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huenjin · 4 years

Text

the study of relationships.

summary — college team's volleyball captain and your roommate-cum-best friend, hwang hyunjin argues with you over guys being better than girls in relationships to help you out of one. or in which hyunjin is in love with you for years now and he finally decides that maybe he doesn't want that best friend tag anymore.

pairing — hwang hyunjin x reader, ft. minho

genre — fluff, angst | volleyball!au, f2l!au, roommates!au

rating — nc-17

word count — 15k words

note — kinda excited to post this very long plotted fic on here because first long fic for skz !!! this fic is brought to you by hq, hyunjin's long blond hair and b me mv that we never got. please please do send me constructive criticism so that i can improve on my writing for this community. happy reading!

"Whoa, whoa, whoa."

Your best friend, Hwang Hyunjin yells at the top of his voice, pitch lower in precision as you open the door and slam it shut forcefully, the sound loud enough to bounce to him clearly. Your feet storm hard against the wooden flooring of your apartment, sound bouncing off from that again and Hyunjin pauses his video game to look at you.

It's a familiar sight. Hyunjin sighs.

"Hey," he tries catching your attention but he fails. You storm into your room, hair flailing behind you in your anger, eyes blurry with the angst you feel that wraps slowly around your heart. You walk into the room and slam the door shut, so loud that a chip of wood breaks from the top of the door and falls down.

"Jesus Christ! Y/N—" Hyunjin yells to no one in particular. However, he drops his controller to the side of the couch and jumps to his feet only after pausing his game. He takes big strides to your room and in high contrast to his rash movements, his knocking on your door is very gentle.

"Can I come in?" He asks, scratching the door absentmindedly. He presses his ear and head against the door to hear a response but all he hears are your soft cries and it makes him sad.

"Y/N—"

"Go away, Hyunjin!"

"Y/N, let me in," he stresses, his leg kicking the air slightly, dangling before that. "I—"

"You're going to make fun of me."

"Will not." Hyunjin knows where this stems from and he won't deny. However, at this minute, he just wants to be there for you. Teasing could wait for an hour or so after you've calmed down. "So please?"

You hum and Hyunjin waits for a sign of protest. When he hears none, he takes it as an approval to open the door and the sight before him hurts him ever so slightly.

You are wrapped in a cocoon of your white blanket and your head is buried in the sheets outside, not ready to look up at your best friend. He frowns as he walks towards you, letting himself to sit by your side. He stretches his arm out and stops when you declare,

"I'm a world class dumpee."

"You are," he shrugs, voice tainted with a slight tease and you look up at him, glaring with your red, puffy eyes. You try shoving him but the cocoon you are wrapped in slightly falls forward too in impact. Hyunjin laughs and stretches both his arms forward to prevent you from falling forwards.

You pout, mumbling with a voice that is strained and is your proof of the urge to cry, "You promised you wouldn't."

"I'm your best friend," he shrugs and pushes your body wrapped in the thick blankets backwards, your head hitting against the pillow. A soft whine leaves your lips, followed by an oomph. "You knew I was going to tease you at the very first opportunity."

And then Hyunjin pounces on you, tickling your sides over the covers and your tickle sensitive being rushes in sensation as you laugh your heart out, chest heavy and mind focussing only on your best friend that you forget about the boy who broke up with you an hour back.

"Stop," you laugh. "Hyunjin," you whine. "Stop, you idiot," you laugh again. "I'm going to kill you—"

Hyunjin's laughter fills the air along with yours. In your perspective through your watery eyes, you see a boy with no worries and all smiles and you want to be like that. You desperately want to be like that. You push your wrapped body upwards to shove Hyunjin to the side and it works. He laughs, slowly receding with yours and he lets out a loud relieved sigh as he looks at your face with less creases and tears that now fall due to laughter.

"Hey," Hyunjin says and you turn your head to face him. His face is rigid, the childish gleam that he had just a while back long gone.

"Yeah?"

He sits up, running a hand through his hair and folding his arms soon after. "The guy was a jerk," he tells, helping you up. His hand finds the end of the blanket and unwraps it slowly from your being. "He was a mighty jerk, okay?"

"He is your teammate, Lee Minho," you stare, dead into his eyes and he shrugs.

"I know," he sighs before shrugging, giving you a nonchalant look. "What was it this time? Let me guess, he broke up with you for no reason again."

You hit the blankets that cover your thigh hard and send imaginary daggers in Hyunjin's way, "Yeah! I just don't understand why he'd break up with me."

"Uh, possibly because—"

"Is it because I'm on like close friend terms with everyone in the college volleyball team? I mean, Lee Minho always said dating—"

"Dating you would be hard, Y/N," Hyunjin continues, mocking your ex-boyfriend's voice. "You hang out with so many guys and all your best friends are dudes that it makes me jealous," Hyunjin pauses, placing his hands flat on the bed from behind as he leans back. "Ah, Lee Minho, that bastard. He always did say that to you."

You look down, fidgeting with your fingers and you roar out in anger. Hyunjin looks at you amused until you say, "Why can't guys be more like girls?"

"Excuse me?"

Hyunjin's eyebrow is raised and he laughs mockingly. He lifts his arms from behind, stretches his back before sitting up straight. He kicks his legs and raises it upwards to sit cross legged, looking straight at you and laughs again. "You are totally kidding me, right?"

"No, I'm not, Hyunjin," your eyebrows furrow. "The reason behind most, if not all, break-ups is the guy."

Hyunjin agrees with you deep down. Okay, maybe not completely but at least a ninety percent and that's a good one. However, he knows how competitive you are and if there's something that can get your head out of this post break up blues, it's this.

A competition. And so just to entice you a little, he sneers, "If anything, girls should be more like guys."

"Bitch, no," you laugh, head falling back at the sheer stupidity that rolls out from your best friend's mouth. "Men are so conceited that they had to make a whole word for treating women equal."

"Not all men simp. Plus, it's an AAVE and that people should not use it. In my defense, I've treated you like a guy my whole life," he shrugs. Lies. Lies. Lies he spews out endlessly because at one point, without him even knowing, things did change and he's seen you as a woman; as a woman he now has feelings for.

Hyunjin, to prove his point, hits you on his back like you've seen him do with all his teammates and your torso bends forward from your hips on impact. "See!" He stretches his arms, tattoos on display in the loose half sleeved black top he wears and you wince, stretching your hand back to rub only for Hyunjin to stop laughing quickly and rub your back, mumbling, "Sorry."

"Hyunjin," you shrug, mumbling, trying to guide your best friend. "Don't ever use the not all men tag, please."

He slaps a hand over his mouth, realising his error, again apologising and you stretch your hand forward quickly to protest, "No, no," you tell, "You don't have to apologise. I just hope you know how it sounds."

"I do," he falls back, lying down against your mattress. "I do and I hate that I accidentally said it."

You follow suit, and fall on the bed, hair splaying around, some falling on Hyunjin's face. He groans, moving the hair away and whining, "It got into my mouth, ew." You laugh.

Hyunjin speaks out, staring at the ceiling, "Whose fault is it that a relationship goes astray?"

"Still going to say the men," you look at the same spot he stares at. "They're—"

"It's a war."

"See!" You exclaim. "This is the issue with men. They cut us off all the time."

Hyunjin laughs, hand stretching out to hold your wrist to soothe you down and mumbling another apology, he continues, "This is a battle, Y/N; a battle that's aged long and has never come to a conclusion. The battle—"

"Get to the point."

"Look who cut me off now."

"Touché."

"Anyhow," he continues. "The battle between men and women."

"You definitely sounded like a prepubescent boy there," you look at Hyunjin. His skin is so clear, you notice, making a mental note to steal his skin care products later. He turns a second later to face you and he nods, "Don't care. Definitely going to win this."

"You wish," you let out a condescending laugh. "I'm going to beat your ass, Hyunjin."

"Kinky," he smiles that stupid, toothy grin of his, "I likey."

"You gross pubescent boy," you shove at his arms only for him to quickly hold your hand, interlocking his fingers with yours in the midst of the squabble. You let him, still laughing lightly, lungs light and mind free from all the sad thoughts.

"I see that I've got an upgrade."

"You did."

You're about to thank Hyunjin for this small gesture that probably seems to be nothing when his phone rings from the other room. The scary unexpected track to Tokyo Ghoul's opening – Unravel – that you can't help but accept that you've grown to like, plays.

He lets go of your hand and jolts upwards, jumping off the bed. A small whine leaves your lips unexpectedly and Hyunjin smiles at that. He pulls up the blankets over your body that he shifted, mumbling, "You should sleep early. You had a tough day."

"No," you whine yet again, "Let's talk more—" His phone rings louder, the scream part of the ringtone jolting you up and your hand falls on your chest in shock. "Hate when your phone does."

"And yet you sing along to it," he sings, humming the tune.

"Pfft," you scoff, holding onto the blanket, scrunching it in your grip. "Go. It's probably about the practise match against Yonsei University."

He hums in agreement, folding the blanket again carefully, right below your neck, his cold hands brushing against your clavicle and the temperature difference runs a shiver down your spine.

Hyunjin switches off the light as he walks out, gently closing the door shut and you watch your best friend throwing a small smile at you before leaving. Did you really deserve all this care? Perhaps not.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, dashes out to get the phone before the caller cuts the call in frustration. He's definitely not spending the money to call back whoever it is. That shit is expensive. He jumps a couple of steps and grabs his phone, accepting the call before looking at the name of the caller.

"Hyunjin…" It's Lee Minho. "Can you come over?"

"I really want to throw a punch at you, you bastard."

And Hyunjin does. Virtually, of course. Over the game they are playing. He couldn't afford to injure a fellow teammate when the preliminaries are right around the corner.

"Bro," Minho sighs. "Can you go easy on me?"

His game character hits Minho's again, the energy bar of the other drastically going down on the screen. Hyunjin can't stop. The frustration that he has pent up over the last hour after seeing you cry and crumble over being dumped by his other friend drives him to the edge and he delivers another punch. Minho's character dramatically collapses as soon as the energy bar is empty and he drops the console by his side, pressing his back against the sofa, arms wrapped against his chest, pouting.

"I—"

"Go on," Hyunjin glares at him. "You better have a good explanation."

Minho runs a hand through his hair and sitting up straight, turning his torso to face Hyunjin, he tells, "I don't."

"You're lucky that we have a match soon, else you'd be six feet underground," Hyunjin sighs, throwing his hands over his head and folding it behind. "I can't believe you did that to Y/N."

"I fell out of love with her," Minho says. He doesn't dare to look at Hyunjin because he fears if the glares would actually result in him six feet underground. "Can't that be the only reason?"

Hyunjin chuckles, moreso at himself than at his friend, mumbling under his breath so low that Minho thinks it's just him humming, "Is it possible to fall out of love with her?"

He wishes Lee Minho could tell him how.

Hyunjin stands up, patting his denim jeans and looking at Minho, he warns, eyebrows furrowing, "I'll help her out with this. Just don't be a jerk and start dating in like two days."

"I—" Hyunjin glares at him. "Fine."

"Practice at seven," he adds and grabs the key of his motorcycle from the table before him. "Don't be late and act normal around Y/N."

"Fine, sir," Minho rolls his eyes. He won't admit it ever but the man warning him could be the reason for his breakup. That and his insecurity and fear of you cheating on him. But it's mostly Hwang Hyunjin. He knows how he feels even if you didn't.

Hyunjin walks out of Minho's house, closing the door on his way out and getting on his motorcycle, he rides back home to you. Just as he had promised you.

He opens the door to your room as soon as he enters his house, removing his shoes and placing it to the side, only to find his ears listening to the soft snores that let free from your lips. Carefully he walks towards you, his thumb and forefinger holding your chin lightly and tilting your head upwards to help you breathe properly.

He pauses for a minute just to watch you. Your eyebrows that you dislike so much just because according to you, it's not thick enough. He loves it however, even though you would never listen to him. Your eyelashes cast a gentle shadow on your high cheekbones and he gasps because you're so beautiful. You're so near to him and yet so far.

He bends forward, pushes your fringes to the side and places a soft kiss against your forehead, mumbling the words he wishes he could tell you straight up. Even if he did, you'd probably laugh and scoff at him.

"Beautiful girl," his lips graze the skin by your forehead, "You are a fighter. You have always been a fighter. You are stronger than you think. You are braver than you believe. Every challenge that life has thrown at you, you've conquered every obstacle that has been placed in front of you. You've overcome every single one of them. You are unstoppable and unbreakable and right now, you are filled with more faith than you have ever been."

Hyunjin pulls away, softly caressing the hair by the side of your face, "So please believe in yourself. You're worth so much love. So much of it, Y/N."

"The jerseys came!"

Bang Chan screams, a huge grin on his face as he opens the door for you. He runs to Felix and holds onto his shoulders before jumping up and down in joy. He is so delighted. "It looks so good, dude."

Hyunjin smiles, running towards you and helping you with the cardboard box. "It's alright," you mumble. "I'm the manager. It's my job."

"Pfft," he scoffs. "And I'm your best friend. It's my job." He picks the huge box that covers your entire upper half, easily and places it down before the coach and the team.

Jisung rushes to your side, nudging you with his elbow, "We've got a pretty good manager." He bends down and rips open the box, taking his jersey in his hand, "Number 13, bitches. Nothing shows what an amazing libero I am like the number most feared." You laugh.

"Number 10 isn't that bad, I guess." You hear Minho's voice break through the cluster of voices and your movements still. You turn your head to look at the brown haired boy who towers over you, wearing a smile so pretty that your heart still skips a beat.

"Hey, Y/N," he smiles. "Thanks for bringing this over."

"Uh," you fidget with your fingers, averting your gaze everywhere else besides at Minho. "I guess. It's my job, yeah."

Hyunjin notices. He always does. The boy runs towards you with his jersey. Number 1 printed in big behind. The setter brings the jersey so close to your face that it's buried in the fresh opened shirt. "Number 1, of course," he laughs, scrunching the shirt in his hand as he raises both his arms above.

"Oh, shut up, Jinnie," you laugh.

"Yeah, shut up, Jinnie," Jisung echoes. The middle blocker, though not the tallest in stature, is excellent at his position and has the biggest love-hate relationship with your best friend. He folds his arms and mocks Hyunjin.

Hyunjin places his right hand down on Jisung's head, ruffling his hair after pressing down on it. He scolds the older boy, "Don't call me Jinnie. Y/N's the only one who gets to call me that."

"Stop gathering around people," The captain claps his hands together to gather all of your attention. You quickly rush to his side and he smiles at you warmly, before looking at his team and glaring at each of them as they gather around him. "Yonsei University was kind enough to arrange a practice match with us thanks to—"

"Y/N," Jisung shouts, pivoting his arms by their sockets before lifting them both high above his head, cheering for you.

"Don't cut me off, Han," the coach shoots daggers at him, frowning visibly at the disobedience. "One more time and you're running around the gymnasium twenty times."

Jisung groans, only after winking at you. You chuckle under your breath, covering your face with the notepad in your hand. Hyunjin rolls his eyes, nudging Jisung to 'keep it in his pants' in the scariest voice ever. You could feel the dark clouds around Hyunjin, the aura darkening for a split minute before he breaks out into a huge smile as he looks at you.

The coach instructs out commands; strategies to help the team win against Yonsei. Moves that he's studied after watching their matches. You know this because you watched Hyunjin do the same at home. He does it at odd timings though.

You would wake up at three in the morning to grab a glass of water and you'd find your best friend squatting in front of the television as he watches every single one of Yonsei's matches. He wouldn't listen to you telling him to go to sleep because, "Being the captain is hard, Y/N. The whole team's banking on me to set the ball perfectly at the right time. I can't..."

And you understand. You understand the worries that go around in his head, the anxiety of being the best because he's no genius. He got to the top, made a name for him all thanks to his hard work and if he needs to keep it — he won't have it any other way — he swears to god that he would practise and study till he drops dead. Hwang Hyunjin loves volleyball that much.

So, you do what any friend would do.

You would make two cups of coffee, one for him and one for yourself. You sit next to him and watch the match with him. Your head lays back against the soft material of the sofa, just watching Hyunjin's eyes fixed on the screen, studying each movement of every player, gasping occasionally at how the setter of Yonsei's team leans his head back to decoy the opposite team only to dump the ball.

You don't remember much from that night because you fall asleep way too quick in the silence and in the presence of a focussed Hyunjin, your cup of coffee half empty. You don't remember anything from that night besides the fact that you woke up in your bed the next morning, or more like, Hyunjin waking you up the next morning because you overslept. Either ways, you were back in your bed and for that, you were grateful.

And as soon as the coach is done with the instructions, the team members scramble before splitting themselves into two groups, first to do serves and then perfect shots and finally, have a practice match.

You sit next to the coach, watching each and every member. That's what the previous manager told you to do. To observe. That's what the manager must do. To observe so well that you know each member well enough to know how their mind works, how their personalities are and who they truly want to be.

This is exactly why you can't seem to ever hate Lee Minho. Because you've seen him on the court, at his very best.

He's the best darn middle blocker you've ever seen. He doesn't tower that much over people with his height but when he jumps, lifting off his feet, he is as good as a wall cemented and strong before the opponent. He has only got better with every practice match and you realise that he wants to be better. And that's how he truly is. The constant urge to do better than the person he was before and perhaps, to Minho, you are someone he wants to leave behind in the past.

There's no one to blame here and you realise that it's a lot better if you accept the truth before it hurts you more than it should.

But then, in a second, Hyunjin takes your attention away whole heartedly. The boy arches his body so beautifully as he sets the ball for Jisung who slams the ball over the net with such force that leaves you gaping, notebook slamming your thigh. The coach stands up, his heels slamming the ground first before his toes do and he is as stunned as you are, eyes wide.

Funnily, Jisung's surprised too.

"We did it!" He says slowly, his words gradually making sense to him and when it does, he rushes to him, holding his shoulders and jumping ecstatically, "Hwang Hyunjin, we fucking did it!"

"When did you guys practice that?" The coach cuts the commotion short with his question. Hyunjin turns to face him along with Jisung, scratching the back of his head. Jisung is so overjoyed that he rushes to the coach, "Today morning! It sounded delusional but we pulled it off, coach."

You look at Hyunjin, who turns his attention back to you as soon as the coach is scrambling off to tell more instructions to Jisung on how he should time it a little bit earlier to hit it with even more impact. You smile, giving him a thumbs up and Hyunjin laughs, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Are you guys finally dating now that Minho's out of the picture?" Chan nudges Hyunjin. The man stumbles a step forward on impact only to quickly look at the older with eyes so wide that he wonders if it were possible.

"What?" He splutters the words out, voice haphazard after the cough.

"Everyone in the team thinks you guys should," Chan shrugs and Hyunjin's face morphs into that of seriousness almost instantly and shoots the other male with, "Did Minho hear of this?"

