into thin air, leaving nothing but traces of magic in the air. You collapse onto the floor, grasping at the banister as sobs wreck through your body. “T-That’s...not...i-it—” The matter of life or death should be simple. The choices should be easy. But you don’t know why each path you choose has its own tragedy, why happiness never seems to come. Why can’t you control your own destiny?

A wheeze tears from the bastard son’s mouth. His ruined hands are wrapped around his silver staff until his bloodied knuckles have morphed white. But it’s his leverage, keeping him standing on his shaking legs. He may have lost but he refuses to collapse until his last breath has been taken. His pride won’t allow him otherwise. “Why?” He lifts his head and locks eyes with the impassive Prince, dignified and noble. A hero to all. A brother who he never deemed as a brother. Only in blood and never truly in name. “Why did you do this?” The corner of Taehyung’s mouth curls. Even on the battlefield when they are both armoured and armed with weapons — in the moment of death — Jungkook is as oblivious and ignorant as when he was a mere child. Taehyung spares a thought as to what it feels like to be that naive. He concludes it is a privilege. “W-hy….d..o...you...think?” The Forgotten Prince’s feet sinks into the mountain of brittle bones. He had to bring the dead back to life through necromancy to build an army for this war. No one would fight on his side after all. No one’s ever wanted to fight on his side. But even so, he was never able to bring himself to revive his mother. But it’s foolish he didn’t. She may have just been a marionette doll with tangled strings, a simple outer shell of a real human being, but he regrets not doing it. He should’ve. Even if it was just to see her for a moment. But it is a regret too late. He has another wish he wants to achieve in these last moments. Taehyung chokes out that girl’s name. He didn’t know he would have feelings for her. He was simply intrigued. Anything that belonged to his brother was always something worth envy. And he wasn’t wrong. She was a pawn on the opponent’s side who turned out to be more valuable than the queen. “P-Please….” Blood curdles at the back of his throat, thickening his words into pathetic sputters. “Let me...see her….on.e….las...t….tim..e…” “I’ll never let you see her.” The Prince’s hands tighten on the handle and he rips the sword out of his abdomen in a single motion. The sound of silver cuts sharply through the air and Taehyung drops to his bruised knees. His own blood has splattered across his visage, scarlet drenched on ashy skin. The Prince stands tall, the very furrow of his brows jarring against the cold, cordial expression he maintains. It’s an expression of contempt, of hatred and indifference. His shadow looms over him, the status he was born with intrinsic in his sheer presence. “All...I...ever..wanted….was to be you. To be...powerful...to have everything you have.” The Forgotten Prince rests against his staff and shuts his eyes. He ponders for a mere moment if he will be able to see his mother after this. But if there is such a thing as an afterlife, it’s still unlikely that fate would grant him such peace and refuge. “I...d..idn’t...want….to...be...aban..doned…” The remnants of magic surges through his veins and with a weak flick of his wrist, Taehyung’s last magic summons the girl who had occupied his thoughts. She appears in front of him, manifesting with his spell, and she screams. Jungkook calls out to her and they embrace. He holds her, covering her body with his arm. The two of them look down at Taehyung in fear and disdain. But her vicinity is enough for him. He wonders when he became this pathetic. Or if he was always this way as their villain. Taehyung chokes on the blood curdling at the back of his throat, but his lips upturn into a smile. He mouths her name and dies at their feet. …. Anastasia. You wake up with a gasp tearing from your chest. Your breath heaves out of you and tears coat your cheeks and the pillow beneath your head. Most of all, your chest fucking hurts like your heart’s about to burst. So you call for a maid at the top of your lungs and within seconds, someone scatters in. “My lady?” “Water,” you croak and she nods. A glass is presented in front of you within moments and you down the entire thing, able to calm yourself down once you’ve finished. The maid notices your sweaty form and asks if you would like to change clothes, but you wave her off and she leaves. Your worst fear came to life in a nightmare. Instead of calling the heroine’s name, Taehyung called yours. // The ceremony at the Eastern Cathedral is exactly like all other events and celebrations in the castle. Boring. Tedious. Like sitting in a lecture hall with the most unenthused professor droning on about the art of paint drying. Except you have to slap a friendly smile on you, sit straight, make small talk and pretend you’re intently listening. You wish cardboard cutouts were a thing, so you could just slap a picture of yourself in your seat instead of having to deal with it. But the entire ordeal keeps your mind from wandering about last night. There’s something about pretending that you’re fine that makes you feel fine after a while. Like you’ve tricked your own self into being okay. You’re even anxious once it’s over. Once the quiet has settled back in. Many of the guests leave, viscounts and countesses bidding their farewells from the cathedral and getting into their carriages. After you’ve sent off Lady Devon and you’re free of her scrutiny, you quickly turn around to find Jungkook and get out of here. The last thing you want is to run into Taehyung right now. You don’t know if you’ll be able to manage your reactions, control your expressions. But on your way back, your attention is taken by an elderly priestess dressed in white robes with a cane, hobbling around. Her hands are outstretched and she bats the air. She’s blind. “Excuse me, do you need help?” “Oh, yes, please, that would be wonderful.” She smiles and the tens of wrinkles on her face crease. The old lady reminds you of your grandma and the corner of your mouth quirks. You take her hand and place it on your arm, guiding her. “I’m usually not so clumsy but I lost my way and had to re-orientate myself. You can just bring me into the side house, it should be on the West side of the cathedral grounds.” You look around and spot it around the building. “It’s this way.” “Are you here for the ceremony?” “Yes, I am.” “How nice, Emelisse will make a fine Head Priestess. Her holy magic is quite powerful.” You hum and get to the smaller building within two minutes. The doors are already open, so you peek inside to see if anyone’s there to take the old lady, but there’s no one. “We’re here.” The Priestess reaches out and grabs the door frame. She smiles and gets up the steps herself, but not before turning around. “Thank you. Not many people would personally aid me in this day and age, and for that I’m thankful.” “It’s not a problem.” It’s been a long time since you’ve been able to speak so casually to someone. But it’s relaxing to forget about your titles. You don’t have to be the Crown Prince’s Fiancée. The future Queen. Or the heir of the Devereux house. You’re just Anastasia. Y/N. A mix of both that makes you you. “Would you be willing to hear an old secret in exchange for helping me?” “Uhhhhh…..” You glance over your shoulder. There’s no palace guards or Jungkook in sight. You really don’t want to stick around for too long. But you remember your grandma got pretty lonely towards the end of her life and was willing to talk to door-to-door salesmen for a good hour or two until they wanted to run away and blacklist the house from their list. Bless her heart. You decide to indulge the old woman, so you go along with it. “Sure.” “I once knew a woman, a kind but poor woman. She was with child,” her voice croaks and you lean in closer, realizing it’s juicy gossip and it sparks intrigue. “The father of that unborn child wasn’t very happy to know that child was coming into existence, so she, worried, came to see her fortune and her child’s on the eve of the Solar Festival.” The old Priestess holds the handle of her cane with both hands, placed in the middle of her body. She faces the sky, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her skin as she continues the story. “She came to this cathedral and they told her about doom and her child’s inevitable doom. Desperate and heartbroken, she begged to find a way to deviate from such a fate. She wanted to do anything she could to change the predetermined destiny of her unborn child.” Your brows furrow. You begin to wonder why she’s telling you this. “And?” “She did a ritual of dark magic to search for a soul that would protect her son.” The old woman shakes her head. “She defied the laws of destiny itself without knowing the pain it would cause.” “But through sheer will, she broke it!” The Priestess smiles, her voice having been a murmur drawing you in. “She found a fitting soul and that soul was sent to another dimension before this one to learn about what was to come, so that they could protect her son.” You stagger back. Breath caught in your throat. Blood draining from your face. There’s no way. It can’t be. But everything aligns. It matches perfectly. “W-What happened next?” The woman hums a low note and you realize too late that she’s the former Head Priestess, the one who had just stepped down. “I’m not quite sure what the ending to that story is since that soul wrapped in dark magic is standing right in front of me.” The former Head Priestess smiles gently and turns around, entering inside her abode. She leaves you standing rooted to the ground on your own as it dawns upon you — It was all on purpose. Being reborn into this world. Having memories of your past life. Being burdened with the knowledge of what fates there are, what the future holds. All along, it was to serve your purpose: to protect Taehyung. Your destiny was entangled with him even before this lifetime. But you’ve already failed. You let his mother die. And now his own time is running out. You turn around. The urge to see him overwhelms your very being. You have to tell him how you really feel. You’re not just Anastasia. You’re Y/N. And you won’t allow the original storyline to confine your choices anymore. None of this was an accident. You weren’t messing anything up. None of your actions, your feelings or his are wrong. Nothing was a mistake. You’ll find a way to save Taehyung, to be with him. You have to. In the south courtyard of the cathedral, by sheer coincidence and coincidence only, you see him there. Of all the places of these vast grounds where he could be, you still found him. “Taehyung!” You call out to him and he turns at the sound of your voice. But then your smile falls. Your feet slow. By coincidence, an arrow soars towards him, slicing through the air. You shout at the top of your lungs and Taehung whips his head around. The tip of the arrow freezes an inch away from his nose and clatters to the ground through his magic. But then five more arrows splits the sky and flies towards him. Taehyung dodges, stops another, but one catches him in the arm. He sharply inhales. A scream of his name tears from your throat. Taehyung winces and rips the shaft of the arrow out of his skin. He looks at the tip before throwing it away. He can feel the poison spreading in his veins, bleeding inside of his body. It inhibits his magic and before he can yell at you to get away, another arrow spirals in the horizon. He shuts his eyes. Taehyung feels an impact. But the pain never comes. His eyes shoot open, brows knitting together and his mouth draws open when he sees you. Your arms have wrapped around his body in a warm embrace, shielding him away, protecting him like you were meant to. The end of the arrow has pierced into your shoulder. But you can’t feel it. Taehyung shouts your name and you collapse. He holds your body in his arms, cradling your head against his shoulder as he screams from the pit of his stomach for help. And you watch him through foggy eyes, a smile gracing your lips. You’re glad he’s not hurt. Your hand slowly lifts to caress his cheek and he looks at you. “I….fi..nally came….on time, Tae...hyung.”