"Perhaps," Chan catches the ball Felix throws at him. The coach claps his hands to bring the attention back to him, barking out orders to resume the game. Chan pats Hyunjin's shoulders, "You know what we always tell, Hyunjin, in this sport—"

"Take the shot when you see the opportunity."

"Exactly."

"Or someone's going to block again," Chan sniggers and looks at Minho, who was trying his very best to avoid your gaze, "This time round, it could be someone better than our middle blocker."

You're picking up the volleyballs lying around when the guys go to shower and change, dribbling them slightly and smiling to yourself. A figure towers over you as they drop a ball into the huge bucket. You turn around to look up at Minho.

"Can we speak?"

"Do we have more to say?"

"I guess," he shrugs.

"We can still be friends, Minho," you sigh, eyes closed. "I also won't be those annoying types to tell Hyunjin to stay away from you because you broke up with me. You should know better."

"I didn't mean that," Minho looks offended. "I wanted to apologise. I should have tried harder perhaps."

"You should have."

"I know," Minho sucks in his lower lip. "I really should have but you know—"

"Lee Minho," your voice is firm. "I've told you a gazillion times that Hyunjin and I are just friends, Minho. Somehow you made up this sort of weird thing in your head so don't drag me into this mess. This is yours."

Minho scoffs, "You're going to eat your words soon," and picks up another ball. You remember the task you had forgotten in the heat of the moment, rushing to pick up a ball to put it back. The rest of the team is slowly making their way outside.

"I doubt," you sigh, throwing the last ball into the bucket and dusting your hands together. Jisung's darting towards you, hands in the air. Minho moves to the side, gliding against the floor, making way for the shorter man to reach you, bubbling with such enthusiasm you wonder what the cause of it is.

"Felix is treating us!"

Ah, so that's the reason. You smile at Jisung, nodding your approval. You push the bucket to the side of the gymnasium with Minho's help and switch the lights off as the team exits the gymnasium.

"Lee Minho!" You hear a feminine voice through the air, your eyebrows quirking upwards automatically. Hyunjin walks to your side, sighing as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his sports jacket, mumbling so softly that you barely catch it, "I warned that asshole, God damn him."

Minho's face lights up in a way you haven't seen in a while and your heart is heavy. The woman, Irene — you hear Chan shout her name and wave at her — locks her arm with Minho's and walks with him, the man doing nothing to push her away. It shouldn't affect you. Not anymore now that the two of you have broken up and yet it hurts.

Hyunjin quickly pulls you away, preventing your eyes from lingering further even a minute more. His hand holds yours and he drags you to his motorcycle. You look down, biting the insides of your cheeks, alternating between the right and left every time you taste the copper of the blood.

"Your hand is so small," Hyunjin says. "Like look at how it fits into mine," he laughs, lifting your hand upwards as he clasps it tightly. He mumbles, "So small."

You break into a smile, watching Hyunjin tease you, momentarily drifting from the thought that upsets you and it leaves you wondering how Hyunjin does it all the time. He lets go of your hand, ruffling your hair as he bends lightly, "You've got this."

He quickly turns on the heels of his feet, pulling out the keys to his bike and igniting it. You hear Jisung scream from behind, "I thought you were taking me with you!"

Hyunjin screams back, "Carpool with the rest. I'm taking Y/N."

He lifts his leg, straddling the bike as he holds onto the handles, kicking the support free. He turns towards you and tells you to hop on and you do as he says. Your fingers hold his jacket, making sure you're not hugging him from behind. Minho's words run in your head and Hyunjin notices this small gesture of yours but he pays no heed. After all, it's been a while since he realised that what he has with you is better when it's platonic. He is too afraid to lose you.

"Jinnie," you tell him as he starts the motorbike, accelerating behind Jin who leads the way. You hear your best friend scream, "Yeah," through the loud winds that hit you.

You lean forward and speak closer into his ears, your jaw hitting his helmet, "Remember how I said the guys are to be blamed in a relationship."

"Yeah," he hints at you to proceed.

"Here's my first point. Minho back there," you point out. "It was that easy for a guy to move on. That easy," you stress your word. "While I'm here repenting if there was any way to get things back to where it was. However, there's no use in me trying because there's Minho with Irene like our relationship was a thing in the past."

"That doesn't mean he didn't care about you during the relationship. That's how guys are. They give it their everything when they're in the relationship," Hyunjin reasons and you laugh sardonically.

"You're kidding me, right? The girl definitely cares more. It almost seems so easy for the guys to break up and move on. Remember the time when you broke up with Lisa," you speak, raising your tone a little more so that Hyunjin can hear you. The motorcycle moving against the wind causes your hair to touch your mouth and you're spitting hair out facing the side. Hyunjin laughs, his grip on the accelerator tightening as he speeds up just a little bit, causing you to hold onto his jacket pockets a little tighter.

"Bro," Hyunjin mutters when you bring up Lisa. "I cried enough when she broke up with me, okay?"

"You did, for a day or two," you state. "The girl cried her heart out for a whole week. You went partying that Friday with Jisung!"

"Are we now using quantitative measurements to determine how deep our care and love is?" Hyunjin gasps, sounding very offended. "This reminds me why most relationships don't work. Because girls are shallow as fuck."

Hyunjin accelerates, missing sight of the speed breaker in front of him. It hurls you onto his chest, your arms wrapping around his waist to keep you safe. A soft scream leaves your lips as the side of your face buries into his broad back.

"Sorry," Hyunjin apologises quickly. "Didn't see that!" Hyunjin prays that you don't move your arms away but you do and he sighs, face falling. He is glad that you can't see him. Your hand is back to gripping his jacket and head back in this battle of words you're currently having with your best friend.

"It's okay," you tell him. "What's not okay is how you think women are shallow."

"They are!" He takes a turn to the left. Your thigh muscles tighten as it straddles the seat, fingers digging into his side for support. "I mean, let's be real, sweetheart. You take an hour or more to get ready for college."

"Because I want to look presentable!" You hit his broad back and he chuckles.

"Lies! You're shallow!"

"Says the person who walks around shirtless at home and stares at the mirror, lightly touching your abs and saying perfect," you tease and Hyunjin turns to look at you for a minute with his eyes wide before he turns his attention back on the road.

"You saw that?"

"Of course. I see that every day."

"But you're watching the television, how?"

"Reflections," you state.

He's gasping. The motorcycle slows down as it reaches Pizza Alvolo. The pizzeria is adjacent to a pretty park and you can hear the birds chirp lowly right before the sun is ready to set. You jump off the motorcycle, dusting the denims covering your thighs and Hyunjin removes his helmet, hooking it to the handle securely.

The rest of the team are seated in the pizzeria already waiting for the two of you, waving at you as soon as you enter the place. You rush and sit next to Jisung who has been aggravatingly patting the seat next to him. Hyunjin sits opposite to you, next to Chan. He snatches the menu from him and the elder male whines at the behaviour.

You look around and notice that Minho hasn't reached the place yet. Not that it mattered to you. You will slowly learn to stop caring so much for a man and you will soon be able to look at him and think of only the fond memories and nothing more.

Or so you thought.

The minute you see Minho walk into the pizzeria, although not with Irene, you feel the ground slip underneath you. Jisung is nice enough — albeit not knowing of the whole pickle you are in — to hold your wrist and turn your attention towards the stack of pizza boxes that come your way as he gleams, "Pizza! Pizza! Pizza!"

You look away from Minho and toward the direction Jisung points before turning to look at Hyunjin who lets out a loud sigh. You know that he's clutching at his thick thighs, nails digging into it at the sight of your uncomfortability. Hyunjin knows it will take you days to get over this break up, maybe weeks and that as a good best friend, he should wait. He should understand.

But it frustrates him so much. The sight of you being in pain, in hurt because of another man — his other best friend at that — pisses him off way more than he thought it should at first.

Hyunjin quickly takes his phone out and you narrow your eyes at him, mouthing, "Rude. Put it back into your pocket." In a second, your phone dings and you take yours out. Minho sits by Jisung's side in that second, a seat away from you and your heartbeat accelerates. You unlock your phone to see a message from Hyunjin and you lift up your head, raising an eyebrow at him and he eyes at you to open the message.

Jinnie: do you want to leave?

Your eyes widen and your lips part slightly. You don't respond immediately, locking the phone and shoving it back into your pocket. You smile at Hyunjin, trying to signal that you were alright so far. Jisung opens the cardboard boxes of the pizza and squeals. Chan looks at the situation, analysing if it'd be bad for the team on a bigger approach. Hyunjin might be the captain but had it not been for Chan's guidance, the volleyball team would not have lasted a day more with the differences.

Felix announces, "Eat to your heart's merry! I might never treat again." He takes the first bite for courtesy's sake before telling everyone to join in.

The team laughs and Minho smiles, the skin by his eyes wrinkling and your heart stops to remember all the reasons you were so madly in love with this man. It is at this minute you realise it'll take you maybe a little longer than you thought, a little longer than a casual fling and a little lesser than a long term relationship. You should have known this is bound to happen the minute you allowed yourself to let your petty emotions take over.

And maybe, just maybe, it is the fact that you have to pretend to be alright with having Minho around you that makes this heartbreak pain ten times worse.

Surprisingly, Hyunjin already seems to know because he doesn't stop glancing at you after every bite of the slice he has in his hand.

You stretch your arm out to take a slice of the pepperoni pizza on the table at the same time Minho stretches his arms out to take one. Your fingers brush against his and you jolt your hand backwards, mumbling, "Sorry."

Jisung laughs without knowing and teases, "Why would you apologise for brushing your boyfriend's hand?" He takes a bite of his pizza and as soon as he finishes chewing, he continues, "I mean, you guys do nastier stuff and suddenly, you all are prim and proper, Y/N. Love the contrast you exhibit. It's beautiful. You guys could be at it every time I catch you in the gymnasium alone. Also, you're his longest relationship. You should pride yourself—"

Jisung is speaking and you won't look up. Hyunjin has dropped the knife slightly just to try and get him to stop, though in vain and Minho's looking at you. His eyes won't leave your frame and you just want to leave. It is too early for you to be alright with this. Way too early.

"Stop, Jisung," Chan tells him, reading the situation in the room.

"Why?" Jisung's laughing. Felix understands by now, seeing your face hung down and so does the rest of the team besides the man himself. You can't even come to be angry at Jisung because he seems so innocent, unaware of it all.

You spill the beans for your own heart's safety, "Minho broke up with me."

Minho doesn't shift his eyes at anyone else and Hyunjin holds the knife again, a little too tight this time. Jisung's smile turns instantly into a frown and he turns his head to glare at your now ex-boyfriend.

He doesn't bother to filter his words. "Why the fuck did you do that, you arsehole?" Minho turns to look at Jisung for a split second before his eyes are back at yours. You lift your head to lock gaze with him and you feel your chest tighten, eyes water and it hurts.

Everything seems so much more painful.

Chan says once again, his voice firm, ready to not listen to one more word of the conversation, "Stop it, Jisung. Read the room."

You stretch your arm out to have another bite of the pizza and everyone eats in silence. The room is pregnant with the most awkward silence you had been in your whole life. You take your phone out, unlocking it and finally replying to the message.

Jisung puts another slice of pizza onto your plate and you smile at him. Felix tries breaking the uneasy tension by talking about this dude he met in his neighborhood that was kind of cute. After sitting for another two minutes, you push your chair back to Jisung's surprise and stand up. Hyunjin stands up instinctively, his calves pushing his chair back and everyone at the table looks at the two of you.

Jinnie: do you want to leave?

"I just realised I have to do some grocery shopping," you laugh nervously. "There's absolutely nothing back at home. Not that Hyunjin would buy anything and keep, right?"

Hyunjin chuckles and everyone in the room knows quite obviously that you are trying to escape the scene. They are kind enough to let you. Felix asks, spilling the oregano seasonings on top of his pizza slice, "Is Hyunjin going with you?"

"Ye—"

"No," you cut your best friend before he can give his approval. "I'll go alone." You stretch your arm out, palm facing upwards, "Keys, please?"

"Don't hurt my baby," Hyunjin's sincerity is voiced and you laugh genuinely. Little did you know he meant both you and his motorbike. He drops the key to his motorbike onto your hand and you do a little cheer. Jisung mumbles, "Cute," before stuffing his face with pizzas.

"Have a good time, guys," you wish them and grab your bag, hanging on the chair. Jisung waves enthusiastically. Felix, Chan and the rest of the team waves too. You smile fondly at your team and walk towards the door only to find Hyunjin following you.

"What do you think you are doing right now, mister?"

"Can't I walk you out at the very least, woman?" Hyunjin gapes in dismay. He pulls open the glass door and you laugh.

"Sure thing," you say and walk towards his motorbike. Hyunjin leaves the door after stepping out, the glass door swinging back to shut itself. You swing your legs over his bike, straddling the automobile and dropping your chest slightly to balance the heavy vehicle.

"You sure you'll be alright?"

"Don't you trust your teaching? You taught me how to ride this thing. Don't worry."

You look over Hyunjin's shoulder to see Minho still looking at you, worry smeared all over his face and you feel your throat constricting again as you do your best to tear your eyes away from him.

Hyunjin takes a step closer, making sure everything's alright with the vehicle so that it doesn't endanger you. He places his hand over your wrist and you look at him in confusion, "Promise me you'll take care of yourself."

"I will," you laugh. "What are you? My daddy?"

Hyunjin stiffens for a minute before he lets go of all the inappropriate thoughts that fill him for a minute there before teasing you, "Do you want me to be your daddy?"

"Nah," you throw your head back. "You aren't that rich enough." You place the helmet over your head and look at him. Hyunjin taps your helmet and hugs you slightly.

"I'll see you at home."

You start the bike on ignition and look over Hyunjin's shoulder one last time to look at Minho, locking gazes with him before you pull yours away from him towards Hyunjin.

You look ahead, the clear road in front of you and turn the accelerator only after telling Hyunjin, giggling slightly,

"Sure thing, Daddy."

Hyunjin, on the other hand, is too caught up in his worry, eyes lingering behind the trailing presence of yours that finally disappears from his sight into a speck that fades away. In any other circumstances, he would have found your petite figure driving the huge motorcycle and you even calling him daddy, although in a teasing tone, insanely hot.

Right now, however, he just hopes you are safe. He wishes he could be by your side at every second.

Gaho's Stay Here blasts on the bluetooth speaker. Hyunjin pulls open the door only to find you lying on the couch, staring at the ceiling with the most emotionless face he has ever seen you with. His eyes dart towards the empty bottles of soju on the small table in the hall.

"Y/N?"

You sit up, looking at your best friend and your lip pucker out quickly pouting at the sight of him and you stretch your arms out wide, squealing, "Hyunjinnie. You are home."

Hyunjin walks towards you, plopping on the couch and sitting next to you. He quickly lifts his arm up, hand darting back and forth at the air to steer the smell away as he frowns at you, "You reek of liquor, dude."

You quickly hug him, wrapping your arms around his frame from the side and snuggling your face into his shoulder. Hyunjin stiffens under your grip and he looks down at your being with eyes closed and he realises that you might after all just be a small being in need of some loving. He wishes to be the person to do that. Hwang Hyunjin utterly and truly wants to be your person.

Hyunjin takes your phone to stop playing the music — Stay Here that's been currently playing on repeat for the twentieth time straight — and you whine against his skin, tickles running down Hyunjin's spine.

"Don't stop the music," you mumble and Hyunjin looks at you and your figure that hugs him securely, head snuggled by his neck, chin digging into the skin by his collarbone and all Hyunjin can focus on is his heart that is beating furiously against his chest.

"Y/N," Hyunjin's voice seems like an anchor to your woozy mind and you hug him tighter, gripping stronger on to his white shirt. You hum in response and Hyunjin continues, "Gaho's music doesn't seem very fitting for the minute."

You pull apart, your face morphing and changing into that of offense as you glare at him, mumbling, "Gaho is the only one that understands me." You play the music again, the bluetooth speakers blasting with the sad slow tune in the air and you feel the want to cry all over again.

You stretch your arm out to take a soju bottle from the table to down it all out when Hyunjin stretches out to stop you, his fingers wrapping around your wrists. He locks his eyes with yours and in the softest, most caring voice you've ever heard from him, he says, "Don't, Y/N. It hurts me too."

"Can I hold you?"

In a split moment, the room is filled with just the soft beats of Gaho's Start Over playing, your raspy breaths and Hyunjin's lost stare. His grip on your wrist tightens and your mind is far too intoxicated to think if this friendship could be ruined. Your heart is heavy, chest tight and you want someone to free you. Anyone. You are clawing at the imaginary wall all by yourself and anyone could be a help. Anyone that is not Lee Minho.

"Yes," and you fall on Hyunjin at the exact same moment he pulls your hand closer towards him. The timing seems to have lapsed on to each other. Your chest on Hyunjin's, eyes looking up at him as your arms snake slowly over his torso. You snuggle forward, rubbing against his body slightly and Hyunjin sighs.

To Hyunjin, the scene is a lot dramatic just because of the soft music playing and because you are drunk off your head according to him, barely able to make decisions. He just doesn't want to do anything that will make either of your friendships but right now, in this minute with you almost on top of him, locking your eyes in his, your arms around his torso, close enough to feel every part of your being, he wants to be drunk too.

Hyunjin wants to be drunk so that he can make a mistake. Hyunjin wants to be so drunk that he can't think just because he is a coward.

"Do you feel better?" He asks and you snuggle into his chest, burying your face into it as you hold him. Your lonely heart being comforted by just his presence and in the back of your drunk head, you know you feel a little bit more that causes your heart to flutter when Hyunjin cares.

You and Hyunjin are both cowards — two small people in this big world with big emotions unwilling to risk one status for another, over the fear of losing each other.

But Hyunjin wants to risk it tonight. After years of pining, he wants to risk this golden friendship he has shared with you for years now. You are the trigger, however. You lift your face away from his chest and crawl slightly towards him, pushing yourself against him. You look at him, lips pressed together and you stretch your right arm upwards to hold his face in your hand.

"Jinnie," your voice lets out his name in such an airy tone that it seems to disappear away even before it reaches his ear. His eyes are glassy and his heart is in his throat, eager in nothing but anticipation that is risen from all his hoping.

It happens as he has imagined. You lean forward so slowly that he pictures every second vividly and in an instant, your lips are on his. Hyunjin knows it should have felt wrong but God, save him — nothing felt more right than this.

You kiss him and his whole world falls away. It lingers, like a memory that stays behind. Your lips are slow and soft against him, comforting yourself and him in ways that words would never be. Hyunjin's hand slowly lifts up to rest below your ear, his thumb caressing your cheek as your breath mingles only for a split second — one filled with hesitance and uncertainty — before you pull away, looking at your best friend.

It is just a second of a kiss. Something so small and insignificant to seemingly anyone else yet it means the whole world to Hyunjin. It is the whole world to Hyunjin because this is all that is needed to let him astray, hinge released of the stupid restrictions he has made up in his head over you.