#bts fanfic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung x y/n #taehyung angst #taehyung x reader #taehyung scenario #OOOOOoooh #ONLY THE FINALE'S LEFT!

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thisnoodlewritesao3 · 3 years

Note

Congratulations on 100 followers!!! Could I have a fluff piece with oikawa with this soulmate au: Written on you is a badly worded description of how you’ll meet your soulmate (Ex. Reality: Meet in coffee shop spill drink- - > Description: “You’ll meet in a place of high energy and it’ll be hot”)

Thanks!! And remember to drink water :)

ahhh i had such a hard time writing this one, but! I tried my best. Me n Oikawa do not get along, so I hope this does it justice.

And yes yes, I will drink water as long as you do <3

----

Meeting Oikawa had been both a blessing and a curse - a blessing because he was your soulmate - a curse because he was your soulmate. You loved him despite everything, and he loved you so deeply. As your fourth wedding anniversary rounded the corner, you took the time to glance down at the words on your wrist that entailed the day you’d meet him.

Meet at a volleyball game, he’s a player and he’s crying.

It definitely wasn’t love at first sight - the words on his wrist had told you that anyway:

Meet at a volleyball game, they hate you and then they don’t.

To this day he still whines that you hated him, and you’d just sigh and say you couldn’t help it.

Ever since you could read, you’d forced your parents to take you to all and any volleyball game you could. It wasn’t that you had any interest in the sport - quite the opposite - but if it was important to your soulmate, then it was important to you. For a week, you contemplated joining a club, and then you tried it out and had a ball smashed into your face, so that plan was cut short before it could even start.

It made sense for you to go to Shiratorizawa considering they went to the most games of all the schools in your area. It didn’t take long for you to get too swamped with schoolwork to be able to go to any of the games.

As Summer came to an end, you decided it would be in your best interest to go to the inter-high qualifying rounds. Something in the air told you it would be in your best interest to go. So, you did.

Nothing felt overly special; you stepped off of the bus, pulling your jacket closer around you. It didn’t take long until you met eyes with someone. A boy with brown, fluffy hair surrounded by a large group of squealing girls. Just the sight of it made you roll your eyes. You glared in his direction, not expecting him to turn his head and lock eyes with you. For a second, something seemed to change.

Then you forced your eyes away, turned up your nose and walked away. As you walked into Sendai gym, you heard someone yell at him, and then he screamed. It was amusing to you, but you wouldn’t let it show.

You managed to find an empty seat as you checked out the roster for the games. Shiratorizawa would be playing throughout, but you weren’t overly interested in watching every single match they had against people. As much as you loved watching Ushijima play, you wanted to keep your eyes on the new upcoming team: Karasuno. From what you’d heard from Tendou, they had a crazy quick attack and a first year combination that was almost scary. They had managed to spark your intrigue enough.

You’d missed the first few days of matches, but were ready for the semi finals. According to the roster, it would be a match against Karasuno and Aoba Johsai. Something about that line up made you laugh, especially since Aoba Johsai have never made it to the nationals, not since Shiratorizawa rose in the ranks so long ago.

Sitting in Karasuno’s stands, one leg tossed over the other, you watched with half intrigue. Like previously mentioned, you’d never been too interested in volleyball, but you learn a thing or two after watching for so many years. It gave you a chance to analyse the players, the way they moved; normally, you could predict how a match would go.

This match, though, it is hard to say. With Karasuno growing the way they are, and Aoba Johsai at a constant standstill, maybe things would work out well for them in the end. But, and this was the truth, they’d probably never beat Shiratorizawa. Especially not with Ushijima on the team.

You bit your lip, leaning forward slightly. For a second, your eyes were too focused on #9 and #10. Then someone caught your eye. Aoba Johsai’s captain, Oikawa Tooru, the man with a killer serve and one of the top setter’s. A skilled player, well-rounded, able to bring out the best in all of his spikers.

He was also the pretty boy from earlier. The one who girls seemed to flock to. Even if they knew he wasn’t their soulmate, maybe they had hope. It was pathetic, but you could see why.

Either way, you shrugged it off, turning your attention back to the other team.

You hadn’t realised how close you’d gotten to the edge of your seat, or how long you’d been holding your breath, not until you tried to lean forward more and almost fell off. You hadn’t blinked in so long that your eyes were hurting, but as the third and final set came to a close, you couldn’t figure out who to cheer for.

There was tension in the air that you made your heart hurt in the nicest way. A hand planting on your shoulder made you jump, and you turned to look up at Tendou. “Was it that good? Haven’t seen you watch a game like that in a long time.” You rolled your eyes and brushed him off.

“Oh, shut up,” he laughed at you as you stretched your back, “it was pretty good. Very intense. Maybe Karasuno will give you a run for your money.” You teased, nudging him lightly. He scoffed at you, almost offended.

“As if.” You wanted to laugh at him - you had all faith in them, that they’d take the school to nationals again this year - they were skilled after all. It made sense to you. Not that the other schools weren’t skilled, you just knew it in your heart.

Walking through the halls with Tendou by your side wasn’t anything unusual, but he was leading you towards the court doors, where Aoba Johsai was walking through. Now you could see the tears brimming in their eyes, but nothing could beat the defeated look in Oikawa’s eyes.

Your heart twinged. You wanted nothing more than to reach out to him. Tendou took the lead in the conversation, “wow, those crows really managed to whoop your guys’ asses.” He chirped, resting his hands behind his head.

But Oikawa wasn’t focused on him, his eyes shifted to you. “Hey, you’re that girl from before.” Tears were falling silently down his cheeks. Tendou puffed out his cheeks, having the spotlight taken from him wasn’t something he took lightly, but he let you have your moment.

“I’m surprised you noticed me with all those girls around you.” You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes.

“How could I forget you.” He said, almost laughing, “you looked like you hated me.” You snorted, because it was almost true, but you can’t exactly hate someone you’ve never met.

“Well, you do seem more like a player than anything.” There was some irony there. But this interaction made your brows furrow. Your hand ghosted over the words on your wrist - they seemed to line up, but how could you be sure? You couldn’t. This could just be one coincidence. “But how could I hate a pretty boy who cries?”

Something in his eyes changed and so did something in yours. You held your breath for the second time today and tears flowed down his cheeks like a gentle waterfall; it had to have been a coincidence, but you weren’t sure anymore. Not with the way he looked at you, or the way your heart fluttered.

Tendou’s eyes flickered between you, seemingly connecting the dots before he smirked and wrapped an arm around your shoulder. It didn’t shake you from your thoughts, but it seems to unsettle Oikawa.

“So shitty-kawa,” he hummed, leaning his face closer to yours, “you should’ve come to Shiratorizawa.”

Your younger self never could have imagined that you’d be soulmates with such a pretty boy like Oikawa, but you wouldn’t change him for the world.

----

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bellesque · 4 years

Text

Stop & Smell the Flowers (Loki x Reader)

A Loki Oneshot for the Spring Time with Loki Collab Collection on AO3. Also on my AO3.

Rating: Explicit

Words: 8.9K BIG yikes

Tags/Warnings: Sex Pollen (therefore Mildly Dub-Con), Smut, Vaginal Sex, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Denial, Sex in Space, and some hints of a Praise Kink

Summary: Plant samples from Alfheim and a brooding god as your only companions in a small Quinjet sounds like a recipe for disaster, but some good things can happen in ten hours.

A/N: All I can say is... whoops, my hand slipped?

THE RIDE BACK to Earth is longer than you anticipated.

The small Quinjet is a sturdy and silent thing, the engine’s muffled hum a constant as you hurtle through space. It’s a drawn out, unceasing sound; it brings your boredom to the forefront of your consciousness and warps it into a false sense of steady calm. You might even be able to close your eyes for a second, seeing as there’s nothing but blackness before you—

“Wake up,” a voice snaps from behind your pilot chair, punctuated by a sharp snap of fingers. “You will not crash this ship.”

You straighten in your seat, unfazed by the bite in your companion’s tone. You blink a couple times, squeezing your eyes shut as you stifle a yawn.

“There’s literally nothing to crash into, Loki.”

Heavy boots thud against the metal floor of the ship until they stop by the copilot chair a few paces away from you. “You never were the vigilant type to begin with.”

This time, you sigh. “Look, if it makes you feel better, I’m turning on autopilot. If you can’t trust me, trust Stark. His tech is unparalleled. We will be fine.” You punch a button on the control panel, and the low hum of the Quinjet rises slightly in pitch. Swiveling around in your chair, you turn to face the god with raised hands. “See? No hands. All good. Course set.”

Loki stares at you, his features set in an unamused scowl, before turning on his heel to the farther side of the ship.

It takes a little more willpower than usual not to allow yourself to snap back at him, but you manage. After all, you’re both pretty tired, and he’s most likely antsy because of how long you’ve been cruising through the void of space. You’re sleepy, he’s irritable.

Still, your estimated time of arrival isn’t for another eight hours, and seeing as you’re going to be stuck with each other you might as well try to maintain some semblance of cordiality.

“So,” you begin, pushing up and out from your seat, “Alfheim was pretty.”

Loki stands by the glass window that shows you nothing but the expanse of space. His reflection is so clear that the details—like the strong slope of his nose, his aristocratic cheekbones—are unmarred.

“Yes,” he answers curtly. “Home to the Light Elves. As Stark briefed earlier, if you had been paying any attention.”

You swallow the retort, letting it fizzle out on the tip of your tongue. Stark did brief you on your mission, alright. You just wish knowing how to handle a brooding, irritated god was one of the things on Tony’s agenda.

Your mission was simple enough—collect some plants and flowers and shrubs and cuttings, he said. All the planty things. It’ll be quick, he said. Two rides through the Bifrost from Earth to Heimdall’s Observatory in Asgard, and then to Alfheim, followed by a short Quinjet ride to the nearby planet-slash-moon-thing, he said. Piece of cake, won’t take too long to get there.

He failed to mention how long it would take you to come home since you couldn’t use the Bifrost for reasons that were “none of your damn business.”

“You know, you’re not usually this much of a pain in the ass,” you find yourself saying as you stand side by side.

“And you’re not usually this mouthy,” he replies. He cocks his head at you. “Are you certain the coordinates have been set for Midgard?”

“Yes, sire,” you say, unable to keep the mocking tone from your voice at bay. “I told you. Trust me. If not me, then Stark.”

You lapse into silence, watching distant planets and stars twinkle against the dark backdrop of the void, the unending vastness pulling you into thought.

You’ve been working with the Avengers for just about a year. In this time, you’ve gotten to know everyone in the tower.

Including Loki.

He’s… quite a character, to say the least. Silent. Calculating. Not plotting his next attempt at world domination, but still, many are wary of his presence. You’ve spent enough time with him to know he’s a different Loki from the one in New York, though. You’d even go as far as to say that he’s… almost kind of good. Wreaking chaos, sure, by way of annoying the hell out of Steve and Tony especially, but… good.

And you’ll even admit to yourself, just a little, that he’s nice to be around. Not right now; no, he’s unnecessarily bitchy at the moment. But when it’s just you and him in the tower while the rest are either off-world or taking a day off outside the tower, it’s almost refreshing. His presence is companionable. When you watch a movie, his comments are genuinely witty and they make you laugh. He’s more aloof—more himself, you feel, and he allows himself to actually fucking smile.

And hell, when he does, looking at you with those green eyes and that heart-wrenching, happy smile—

You huff, squashing the blooming feeling in your chest. Pivoting on your heel, you make towards the other side of the ship: the small corner by the hatch that holds your collection of plants from today’s excursion. Maybe the weird, exotic flowers will keep you from acknowledging your tiny (but growing) crush.

“Do you have plants like this on Asgard?” you ask, hoping to inject some light into the heavy and tired air that hangs between you.

It takes Loki a second to move from his stance by the opposite window, but he ends up by your side eventually. He picks up a glass jar that houses a plant with blue, stunted leaves. “No.” He brings it up to eye level, examining it and rotating it in his hand. “The plants we’ve acquired are native to the Alfheim regions, it seems.”