Your small kiss is all Hyunjin needs to hold on to because in the next minute, he is pulling you towards him, hands cupping your face tightly and angling it to kiss you, encasing your lower lips in his as he moves against your coral ones. You let out a small gasp and run your fingers down his spine, holding him as close as possible until there is no space left between the two of you and you can feel the beating of his heart against your chest. Loud, clear and unknown to you that it beats for you in this minute.

Hyunjin's lips are slammed against yours, nearly knocking all wind from your lungs and you don't know if it is your feelings or Hyunjin himself. He presses his tongue to the seam of your lips and, the minute you let him in, he delves inside your mouth. Hyunjin kisses you like he thinks it is the last time he will ever be able to have his lips against yours.

Your arms move up his back and tangle around his thick, strong neck. In an instant, you pull away and arch up into his broad chest, moaning in the contact of body heat against your own, before you draw back into his lips. Hyunjin can feel the burn of hard soju in his mouth, thanks to you, and it rolls off your tongue into his, seeping down his throat and he can't hate it. There is a thrill in its own that Hyunjin knows stems from you.

If it was possible, Hyunjin would slow down time.

You pull back eventually only to hug him, humming against his neck, lips pressed against the soft expanse of his skin. Hyunjin's hand is pressed against your back as he pats you in a steady rhythm, instinctively humming to a tune that could calm you.

"Jinnie?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," and he feels your weight fall on to his shoulder as you snuggle closer into his neck, your warm breath fanning against him, sending shivers down his spine. "For everything."

Hyunjin holds you for a while, silence and nothing but your breathing that is soft music to his ears, till he hears your soft snores buzzing against his eardrums and he knows you have fallen asleep in his arms, against his chest.

The next morning, you find yourself magically in your bed, comforter on top of you covering every inch of you, head aching thanks to your reckless drinking last night with no memory of whatsoever that happened. Lightheaded you should have known better.

Hyunjin chooses to be a coward, the morning after.

The greens that cover the campus is the only other thing that keeps you sane in this university. The first being, the volleyball team. However, you don't know anymore if it is still, in the present.

You sit on the same bench before a beautiful fountain with a tiger head right in the centre, watching the vast basketball court. A place that holds way more memories to you now than it did a year before.

You shake your legs, feet pointing forward as you listen to music with about half an hour in your hand to waste before you head down towards the gymnasium to meet with the volleyball team. Besides few people that walk down towards their classes, the campus looks pretty stranded as you watch every single person stay happy in their sphere.

"Y/N," you hear your name being called out through yet another one of Gaho's songs and you lift your head up, to look at the person by your side, standing and providing you the shade they probably didn't intend to.

It's the man himself, the one who broke your heart for an explanation that made no sense to you. Lee Minho.

He stands tall, towering over you and your neck aches from looking up at him that you decide to stand up, removing the earbuds and placing it on the wooden bench, next to your phone.

"You're here." You gulp. "Aren't you supposed to be headed to the gym for practice?"

The fountain is everything you associate Minho with — moreover, it is perhaps the relationship with him that you associated the beautiful water fountain with. To see the very same man before you right now is needless to say surprising.

"I could ask you the same thing," Minho chuckles. He takes out a small cone of butterscotch ice cream and extends his arm, offering it to you. You smile softly, thanking him, sitting down back on the bench. "Can I sit here?" He asks and you nod, unwrapping the wrapping paper around the ice cream.

"Yeah," you tap on the seat by your side. You take a bite of your ice cream and Minho visibly flinches, mumbling, "Still the same."

"You broke up with me like two days back. What did you expect? A nirvana attained me?" You scoff. You take another bite of the ice cream, the sensitivity hitting your teeth and you hiss.

"Brutal," Minho chuckles darkly. You scoff, turning your head away and taking another bite of your ice cream. Minho opens his ice cream and you raise an eyebrow at him, mumbling, "You don't eat ice cream though."

"Thought you might want another one," he smiles and the thought of a second ice cream lights you up. "There you go smiling like a dork as always at the thought of it." Minho laughs and you bend forward to take it, your left arm stretching forward. Minho tugs it backwards and your body moves a little more to grab at it until it's too far for you, bringing you to your present position.

Your hand is on Minho's chest, his eyes locked in yours and you are surprised. This is not in your to do list and yet with Minho's grip on your wrist, you drop your ice cream as soon as he edges closer. His face is so close that you can see the perfect plump lips pout slightly, his face glistening in the bright sun and you gasp softly. It has been a while since he has been this close and he still makes your heart go livid within you, beating crazy.

He drops his ice cream in a second, his hands pressing forward to cup your face and pull you into him to kiss the living hell out of you. Your eyes widen, arms falling limp on either side as you stiffen.

"Can I try something?" He hesitates, iron grip on you.

"Try?" You look worried and the next minute, Minho is kissing you, his plump lips on yours for a while before he moves them against yours, taking hold of your lower lip.

It is an instinct. You choose to blame it rather on instincts. Your hand moves to grab the linen draping his arm as you hold it and kiss Minho back. It is as bitter as coffee thanks to all the memories that go along with it and yet — you find yourself drowning. You find yourself wanting more. You find yourself hoping if Minho could stay, if Minho could just pretend to love you, if not.

And it breaks your heart.

All over again.

A lone tear leaves your eyes and then another, till you are crying as you kiss him. A wet messy affair at its finest. Minho pulls back in surprise feeling the wetness against his skin. He cups your face and holds you, looking at you to check for damage — little does he know of the emotional one. Or maybe he does and he chooses to ignore. Typical Lee Minho.

"Did I hurt you?"

Your emotions take over, sanity pushed to the back. You are pulling yourself from Minho as he tries to hold you to calm you down. Your fist plummets down onto his hard chest once and then, for the second time till you are hitting him over and over again till you completely break down in front of him. Minho quickly pulls you into a hug, holding you close till you completely soak his white shirt with your tears.

"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you—" It's a repeated chant. Over and over again till you don't remember how many times you told Minho the same thing. Your mind goes insane with the overdrive of emotions. Did you like Minho still? You don't know. You don't know whether it's the familiarity of his hugs or his kisses or his whole presence that you crave or if it's his love.

"I'm sorry," he whispers and you accept because it's the first time an apology from Lee Minho sounded this sincere. "I'm sorry for breaking your heart." He snuggles into the crook of your neck, swallowed by guilt. Perhaps this is why one should never date their friends; because you lose something much greater.

"I hate you more now for kissing me here," you manage to say, throat rasp from the crying. "How could you stain this memory too? How dare you stain the memory of the location of our first kiss? It was supposed to be a bittersweet memory when I sit here and think." Minho is still hugging you.

"I'm sorry."

It is still bittersweet in a new way, you realise — the fact that Lee Minho kisses you for the last time, you swear to God, in the very same place he kissed you for the first time. The weather changed, the people around changed and the emotions changed. Even after all that, the fountain stays proud and mighty and bears witness to more new relationships and new heartbreaks. Nothing changes besides you. Nothing changes besides what we want.

You pull away from him. Sitting straight, facing the vast basketball court and the juniors playing the game, you make a decision, firm and determined. The soft pink petals fall down from the cherry blossom trees over the two of you and Minho looks at you, and then at the spilled ice cream. To see the boughs that were so bereft in the snow become so beautifully adorned should lift your spirits infinitely and it does slightly. Their scents diffuse in the warming breeze and you hold your head high to savour it.

"Let's stay away from each other for a while."

Minho's eyes shoot up, head lifting up to face you. He does not refute. After all, he knows he has to take a step behind after breaking your heart. What he does not understand is how the two of you could stay away from each other when your friend circles overlap to a large extent.

"How?" He finally asks. "How do I help you with that?"

"By doing just that. Give me space and time to get over you. I'll come back asking for your hand in friendship again," you smile. Your tear stained visage and the difficult smile you put forth is a funny combination but you manage to pull it off well, you'd say. "You don't have to take the first step this time. Let me do this on my own, Minho."

You stand up on your own, grabbing your earphones and your phone. Minho stands up, following suit and asks, "Are you leaving?"

"Yes," you turn only to look at him as you walk backwards. "And you have to head for practice. So get going. I won't have you mess up your performance by all means." You turn back and move ahead. From everything.

"You know I wouldn't," Minho screams back and the last syllable ends with a laugh. You lift your hand to wave and you leave, far, far away from him.

You now have an open wound to stitch back and you know you have to do it on your own.

Hyunjin's phone rings right when he decides to serve the ball. He drops the ball in surprise, the sphere rolling all the way to where his phone is placed. Chan groans, stopping his pace at the sound of the phone ringing, and yells, "Yah! Hyunjin, how many times should I tell you to switch off your phone?"

Felix walks in exactly at that minute, laughing, "Anyone from outside would totally think Chan's the captain!"

Hyunjin runs to his phone, his blond hair strands falling forward, ponytail swinging left and right. Felix laughs at the sight, walking towards the ball and picking it up before throwing it at Chan who catches it swiftly. Hyunjin sees your name on the phone, eyes lighting up instantly and a smile prominent only for Chan to announce, "It's Y/N."

"Of course, it is," Felix scoffs. "Where's the rest of the guys? I thought you said we were to come early—" Felix pauses, eyes widening and gasping, "Hold up! Y/N is late. Whoa!"

"They are probably running towards the gym right now," Hyunjin says before picking up the call. He mouths to the rest, "It'll be short, I promise," and pouts. Chan sighs, only to smile and wave his hand at him to take the call.

"Y/N," Hyunjin cheers up instantly. "Where are—" He hears a choked sob from the other hand and Hyunjin stiffens, face losing the smiling in a second. "Are you alright?"

"I am," you strain it out. You barely manage through with the chokes and that pain that ripples through in waves but you eventually find the words to tell him, "I won't make it to practice today. Yeah?"

"Where are you?"

Hyunjin is angry and he doesn't even know who it is aimed at. He is just beyond mad at the fact that you are crying and someone made you cry. The thought of the skin by your eyes aching and eyes red and burning over anyone made him so angry that he could punch a wall through.

"I'm not telling you," he hears you say and he clenches his fist.

"Stop being a brat, Y/N," he stresses and Chan gestures at him, asking if there was something wrong. Hyunjin nods. "Where are you?"

"Leave me alone, Jinnie," you tell him through the phone, "Please," and his eyes widen before he calms himself down, realising that you are trying to cope all alone, a pathetic self-destructive quirk of yours that he had learned to live with after all these years. He gulps and realises you truly needed time alone and he hums in approval.

"Please reach out to me when you need me," he begs. "Please, Y/N."

Felix and Chan are staring at Hyunjin in worry when the door to the gymnasium opens and Jisung rushes into the room. He is panting and he looks around, searching for someone. Hyunjin turns away, his attention back on the call in his hands and he ends the call quickly, making a note in his mind to check up on you after practise. Not that you would let him miss practise. (Not that Hyunjin would do it to himself in the first place. He'd kill for volleyball.)

He walks towards the rest when Minho walks in, black duffel bag on his shoulder. Jisung is quick on his feet as he runs towards the other man, hands on his shoulders and he shakes the living hell out of him.

"He's gone crazy, dude," Felix mumbles and Chan laughs.

Hyunjin stays at a comfortable distance still, looking at his phone in worry every now and then. The man lifts his head and brings his attention back to the present only when he hears your name leave Jisung's mouth.

"Whoa, dude. You got back together with Y/N?"

"What?" Chan is the first to respond. "You did what?"

"I didn't get back together with her," Minho says, his voice is monotone and lacks anything more than nonchalance and it pisses the hell out of Hyunjin who has his fists still clenched tightly.

"I saw you kissing her but. . ." Jisung drops the bomb all at once in such a lost way that he doesn't realise the impact it was to have in this large gymnasium.

Hyunjin is charging forwards all at once, yelling, "You bastard," as he throws a punch at Minho. The blond dyed man is quick to put two and two together and realise that you are after all, crying because of the black haired man before him.

He pushes him back, Minho hitting the floor and Hyunjin's on top of him, punching him with his clenched fist, mind void and painted in hot red anger. Minho has his arms, blocking his punches and chooses to play on the defensive side.

In fear, we are all monsters. Hyunjin believes that he would be afraid of himself had he astral projected and looked at himself in this minute, all unhinged because of one girl — one girl he would set the world on fire for.

All that rage comes out faster than magma for Hyunjin and is just as destructive. More so because he's the captain. It consumes all that he is, so delicate under that carefully ordered world and carefully put up feign that he is alright with Minho breaking the heart of the girl he loves. Minho shrivels before him but Hyunjin does not stop. He relentlessly keeps going, stopping short of physical violence but doing far more damage with the words that he throws.

Chan tries to pull Hyunjin away as Jisung drags Minho from underneath him. The black haired man is left with bruises and a busted lip. On the other hand, Hyunjin is still fuming, along with Chan, sporting a few cuts from Minho who decided to throw a few punches in the last moment.

"Can you all stop?" Felix sighs.

"Why would you bastard make her cry again?" Hyunjin raises his voice. He's yelling at this point, loud enough for everyone passing by the gymnasium to hear. "Why the fuck would you make Y/N cry again? I told you to leave her alone!"

"This wouldn't have happened if things went different—" Hyunjin tries to rush forward to hit him again upon hearing his words, but Chan and Changbin, another teammate, have a strong grip on him. His blond ponytail lashes in anger and he fights against the two, trying to let go of himself. Minho yells back, "I would have never broken up with her if you never liked her, Hyunjin."

"What?" He stops still in his tracks, limbs falling and Chan lets go.

"How am I supposed to think it's alright for you to randomly stare at my girlfriend with heart eyes? For fuck's sake, you guys hug way more than I hug her," Minho glares, chest rising up as he vents everything he has bottled up so far. "If you had always liked her, you should have told me! I shouldn't have overheard it from Chan telling you to ask her out." Chan's face pales visibly. "I would have tried making her stay. I would have made her stay. I would have," Minho's voice lowers. "I still did, but I was too late."

Hyunjin has no words to refute. His eyes widen and his heart is in his throat, barely being able to say, "You could have taken it out on me. Why would you drag her into this? She loved you. She still wavers because of you. Your faithless love was the only hoax she was forced to believe."

Jisung pouts in awe at the words Hyunjin spills and Minho mumbles, "I don't know. I couldn't think straight."

Felix drops the ball with force, suddenly. The ball squelches before raising high and hitting the wall with impact. He folds his arms and speaks up, "Stop acting like kids." He points at Minho. "You, stop putting the blame of your failed relationship on Hyunjin. Him liking Y/N did not ruin your relationship. You killed it yourself."

"But he—"

"I liked her even before you made a move on her. Nothing has changed, Minho," Hyunjin inhales sharply.

"It's because you're a coward, you arsehole."

Hyunjin closes his eyes, looking away, mumbling, "Not going to even bother denying that. I'd be dating her if I wasn't this scared of losing her."

Felix proceeds to point at Hyunjin, glaring sharply at him, "You call yourself a captain? We have a match in a few days and you decide to lose control and beat up your teammate? One of the best middle blockers out there! What in the world are you thinking, Hyunjin? Jesus Christ, when Y/N hears of this, she's going to beat you up so bad for doing this to him in the name of the team."

Hyunjin doesn't dare to look up at Felix, shuffling the balance of his body from one feet to another. He is embarrassed. He should have never let his emotions take control of his body and yet he did.

Chan walks towards Felix before announcing, "We'll start practice in five. I want the two of you to sort this out by the end of this day. If you haven't, I don't want either of you coming to practice tomorrow."

"I'm the setter!" Hyunjin protests.

"Jeongin can do a darn good job too, so shut up and listen to me well."

"Now," Felix claps his hand, smiling once again brightly before running to pick up the ball. "Let's practice like the perfect team we are!"

"And like I couldn't stop myself. It's like something dragged me to move forward and the next thing I knew, I was on top of Minho—"

"Fuck, that'd be hot."

"Y/N, focus. And like I was beating the crap out of him."

You dab an alcoholic swab over the small wounds on his face as he seethes in pain and you sneer, "Deserved it."

"Ouch," Hyunjin fakes offense. "Side with me at least now. You aren't dating him anymore." You stop, your hand midair and you dab constantly over his wounds till Hyunjins screaming, "Ow, ow, ow. I'm sorry," and holds your wrist and pulls it away.

"But you messed up your team dynamics just because of your anger," you frown. "You and Minho better sort it out quickly, Jinnie. Else, I swear to God." You glare at him.

"What will you do?" Hyunjin laughs, scrunching his nose and teasing you. You place the bandaids over the wounds and raise an eyebrow. Hyunjin prompts, "Bite me?"

"I will," you warn and Hyunjin scoffs, "As if."

You bite him. His shoulder, to be exact. Your teeth hold onto his socket for a good one minute tightly till he is yelping, hitting your back to let go of him as he hisses in pain. You let go of him and narrow your eyes at him. Hyunjin is shocked. So shocked that he blankly stares at you with his mouth wide open.

"Are you a dog?"

"I could be one if you taunt me too much."

"Wow," he blinks and you poke the insides of your cheek with your tongue. "Wow, you're truly one of a kind." And Hyunjin breaks down laughing, holding his shoulder with his hand and bending forward overcome by intense laughter.

"Buy me mint choco," he prompts. "Because now you injured me and I want compensation."

"Excuse me?"

Hyunjin pushes himself forward, edging closer to you, looking you in your eyes before saying, "You know you have to," in a low guttural tone that your heart does a whole somersault, triple axle and then lands with an ovation. "You hurt me."

You push him away and you leap onto your feet, your eyes wide and your hand over your chest. Hyunjin looks at you with a raised eyebrow. To change the mood of the situation, you quickly announce, "Fine. You'll get mint chocolate only if you get ready and come out in five minutes. Else you pay for it on your own."

Hyunjin stands up and holding your wrist, he pulls you with him to the door. You look at him in utter confusion and ask, "What are you doing?"

Hyunjin stops in his tracks and turns to look at you, blond strands leaving his ponytail to cover his eyes slightly and pink lips so plump that you wonder how they feel. The realisation that you have started viewing your best friend as someone more than just that hits you and you look down instantly. When did this happen?

"I'll just wear a coat and so should you," Hyunjin laughs. "Ice cream can't wait."

People think of laughing as a noise that comes from the mouth more often than not, but when Hyunjin laughed it was nothing like that. The laugh is in his eyes, in the way his face changes into that vision of relaxed joy and unrestrained mirth. And yet, in all honesty, it is not in his face either. His laugh comes from within, it is just the way he is wired with the instant ability to comfort someone. Just the sound of his gales, his snickers, his giggles, was enough to transport you far away from all your worries and the tension your life has in the minute.

Enough to make you forget that you have to tell him today about the decision you have taken.

Hyunjin and you walk down the stairs and off onto the road in five minutes as planned. The cool air of the night hits you and you hold yourself closer, the long coat held tightly to your body surface. Hyunjin laughs before wrapping his arm around your shoulder and pulling you close by just a little bit and yet enough to share his body warmth.

"Mint choco, here we come!" And he runs with you.

The thing with your stupid heart is that you don't understand why it is beating so rapidly in this moment, your heart beat easily jumping to more than 95bpm and all because Hyunjin holds you. You look at the man by your side, his blond hair moving with the air, exposing his face and you wonder — had Hwang Hyunjin always been this beautiful?

You have known Hyunjin for a long time now. Too long for you to realise that your heart had a change in its plans for emotions recently. You have known Hyunjin way too long to know that you want him for a lifetime by your side, as a best friend at the very least and the thought that if you did act upon your new emotions that you have just discovered in this cold, breezy night, you are screwed.

Hyunjin turns to look back at you after hearing absolutely no sound from you. His face pales when he realises you are looking far ahead and he wonders if you do remember now. If you remember the drunk night.

So he asks to put himself at ease, "Y/N?"

"Huh?" You jolt up to consciousness, looking properly at Hyunjin. "Yeah?"

"Do you remember the night a few days back?"

"Night? Few days back?" You ponder. "When I was drunk?"

"Yeah," Hyunjin mumbles and you raise your body in anticipation, finally wanting to ask about the magical teleportation.

"Now that we are on this topic," you fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at your best friend. Hyunjin shuffles his balance from his left to his right. "Did you carry me to bed that night?"

Hyunjin chokes on air, sputtering out incoherent words before finally forming one proper sentence, "You knew?"

"You're the only other person I live with and I don't have any recollection of going to bed so like I presumed," you look down, heat rising to your cheek and you fidget with your fingers. "That you carried me to bed."

"That's all that you remember?"

You lift your head up, lips pursed and eyebrows furrowed, "Is there more?"

"Uh," Hyunjin turns back to face forward, his broad back in your vision again as he walks forward to the ice cream parlour by the junction.

"Hyunjin?" He walks quicker. "Yah! Hwang Hyunjin!" You follow him with quick, short strides, almost jogging up to him. "What did I do, Jinnie?" He opens the glass door to the ice cream parlour. "Yah, Hwang Hyunjin, tell me no matter how embarrassing it is." You follow him into the white aesthetically pretty place.

You finally catch hold of his coat and tug at it. Hyunjin turns, his cheeks flushed and you wonder what in the world happened that night. Yes, you have vague memories of hugging Hyunjin and passing out, but for him to act like this — wait, you didn't empty your stomach out on him, did you?

"Did I—" Hyunjin's eyes widens. He turns back, his attention on the man behind the counter and he points towards you.

"She's paying."

"Okay," the man nods and turns to look at you, waiting for your order. You sigh, glaring at your best friend before ordering one quantity of mint chocolate ice cream. Your eyes waver to the green ice cream and you frown in displeasure, something Hyunjin catches sight of your expression.

"How dare you?" He folds his arms, dramatically. "The only people that matter in this world are the one that like mint chocolate." The man at the counter smiles at the two of you.

You open your mouth, clicking your tongue, "I'm not paying money to eat toothpaste."

The man behind the counter laughs out loud and Hyunjin glares at him, scoffing. He takes the ice cream from his hand and waits for you to pay. The tall man looks at the two of you, again, before finally telling, "Good luck on your relationship. It's always fun to see couples have an argument over mint chocolate and still be so in love with each other." He turns to look at Hyunjin only, "For your information, I like mint chocolate."

Both Hyunjin and you look at each other, either of you waiting for the other person to disagree with the man but there is just silence. You can feel Hyunjin looking at you through the corners, waiting for you to refute like you always do. You don't and you do not even know why. The heat builds up beneath the apples of your cheek and the thought of being in a relationship with your best friend strangely brings about a wave of calmness within you, doing its best to shove the uncertainty of so many things away.

"Thank you for the ice cream," you say and walk to an empty table. Hyunjin thanks the man too, and follows you, sitting on the seat opposite to you and places the mint chocolate in between.

He watches you, unsure of the situation and you bite your lower lip nervously before shoving the cup closer to him and mumbling, "Eat. We came all the way here for you."

"You should have gotten another ice cream," Hyunjin frowns.

"It's past nine," you laugh, your hair falling over the chair as you lean back. "I can't let fat into my body after nine. You know that."

"Why do I know you?" Hyunjin puts his hand on his forehead looking at you and then he pushes the cup of ice cream towards your side. "Disappointment." You look at your best friend, disgusted and he won't take the disrespect though.

"It's a refreshing taste," he digs in and takes a big bite. "Plus, it's the right balance." He lifts the spoon with a small amount of the mint ice cream and shoves it right in front of your face. "The perfect amount of mint, chocolate and milk to make the world's most perfect ice cream."

You push his hand away and glare, "Why would you ruin two beautiful sweets," you raise an eyebrow, "Chocolate and ice cream by including," you fake a gag, "Mint?"

"Because mint balances the sweetness of the chocolate," he scoffs. "All you mediocre people won't understand. Mint chocolate was created for the elite class."

"Did you just call me mediocre?" your jaw drops and Hyunjin laughs. It's soft, airy and so carefree that you don't mind the fact that he is laughing at you and not with you. You don't mind one bit when you break down and laugh with him, unable to keep your face straight as you lean forward on the table, your head resting on your hands and you watch Hyunjin.

You decide to tell him of your decision in this minute.

"I'm going to make Seungmin manage the team," you tell Hyunjin and he stares at you, the spoon dropping from his hand and clattering against the glass rim of the ice cream cup. You continue, "He's always wanted to manage the volleyball team and I thought I should let him—"

"Why?" He sounds hurt. Disappointed, in fact and your heart plummets down.

"I thought it's time to move on."

"From the team or Minho?"

"Minho," you say, nibbling on your lower teeth. "I want to go back to him—"

"What?" Hyunjin feels his heart sink.

"Don't cut me off, hoe," you click your tongue. "I want to go back to him and be his friend. I'm not ready to ruin a friendship over this. I just won't."

Hyunjin looks down at his cup of ice cream. His spoon digs into the cold dessert over and over again till he realises that he'll do what he has always done for you — be right by your side as your pillar.

"Feed me," Hyunjin prompts and you stare at him with a void expression, mouth still open, wondering if he suggested this only and only to change the topic. Hyunjin stretches his arm out to shut your mouth. "People are going to think I'm starving you here."

"Whoa." You lift your head up. "And if I do that, people are going to think we're possibly the cutest couple out there still in our glorious honeymoon phase of it."

"Okay," Hyunjin shrugs and leans back against the chair, folding his arms against each other.

"Okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine with that."

You sit up straight and look down before finally saying, "Don't say that."

"Say what?"

"Those words that make my heart flutter. I don't know what to feel, Hyunjin." Hyunjin is too stunned to react and whine over the fact that you called him properly by his name in your conversation. The fact that he too can cause your heart to race a little bit just like you have with his all these years. "Don't say them to me if you won't ever be ready to take responsibility over them."

You place your thumb and forefinger on your forehead, squeezing the skin slightly to calm the slight ache you can feel, the vein throbbing slightly and you know it is your anxiety that kicks in because you almost spilled everything out. You quickly stand up and holding your coat tightly, you look at Hyunjin who is still seated and looking at you intently.

"I need to go to the pharmacy next door. I'll wait for you there. Finish your ice cream and come."

You don't turn to look at Hyunjin as you walk out, slightly embarrassed by your own behaviour. Between you and Hyunjin, you are the one who had to keep your cool, making sure you didn't slip up or make a mess so that you could at least have time to clean his spilt milk.

You push the door of the ice cream parlour and walk out, the doorbell ringing at your push and you hold yourself in the cold breeze. If Hyunjin did not respond to it, it is only safe to presume that he feels nothing more towards you. You could at least put two and two together. Or so you thought till Hyunjin is chasing after you, big strides and dark blond hair in the wind as his rubber band comes loose and slides off a bit.

"Y/N!" He shouts and quickly holds your wrist, pulling you so quickly that you stumble forward into him. Hyunjin grips your arms to steady you and he looks at you, his brown eyes trying to peep into your soul. He smiles, hand running through his hair only to bring more strands forward, covering his vision.

Falling in love with Hwang Hyunjin, you realise, is the easy part. He makes it so easy to fall for him — when he smiles at the sun, covering his eyes or when he is covered by the dogs in dog parks all eager to hug him because that's how he just is. You don't even realise when you fall for Hyunjin but when you do, you know you are already sinking and you are far too gone for saving.

It is, however, admitting to yourself that you fell for your best friend that is hard. The Hwang Hyunjin that you have seen since the five year old boy moved next door to you. The Hwang Hyunjin that would cross dress in your clothes. The Hwang Hyunjin that would steal your dumplings. It is the same Hwang Hyunjin that you fall for. You had all these doors with specifications that opened to only men like Lee Minho and yet like the rude asshole that you oh so adorably love he seemed to tear them down. Or perhaps those doors were meant for others and Hyunjin always had a door of his own for your heart.

You should have asked yourself why but would it have really mattered? You're here with Hyunjin by your side, whether he knows your feelings or not and you couldn't be any less glad, even if you are sometimes hiding, imagining a distance instead of seeing Hyunjin right there.

"I'll come back, Jinnie," you tell him, looking up at him and coughing slightly, trying to move back slightly to put some space between the two of you. "I'm not running away. I just need to buy some strips of paraceta—"

"I want to be responsible for them," His gaze doesn't leave yours. "I want to be responsible for you, your emotions and everything you are, if you let me."

You wouldn't dare to shift your eyes away, or focus on anything else. Just Hyunjin. Just your Hyunjin. Your heart beats so fast against your chest that you wonder if it ever had this much for any man or woman. And when Hyunjin pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around your frame, hand flat against your head that buries your face into his chest, you learn that Hwang Hyunjin's heartbeat is always your metronome — the beat your entire life seemed to have moved smoothly to.

You giggle against his chest, breaking into a smile, "Are you asking me out, Jinnie?"

"I guess," he chuckles into your hair, snuggling himself into you. He pulls you back to explain. "My original plan was to ask you out after the practice match that I'll make sure we win, but you could possibly not be there as our manager and what if I miss the chance?"

"You lovesick boy," you laugh, smiling stupidly at him. Hyunjin cups your face and presses his forehead against yours.

"I've liked you for so long, Y/N," and you blush, lips pursed and you smile back, heart fluttering.

"Thank you," you press a kiss against his cheek.

"For what?"

"For being you and for always loving me."

Hwang Hyunjin holds your face and kisses like he is capable of getting rid of all your worries, slowly bleeding into your marrows and cells and soaking you of the very essence he is. He holds you like you are a precious being — and to him, you are because he finally has you after all these years; he finally gets to call you his.

His lips are warm and tasted of mint; obviously from the mint chocolate ice cream earlier. His hands are wrapped around your waist and yours are locked around his neck pulling him down slightly. His strands of blond locks brush against your face, ticking you slightly and you giggle into the kiss. He laughs against your lips before kissing you slowly, drawing the kiss for as long as he could. When you break apart for air, you lean forward and rest your forehead against his, gathering some much needed oxygen. His smile tells you everything you need confirmation over and you smile back, sinking into his hold.

Hyunjin hugs with gentle arms that still gives the space to breathe; yet it is the hug of a strong pair of arms that tells everything that you are - every fibre of your being - that he is with you, and you wonder how he is capable of that. How he is capable of holding like you are his whole world — like he rather hold you than anything else.

Hyunjin does exactly that. He holds you tight and close to him in this cold night, ignorant of everything else around the two of you, like you and him only mattered in the place, like you and him are fireworks in this velvet dark, the blaze that dares to light up the night.

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botwstoriesandsuch · 3 years

Note

I recently read Shades of blue after you rwcommended it and Oh My God was it worth it. That was beautiful and amazing and do you have any other recommendations?

✨MISSIONS ACCOMPLISHED✨

AAAAAA I’m so glad you read it!!! Honestly I’ve been waiting for someone to ask me for recs for awhile because I have.........a few...

Miscellaneous ships here, not just Revalink but the first lot are

- Pinesong by @a-perplexing-puzzle D-Do I even need to explain myself more??? I talk about this fic every other day of the week..... it’s just great vibes....soft and fluffy and angsty just *chef’s kiss* two gay boys searching through their old memories to remember how gay they are

- Shades of Blue by @unapologetically-asexual OK I know original anon just said they read this but for you idiots that haven’t read it yet....uhhhh get on that. Nothing I could say would really advertise this fic better than this post

- somebody’s always looking (nothing’s quite as sweet) by @kouzaires One of my FAV Coffee shop AU’s for botw....so sof......so tender...........so warrmmmmm.............they characters are written so well.....just love it...a lot

- Broken Spirits by @legendoftoad It’s just AAAAAAAAAA??!!? My boys are hurting and the malice for half of it is frickin doing things to my boy and then of course you got your PTSD themes meddled in there and hnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhghgh my hurt/comfort itch is sufficiently scratched go read

- Linger On by ICanFlyHigher [idk if they have a tumblr] Ok I actually haven’t finished this fic yet but it’s been recommended time and time again so I’ve been reading this in my spare time I’m on like Chapter 12 or 13 I think but I can say with CERTAINTY that the writing is fantastic and tender moments are off the charts and my boys are so precious and also the Yiga are actually cool in this so that’s nice

- Learning Flight by homewardbound This is just *chefs kiss* *standing ovation* *throws confetti in the air* quality quality Revalink. Just a delicious chocolate cake of botw and Revalink. You got your mysterious Revali waking up 105 years later batter, and your angsty PTSD gay boys duo chocolate chips, and then you can chuck in some engaging sideplot elements as a few tall tiers, and then the cake is all whipped up with the wooden spoon of subtextual writing just mmmm delicious. and ALSO I betaed a thing that is gonna happen and let me tell you shit is gonna happen like VERY IMPORTANT SUPER COOL plot twists be happening so you better read it

- Conversations After The End Of The World by @bismuthllie Ok this one’s a oneshot but I always go back and read it because...idk it just strums my heart strings a lot...I’ve said Pinesong was my first big Revalink fic I’ce read, but this was like...my first, first piece of Revalink content I read ever so...yeah <3 ....and also the art for this comic is fantastic too even thought it gives me the emotions......hahaha ok Revali it’s time to stop being dead

- I See You Swimming In The Sky by @unavoidablekoishi OK OK I know my logic isn’t the best considering it’s the only Revali/Mipha fic I’ve read, but god dammit it’s the best Revpha fic I’ve ever read I still need to catch up cause I’m like 3 chapters behind but this fic CONVERTED me ok, miphvali went from a “huh yeah the art is nice I can kinda see it” to “THAT FISH IS SIMPING FOR THE BIRD 24/7 AND THEY DESERVE EACH OTHER″ This is some *claps* GOOD. SHIT. Ok? *slaps roof of fic* This bad boy can fit so much charming characterization and interaction (and also has made me scream both happily and not happily on several occasions)

- Guardian of The Wilds by @no-themes-just-memes in which I constantly miscall it “Guardian of the Wild” because I’m stupid This isn’t so much a ship fic but it’s so cool Link is a spirit, Urbosa and Zelda’s mom are a thing, Zelda is HERE and she is AMAZING like no spoilers but holy shit Zelda is here and slaying in more ways than one and riding Satori and hhnnnnhhhhhhhh it’s all about those ~plot twists~ and tone changes ya know? very very very nice...

- Firebird by @paellaplease Oh no, it’s Kip’s obligatory Firebird gush whoopsie poopsie who would have guessed surely not me. This is just my standard for Oc ship content now it’s so good I am gay for one fire girl Maiya is my spirit animal and I just wanna cup her in my hands softly even though I know she would probably burn me for it but it would totally be worth it. The writing is just superb and I am also gay for great imagery and action which this is chalk full of so go read it

Ok it’s actually 2am right now and I still need to finish a bunch of AP work so I’m just gonna speed run the rest of these recs

@echogekkos writes such cute and soft Miphlink fics that are on my top tier list like this one and oh crap this post made me realize Healing Touch updated crap there are so many things I need to read and catch up on anyways want more miphlink angst? BOOM read the inspiration for eternity by Merakkli and oh what’s that? You want deep lore that was custom made with lots of hot ocs in a fic that spans way beyond BOTW welp here’s Hyrule Bound a universe entirely created by @themisadventurescrew which is yet another fic series that I am behind on crap but oh shit @kittmoon has started a chapter fic called Jaded Seas recently so you should go read that but also all of their oneshots are great as well so you should follow them and did I mention that everyone I’ve tagged are people you should follow because yeah anyhow here’s a crackfic about Goron children that had me shaking out of either fear or confusion for a few days by @angsttronaut ok moving on @thatsnotzelda writes beautifully just take a look at this angsty Revalink thing and also bambambambam you’ve been ambushed by @hatenostorms @going-fancognito @ashrel @lizards-writing-blog so now go request some from them because I said so they’re great also uhhh @idiotic-canadian and @moonchildrenn [Pins_and_Patches on ao3] hate happiness but that’s ok because I get to be emotionally wrecked by their angst and whump hurray! wait fUCK I completely forgot to rec this earlier but my first Zelpha fic was this gorgeous Coffeeshop AU by @theseventhsage called Dreaming of Coffee and Love so go read that *flipping through entire history of ao3* let’s see let’s see... All of the Rito Chronicles by sturms_sun_shattered is great, and this Teba/Harth one is also a fav and oh CRAP my zelink content is just everything by @fatefulfaerie because it’s just *throws colorful streamers in the air* pretty and I love their writing welp I’m about to collapse lets just end it off with the z’s like @zzariyo and @zeawesomebirdie on ao3 they are some pretty radical french fries if i do say so myself and and ok ok read this other Zelpha coffee au which is also by @kouzaires and this Modern au also by @unavoidablekoishi ok that’s all I can remember right now bye

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neuvillette · 3 years

Text

Paperwork - FrUK Fic (18+ish)

During the industrial boom in England, someone in particular has been working himself to the bone.