“What does Stark want with them?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”

He sets down the jar with a dulled thunk and picks up another. The flower inside this one is pretty: curling petals with an orangey, reddish, and golden iridescence to it. It glitters in the low light of the Quinjet’s interior, and you can’t help but voice your admiration for it.

“Do you know what that one’s called?”

“No.”

“So why’d we get it?”

Loki’s eyebrows scrunch together, shifting his weight to the other foot. “Are you a child, mortal? Why must you ask such—”

You never get to hear the rest of Loki’s question; the Quinjet makes a hard, stuttering sound, almost as if it’s skidding over gravel, and the entire ship lurches forward and then sideways. The scraping sound of metal doesn’t cease as the ship continues to vibrate from the turbulence. You lose your balance, clutching at air to steady yourself, only one particularly hard jerk to the side causes you to stumble into Loki with a soft oof.

The pair of you are jostled to the floor, and the next thing you register is the distinct sound of glass shattering.

After a few seconds, the vibrations stop. Thankfully, because you were really starting to worry that dying in space was going to become an actual thing. The lights flicker before steadying and it resumes its normal hum as though it didn’t just go through the most unholy turbulence you’ve experienced. Granted, this is only your third time in space, but the unexpected collision leaves you spooked out nonetheless.

“What was that?”

It’s this moment that your mind chooses to notice that Loki’s chest has seemingly cushioned your fall, the top half of your body splayed on top of him.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you hastily clamber off him. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything, only rises to his feet and dusts off the front of his clothes. “You and I are in big trouble,” he says.

You hurry to the cockpit, which isn’t much of a cockpit considering how small the ship is compared to what Stark usually provides. A space rock just about the size of the ship lazily rolls away. “Looks like an asteroid?” you say, uncertain. “Are we caught in a belt?”

“No, it was a rogue one. The trouble I pertain to is not that, mortal. I’m afraid we’re one plant short now.”

“What?” Your head whips to the back so fast that your neck cricks, and you rush to the spot Loki points at.

Broken glass, and a flower that’s lost some of its iridescence. Some particles glitter on the metal floor, and you curse.

“There’s a spare jar in one of the overhead cabinets. Maybe we can still salvage this one.” You sigh. “What if this had some super special healing power and we just ruined it?”

“I told you not to crash this ship, and yet—”

“Shut it, Reindeer Games.” At this, you can see in your periphery how Loki’s nostrils flare just the slightest at the nickname. He hates it. Hates it because Stark uses it.

You manage to pick up the bigger pieces of broken glass without inadvertently cutting yourself and throw it into the waste bin. Loki hands you—well, more like shoves into you—another glass jar, into which you carefully place the flower. You slot it with the other plant samples and straighten up.

“There are still some smaller shards of glass around here,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the floor, “so we just need to be careful when we walk here.”

The floor shimmers in some angles: some attributed to the minute glass shards, some from the flower. Loki dips his chin in acknowledgment before resuming his perch by the window, staring out at the abyss of space as he was doing before you and he decided to look at the Alfheim plants.

A decision you’re regretting more and more with each passing minute.

You’re back in the pilot chair, scanning for any possibility of crashing into another space rock. If what you were feeling earlier was sleepiness, how you’re feeling right now is that tenfold with an extra weight of ten pounds on your head. Your eyelids are heavy and your body is beginning to feel warm. You sniffle, your nose a little congested, and a sneeze permeates the silence.

You swivel around to face Loki. The simple action of it causes your head to spin; you feel almost lightheaded, the same feeling you get when you’re sick. You steady yourself by planting your feet on the floor. “Hey. Are you feeling a little woozy?”

Loki’s eyes snap to you, concern written on his features. “Are you feeling unwell?”

“Not really. Feels like… like an allergy. From the flower.” You sneeze again. “Head’s heavy. Wanna sleep.”

“There’s a pull-out cot you can rest in.” In a flash, Loki’s helping you up, one arm around your waist. You can’t stop your eyelids from closing this time, feeling your grip on consciousness slip from you as your head lolls onto Loki’s shoulder. It’s a weird feeling. Heavy and light at the same time. You want to voice how it feels, but all that comes out is another sneeze.

“Perhaps the Alfheim flowers are a little too intense for your mortal body.”

Maybe it’s the allergies, but you swear you hear the hint of a smile in his voice. Loki drapes a blanket over you—wait, is he tucking you in?—and cards his fingers through your hair. You’re not sure if it’s real or not, but it feels nice.

“Sleep,” he says, voice distant and muddled. “I will take care of the ship.”

It doesn’t take you long to fall asleep to the Quinjet’s comforting hum.

It’s hot.

Way too hot.

You blearily open your eyes, the feverish warmth that’s spread over your body the first thing you notice. The funny thing is you’re hot but you aren’t sweating. At all.

Just warm.

Excessively so.

“It’s hot,” you blurt out dumbly, sitting up on the strangely comfortable cot. The blanket falls away from you as you squint at Loki’s silhouette in the pilot chair.

The lights are a little dimmer, you think. Not as harsh and cold, blinding white too, but almost warm. You didn’t even know the ship had that feature.

Loki doesn’t answer you. You realize this a little late after marveling over the Quinjet’s new lighting. “Are you hot?” Your voice sounds foreign, different to you—a different timbre, a little more hoarse.

“Not particularly.”

Your stomach does a little flip because shit, his voice sounds different too.

You swallow, rising to your feet. “How long was I asleep?”

“I did not keep track. Perhaps an hour. Maybe two.”

He swivels in the pilot chair, and your stomach does a funny kind of flip. He’s the perfect picture of a confident, cocky prince with a sort of casual regality; he’s leaning back just a little lower with his legs spread open, one arm hanging over the armrest while the other is bent at the elbow, a closed fist by his face. Like he sits on his own throne, proud and powerful and incredibly sexy.

And you’ll be damned if you don’t admit it’s an attractive sight.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks, his head falling to one side. The intensity of his gaze burns into you, and something inside you coils unmistakably. What the hell…?

“I…” your voice catches, and you clear your throat. “I did. Maybe—do—uh, do you want to take a nap this time? ’Cause I can keep watch.” You hurry to your feet, and your legs feel like jelly as you stand. It’s as if they aren’t a part of your body as they take you to the heart of the ship, the halfway point between the cot and the cockpit.

Loki stands, still staring at you, and even in the dimness of the ship you can see that the intensity with which he looks at you hasn’t waned. He reaches you, standing a good foot away, and stops.

You try to calm the wild beating of your heart, rooted to the spot from his attentions, and you fidget. Your eyes are flighty in contrast, flitting from his face to his chest to the void outside the Quinjet and back again.

He lifts a single finger up to your face, tipping your chin upwards so your eyes meet. Heat begins to pool somewhere specific now, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Obviously nothing, your brain screams in protest. It’s like your mind is swimming, your afterthoughts delayed and your actual thoughts heady, private wishes just bubbling at the surface.

“Your face is red,” Loki comments, his voice low and soft. Like the blanket he tucked you into. No, a part of you thinks, stop this right now—

He brushes his knuckles against your cheek, regarding you with great interest. “You’re burning up as well. Shall I take you to bed?”

Surely he doesn’t mean for his words to come out as much of an innuendo as they do, but that’s immediately where your mind goes: into the gutter.

“A-aren’t you tired?” you say instead, allowing Loki to steer you by the shoulders back to the pull-out. “I can definitely—”

“No, you need to rest,” he insists. As your butt hits the mattress, Loki’s expression shifts into a thoughtful one. “Although your suit seems to be an unfitting set of clothes, considering you’re quite hot. One moment.”