Fuck... There it was again, that near-painful pang in his ribs from thinking about that bastard. That arrogant prick had whispered to him so closely that day so long ago that the memory of the hot breath from his lips still seemed to be lingering on his ears-- or was that just his own fiery blush? Either way, it wasn't going anywhere. Whenever he was alone his thoughts would instantly crack back to that insufferable shit. How his lips were so plush and too naturally red to be decent... How those blue eyes drifted lazily along wherever they pleased, often up and down his body. How he hoped that they one day would look back at him so pleadingly, begging for something almost too shameful to fulfill. He knew approximately how the man looked under his clothes, since he was prone to low cut shirts, high hems, translucent fabric. He had a tight waist and broad shoulders, he had hips that almost could be considered too wide, ones that would probably be good to hold onto tightly and grip red marks into. His chest, like much of his body, was soft, not flabby exactly, but plush enough to squeeze and nibble at. Fuck, FUCK, that pang came again, searing through his chest as he battled to think of something else. He had work to get done, and a lot of it. These kinds of thoughts were not only immoral but incredibly inconvenient, and the toll they took on his body meant he had to go through an arduous process to relieve himself, if only for a little while. His teeth all pressed down together as his jaw clenched, he could feel the pressure all throughout his face as he tried to just get on with it. There wasn't that much paperwork left, right? Just a bit more. A small distraction would do him some good. He only realised he was tapping his mostly-dry dip pen against his desk when he noticed how the rhythm was starting to seep elsewhere into his mind; tap tap tap, thrusts against a document, against something soft, warm, moans echoing in arches over the staccato beat, and--- He dropped the pen unceremoniously onto his desk, caked-on ink splattering down as he pressed his forehead into his hand. He had been slipping too hard recently. His bosses hadn’t been pleased with his work as of late; though he had been toiling during similar hours and put in the same effort he always had, they said he needed to rise up to meet changing standards. He used to do work with his hands, but that wasn’t needed anymore. He used to be their guard dog, or at least their work horse. For everything it was, at least the action of his youth was invigorating. At least he wasn’t monitored, and had time to do things for himself, instead of being their tool all hours of the day. He had time to work with his hands, his hands. To create things that were valuable, that were helpful to the, to his, people around him. Now he was… well. He was expendable. But not so expendable that they would waste his capacity to do paperwork. Industry was booming, one couldn’t just expect to stand by with what had been accepted in the past. Labour was becoming more standardised, more efficient, more impersonal… Not that he had ever been the most personable chap. While he enjoyed working with his hands, making things one by one, the gritty way, the difficult way, he made efforts to internalise what they had said to him. They needed his mind, his edge, to work on this stuff. That’s what he was for, after all; not forging swords, not stringing bows, not tilling soil or growing things; but intellectual, gentlemanly, removed work. Detached, necessary, proper. It suited him, he tried to tell himself. He wasn’t one easily inclined to the personable, nor to saccharine slop… Not when communicating with others, anyhow. Buried and smeared while being hidden amongst mounds of paperwork were brief scribbles of poetry, of sketches of mistily reimagined silhouettes, flowing romantic prose incapable of coming out through his own halting speech, of faintly grasped memories of torrid expressions he needed to recall through flowing strokes of a figure, but those all were secrets even he wasn’t meant to have access to. Shameful, that’s what it was. Inefficient, ineffective, and shameful. An outlet for his needs to make something, perhaps, but… Certainly they sated other desires as well.

The distance between them should have helped; should have given him time to correct and corral his feelings, mold them back into form briskly, scaldingly, sharply--as one does when shaping copper. Instead he had gone too soft, too half-hearted, and his self-inflicted blows to his psyche had been too gentle. The metal of his desire had set and crisped up before he could steer himself back on track, and now he had to re-anneal, to subject himself back to fiery disavowal and guilt before the exacting measures of self-restraint would be effective. Yes, he quite liked that idea. He couldn’t have his metallurgy back but he could certainly think of his rehabilitation as such. He had forged many a sword, an arrow tip, an axe, before. His personality would be the same. Scalded and quenched and hammered into shape. And with his skill he could tap incessantly, exactingly, forcefully thrusting against the teasingly giving metal and-- blast it, again! It was achingly difficult to ignore. The distance only seemed to make his delinquent misgivings have more courage to rise up again out of turn. When he was face to face with those capricious blue eyes long enough to remember the wretched personality that tagged along with them it was easier to keep his goal in mind, but the longer he went without a glimpse of the sour man himself, the more alluring the rest of it seemed. Had they even written letters? Well, he hadn’t sent any. He had received a fair handful until they had run dry. He had almost convinced himself that he was glad of it. A few lines in the others flowery script were too laden with implications to be safe; he had already resigned himself to the idea of his correspondence being read at his supervisor’s discretion, so it was best if the letters wasted away entirely rather than risk the uncovery by his betters of whatever hintingly depraved thing would find itself penned inside a perfumed envelope. Near the end of their dispatchment, the notes had gotten quite irritated it seemed, demanding reply. His excuse for his silence was that he simply didn’t have time to dally on such things, but in truth he wanted to show himself that he could deny the temptation. It was easy to tell himself that he had enough to worry about with dozens of signatures to scrawl, appeals and drafts to write, documents and proposals to uncritically approve. With considerable effort, he plucked the intricately carved ivory dip pen off of the desk before blotting it back into his blue-glass inkwell. Just a few more of these documents and he’d be able to wallow in his own home instead of his suffocating office. The half-hearted, half-present signatures left a streaky trail of black as his newly inkstained hand trailed across the page, though the final few letters were jaggedly interrupted with a rapping at the office door.

“Yes, sir, I’ve already said I would finish them by today,” his calling tone was harsh but clearly deferent; he was a lively one, but part of being a man was knowing his duty and thusly his place. Even so, he didn’t bother glancing up from his efforts to correct the broken signing at the tail end of the page as the door slowly opened, creaking unceremoniously.

“If it’s really necessary I can work past my contractual hour, though I must note that your well-intentioned checkings-in aren’t conducive to getting any actual work done.” This comment was much more pointed, though not so much so as to be crossing a line. Still, the silent presence above his desk, looming, made him rethink his words for a slight moment before he got the better of himself. No need to look up as if they can dole out some sort of punishment! To you, of all people! No, you’re working together under the same sense of duty… Right? Keep your head down and show them your dedication and vigour. If they’ve got a problem they can bloody well deal with it, that’s not something that’s important enough to interrupt this work.

« Ah. Scribbling pen names has stopped you from writing back ? You are a much more petulant boy than before, their puppy-dog training is not working on you. » The two sentences were connected not in theme but in the rolling, keen tone they were carried by. The former was a lazy observation and the latter was crafted solely to rile him up. The door quietly shut behind, and there was a graceful and soundless moment afterwards. In a second of skillful self-control, he did not drop the pen but instead cooly placed its nib back into its proper receptacle, as much as he was inclined to throw it at his guest. For a flitting pause, a scorching rage surged through him. What about no reply hadn’t gotten through that dense skull, and what made him think, after it all, that he could flicker back in, no doubt impermanently, just to ruin all his progress, and--

God he needed to see him.

He would not ever, never, let him know that.

“As spineless and will-less as ever, then, Bonnefoy. Resolute enough to travel across the channel to be a nuisance but not enough to do any work or get any admirable aims in life.” Fuck, that hadn’t enough venom, it was transparent and flimsy. Traceable. He made sure his glower was deep enough to offset what he was certain was too-soft a rebuttal. It hadn’t done enough, though.

« So you have missed me ! Yes, you know, I do enjoy to come here and to anger you. » A quick beat passed.

« You know I had to come and-- mmm… scorn you for ungentlemanly not replying to my letters. » Well, it seemed he was being equally as transparent. He almost shivered. It was one thing to have his feelings discovered, but if they both were in agreement over what was happening, it was much more difficult to steer away from what was coming.

“Scold. You mean scold.” He added curtly, taking his pen back up as he glanced back down at his paperwork. He had been staring at his face up until then, he just realised. Blue eyes as infuriating as ever, that new obnoxious french hairstyle, the unneeded tightness in the waist and legs of the waistcoat and trousers, the volatile expression of something genuine.

“Your english still hasn’t improved.” He continued with a comment he knew would be ignored, but he needed to get it out there. Keep up the guise of nagging conversation.

« Your office is so away from the rest in here. Isolated like always. And no windows, a prison ! Poor little sad Englishman, and of course no time to write letters, not one bit. » They were talking by, not to, each other, though they were saying the same things. He had decided to sit upon the edge of the bureau, clearly an excuse to stir up some fabricated bile for their equally as convincing argument.

“I’m working upon this desk, thank you! And I’ve been working for months now. You were not invited and are not wanted; you’ve found your way in and can find your way out. Good day, Bonnefoy.” His pulse was hammering now, if only he could direct it at that copper-- beat his will into place, keep it straight and unmarred, stay determined. The Frenchman was simply smiling away with that look of acute, cutting, though well-intended observation. He was not going to leave on his own. With a return of the pen to its place, he stood, making an attempt to usher his unwelcome guest out. Francis rose as well, and as he did so the Englishman made no further attempt to get to his office door. Instead they stood together, steadfast.

« Say hello to me. It’s been so long, and I want to hear it and you want to say it. Just hello. » It was a tender plea as much as it was a command. The fool really thought he was entitled to it, but only in the way two who have known each other a long time are entitled to hear the news of someone’s workday or what dreams filled their last night’s sleep. They weren’t touching, but they could. His own face was beet red as he decided whether or not he should deny the request, angry and upset at more than the situation and himself. It was boiling over, the tapping beats in his chest and throat weren’t subsiding. He had to do something. He wished he had a bloody window so he could toss the intruder out of it, grasp him by his ruffled collar and throw him out the door, or against a wall, or over his desk, or--

“You-- I can’t believe you--” He was cut off by a look, and maybe Francis had moved forward slightly with his deep gaze, bridged the gap a little to make it easier, but maybe he hadn’t, and maybe he had grabbed at the nicely pressed wool jacket of his own accord, pulled at the stupidly styled french coif to reach for a kiss, to stumble into the wall behind them all on his own. He certainly was the one pressing them together, at least preliminarily. Bonnefoy, having planned something along these lines, was quick to fill in the needed friction after a blink.

« That’s-- hmm… one way to say hello. » The teasing tone was almost enough to make him stop entirely and snap him out of it, possibly stear himself back onto a more proper path, but Francis was smiling again and it was just too earnest as he craned his neck back in anticipation to be kissed there. They both knew this was the only hello he’d be able to manage. Any further acknowledgement of a budding warmth between them beyond the physical was more than he could honestly bear. For now, the more openly flagrant refusal of the two to meet gentlemanly expectations would have to be their letters that were few and far between, punctuated by occasional tysts like this, though the sentiment always lingered, and he was afraid it was growing. He had a period in his youth, with no supervision on open seas, when he didn’t hold himself to such a high standard in these matters. It had taken a fair amount of diligence to push himself back on track, but now--... Well, he could feel himself slipping again, but this time he knew better. Somehow the refutation of his desires of it all made it all the more difficult to deny. But Francis wasn’t giving him much pause to think more deeply about these things, and the wretched glint in his eye made it seem like he knew just what was on his mind. Why did he always know!? It hurt, to be so well understood in a shame the other refused to acknowledge. When had Francis ever been shameful of anything? He pretended to be, but only to be irritating. Every so often when they’d do this, he’d resort to saying such horrible things about how he relished his sanctity being soiled when they both knew perfectly well that no such thing was ever there in the first place. Francis made no signs to do so tonight, not as impatient hands were fiddling with buttons and edging him over to sit back on top of the desk. That pansy French fashion was great for enticing the eye but by god, the buttons! Warm, manicured hands met his and Bonneyfoy grinned.

« You do not need to open my shirt. » What a stupid assumption.

“Just because I don’t-- stop that! I can do it on my own, you’re not making it any easier. I could just rip the damn thing if you prefer-- I don’t have to but. Well, I get to,” His huff was met with an expression that looked sickeningly soft. Was this not injustice enough? To acquiesce to desire, but now his carnal lusts were being interpreted as tenderness! Maybe it was a bit of that, but blast it, Francis could at least pretend he didn’t know. It wasn’t like this was something special for him, anyway. That fop was getting it on with anything that moved and looked his way, and now Francis was lording it over him that he liked him! He was probably smug, pleased that he had ordained to come down and give him the pleasure of a single, solitary fuck while he was off cavorting with--

« Please, let me. You’re tense, I can help. » There he went with that tenderness again, too visceral to be faked. The beat in time of the two sharing a glance was raw and it shut him up quite well. Francis kept chatting as he placed the Englishman’s hands under his shirt as he nimbly undid his own buttons. The other was content to grab about underneath as he waited.

« You need to learn to say no to them. Get more time away. They make you feel worse inside, and that is not very handsome at all. » And there he went with the sap. It was easy to slide his hands around to the small of Francis’s back and hold him steady as he kissed him to shut the man up. Surprisingly, Francis pushed him away to finish opening his buttons. The Englishman did not appreciate that.

« Despair is becoming on you, but even you need to be patient. I’m not going anywhere. » They both knew that wasn’t true, but he wasn’t complaining when Francis plucked his own cold hands out of the back of the Frenchman’s trousers and placed them on the man's freshly revealed chest. He could feel Francis shiver under him, his own hands were much colder than the other’s hot skin. A moment of impulse made him squeeze possibly a bit more roughly than he should have, and Francis did that little gasping moan of his he always did. It had been so long that he hardly remembered it anymore, but it was quite the experience to hear it again. The more he groped the chest, the tighter the legs around his waist would get. Oh, his poor paperwork, it was only slightly out of the way of being crushed and pushed about… Maybe he could move it before they got on with it all, it would only take a--

That familiar warm hand grabbed his jaw tightly and pulled his gaze back away from the documents on his desk, the both of them pausing only for a moment before they kissed again and all thought of paperwork was forgotten in favour of instant gratification. He could feel Francis smile triumphantly as he kept up his slightly desperate grabbing and squeezing, his hips starting to move up against the open legs resting on his desk. It was rather ungraceful, Francis’s legs snaked tight around him as he pressed their bodies together. In the one moment before he would no longer be able to resist himself, a clutching shock of guilt crackled through his chest. Unbeknownst to him, his face contorted slightly, a grimace of pain and reconsideration. Francis didn’t see, or, at least, didn’t pause. Instead, the hot, slender fingers that still held his jaw were keeping the pair kissing as a rhythm not dissimilar to one that the Englishman was familiar with was hammered out against the solid office desk. If only he could say he forgot the expectations of his bosses and the world at large for those moments, but he couldn’t. His will was stronger, however. At least, his will when combined with his desires. Besides, it was difficult to pause when his pervasive nuisance was sitting its fat arse on his desk, when they were clutched and and hugging together as tightly as his wax seals pressed to his paperwork that was currently watching the display. His hands were suddenly disordered-- after months, years even, of writing when told to, shaking hands properly, adjusting ties, now they had free reign to fly wherever they fancied. Tangled in bouncing blond locks one moment, then back squeezing his partner’s chest, then slipped down the back of the loosened trousers upon his bureau. There wasn’t much time until the nonsensical French interjections fizzled into dripping moans, and even less of a beat until a quicker, tense breath of air joined in. Chests still together, their hearts raced. He was the first to pull away and face the wall with a few curses as Francis was left sitting. Realising the fruitlessness of any attempt to clean himself there, he circled around to tend to the ever-patient papers awaiting his return as he dutifully stacked them in his carrying case.

“I should be going, then. These need finishing. Ta.” Miraculously, he found the coldness he had been attempting to muster up upon his companion’s arrival, though it was a tad too late. Francis wasn’t altogether pleased with the change in tone, although he understood the haste required after their torrid encounter.

« But I need a-- Angleterre, you-- ! » His shirt unbuttoned and tousled, and his trousers hanging off of his hips, Francis slipped to place himself in front of the door.

« You are bringing me to your flat, or your kennel, or wherever it is they keep you when you aren’t here. »

“Not if you’re going to speak French, I won’t.” A raised eyebrow came with the easy, chilled reply.

« Do not get smart with me. » Francis shot back, deft fingers working to button his shirt and press down his clothing as swiftly and naturally as bird preening itself. The other’s stern expression and eyes looking elsewhere told him as much as he needed to know. He softened, if only slightly.

« Look, I’m just as presentable as you. It’s a business trip, would that make you feel better ? I won’t bother you as you do your paperwork. I’ll even make you tea and something real to eat as you finish up. Hein ? »

Another few beats between them, and, ever the gentleman, he opened the door for Francis after giving them both a once-over.

“We’ll need to be quick, alright? These pants are already uncomf--... Go.” He gestured briskly out the door, and followed after the other man who seemed far more pleased with himself and the situation. What was he doing? Why was he-- well, that didn’t matter. All he had to worry about was getting back to his own room and not being seen by anyone in so disheveled a state… Besides, Francis seemed to be making no effort to be inconspicuous-- loudly asking for directions to his living arrangements because it had just been so long since he had seen them, and in French, no less. Though determined not to look at him, what made it worse was that he could just sense that sickening grin creeping up Francis’s face, spreading more and more by the minute. If only he had just remembered how irritating and inconvenient, unprofessional and repulsive the Frenchman was… Being apart for so long made him more alluring when he really knew what the bastard was like. If he had been prepared, why, he wouldn’t be bounding after him, through dirty, smoggy streets; his heart racing, his stern glare only slightly beating out the flutter in his chest and the small twitch at the corner of his lips. Incorrigible.

#fruk #ukfr #england/france #france/england #hetalia fic #hetalia fanfiction

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ffangirlingsince2001 · 4 years

Text

Havandra

anonymous asked:

Hi! Can i request something where geralt meets another girl and starts ignoring/neglecting y/n and both of them being rude to her and rly angsty w a fluff ending if you can!! Thank you so much!!

A/N: Hello, I don’t know who you are but thank you for your request, it was fun to write. I hope you enjoy

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: smut, angst, fluff, murder, fighting

There was something about fine ladies with intricate dresses and long lashes that seemed to enchant the unenchantable.

Especially your Witcher.

They were his weakness, and it didn’t matter what they were. Human, mages, monsters, it was all the same.

Knowing this you shouldn’t have been surprised how immediately he trailed off as his eyes followed her down the hallway. She deserved it, every glance that was sent her way. Her entire existence screamed ‘Admire Me!’ Her dress glittered like the ocean at midnight and her hair was a sheet of shining obsidian, swaying with every step, taunting you as she approached. Big blue eyes, full lips, high cheekbones were straight out of a painting that hung in lonely king’s courts. It was clear someone had sculpted her, had dragged magic through her skin until she lacked impurity.

It’s not that you weren’t pretty, for a hunter. Spattered freckles, scars, and comfort had nothing on fair skin, magic, and mystery.

You shouldn’t have been surprised, and you should have found yourself a new traveling companion, at least until she was gone. You didn’t, of course, because you were an idiot, and unrequited love made you an idiotic doormat.

“I’m Havandra,” she purred, brushing you out of the way with almost no effort at all. Placing a hand on your Witcher’s shoulder, fingers twirling into the fabric of his collar. “The resident mage. He nodded gruffly, Adam’s apple tight in his throat and you rolled your eyes.

“Geralt-,”

“of Rivia, yes I know. I heard you were wandering our halls. I was hoping I would bump into you.”

“I’m glad you did.”

“Geralt, we need to speak to the king,” you reminded him, catching the attention of Havandra.

“And you are?” she asked, turning and planting herself between you and Geralt.

“His partner.”

“That’s so cute. Tell me, partner in what capacity?”

“I don’t think I know what you mean.”

“Well, you clearly not together in the sense of lovers. So if you’re not pleasuring him, why on earth does he keep a plain thing like you around.” You glanced over your shoulder at Geralt, who seemed to not hear anything she said.

“She’s a hunter,” he informed her, and you struggled to breathe.

“Oh, so you won’t mind if we get drinks?”

“We have to talk to the king,” you reminded but he was already gone, intertwined with the beautiful Havandra. As they strolled away, she glanced over his should and sent you a sharp smile.

“Don’t worry, I’ll return him mostly unharmed.”

You could scream, you wanted to more than anything, but you settled for unsheathing your sword and slamming it into the stone walls.

“Fuck,” you screamed, hands aching from the reverberation. He just left, with her, not even bothering to defend you. You weren’t fucking plain! And you were going to let her have it, she was evil, something was wrong.

No.

This was envy, it had planted itself in your heart and begun to grow. She wasn’t evil, just beautiful. Anyhow, you have no right to be jealous. He’s not yours, he’s never been yours. You told yourself friendship was fine time and time again. Every time you had to make yourself scarce because some girl had managed to enchant him for the night it stung but you knew it was for the best. And even this time, though you hated every inch of her, it was no different than anytime before.

Except this time, he hadn’t defended you. Every time before, the moment his conquest came after you, she was done. He told her to fuck off and grunted that it was time to go, but not this time. You had been sure he hadn’t heard her, but then he as if it was nothing he demoted you from friend to some hunter who had decided to tag along with the great and mighty Geralt of Rivia.

It’s fine, you told yourself deciding whether you should still go the king or postpone it until you had the man he had really called for at your side. If the rumors were true, this king had no problem killing those who failed to bring him what he requested, and you were sure this was one of those cases.

Instead, you took a walk, searching for a way to blow off some steam. Though you weren’t angry enough to leave the man, you definitely wanted nothing more than to punch that dopey look right off his face.

A deer darted in front of you as you stepped awkwardly and snapped a loose branch. You had your bow out in an instant and your arrow knocked, following the creature as closely as you could, inching forward ever so slowly. It didn’t stop until it was for out of sight, bushes blocking your view, but stepping onto a boulder gave you just enough high ground to see its ears poking out from the brush.

A second passed and then it was dead, your arrow lodged cleanly in its neck. Sighing, you threw it over your shoulder and made your way to town. Once there you sold the deer for a pretty penny and headed towards your room. The pub was crowded, men and women filling every crevice. They sang and danced and smiled, something you wanted no part of in your state of mind. You just wanted to lay down and sleep.

And wait for Geralt to get bored.

You fumbled with the key and finally pushed it open with a satisfying click, only the reveal Geralt and Havandra naked, wrapped within one another while she rode him. Your eyes widened at the sight. The room was ten degrees hotter than the hallway, hot skin slapping against hot skin. Her head was thrown back in ecstasy, his hands wrapped around her breasts. Animalistic moans filled your ears and you squeaked an apology, scrambling to leave, but they paid you no mind. You slammed the door shut and tears rushed to your eyes.

You have no right to be jealous. He’s not yours, and tomorrow he wouldn’t be hers either. You sat down and waited for her to leave, praying it would be soon.

You fell asleep in the hallway long after the sun went down, but you could still hear them, feel the shaking of the walls. Even as you woke with the sun the next morning, you could still hear them. It had slowed down, exhaustion pulling at the two, but her high pitched whimpers still creeping beneath the door. It wasn’t until it was completely silent that you dared to open the door once again.

She was plastered against his chest, both breathing heavily within sleep. You slipped through towards your bag that lay beside the bed, rummaging for your extra pair of pants. You picked up one of your knives and moved to leave, but as you stood you met the sapphire eyes of Havandra, who smirked at you before screaming.

You jumped back, dropping your things to the floor as you covered your ears and Geralt was up in a second.

“Geralt, she had a knife. She was going to kill me,” she screamed, curling up in his arms. He glared at you and you took another step back.

“I didn’t-,”

“I’ll talk to you outside.”

“But-,”

“Go!” he barked and you scurried outside as quickly as you could, leaving all that you held behind. You punched the wall and waited with throbbing knuckles. She was trying to get rid of you, that stupid mage. You had to explain, convince him that she was lying, but with the look he had sent you, you were sure that wouldn’t be easy. “What the fuck?” he asked lowly as he stepped out from the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Geralt, I wasn’t trying to kill her, I swear,” you pleaded but he wasn’t having it.

“No, you are a jealous, spiteful bitch. She told me she could tell you’re in love with me. Is that true? Were you going to try and kill her in hopes that I would finally look at you?”

“No, Geralt I would never.”

“Are you sure, because it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gone and scared off my company.”

“There’s something wrong with her.”

“No, there’s something wrong with you.”

“You have to believe me,” you were crying now, the feeling her smirk gave you still slipping up and down your spine.

“I don’t have to believe anything you have to say, Y/N. I should turn you in, but how about we settle for you leaving and never coming back.”

No, you couldn’t leave him. Not like this, not ever like this.

“You have an hour and then I’m going to turn you in, be long gone or face prison.” You turned and ran. It was pouring outside, the clouds that had been gathering for days, finally releasing their burden. Your tears mixed with the thick raindrops as your stumbled towards the forest, slipping through the mud and debris.

You had nowhere to go, no horse, no food, no money. You were as good as dead. You couldn’t believe he had sent you away, ears deaf to anything you had to say. All he cared about was Havandra. He had known you for three years and yet he had still chosen her, devoted even his common sense without knowing more than her name.

The trees provided little cover, and you found it harder to run as the roads began to flood. In one false step you were falling, tumbling down a hill into a muddy ravine. You tried to unstick yourself, but every time you stood you slipped again and wound up muddier than before. On hands and knees you crawled towards the slope, hoping to make it to the road before the ravine flooded and you were trapped when the torrents came rushing through.

Nails dug into mud, searching for anything of substance to hold onto, to pull yourself free. You slipped again and your mouth filled with mud. Spitting it out you continued your climb until something odd caught your attention, you pulled yourself closer and let out a gasp, tumbling back down the hill in surprise. Emerging from the quickly eroding slope was a body, the hand creeping out, and then the arm, then the torso, and finally it came washing down towards you with the rest od the debris that had been unearthed during to the torrent. You tried to scramble away, but you were hit full force with the body. You opened your eyes and found yourself staring into the sapphire eyes of the kingdom’s mage. Even caked in dirt you could tell, that the real, very dead, Havandra was laying on top of you, neck slit like a pig. You shoved her off you and realized with unimaginable dread what the monster who had been hired to hunt was.

And where it was.

Mud and rain couldn’t stop you as they had when you found no reason to fight, as now you could imagine the knife above Geralt, plunging into his chest with no remorse. It had only been you stopping it, and with you on the run the doppler would have no problem lodging a knife into the formidable Witcher, drunk on charm and sex.

No one tried to stop you as you neared the town and you prayed that he simply had been bluffing and was not yet dead. You pounded up the stairs off the inn and with an adrenaline you had never felt before slammed your body into the door, breaking anything that held it back. A shocked shapeshifter jumped back, the knife still clutched in its hand and Geralt woke up. He looked between his once beautiful Havandra and your mud doused body, the knife slipped from her hands, the twisted look on her face intensifying and you lunged. The force, though not quite as strong as when you charged the door, knocked both of you to the floor. It screamed and kicked you back. Upon contact with the wall the window shattered. You tried to clear your head as it approached.

“Fucking women, always getting in my way,” it hissed, pulling a knife from its tunic. You grabbed a piece of glass from the ground and lunged, pushing it back. Its knife caught you in the arm and you screamed, wrapping your hands around its neck but it threw you into the hallway. You darted forward, hand sliding across the dresser where the silver knife lay and dug into its heart. The screams were terrible, worse than the accusatory one it had uttered earlier. You dropped to the ground and covered your ears, not daring to remove them until all had gone silent.

You slid towards your Witcher who was slowly coming too, his angry eyes blinking into ones of confusion.

“Y/N?” he muttered, rubbing his temples, “What the fuck happened?” You explained it to him quickly, leaving out all that he had said to you in the hallway, and he just nodded and listened. “And what happened to you? I remember what I said to you.”

“It was spell, you didn’t mean it.” You avoided his gaze as you said it, the words still fresh in your heart.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, like I said, the spell.”

“Do you really love me?” Now your eyes snapped to his and you swallowed nervously. His expression was unreadable. What was it disgust? Discomfort? Simply curiosity?

“I do.” There was a moment of silence, the longest moment of your entire life. You were sure years had passed before either of you move.

And then he pulled you to his lips, kissing you with newfound energy. It was exactly as you had imagined, soft lips but nipping teeth. He didn’t seem to mind the mud, or the fact that it was you. In fact, it seemed to be because it was you that he didn’t mind the mud.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he laughed between butterfly kisses, smearing away the mud as he went.

“The women you-,”

“Are nothing, everyone is nothing compared to you.” Your eyes widened in surprise and you tackled him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him back with equal ferocity. “You are everything, my everything, and nothing will change that. Not women or spells, there is nothing but you and me.”

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lord-explosion-baku · 4 years

Text

Our Love Is God pt. 2

Dabi x Reader

Warnings: mentions of noncon/somnophilia, abortion, dark themes, yandere characteristics, dabi just being a rat tbh

A/N: so like I said that I’d get back to this fic when I got bored or other, more important things were a drag to write and, well, I got bored/other,more important things were a drag to write. TW for talk of abortion. Dabi doesn’t take things lightly and thinks certain things that may make anybody who has had an abortion or has deep feelings about abortion either really guilty or really angry, but that’s not the point. The point of this fic is that he’s a bastard and not a savior. This is pretty short! And yes I plan on writing more, but that’s when I get bored or other, more important things are a drag to write!

Dabi found himself panting when he finally lifted himself up onto your balcony. It had been, what, almost two months since he’d last snuck into your room? Too long, but you hadn’t called him, and he had been busy to see what the hell was up with you. Now he had a couple days to himself, and he couldn’t shake the pestering feeling of wanting to spend them with you.

The door to your balcony was unlocked, thank god; he really didn’t want to have to burn the knob off—why make a reason for you to get pissed at him already? Dabi smirked. You were fucking cute when you were angry, but he wanted his return to be at least a little pleasant.

Unsurprisingly, you were passed out underneath that ugly-ass, pink canopy, snoozing away peacefully and unexpecting. Your bed was built for a princess, but with you sprawled out on your back with your arms splayed apart, your tank-top rising up to expose your soft belly, and your blanket tossed down so only one of your feet were covered, you looked nothing short of a cavewoman. Still hot though, and Dabi missed you.

That was it. Dabi missed you. He never really expected to miss anybody he fucked. He made plenty of girls mad in the past, so when you last kicked him out, it shouldn’t have been any different. He’d gotten used to a routine: sleep with some chick, piss her off, do crime, then forget about her. But since the night you’d kicked him out, he couldn’t get your bratty fucking face out of his damn mind. Was it that you were stubborn? Or was it that you came across as such a lil do-gooder, daddy’s favorite princess and all that bullshit, when you were really just a filthy slut on the inside?

“What is it about you that makes me crazy, baby?” Dabi asked aloud, tracing a finger up from the hemline of your pajama shorts to your bare ribs. He watched goosebumps appear on your tummy and flattened them out with the palm of his hand.

Your only response was a soft snore. Dabi scoffed.

The first time he fucked you, you had been asleep. Or at least, you were asleep when he began. He visited you a couple nights after he and Twice tried to loot your father’s safe. He’d thought you were a cute little shit, and just wanted to see your frightened face again. He climbed in through the balcony and found you asleep in your bed like you were now, only you were laying on your stomach. After sniffing around your room a little, he couldn’t help but crawl into your bed. He wanted to hear you scream, but you stayed asleep, even when Dabi’s hands inevitably started exploring your body.

Dabi couldn’t forget how deliciously wrong it felt to pet your pert little ass while you slept, how exciting it was to rub a knuckle over your clothed slit, how incredibly hot it was for you to cry out when he plunged two fingers into your sopping wet pussy. Yes, you cried, but you also moaned, and Dabi felt you clench around his fingers when he wrapped his free hand around your neck, pulled you back, and whispered to you, “I’m gonna fuck you, and you’re gonna love it, babydoll.”

Dabi made good on that promise that night. You took him so well, and it really didn’t take him all that long to get you to sing for him. You liked being taken advantage of, and Dabi learned that the more aggressive he was with you, the easier it was to make you cum. And oh, baby girl, it was just too easy to make you cum.

He was hard now, and he wanted to fuck you, but he wouldn’t. Even though you snored, there was something peaceful about watching you sleep. Of course, that didn’t stop him from palming your breasts, if only just to see your nipples pop against your tank top.

“Why haven’t you texted, huh? Was I really all that bad to you?” Dabi’s voice was soft against your neck as he placed gentle kisses along your warm flesh. He nuzzled his nose behind your ear and inhaled deeply, taking in the aroma of your washed hair. “You know I could be real good to you if that’s all you want from me…”

Calloused fingers brushed across flowery lips, the vast contrast between him and you burning a hole into his chest. He leaned over to see your mouth part subtly, invitingly. Dabi took the initiative and planted a light kiss on you. He whispered, “there’s no way you haven’t missed me a tiny bit.”

At this, you hummed, and Dabi felt tension melt from his shoulders. That was an affirmation if he’d ever heard one, which gave him permission to run both of his hands down your sides to take their sharpened places at your hips. He pulled you against his hardened groin and let himself grind his strain courteously into you.

“You know how hot you are, babe? You know how much I missed having you wrap around my cock?” God, he wanted you. He wanted to be inside of you. He wanted to kiss you, and mark you, and love you, and-

You let out a little, “uhh,” from the very back of your throat. Dabi could have damn well nearly melted into you from that tiny noise. He could only imagine what squeaks and squeals you had saved up from him when you woke up.

For a moment, he thought that he would break his resolve to not fuck you—you wanted him to anyhow—and honestly, he probably would have, had it not been for your phone lighting up, snapping his attention to your side table. It buzzed twice, which he could have ignored, and then two more times, which made Dabi grab it, reading the I.D. tag, ‘Daddy.’

Dabi scoffed and used your thumb to unlock your phone. He found that it was your father that texted you, asking about a visit to the doctor’s you made. Dabi kicked back on your bed and decided to dive into the depths of your phone, check your social media PM’s, calls you’d made, etcetera.

There were quite a few messages from boys in there. Some of them were coming on to you, others were asking when they’d see you again. Dabi’s jaw clenched when he read those messages, but he was pleased to see that you’d left all those jagoffs on read, even the ones who were more persistent. Dabi would be lying if he said he didn’t go out and sleep with a couple chicks while you were there ignoring him. You couldn’t blame him. He was a man with needs. But he never called them again. None of them mattered like you mattered, and by the look of things, it seemed like you felt the same way.

Dabi checked your photo album, finding nothing more interesting than the racey selfies you took of yourself, probably trying to feel good about yourself (Dabi sent those pictures to his own phone, before deleting the evidence). Then he went to your search history, smirking at the very specific websites you visited.

“You’re absolutely filthy,” he chuckled in the middle of watching a video you seemed to frequently visit. He couldn’t wait to try this out on you—a little make up sex surprise. In response, you turned in bed, throwing your arm around Dabi’s lap, your elbow just a few centimeters from his erection. Dabi frowned down at you, and clicked out of the video, knowing that it was just gonna spur him on. He decided to look back to see what you searched when you’d last saw him—see if you looked up anything close to ‘sex with a villain’ or the like. But he didn’t find that. What he found was weird. What he found made a pit form in the bottom of his stomach.

‘how to deal with heartbreak’ first caught his eye. Dabi thought that this could have been about him but this was about seven weeks after he’d last seen you. As he kept scrolling, it only got worse.

‘depressed after termination’

‘how to stop the pain without taking medications’

‘best ways to clean blood off of linens’

‘discrete doctors near azabu’

‘should i tell the guy im not dating about pregnancy?’

‘is there anything i can eat to not be oregano?’ (Dabi couldn’t even sneer at ‘oregano.’)

‘top 10 signs you are pregnant’

Dabi’s chest constricted. He nearly dropped the phone on your arm, but that would definitely wake you the hell up. “Pregnant?” He whispered out loud. It only made sense. Dabi never wrapped himself up with you like he did with other girls. There was something so fucking dirty about you taking him raw when he knew you didn’t want to. He knew you were clean because you didn’t fuck around—at least, not before him, which made his frown deepen.

Fuck. Despite the unusual shattered feeling Dabi felt deep in the pit of his stomach, he was still so fucking hot for you. He turned you over so that you were on your back again so he could examine your belly. He kissed you below your navel, wondering that if you hadn’t been ‘depressed after termination’ would there already be a little bump there?

There was a brief flash of a little hand pressing against the swollen stomach of a white haired woman, but Dabi quickly shook that memory away.

“Why, babe?” Dabi kissed your stomach again. Seriously, why? Did you think Dabi would be a shit dad? He probably would be! But he’d still be a dad, if he were raising a kid with you. Did you not know that? And it wasn’t like you didn’t have the funds to raise a healthy child with everything it could ever want and more! You were a spoiled brat and you would’ve raised an equally spoiled brat, and Dabi would’ve loved the hell out of the kid! What the fuck?!

Dabi’s mental fit was interrupted from a little bleep! chiming from your phone. It was from Snapchat, of course, because you were a little social media whore. Not even caring how it could look once you woke up, Dabi opened the snap to see a picture of city lights taken from high above with a little tag that read, ‘wish you were here.’ The user who sent it was nicknamed ‘K’ and their username was something indecipherable. Probably just another one of your rich-bitch friends, showing off the view from their penthouse apartment.

Dabi discarded your phone on your bed and brushed his hands through his spiky hair, cursing softly. He decided to leave then. He needed time to think and reflect. He’d have to bring this up to you sooner or later...if not, he’d figure out a way to work himself back into your life. You probably hadn’t called because you were feeling guilty, rightfully so. That didn’t mean he didn’t want to have you anymore. In fact, he wanted you more than ever before.

Jumping out of your window, Dabi decided then and there that he’d be back. He’d make you talk. And he figured that if he could get you pregnant once, he sure as hell could do it again. Easy peasy. He’d have you calling him daddy again in no time.