Loki disappears, walking to a hidden part of the ship and you take this time to fan yourself. It’s still unbelievably hot, and the way your folds are slippery without any stimulation (except, you think with a small smirk, Loki’s little pilot chair moment was visual stimulation enough) causes alarm bells to ring faintly in the distance of your mind.

You experimentally flex your lower muscles and—oh. Oh.

“Here,” Loki says as he saunters back into view. He tosses you a dark green shirt. “Wear that.”

You stare at the bundle of fabric in your lap and realize it’s his.

And just like that, a fire is lit within you.

You bring up the shirt to your face, inhaling his scent when he turns his back, and fucking hell does he smell good. Your mouth practically waters at it, your eyes trained on Loki’s back as he settles back into the pilot’s chair.

Unconsciously you bite your lip as you wonder what his skin might look like underneath his armor.

“Don’t turn around,” you say, fighting the urge to jump him right then and there that surges to the fore. You’re tempted. You really are. And you also want him not to listen to you and turn around, watch you undress and change into his shirt.

Again, what in the hell…?

You shimmy out of your clothes and pull Loki’s shirt over you. It’s Asgardian in design, likely tailored specifically for him. You wearing it just feels so intimate. The smell that’s so distinctly him envelops you and quite frankly, it’s intoxicating.

You stand, and the shirt falls just to your mid-thighs. He didn’t bother getting you any shorts; you’re not sure if you’re grateful or angry, or maybe a heady mix of both.

Bundling up your used clothes in your arms, you clear your throat. “Thank you.”

Loki swivels around, stuttering to a stop when he sees you. His eyes rake over you, from your messy bedhead down to your exposed legs. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat quite visibly, and your pride rears its head in victory.

“No shorts, though?” you ask innocently, one eyebrow shooting up.

“Unnecessary,” he answers with a devious grin that makes your insides melt and ignite all at once.

He turns his attention back to the controls, and you lay your clothes by the side of the pull-out.

Wearing Loki’s shirt does little to cool your temperature—in fact, it’s still blistering despite the Quinjet’s air conditioning.

“Are you sure it isn’t hot?” you ask again. You know you’re asking unnecessary questions, but you want to get him talking, speaking to you in that gorgeous velvet full voice of his.

You hear him chuckle, a gush of heat rushing towards your center. “I’m afraid that’s all you, little one.”

Sighing, you flop onto the bed, pulling a pillow over your legs. Maybe if you take another nap, the heat will subside from your body.

Your arousal, on the other hand…

A thought enters your mind, fleetingly, because you immediately push it away and chastise yourself through the murky fog of your brain. Pleasuring yourself? In Loki’s presence? The absurdity of the idea. You should be feeling shame… only you don’t. Not really, at least.

You shift onto your side, squeezing your eyes tight. Sleep does not come to you. You try lying on your back, on your stomach, and then again—

“Are you alright back there?”

The normal tone Loki uses astounds you, seeing as you’re somehow a feverish, horny mess and he isn’t. It puzzles you, and some deep part of you wants to figure out why. Only your brain seems to refuse to cooperate unless you’re thinking of doing certain things.

Things you certainly don’t mind doing with Loki.

“I-it’s hot,” you explain, embarrassed defeat lacing your words. How many times have you said that to him? You probably sound like a broken record.

At this, Loki lets out a full peal of laughter, husky and with a sensual edge to it. You wish you could make him laugh, hear it one more time. Or twice. Or on loop. It doesn’t really matter.

He swivels again to face you, his sitting posture similar to the one earlier, and it does things to you. Causes an uproar that’s novel to you, a need rising within you that must be sated.

Loki makes a smooth come hither motion with his fingers, curling from his pinky to his index. A beckoning you can’t refuse. “Perhaps I can help. In case you’ve forgotten, I’m quite adept at magic. It may help the current predicament you face.”

You slide off the cot and walk barefooted to the copilot chair. He looks a little different, you realize as you amble towards him. Maybe it’s the allergies, but just as he sounds different, there’s something different about him now that you’re really looking. He’s always been a pretty face and you’ve always found him extraordinarily handsome, but right now is different. You just can’t put a finger on it, so you chalk it up to his aura changing. Or the allergies. Most likely it’s the allergies.

You’re about to sit in the copilot chair beside him, only to be stopped when Loki laughs again and wraps his fingers around your wrist. All you hear is a faint, “No, silly girl,” before he pulls you in between his legs.

Pulls you with surprising strength, it seems, because your butt lands almost unceremoniously in the crook of his groin and lap. Your knees are hooked over the opposite arm rest, which means if you shift even just the tiniest bit to the side, your hip will come in contact with a certain part of him.

It’s a dilemma, you think with a giggle, if you want to be caught in a hard place.

His arms snake around your waist, pulling you close to him, and it just registers that you’re sitting on his lap holy shit you’re sitting on his lap.

“Are you comfortable?” he murmurs, adjusting your position so he can rest his chin on your shoulder. Instantly your mouth goes dry; it’s the proximity. You’ve never been this close to him before, and being in such a… an intimate position has you tense and rigid on top of him.

“I think so?” you squeak, stilling further as Loki’s nose burrows into your hair. He parts the curtain of your hair with side to side movements, until he buries his face into your neck. He inhales, and a delicious shiver runs down your sides.

“Good,” he breathes.

You’re frozen on his lap, afraid to even let out the smallest puff of air. His face just stays there, in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“Are… you okay?”

And then your heart stops, because he’s lifting his head, his fingers brushing your hair to the back and exposing your nape to the cool air. The next second he’s tracing the tip of his nose from your chin up to your earlobe, where he pauses. You’re acutely aware of his lips against your skin, just barely brushing against it. “Never been better.”

He inhales again, deeply, and another shiver runs down your spine. You were wrong to think he was unaffected; something’s changed between you as you slept, and you aren’t sure why or what it is.

“You smell…” He trails off, moving down and back to the spot behind your ear. You swear you feel the slightest whisper of a kiss there, and it takes extra effort to hold in the sigh that’s caught in your throat. “…different.”

“I have a smell?” It comes out with a halfhearted, short laugh; an attempt to ease the thick tension that hangs over you.

Loki only hums in response. This time, with the pressure on your neck and the puffs of his breathing against your skin, you’re sure Loki’s lips are on you. Not a kiss, nothing more—just a steady weight that anchors you in his lap.

Anchors you to the reality that you are in his lap.

“And you are so warm.” The way he says it, his mouth moving against your skin, it’s almost as if he’s talking to himself. His arms around your waist tighten, and your hip comes in contact with a little bulge.

Well, not very little, but…

“Y-yeah, I thought you were going to do something about that.”

“Hmm? Oh, yes.”

His hand rests on your exposed thigh, his thumb rubbing hypnotic circles into your skin. “Better?” he asks with his face still buried in the crook of your neck.

“I don’t think so.” Coherency becomes increasingly difficult to achieve; you’re too focused on the sizzle of electricity thrumming within your veins, spidering from where he touches you.

“How about…” His hand glides up your thighs, skimming over your underwear and underneath the baggy shirt until they come up to rest on your hip. “Now?”

You’re sure he kisses you this time, on that sensitive spot below your ear, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from making a sound.

“Still nothing,” you whisper, strained. “As hot as ever.”

There is no second guessing anymore: something wet and hot darts out behind your ear, and Loki’s lips press a firm, lingering kiss there as his hand skims to the center of your stomach. You suck in a shaky breath, your eyes slipping closed at the spark you feel.