TAGS FOR EVERYTHING (CLOSED): @ayeputita @yandere-inamorata @dee-madwriter @unboundbnha @rizamendoza808, @lemonlordleah-shinzawa-kitten @rubycubix @zellllyyyy@sarcastictextstuck@kpanime @captain-sin-allmight-queen @psionicsnow@wickedlewicked @ghost-of-todoroki @kattariapenn@im-an-adult-sometimes @bnhya @local-senpai@eggpienutbuttercroissant@usernamekate94 @reyvenclaww @hi-ho-and-hello

#dabi x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya x reader #bnha x reader #yandere x reader #yandere bnha #bnha yandere #reader insert #bnha reader insert #x reader #yandere!dabi #yandere!dabi x reader #olig

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averykedavra · 4 years

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Dance Until the Dawn

Hey, guys! I just finished one fic event, so clearly it’s time to start another! Seriously though, this looked like fun and it might help me transition into working on smaller projects again. So I’m trying some prompts for Soulmate September! Who knows how many I’ll complete, but I’ve got little plans for all of them, so you might get a lot of content this September!

(Tagging @tsshipmonth2020! Song title from Willow Tree by Rival, Cadmium, and Rosendale. You can find this story on Ao3 here.)

Prompt: Day 1. Your Soulmate’s name is written on your wrist or palm. 

Pairing: QPR Royality.

Words: 9913

Warnings: referring to a trans character by their past name and pronouns during the time period when they used those identifiers, some internalized transphobia, internalized harmful beliefs about soulmates, rabies mention, crying, some self-deprecation, vaguely implied gender dysphoria? it’s more on the gender euphoria end.

Patton was eight when he got his heart broken, and he barely even realized it’d happened. Afterwards, he’d look back at that afternoon and wince--or, if he was having a really bad day, cry. It was sad, really. The whole day had been great, and it would have been a nice memory, if not for the soulmates.

They’d been lying on the treehouse floor, the two of them, Patton falling off the side of a large squishy beanbag and Ro drumming her feet on the windowsill. They’d spent a good few hours playing teatime with Patton’s stuffed frog and Ro’s committee of plush puppies. Every time things got boring, Ro would say “oh no, here comes the dragon” and teatime would turn into Rescue the Princess time. But eventually Ro had run out of places to hide the princess because the treehouse was only so big.

The treehouse was their favorite place. It had red walls and a corrugated roof that went ping-ping-ping when it rained and a scratchy rope ladder and a small window with a bucket hanging out of it for Secret Important Messages. In other words, it was perfect.

So after one last daring rescue mission, the stuffed animals were piled in a corner under Patton’s drawing of a dinosaur, and Ro pulled out the storybooks she’d gotten at the library. Patton grabbed his own as well. They were only allowed to check out five at a time, but five plus five was ten, and ten was plenty to keep them busy.

Patton liked books with animals on the cover. He didn’t really care about the story as long as there were animals. And Ro liked adventures. Today she’d brought a whole stack of books, each of the covers sporting dragons and pirates and damsels in distress and brave knights who got them out of distress. Patton thought they could be a little scary. And violent. But Ro always stopped if Patton got nervous, and anyway, it was hard to be scared on a warm spring afternoon with carpet tickling his toes and a lollipop stuck in his mouth.

“Me first!” Ro opened a book with a princess on the front. “We’ll do you next, promise!”

“Okay!” Patton said. He didn’t mind much. Animals were great, but Ro’s stories got interesting.

Because Ro liked to rewrite the stories afterwards.

That was Patton’s favorite part of the afternoon. They’d done it for almost a year, ever since Patton moved here and was greeted by a huge grin and a long black braid and an impressive amount of sparkly hair clips. Being friends with Ro was simple--Patton didn’t know how he’d ever been friends with anyone else, because nobody was like Ro. Nobody understood Patton like Ro did, always knowing when he was upset. Nobody made Patton smile like Ro did, with her endless stories and boundless excitement. Nobody completed Patton like Ro did. They fit together so neatly, like puzzle pieces clicking into place. They were eight and together and the world was wide, exciting and full of new things to read.

“So,” Ro said in her storyteller voice, flipping her hair over her shoulder. And Patton shuffled over to Ro and peered at the book, careful to keep his sticky fingers away from the pages. He wiggled with anticipation.

It was a good story. It was about a lonely princes who was born with no name on her wrist. No soulmate. Her family despaired and she herself mourned, because she would never have a true love. Then a handsome knight saved her from a vicious dragon--this was the part Ro liked the most, dipping her voice to read the knight’s part, Patton playing the princess because all she did was cry a lot. The princess and the knight fell in love, but she knew they weren’t soulmates, so they couldn’t be together. Then they learned the knight hadn’t been given a name at birth, so it hadn’t shown up on the princess’ wrist, and they were soulmates after all. They kissed--“Ew,” Patton said as he finished up his lollipop, and Ro nodded in agreement--and got married and lived happily ever after, the end.

“The thing is,” Ro said, closing the book slowly with her nose wrinkled in concentration. “The thing is.”

“What’s the thing?” Patton asked. Here it was. The fun part.

“The thing is, I think his name should have shown up anyhow.”

“Really? Why?”

“I think it’s cheating!” Ro declared. “Why’d his name not show up ‘cause he didn’t get one when he was a baby? I don’t remember anything from when I was a baby! It’s stupid!”

“It’s not,” Patton said, more out of a desire to get Ro talking than any kind of real belief. “That’s just how soulmates work. It’s your true name, the name on your birth cert-if-i-cate.”

“Your what?” Ro asked, momentarily distracted.

“It’s a piece of paper,” Patton explained, feeling a little proud to know something Ro didn’t. Ro knew almost everything, and the stuff she didn’t, she was good at making up. “They give it to you when you’re born. It proves you got born.”

“Of course I got born!” Ro said, waving a hand at her chest. She was wearing a faded Cinderella t-shirt and there was a hole in the side from the time they played Hide and Seek next to a wire fence. “I don’t see why anyone’s gotta have some paper. I wouldn’t be here if I weren’t born, right?”

Patton shrugged. “It’s just the rule.”

By now, he understood that some things were Just the Rule. That was code for something he wasn’t supposed to argue with. There was also That’s How It Is, and sometimes You’ll Understand When You’re Older, and once in a while Because I Said So, Patton Mbow.

“Soulmates have rules,” Patton added, “because they gotta! You hafta have them or else the world goes ker-splooey.”

“But soulmates are magic!” Ro looked deeply offended. She clapped her hands together. “Unity! Two people are magic and they find each other and it’s magic. Magic shouldn’t have rules. That’s no fun!”

Patton shrugged and fiddled with his bracelet. It covered his left wrist and was sprinkled with liberal amounts of glitter. People liked to cover the names on their wrists because it was kinda private and you didn’t want people peeking at them sometimes. Patton didn’t mind. He’d have a chance to find his soulmate later. Magic could help him out and he’d meet his soulmate like Mom and Mami and he’d live happily ever after, the end.

Not now, though. Now he had books and a treehouse and Ro, who was glowing the way she always did when an idea caught her attention. Her eyes glittered like stars and her hands flew like they were birds and sometimes she ran out of breath but she’d barrel ahead anyway with barely a pause.

Gosh, Ro was amazing.

“It’s just too complicated,” Ro was saying when Patton shook himself and focused. “True names are your birth name but also not really? So many rules! It’s like math. Magic shouldn’t be like math.”

“I like math,” Patton said. “Sometimes our math teacher gives us cookies.”

“I like math too,” Ro said. Which wasn’t true, but Patton appreciated it anyway. “But magic and math aren’t the same!”

“They have some of the same letters!”

“Well, they’re kind of the same, then.” Ro waved a hand. “But magic shouldn’t be like math, it should be like...like...”

Patton waited as Ro fought for a word. She’d find it. She always did.

“Like singing!” Ro exclaimed. “Everyone knows how to sing ‘cause it’s simple! No rules!”

“I’m not sure,” said Patton, who’d gotten several comments when he sang a song from Sesame Street during the school concert about butterflies. “I think singing has rules, too.”

“No it doesn’t! You just sing the notes at the right times!” As an example, Ro sang the first few words of Hakuna Matata, but she’d forgotten the rest of them, so she trailed off with a “something something problem-free.” Patton clapped anyway. Ro was a good singer.

“Like that,” Ro said triumphantly. “If you have the words and the tune and the beat, it’s all set!”

Patton giggled. “Those kinda sound like rules.”

“They do?” Ro scrunched up her nose. “Oh, come on! Why does everything fun have to have all these rules attached? If I was in charge, I’d stop with the name thing altogether!” She nodded triumphantly. “Who cares about names anyway? They’re just words! I’d rather get something interesting, like...favorite foods! Or pets! Or--Disney movies! Names are so short and boring.”

“People have the same pets,” Patton pointed out.

“People have the same names, too! Like there are two Emmas in the grade up!” Ro shrugged. “I think it should be more interesting than names, is all I’m saying.”

“I think,” Patton said slowly, to make sure Ro wasn’t going to keep talking. Ro had gone silent and watched Patton with interest, chin in her hands.

“I think,” Patton said again, “that people should use whole names instead. They’d be easier to find if there were whole names.”

“There’s no room,” Ro said.

“You could write it real small!”

Ro looked at her wrist, the one not covered with a strip of ribbon. “Good point!”

Patton beamed.

“I still think names are boring, though.” She stuck out her tongue. “It’s not even nicknames! I’d rather it be nicknames.”

“You don’t like your name?” Patton asked.

Ro scrunched up her nose again.

Ro’s full name was Aarohi. Her last name was even longer. Patton called her Ro when they’d first met and he didn’t really know how to say Aarohi--he had trouble with words sometimes and it helped to keep them short. He was better now, but Ro had stuck so Ro was what Ro remained.

“Your soulmate can call you whatever,” Patton reassured Ro. “Darling or stuff like that. That’s what my moms say.”

“I want my soulmate to call me Ro,” Ro said decisively. “Just Ro. I like Ro.”

Patton scrunched up his eyebrows. “I call you Ro.”

“Yeah, and I like it.”

Patton couldn’t really explain the weird feeling in his stomach. He felt vaguely that a designation like that for a nickname--that it was for soulmates--meant Patton was no longer meant to use it. “I can call you something else,” he suggested. “If you wanna.”

“What?” Ro frowned. “I just said I liked it!”

Patton sunk into himself a bit. This wasn’t an argument, but it was getting kinda emotional, and he hadn’t expected this. He didn’t know what to say next. Soulmates always made him feel a little icky and strange, like he’d missed a step going downstairs and his stomach had swooped a bit. Today it felt even worse. He tried looking at Ro, found Ro was even harder to look at, and decided to look at the floor instead.

There was a long silence. Well, long for Patton and Ro, which meant maybe three seconds.

“Pat?” Ro asked.

Ro rarely called Patton nicknames, unlike everyone else they knew. Ro wasn’t always great with names so nicknames helped him remember. But he said he never needed to with Patton because Patton was unforgettable. Now, the use of that nickname made Patton’s stomach do another funny swoop.

“Yeah, Ro?”

“Can you keep a secret?”

Patton thought about it. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On the secret,” Patton said. “And if it involves lying or something else bad. I don’t like lying.”

“There’s no lying.” Ro paused. Her voice was weirdly hesitant. “And it might not have to be a secret for long, if--if you--you’ll see. I just wanna show you something, and you gotta promise you’ll be nice about it, and you’ll keep it a secret unless we agree it ought not to be.”

We. Patton shifted. This secret involved him. Had he done something wrong? He really hoped not. Ro was his bestest friend and Patton didn’t want her to be mad at him.

“I’ll keep a secret,” Patton said.

“Pinky promise?”

Patton extended a pinky. Ro wrapped it around her own and shook their hands up and down.

“On your honor?” she asked.

Patton thumped his chest in what he hoped was an honorable fashion. “On my honor.”

“By your sword?”

Patton didn’t have a sword. He thought about pointing this out, but then they’d have to go find a sword, and he was curious now. And a little scared.

“On my sword,” he said, his voice small.

He’d made promises like this before. But usually Ro was excited, eyes sparkling, pulling him towards someplace they were Not Really Supposed to Enter to do things they Shouldn’t Be Doing. Ro wasn’t smiling now. She was worrying her bottom lip and tugging at the ribbon over her soulmark.

“I--” Ro hesitated and let out a long breath. “I’ve got something to show you. Maybe I should have sooner, but--yeah. Here.”

She grabbed the ribbon around her wrist and untied it, letting it fall to the treehouse floor. Her wrist was dark and smooth. She turned it over.

Scribbled across the veins in neat blue ink was the name Patton.

Bubbly, round, just a little bit sparkly.

Patton.

“I should have showed you,” Ro said apologetically, “but I couldn’t think of when and I didn’t know if I should and I don’t really know what to do with a soulmate--”

Something that had loosened in Patton’s chest, becoming all gooey and mushy and soft, hardened again.

“We’re not,” he interrupted.

“We’re--” Ro stared at Patton. “What?”

“We’re not,” Patton repeated. He realized he sounded sort of sad. He didn’t know why.

“Of course we are,” Ro said. “I’ve got your name. We’re soulmates.”

She sounded absolutely certain about it. And Patton wanted to believe her. It surprised him, how much he wanted to. Ro knew all sorts of things--she was smart and passionate and funny and amazing. And she spoke like she controlled soulmates herself, like she could see the jagged edges of each soul and pinpoint exactly where they fit together.

Patton wanted Ro to be right.

But.

He pulled off his bracelet.

The name on there was curly and fancy and he’d forced his moms to read it for him. Red glittering ink, a curving line that ran under it and curled dramatically off into nothing. Little loops inside the curves and flourishes at the end of each line.

Roman.

“See?” he said quietly. “Not you.”

Ro stared at the letters, frowning. “Could be me. It’s kinda close to Ro.”

“Your name isn’t Roman,” Patton said, grabbing his bracelet and pulling it back on. He didn’t want to look at the name anymore.

“But--” Ro looked upset. “I thought--I’ve got your name.”

“It’s prob’ly another Patton,” Patton said, the words sticking in his throat. “I bet there are loads of Pattons. You’ll find another one soon.”

“I don’t want another Patton!” Ro was clearly close to tears. Her wrist lay on the boards of the treehouse, bearing the right name for the wrong person. “I want you!”

“We’re not soulmates!” Patton shook his head. “It’s the rules.”

“I hate the rules!”

Patton reached out and touched Ro’s hand. “We can still be friends! You can find your Patton and I can find my soulmate and we can be friends anyway!”

Ro sniffed. “But all the stories say soulmates are s’pposed to be everything.”

“We’ll make space.” Patton jutted his chin out. “You don’t like the rules, so--so we won’t follow them! Names are stupid and true names don’t make sense and soulmates are...soulmates are stupid! And anyway, there’s nothing in the rules about friends. You’ll find your knight, and I’ll--I’ll be your sidekick!”

Ro smiled a little. “We’ll stay friends?”

“Always!”

“Promise?”

“Promise!”

“Pinky promise?”

“Pinky promise!”

“Swear it on the treehouse?”

Patton looked around at the treehouse, full to bursting with ideas and crannies and things to do.

Always was a long time.

But he couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else.

“I swear,” Patton said, and Ro’s eyes shone like diamonds.

And they went on their way, reading another book, all talk of soulmates behind them. It was a nice long afternoon and there was no point in wasting it.

And if Patton felt weirdly sad when he thought about things too hard, that was okay. Nothing had changed. Nothing at all.

He kept his soulmark covered after that, even when nobody told him to.

It made him feel just a little bit lonely.

---

Patton grew up, and Ro grew up, and whenever Patton’s mind wandered to that day, he tried to put it out of his head. Ro, for her part, barely seemed to remember at all. Patton wished he was the same. He wished he knew why he thought about it so much, soulmarks scrawled against bare skin, sunlight creeping through the edges of the wood.

He realized what it meant when he was thirteen.

Ro was also thirteen, and Ro had decided they were going swimming.

Ro did that. She had a tendency to simply decide on how things were going to be, craft a narrative in her own head, and then expect everyone else to fall in line. Patton usually did so. Ro’s ideas were good, and she always made room for Patton, right there by her side.

Some well-meaning adults--who could really be the worst kind of adults, in Patton’s opinion, though he’d never say so out loud--said that they’d outgrow their friendship soon enough. They weren’t soulmates, after all. It was a good thing that Ro didn’t like to listen to adults, and that growing up only seemed to bring them closer together, joined at the hip and two peas in a pod with the same sense of humor, the same excitement over new stories and fascination with small animals.

Ro was growing up tall and rounded with chubby cheeks and a squishy tummy and thick legs and eyes a little too big for her head and dreams too big for anyone’s head. And Patton was all bones with black hair that refused to untangle itself without three hours of brushing, and allergies that prevented him from eating basically anything, and a chipped front tooth from where he’d fallen out of a tree, and a left foot a little longer than his right. Ro liked acting and singing and writing and drawing. Patton liked cooking and hiking and sculpting and babysitting. They had enough friends to have nice big birthday parties and good enough grads to be on the honor roll. Ro could dance. Patton couldn’t. They both liked to read, they both liked to wear costumes and makeup, and they both could jump-rope past a hundred.

They were friends.

And as friends, they spent a lot of the summer together, so when Patton’s moms finally let him stay somewhere overnight because he was a Teenager, Ro immediately got Patton an invitation to stay with Ro’s family by the lake. For a whole week. With Ro.

Patton spent most of the summer, and a good bit of the spring, being ridiculously excited.

And after an eternity of waiting, it happened, and it was everything Patton had hoped.

They crawled their way to the shore in a minivan packed Tetris-style with everything they’d need and some things they wouldn’t. Patton forgot his alarm clock so he slept in late and stayed up later, leeching every moment of sunlight he could. They spent hours in the lake until their hair was limp and their fingers were pruny. They hiked up mountains just small enough to be relaxing and just tall enough to see the ridges around them, blue and sheer and endless like the world had been crumpled up and spread flat under the sky. They lit a bonfire or two on starry evenings when the sun sank between the hills with golden fanfare and the trees looked like cardboard cutouts against the sky, and Patton would eat the marshmallows and chocolate raw because he was allergic to graham crackers and toasting them just made them all burned. Ro, on the other hand, stacked four marshmallows on one stick and did her darn best to make them all catch fire at once.

Patton and Ro already spent most of their time together. They went to the same school and ate lunch at the same table, swapping Ro’s chips for Patton’s cookies. But now they were living together every moment of every day, swapping stories and watching each other smile and sitting on the dock as the sunset burned. Patton woke each day to Ro throwing open the door and beaming and saying “Get up, get up, it’s already ten and I just found a new tree to climb!” And she’d pull Patton off the pullout couch and toss a sweatshirt at Patton’s face and Patton would pull it over his pajamas and they’d start the day together with big smiles and bigger hopes.

No day had disappointed them yet.

He’d worried, at first, that they’d rub each other the wrong way when stuck together 24/7. Familiarity breeds contempt, that was one of Patton’s Mami’s many sayings. But it turned out to be the opposite. Patton felt happier and more comfortable than he ever had before. He’d be perfectly fine, he realized, with waking up to Ro’s face forever.

That meant something, and he wasn’t really sure what.

And he figured it out suddenly.