“And now?” he questions, just by your ear. The conspiratorial tone and the volume he uses makes you clench in anticipation.

Instead of answering, you shift on his lap—purposefully grinding a little bit on his evident erection. You hear Loki’s breathing change just slightly, his fingers curling on your stomach.

You think he’s about to do something to break the sexual tension and turn it into something tangible, something you both can actually do to ease the ache you’re sure you both feel, but you know the God of Mischief enjoys his games. He enjoys acting unaffected when in fact he is, and you intend to play that to your advantage. Somehow.

“I’m not sure I’m feeling anything,” you say as nonchalant as possible. A plan quickly brews in your mind, and you pretend to notice something on the dashboard. You wriggle in Loki’s lap, making sure to rub him in all the right places as you tell him you swear you saw something whiz past.

The way Loki tenses underneath you brings you a small bout of satisfaction.

“Perhaps,” he starts, his voice clearly strained as you begin to rotate your hips ever so lightly against him, “perhaps a nap is what you need.”

“But Loki,” you say, exaggerated and almost whiny as you lean back against his lean chest, feeling the full extent of his arousal against your lower back, “who’s going to see if the asteroid comes back?”

You yelp as Loki stands, one arm hooked under your knees and the other around your waist. He’s carrying you, the thought floating through your muddled brain.

“Stark will handle it. Like you said. Trust him and his technology, or something like that,” he says, voice a little rough. “It’s bed for you.”

Loki lays you down with surprising gentleness, smoothing the covers around you. You think you might be able to sleep a little now that a little pent up energy has been released, but you only become shell-shocked when Loki climbs into the cot beside you.

It’s not a very large bed, mind you, which means that you’re trapped between his body and the wall of the ship. There isn’t much room to lay on your back when Loki’s in it with you, so you settle on your side while he does the same.

Loki pulls your back to his chest, completely flush against his body. “Relax,” he murmurs. “Try to sleep.”

Yeah, as if you can with something very hard poking into your backside.

For the record, you do try to sleep. You let your eyes drift closed with Loki’s arm draped over you, but even when you reach that half asleep state you’re focused on his erection behind you and his arm slowly making its way under your shirt again.

And somehow, whether it’s of your own doing or your body on autopilot, your hand slowly makes its way behind, reaching between you and placing it flat against his erection.

It’s like time stops. There’s nothing but static in your brain, the only sound the ever-present hum of the ship. As if neither of you dare to breathe. Loki’s fingers rest on your hipbone, where the garter of your underwear rests.

Neither of you move. You stay like this, for how long you don’t know, until Loki exhales a little, pressing his length against your palm.

“Can’t sleep,” you whisper, shifting to ease the budding strain in your arm. “Still hot.”

“So am I,” Loki replies softly.

You don’t think you can tense up further, but your body surprises you. “Maybe…” You don’t know why you’re allowing your question to form and where you’re getting the boldness to ask. “Maybe you should take something off.”

He’s quiet for a moment, and you don’t turn around to face him. The sound of the sheets rustling and the mattress shifting is enough to tell you that he got up. Cold dread begins to replace the delicious fire that was coursing through your veins—have you scared him away? Offended him?

The mattress dips again, and Loki’s pulling you against him, in the same spooning position you were in earlier. Only… only he’s shirtless, you realize when your back hits his chest.

Shit, you really want to turn around and take a good look at his gloriously naked chest first.

You’re not sure your heart can take any more when Loki slowly guides your hand back to the evidence of his arousal. Once he places your palm on his erection, his hand is sliding over your skin underneath what you’re wearing, resting just underneath the swell of your breast.

“You know, mortal, you are very pretty,” he admits quietly, his finger dashing against your skin. “And your company is… tolerable.”

“Yeah, you’re not too bad yourself, Reindeer Games.” It comes out rushed, breathy, and a small moan of pain (or is it?) punctuates the end of your sentence as he drags a nail over your skin.

“Do not call me that. Or I will have to punish you.”

When did you decide to court danger?

“Are you threatening me with a good time?”

“Perhaps I am threatening you with the absence of one.”

Fast as lightning, Loki removes his touch from you. “You are still feverish. Perhaps you should take off your shirt.”

“You mean your shirt.” Your heart thumps loudly against your ribcage, your hands now toying with the hem of the fabric. The tone between you two has shifted so drastically, the tension so thick it’s almost suffocating. You sit up, twisting to see Loki lying on his side, his eyes dark and half-lidded.

You maintain eye contact as you grip the end of the shirt, slowly pulling it as it exposes, bit by bit, the upper half of your thighs, your underwear, your stomach, your breasts, until you pull it over your head and toss it to the side. Loki stares at you all the while, a hungry look in his eye, but does nothing.

“Lie back down,” he commands, running a finger over your bare side. “Perhaps now you will be able to cool off.”

He twirls the ends of your hair around his fingers as you do as he says, the warmth of your center now the focus of your attention as it thrums.

Loki props you against him, on your side again, his fingers dancing across your midriff, moving up until he’s tracing the tops of your breasts and ghosting over your nipples.

Your back arches almost unconsciously, pressing into him where he meets you with equal pressure.

Experimentally you gyrate over his erection, making sure to keep your movements slow and agonizing. His hands skim over your breasts until he takes one in his hand, rolling your nipple between his fingers until they pebble.

His head falls onto your shoulder as you keep with your tantalizing dance over his hips, his breathing growing ragged. He tweaks and pulls at your nipples, squeezing and palming your breasts until it’s the only thing that clouds your mind.

“Are you—are you still warm?” he asks, evidently trying and failing to keep his composure as you buck your ass against him particularly hard.

“You tell me.”

He flicks over your breast in response, your head falling back with a barely held back moan.

“Maybe you should take off your pants,” you suggest with a sigh.

“Maybe I should take off yours.”

“I’m not wearing any, remember?”

Loki stills, which makes you do the same. He shifts, gently guiding you to lie on your back. The confusion must be clear as day on your face, because Loki stares at you with those intense green eyes of his as he climbs on top of you.

Your faces are level, his eyes scanning every inch. You’re not sure where this is coming from; one minute he’s all over your breasts and the next he’s quiet and on top of you. He buries his face in your neck for what feels like the millionth time today, setting off a reaction that sends another wave of want to your core.

This time he sucks on your neck, and you gasp. Your hands move to bury into his hair, but Loki pins your arms to the sides by your wrists. You writhe underneath him as he marks you with tongue and teeth.

He peppers kisses around your neck, your throat, your collarbone as he grinds into you. Letting out a small groan, he moves to hover over your lips.

“Tell me to kiss you,” he whispers hoarsely. “Do it. Now.”

The grip on your wrists has slackened and you take the opportunity to pull Loki’s face to yours. Hungry and passionate is what the kiss is: his mouth moves quickly, in sync with yours, as though to make sure every bit of this is real and not just a fever dream. You savor it, the taste of him, leaving you dizzy and delirious with every swipe of his tongue and graze of his teeth against your lips. It’s almost rough, the way he kisses you, but it fits the urgency you feel. You don’t want to have it any other way.

He travels down until he’s suckling at your breasts, and you do everything in your power to hold in the moan that rises in your throat. All you can feel is heat and slick and the pulsing of your blood, overcome with the need to be filled to the brim by him.

You’re about to fumble with his pants when he trails a path of kisses down your torso, stopping when he reaches between your legs.

You’re practically trembling with anticipation now. Seeing Loki in between your legs, a wicked grin on his face, has you wetter than you’ve ever gotten in life. He spreads you apart, settling between them, and feathers kisses over your inner thighs.

“Loki,” you say through gritted teeth, your pussy clenching as he nears your sweet center. “Stop teasing.”

He shifts forward, kissing your hips, your stomach jumping underneath him. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he bares his teeth, scraping over your skin and biting down on the fabric of your underwear.

He slides one side down, his mouth dragging over your thigh, your underwear between his teeth; he does the same to the other side, and again he goes. All the way, pulling your underwear down with his teeth until they’re around your ankles. He discards it lazily, adding it to the growing pile of clothes, and at this point you’re nothing but a whimpering mess.

“So this is the source of your sweet smell,” he mutters as he lowers his head between your legs. You’re shaking lightly, wound tight from the excitement, and when Loki inhales the scent of you, long and drawn out, you almost want to cum right there and then.

“Absolutely divine,” he comments. Then he’s placing his tongue flat against you, your head falling back against the pillow, unable to hold in the moan that spills from your lips.

It’s like an explosion of little lights, you think distantly. Little stars bursting from one touch.

He lifts his head from your cunt with a mischievous grin. “I like that sound, little one. Let’s see how many times I can make you do it again.”

The feeling of Loki’s head between your legs, his mouth inside you, is incomparable. He dives into your cavern, his dexterous tongue causing you to sigh praises that seem to only spur him on. It’s a steady, swirling motion that drives you insane, your pelvis arching.

Then he’s moving up to swipe over your clit, and every nerve ending in your body sizzles and frays, another loud moan of his name ripped from your throat. With a grip of steel, he holds your thighs down, parted wide, as he assaults your clit with sucks and nibbles and licks.

“Loki,” you pant, hips bucking against his mouth. Your insides begin to coil in preparation, your walls clenching around Loki’s tongue. “Loki, I—”

He hums, almost like he’s questioning you, and the vibration on your sensitive parts is enough to send you over the edge.

The orgasm that overtakes you is powerful, pulsing through every part of your body as you whisper his name like a prayer. Only Loki doesn’t stop—he licks up every drop that leaks from you, and it’s enough stimulation for another powerful orgasm to build.

His lips latch onto your clit, sucking rhythmically, as his tongue swipes and swirls around the bundle of nerves.

“Loki,” you try to say, only it comes out a breathy whine, “I want to go down on you too—ah—”

He plunges a finger deep within you, curling against your G-spot in time with his sucks.

“Fucking hell, Loki,” you grind out, your fingernails digging into his scalp as you rotate your hips on his face. You can feel the steady climb to another precipice of an orgasm, as well as the tiny smirk that plays on Loki’s face against you.

Your grip tightens on his hair as he speeds up his movements; rapid, quick swipes on your clit, his fingers pumping in and out of you shallowly. Your walls begin to clench at the splinters of release—

“Not yet,” he says, removing his lips and fingers from you with a dark grin.

Frustration wells up within you, but it’s shadowed by the undeniable thrill that shoots towards your center. If you’re understanding Loki right—which you do most of the time—he isn’t finished with you just yet.

He crawls on top of you like a prowling animal, the pure lust in his eyes mirroring what you feel. He captures your lips in a kiss, languid and seductive, his hands cradling your face.

The juxtaposition of the entire situation hits you like a freight train. He’s gentle when he’s holding you like this, like you’re made of glass, but the urgency with which he grinds into your naked mound detonates another explosion of emotions. One action is delicate, the other rough. Contrast bolting through you at the same time and colliding into one as pleasure.

“You’re amazing,” you sigh into his mouth, and you can feel Loki suck in a breath, pausing at your words. Spotting your chance, you roll on top of him, straddling his waist with a smirk.

Loki’s eyes open, a ghost of bewilderment etched onto his face at the sudden shift, and then when he sees your expression he transforms his own into his usual confident half-grin. As though he’s merely amused by this whole situation—but he isn’t fooling you.

“I didn’t think you had it in you, little one,” he drawls, sliding his hands up your sides.

You grab his forearms, pushing them down to his sides as you rock against the clothed tent in his pants. Loki could easily overpower you, you know that, free his arms from your not so vicelike grip, but he lets you. Lets you pin his arms to his sides just as he did to you.

Lowering your head, you run your nose along the expanse of his chest, up to his neck where it’s your turn to inhale deeply. He smells just like the shirt you were wearing, only ten times more potent, and it sends a fresh wave of heady arousal to wash over you.

“Not yet,” you echo his words from earlier, your grip tightening on his wrists as you grind down into him. You can feel Loki about to respond with a snarky remark, so you silence him by suctioning your lips on his neck. Your one track mind has only one goal: mark him with bruises that are of your doing. Claim him as yours.

You lift off him with a little pop; not a very sexy sound, but Loki seems to enjoy it with the way his hips seem to be moving of their own accord. You kiss across his throat before suctioning again on another spot right below his jaw.

This time, you play a little rough.

Loki’s hips jerk upwards as your teeth rake over his skin, his breath fanning over your hair. “Little minx,” he utters, groaning a second later as you push your center against him with a harder bite to his neck.

“Pants off, Loki,” you whisper.

He frees one arm from your grip and haphazardly waves his hand, and your swollen sex comes in contact with the flesh of his hard and heavy cock.

Just as Loki’s about to jerk up and into you, you lift your hips off of him. It kills you to do it, but the teasing, the foreplay, causes you to feel a smidge of power.

“I said, not yet,” you say, sliding down his body until your face is level with his cock.

His length throbs in front of you, and somehow, somewhere in the deep recesses of your mind you think you’ve never seen a cock as beautiful as his. Curious, you lick a stripe down the underside of it, from the base up to the tip.

Loki masks his hiss, turning it into a cheeky exhale, folding an arm under his head. “Go on then. Impress me.”

Whatever intimidation game he’s trying to play, feigning nonchalance, it’s not going to work on you. You take a moment to examine the bead of precum that leaks from his slit, your fingers at the base of his erection, and drag the tip of your tongue over it before sliding your lips over the blunt head.

You don’t bob up and down; unmoving, merely suckling and swirling your tongue around the head of his cock. His hands fist into your hair as your hand and mouth begin to pump up and down his shaft, and just like that promises and praise fall from his lips like wine.

You chance a glance at him, and are utterly pleased by the sight. Loki’s eyes are scrunched shut, barely containing his pleasure, breathing hard through his nose. To have him, a god, reduced to his most carnal needs at your ministrations fills you with gratification. You take him further into your mouth until you can feel him pulsing with almost release, and then you lift off him with a sly grin.

“Not yet,” you repeat in almost a teasing, singsong kind of way.

Loki glares at you, but it’s hardly threatening. You manage to laugh as you level your faces, kissing him hot on the mouth and guiding your slick entrance to his throbbing cock.

You hover over him, not fully seated, his cock just stretching you the slightest bit. Your self-restraint cracks with every passing second you remain unmoving, until Loki takes your hips in his hands and brings you down on top of him, seating you on top of him.

He stretches you in a way you can only describe as full. You lean forward, planting your hands on his lean chest, and rock against him, eyes closing at the feeling.

It’s nothing you could ever conjure up in your wild dreams—he fills you, grinding in time with you and sending you into a barely controlled frenzy. But you keep your movements slow, relishing the way you can feel him throb inside you. Everything feels so new, a first you’ve never experienced: each touch, movement, kiss, no matter how small seems to be amplified in the small ship. It fills you with an unfamiliar, delicious kind of fire, boiling inside you.

“Not—not bad,” Loki grunts, unable to maintain the once casual tone he used before. “For a mortal.”

You swivel your hips and rake your nails over his chest, and Loki’s mouth parts lightly. “Not bad,” you remark, squeezing your muscles around him, “Reindeer Games.”

It’s Loki’s turn to seize his opportunity, it seems, because his eyes fly open, a wild, hungry look to him as he flips you underneath him, his cock still buried in you. The shift in position drives you a little mad, your pussy clenching unconsciously around him.

“What did I say,” he asks dangerously, plowing in and out of you with slow, agonizing strokes, “about calling me that?”

“You’d punish me.” A delicious shiver runs down your spine as the words come out.

“Wonderful that you remember. Because you’re about to forget everything except my name.”

And with that promise, Loki brings your wrists over your head, pinning them above you with a firm grip, his mouth seeking yours as he begins to rut into you more senselessly now. He swallows the moan you make when the tip of his cock hits a particularly sensitive spot inside you, making sure to angle it right where you’re most sensitive.

He doesn’t cease his movements when he latches onto your breast, roughly biting and sucking until you’re whimpering soft cries and pleas and praises. His other hand caresses the curve of your hip and ass before he presses on your clit.

If you were seeing stars earlier, right now you’re seeing entire galaxies explode behind your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, your legs spread wide open, and just when you think you’ve felt it all, Loki takes you by surprise and pulls you both into a kneeling position. He bounces you on his cock with unrelenting speed, and your arms find their way around his shoulders as you approach orgasm yet again.

You subconsciously flex your walls around him, biting down on his shoulder to prepare you for an orgasm—only Loki slows to a stop, gently laying you back down on your back.

The release that built inside you ebbs away, and you clench around Loki, a silent signal for him to continue. Only Loki pulls himself out of you, resting atop you with his face buried in your neck, suckling another bruise into your skin.

“Loki,” you breathe, his hand cupping your breast, “Loki, please.”

The god has the nerve to smile against you, you feel it. “What did you say to me earlier?”

“You said it to me first, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Loki lifts his head, his eyes boring into yours, blown with desire and yet… something has shifted. Something else is there.

“You are extraordinary,” he tells you, brushing hair away from your forehead. “You have always been the object of my attention, ever since you walked into the board room on your first day.”

Your throat closes with the genuine admission, and you swallow the lump in your throat. “Yeah, well, I always thought you were pretty neat. Maybe we can talk later and finish what we started?”

Loki chuckles, his eyes crinkling, and presses a kiss to your lips. “Smart woman.”

It’s almost as if the tender moment doesn’t happen at all, because Loki’s arms snake underneath you to bring your hips closer to his, plunging into you and reaching a deeper spot that makes both of you groan in earnest. Whatever just happened, you can probably mark it for later with a good sit-down conversation. Right now your focus is on his cock inside you, and you don’t hesitate to tell him how good he’s making you feel.

“Hands above your head,” he commands.

You oblige, and his head immediately dips to your breasts. He’s kissing, licking everywhere he can reach, while your hands tangle in his hair, his shoulders, his muscled back. Your back arches, his cock thrusting mercilessly into you, burying himself to the hilt and brushing against that sweet, sweet spot over and over.

You don’t know how you’re ever going to come back from this. Loki buried within you, your cunt stretching to accommodate him, perfectly slotting into each other. His fingers rub against your clit, adding to your already overloaded senses and fuck, it’s as if all the effects from the foreplay and your heat come crashing down in one big tidal wave.

The speed at which Loki’s pounding into you is almost ungodly, unreal. Your mouth hangs open, your orgasm building with extraordinary intensity—

Almost as quickly as it builds, you’re tipped over the edge, a broken wail of his name accompanying the spasms in your lower body. You’ve never had an orgasm as shattering as this one, your cunt fluttering around Loki even as you slowly come down from your high.

“That’s it,” Loki says, jaw set. “Very good, little one.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down—he continues to wreck you, the sounds of your coupling obscenely filling the air. You want him to feel the seismic pleasure you just did—so you clamp around him, rotate your hips in little circles in time with his thrusts.

“You’re absolutely amazing,” you tell him, watching how he slowly unravels with every new praise. You tell him how good he makes you feel, how good he is, perfect and incredible and oh, the things you would do to—

Loki bends down and kisses you ferociously, licking every part of your mouth and biting on your lips as he bucks, going rock hard and cumming inside you. His movements slow, just a fraction, as you let him ride out his high.

“Glorious woman,” he mutters, his eyes still closed as he kisses over every inch of your face.

You’re about to return with a compliment of your own, but are cut off when Loki grinds into you again.

“A-are you still hard?” you ask, a giggle rising to your throat whose tail end turns into another moan.

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve made you make that wonderful sound,” he says, hips stirring back to life as you feel a fresh bout of slick moisture gush down your legs. “I think that’s quite a success.”

And then he’s flipping you over, on your stomach, pulling your ass up and sliding his still-hard cock back into your dripping folds, reaching depths you didn’t even know you had, evidently ready for another round.

Through your half-lidded eyes, you make out the faint outline of stars—whether they’re from the pleasure you feel or actually there, you don’t know.

-- -- --

You’d think overstimulation would best you, but your entire afternoon—evening, morning, you can’t really tell, space is just completely dark—has been you and Loki all over each other all over the ship.

You can’t tell how long it’s been, but you can feel the ship beginning to descend into Earth’s atmosphere.

“Hey. Hey, Loki—ah, yes, there—”

You’ve also lost track of how many orgasms you’ve had.

You writhe underneath him, searing hot ecstasy blistering in your core as Loki sucks on your clit, his teeth just lightly scraping over it, his fingers smoothing over your inner thighs.

“You taste so sweet, little one,” he murmurs against you, licking through your folds.

“Don’t distract me.” You swat at his head weakly. “I think we’re here.”

“Haven’t touched the ground,” he says, shrugging, making to dive back into your well-spent cunt.

You stop him before he can seduce you into letting him taste you again, and again, as he’d been doing all day.

Whatever warmth you were feeling earlier has completely subsided from your body, and even your mind feels clearer. As soon as you came down from whatever it was, all that was left was a blissful afterglow that you still feel until now.

Surprisingly, you and Loki haven’t had any awkward, dead air—granted, he has been buried in your thighs and yours in his most of the trip. You thought maybe as soon as the strange fever subsided, you’d both be back to whatever it was before this, but apparently not. It seems to have opened up a door, an opportunity, one you both mutually want to walk through together.

“We still have time,” Loki purrs, caressing your folds with his thumbs.

“You’re insatiable,” you sigh, and Loki takes this as a sign to delve back into your warmth, his tongue gliding into you for the umpteenth time today.

“You love it.”

You and Loki disembark the Quinjet, you with shaky legs and him with a sort of spring in his step. You’re not sure what to tell the others when you see them, a tinge of worry sneaking into your bubble of sexual satisfaction.

As soon as you walk into the board room, you’re met with the expectant eyes of the Avengers, studying the pair of you with varying expressions.

And then Loki’s sliding his arm around your waist, bringing you closer to him, and the room erupts into shouts of “Called it!” and “No!” and you can’t help but laugh at the raucousness of it all.

“I’m glad we couldn’t take the Bifrost coming back here,” you tell Loki quietly.

“As am I,” he whispers back.

“Yeah, about that,” Stark cuts in, stepping forward, “yeah… you totally could have used it.”

#by belle #smut #loki x you #loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #loki smut #loki imagine #yeah... yeah this VERY long #tom hiddleston imagine #sex pollen

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