It was a sunny afternoon and Ro and Patton were going swimming.

The whole thing was Ro’s idea, of course. She’d tugged Patton down to the lakeside and threw on her swimsuit, and Patton did the same, and now they were splashing about in the water. It was a little cold and the sun was a little warm and the bottom of the lake was squelchy. But with the trees hanging over the water and the mountains cresting in the distance like the waves around them, Patton didn’t mind.

Ro could swim. Patton couldn’t, not much. He could doggy paddle, but asking him for athletics was barking up the wrong tree. Still, when Ro dipped beneath the surface and swam easily to the floating dock, Patton did his best to follow. He grabbed the ladder and hauled himself up, swim trunks dripping. The dock was hot under his feet and drifted slowly in the current.

“Pattycake!” Ro called from near the edge. “Check this out!”

Patton ran over. Ro was staring into the water, a smile playing across her face.

“What?” Patton asked.

“Lean over and you’ll see.”

Patton scooted up to the edge, curled his toes around it, and leaned over. Nothing but a water strider and a tuft of grass--

A small push in the center of his back.

Not even a push. It was too gentle for that. It was a little tap, a warm wet hand on the small of Patton’s back, an invitation. If Patton wanted, he could easily stay upright. It wasn’t a prank but a question--Ro was wondering if Patton wanted to play along. If Patton was in the mood for a game.

Patton was. Always.

He let himself fall forward and hit the lake with a splash.

When he surfaced, bubbles all around him, he turned to face Ro and tried to think of a complaint. But he was laughing already, and his face was soaking wet, and Ro was laughing too.

Patton rubbed the water from his eyes and looked up. “Ro--”

And the words died on his throat.

Because Ro was laughing. Ro was cupping her hands to her mouth and laughing, bright and bubbly and proud. She stood firmly on the dock, feet planted, swimsuit a bright red against her tan skin, her newly short hair--time for a change, she’d explained, hacking off the braid and gaining a dark wave that curled over her forehead and clipped short at the sides. Water dripped down her arms and pooled by her feet. Glowing in the sun, triumphant in her mischief, she looked magnificent.

She looked beautiful.

Oh.

Oh, that was new.

Except it wasn’t. Not really. It had all been there before. But now it was in the sunlight, exposed and gleaming and so, so real.

Ro.

Aarohi.

Beautiful and bold and the best thing in Patton’s life.

And not his soulmate.

The sun went behind a cloud. Suddenly, Ro wasn’t glowing anymore. Suddenly, Patton was cold and wet and tired and didn’t know why he’d agreed to come out here in the first place.

“Pattycake?” Ro asked, smile falling. “Everything okay? Did I push you too hard?”

Pattycake. The latest in a long string of nicknames. Ro’s nicknames for Patton weren’t like any of her others. They weren’t little teases or stuff to help her remember. They were soft and sweet and nice.

Ro was so, so nice.

Too nice.

Too nice for Patton, because she didn’t know what Patton really wanted.

Patton didn’t know what Patton really wanted. He just knew he wasn’t supposed to want anything at all. They weren’t soulmates. The letters gleaming red in the lake water made that clear enough.

Roman.

Not Ro. Never Ro, no matter how much Patton realized he wanted that.

It wouldn’t be fair to Ro to try and break the rules.

But oh, how he wanted to.

“Pat?” Ro asked again, stepping forward, concerned. So concerned. Such a good friend. They had such a good friendship and Patton was so selfish as to want more. He’d ruin it. He’d ruin everything they had and he’d be left without the one person he loved more than anything.

“I’m fine,” Patton forced out. “I’m, um, I’m tired. I’m gonna go inside.”

He didn’t wait for Ro to answer. He paddled into the shadows and pulled himself up the stairs. The stones were damp and pine needles stuck to his feet. He shivered. Getting out of the water was always the worst part. Patton grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around himself, taking a deep breath.

“Wait up!” Patton heard a splash. He turned around to see Ro swimming towards him.

“What are you doing?” Patton asked, pulling on his flip-flops.

“Coming with you! Duh!” Ro stood up in the water and adjusted her swimsuit. “Maybe we can practice some archery, I saw a bow and arrow in the barn--”

“You don’t have to,” Patton said weakly. “I don’t want to--you were having fun.”

“It’s no fun without you!” Ro looked around at the lake rimmed with trees and scoffed. “Do you see another Patton? I don’t think so!”

Patton’s heart went cold and he turned away.

“Pat? Hey, Pat!” More splashes and Ro was appearing behind him, eyes wide, mouth tight with concern. “Earth to Pat. You’re acting weird. Are you sick? Did that puddle yesterday give you rabies after all?”

Patton laughed despite himself. “Ro, a puddle can’t give you rabies.”

“It’s still a possibility.” Ro looked Patton over, grabbed another towel, and wrapped it around Patton’s shoulders. “Are you okay, though? You seem upset. We can go back to the house, watch a movie--”

“I’m okay. But actually,” Patton added, seeing an escape, “I might do that.”

“Great!” Ro clapped his hands. “Maybe we can do Mulan, or Princess and the Frog--”

“Um.” Patton shifted, staring at his flip-flops. “I meant...alone. I’ll go back to the house. You can stay out here.”

“What?” Ro didn’t sound offended, just worried. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah!” Patton tried to laugh. “I just...need a break for a bit, okay? I’ll hang out later!”

“Of course,” Ro said slowly. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

“Pinky promise?”

Patton didn’t take Ro’s extended pinky. “I’m really tired, Ro. I’m just gonna go.”

“Okay. Okay.” Ro squeezed Patton’s hand. “I’ll be here if you need me, okay?”

Patton nodded. “Okay.”

Ro flashed Patton a smile.

And then she disappeared back into the lake, sinking beneath the surface, swimming much farther than she had before. She’d only been sticking around at the dock because Patton was there, and Patton couldn’t swim.

Patton pulled the towels tighter around him, but he still felt too cold.

He watched Ro a second longer before turning away.

---

Patton gave in when they were fifteen.

It had been two years. Two years of furtive glances and awkward blushes and late-night monologues about how Patton was terrible for even wanting this. That he was getting in Ro’s way. That Ro was going to find her soulmate and not need Patton and his stupid feelings ever again.

However, what Patton learned as they grew up was that a) he hadn’t stopped liking Ro. B) Ro hadn’t stopped being his friend. C) Ro hadn’t found her soulmate, and neither had Patton.

And d). Despite how much Patton berated himself for wanting Ro, he still did. So clearly, something wasn’t working.

Ro was still Ro. Kind and supportive and too good for Patton, and Patton desperately wanted to hold her hand and kiss her cheek and cuddle up next to her. Although they kind of did some of those things already, but Patton always pulled away first, because his face burned and he was scared Ro would notice and figure everything out.

Patton wanted to do those and not be afraid of showing how much he liked it.

Patton wanted to be Ro’s partner.

Patton was pining, and it was miserable.

He’d tried to look for his soulmate in a futile bid to get his mind off Ro. No luck. There were no Romans in his school and too many online. His moms told him to be patient. Patton didn’t have time for patience. He needed to find his soulmate and fix everything!

He’d find them, and he’d love them, and Ro would find her soulmate too, and everything would be like it was supposed to be, and they’d live happily ever after, the end.

That hadn’t worked out. Or at least it hadn’t yet, and it would eventually, but that wasn’t now.

So...Patton gave in.

Because Ro was beautiful. Ro liked to wear red nail polish and short shorts and denim jackets and bright red t-shirts. Ro was an actress--she sang and she acted and she could bring characters to life onstage. Ro made friends with everyone she met. Ro cried every time they watched Lion King. Ro was wonderful and so amazing and Patton ached every time he slipped Ro’s hand from his own.

At the very least, he needed to be honest. Patton didn’t like lying. And Ro was starting to realize something was wrong, spending less and less time with Patton, no longer hugging them in greeting but simply waving and smiling.

It was courteous, and it hurt even more, and Patton couldn’t be mad at her because she was trying, she’d seen that Patton was uncomfortable and done the best she could. Patton couldn’t blame Ro. It was Patton who was making things weird, Patton who was feeling things he shouldn’t be, Patton who needed to communicate,

So he invited Ro over to his house to talk.

They sat on the bed together, Patton fluffing the pillows and avoiding Ro’s eyes, Ro pulling off her jacket and setting it on the bed.

“Um.” Patton bit his lip. “I...I need to talk to you about something.”

“Oh?” Ro said. “Is...it a bad something? That’s a little worrisome of an opening line, Pat.”

“It’s not bad.” Patton stared at his hands and his wrists. Roman, covered by a bracelet but still burning into him, reminding him that he shouldn’t be doing this.

Rules were rules sometimes.

Patton closed his eyes and held back his tears.

“I like you.”

Simple. Quiet. Filling his bedroom until Patton was sure it would burst.

He’d chosen his bedroom as a safe place, filled with old science projects and peeling drawings, air rustling the blue pawprint curtains and a little mural over the bed. Ro and Patton had painted that the summer before middle school. It had their handprints at the bottom, two little signatures, Ro’s bright red and Patton’s pale blue. He’d thought his room would settle him.

Now he just thought of all the afternoons they’d spent together here, a pile on the carpet, talking or singing or reading or just sitting in silence. They’d done their homework by the door, and had pillow fights with these pillows, and jumped on this bed, and tossed paper airplanes out of those windows.

So many memories, and Patton was jeopardizing them all.

“I like you,” he repeated, keeping his eyes closed. “As--as more than--no, it’s not more than, I love being friends, but...I. I want--it would be nice if--would you ever be interested in being...partners?”

Patton cracked one eye open. Ro was silent. Her face was slack like Patton had slapped her.

Bad sign.

“We wouldn’t have to kiss or anything,” Patton said. “I don’t really want to, and I know you don’t either, and I found this word and it’s called queerplatonic partners and I’d really like that with you, if it’s alright, and I totally get if you say no, but I needed to be honest and we can just forget this ever happened, I promise--”

Ro opened her mouth and closed it again.

“I’m sorry,” Patton whispered. “I’m sorry, Ro.”

“You--” Ro swallowed. “You’re not my soulmate.”

“I’m not.” Patton shook his head. “I--I know, Ro, I know.”

“We’re not meant to be together.”

“I know!” Patton threw out his wrist. “Believe me, Ro, I know. I’m sorry.”

Ro’s eyes were sparkling with tears. “Pat, I’m sorry, I wish--”

“I know.” Patton pressed his hand to his eyes and scrubbed at the drops leaking from them. “I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Ro said softly.

And Patton hated his heart for leaping in hope.

“We could...anyway,” he ventured, knowing he was setting himself up for a fall, but unable to stop himself. “You’re the one who hates the rules.”

“Patton,” Ro said, even softer. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do!” Patton almost sobbed. “Ro, I do, I really do!”

Because he did. He’d never meant anything more in his life.

And Ro looked so sad, like Patton was breaking his heart.

A small part of Patton felt viciously satisfied. There. Now Ro knew how it felt. Now Ro knew how it felt to be shattered by the one person you cared the most about.

“I’m sorry,” Ro said, his voice breaking. “I really am. I wish--we’re not, though. We’re not meant to be together, you know that--”

“That’s not you talking.” Something hot and angry swept Patton’s chest. “That’s what everyone says. Why are you listening to them?”

“Why aren’t you?” Ro threw up his hands. “Look, Pat, I like defying the ruels as much as the next person, but the universe doesn’t make mistakes. We’re. Not. Soulmates.”

“So what?”

Dead silence.

“So what?” Patton repeated. “Soulmates die. Soulmates hurt each other. Soulmates are platonic or soulmates date other people. Soulmates are just names on wrists. They don’t mean anything, Ro.”

He was crying now, openly, tears dripping onto his quilt. Ro looked about to cry as well. A cold wind swept over both of them. Patton had forgotten to close the windows.

“All the stories,” Ro said desperately, “it’s just how it works, you know that--”

“Why? Why does this have to be how it works?”

“I don’t know!” Ro yelled. “Pat, I don’t know!”

Patton was shocked into silence.

“But you know what I do know?” Ro shook her head. “I know that you’re my best friend. And that you deserve someone who can give you all of themselves. Who’s not really a--who’s...as good as you. As honest as you, as sweet as you. You deserve your soulmate. Someone who will really make you happy. That’s...” She choked on a sob. “Pat, that’s not me. That’s never been me.”

Patton stared at Ro. “You make me happy.”

Ro’s face crumpled. “I’m sorry.”

Ro opened her arms, and Patton fell into them, crying into Ro’s shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long time.

“It’s okay,” Ro whispered, running a hand over the bristly back of Patton’s neck. “We’ll be okay. We’ll stay friends, always.”

Patton laughed, choked and jerky, and something loosened from around his heart. “Promise?”

“Promise,” Ro said.

She left soon after that, saying something about homework. They’d always done their homework together. Patton struggled with his essay without Ro there to give him the right words.

The room was cold, and Patton felt numb, and he hoped against hope that he hadn’t ruined everything.

It definitely felt like he had.

---

The week and a half after that was the worst week-and-a-half of Patton’s entire life.

He didn’t know if he was avoiding Ro. He didn’t know if Ro was avoiding him. But either way, they didn’t talk. Ro surrounded herself with her other friends and Patton ate his lunch alone in the bathroom, balancing his sandwich on his knees, grapes falling into the toilet and graffiti proclaiming that Madison Was A Not-Nice Word. They didn’t talk in class either. Patton’s science teacher remarked that they were finally straightening up and paying attention. Patton tried very hard not to cry.

Patton started writing Ro letters, but he would only get a few sentences in before tearing them up. What could he say? He’d already apologized. Ro was shutting him out, and it was entirely Patton’s fault, and there was nothing he could do.

He didn’t realize how much of his life was Ro until Ro was no longer there. Then he realized all his friends were Ro’s friends, all his afternoons were with Ro, and all his hobbies were much better when Ro was involved. And of course Patton didn’t spend every moment of his life thinking about Ro and spending time with her, but right now, it felt like there was a hole in the corner of every moment, a hole where Ro should be singing and talking and calling Patton ‘Pat’ and being his friend.

And then--

“I forgot the homework,” Ro said sheepishly when she finally appeared at Patton’s locker. “Could you remind me what we’re doing for next week?”

Patton stared at Ro and laughed automatically. “Ro, I told you to take notes!”

The words slipped off his tongue easily. He’d said them millions of times before. He was still watching Ro, heart stumbling over its rhythm, unable to believe that just like that, Ro was here. Smiling sheepishly with her jacket loose around her shoulders.

Things were...back to normal?

Things couldn’t be back to normal.

“Well, I’ll make sure to do so next time.” Ro scratched at the back of her neck. “I suppose you’ll have to walk me through it, then.”

That. That was an invitation to do homework together. Patton couldn’t believe it. He’d done nothing, he’d ruined everything and then hid for a week, and Ro was just ignoring it. Ro was extending a hand and smiling and asking him to do homework with her, and Patton felt like he was going to either faint or squeal.

“Sure,” Patton managed, unable to stop the huge smile on her face. “Let me grab my stuff.”

And they went back to normal.

They sprawled on the floor of the treehouse--way too big for them now, but Ro said it helped her think--and they scribbled their way through calculus and art and geography. They laughed and talked and every minute, Patton’s shoulders loosened. It was sunny and things were back to normal.

They walked to school. They sat together at lunch. They passed notes during class and giggled when they got caught. They were friends again, and Patton felt ridiculous for thinking that they wouldn’t be, for assuming that Ro would ever leave him behind.

They were friends always. No matter whose soulmates they were.

They’d promised that.

“I’m going to be a philosophy teacher,” Patton said one day.

“You are,” Ro agreed.

“I’m going to be a Broadway star,” Ro said another day.

“You are!” Patton encouraged.

“I’m still your friend,” Patton asked hesitantly a third day, when his mind was being too loud. “Right? Your best friend?”

Ro smiled. “You are.”

“I’m trans.”

That was Ro, staring at her--his--hands, knees pressed together and shoulders curled.

“You are?” Patton asked.

Ro nodded.

“You’re a guy,” Patton clarified.

“Yeah,” Ro said, his voice hoarse. “Um. I told my parents, and they’re okay with it, and...I’m probably gonna change my name soon, and maybe try testosterone, and...yeah. I--I’ve known for a while.”

“How long?” Patton asked.

“Um.” Ro shrugged. “Hard to know? Probably since I was thirteen. And...you know, even when we were eight, I always wanted to be the knight.”

Patton smiled. “You were a great knight.”

Ro finally looked up, his eyes misty. “You’re not--I thought you’d--”

“I love you,” Patton said, brimming with warmth. “You’re my best friend, Ro. I love you so much, and I’m so, so proud of you.”

Ro pressed a hand to his mouth.

Patton reached over and hugged Ro around the shoulders. Ro gasped, then he lifted his arms and hugged back fiercely, burying his face in Patton’s shoulder.

“I love you,” Patton said again, smiling at the top of Ro’s head. “Always. And I will always support you.”

“You promise?” Ro asked.

“Promise.”

“Pinky-promise?”

Patton laughed and tangled their pinkies together. “Pinky promise.”

“I love you too,” Ro said, looking up and giving Patton a watery smile. “I’m really lucky to have you.”

Patton smiled wider.

This...this wasn’t what he wanted. Not exactly.

But he didn’t need anything more.

He had Ro, right by his side.

Sun streamed through the windows, and they sat there for a long time, and neither of them pulled away.

---

“Ugh,” Ro complained, “why are names so hard?”

Patton looked up from where he’d been scrolling through baby names. “Nothing?”

Ro sighed and tossed his notebook onto the bed. “Nope! No names match my glamour, grandeur, and all-around greatness?”

Patton pushed aside the computer and leaned over. “What have you gone through so far?”

Ro motioned to the notebook. Pages upon pages were filled with names in swirling ink, each one flourished like a signature. Some of them were crossed out violently. Others were just left half-finished.

“None of them are me,” Ro complained, sighing. “All your suggestions? Nah. Sorry, Pat.”

“Hmm.” Patton bit his lip. “Maybe we’re tackling this from the wrong angle. What do you want your name to be like?”

“Noble!” Ro immediately declared. “A name fit for a prince!”

“Eric?” Patton ran through all the princes he knew. “Charles?”

Ro shook his head. “I’ll know it. I’ll feel when it’s right. I think? I don’t know.”

“Well, we’ll see.” Patton worried his lip. “What else do you want from it?”

“It just has to be me.” Ro waved a hand at himself. “You know?”

“So, charming and wonderful and kind and brave,” Patton said, smiling. “Got it.”

Ro spluttered and swatted at Patton. “Stop!”

“I’m telling the truth!” Patton ducked out of his reach. “Daniel? Maybe we should look into some Indian names?”

“I'm thinking I’ll use one as a middle name.” Ro groaned. “Maybe? I don’t know!”

“It’s okay,” Pat said, laying a hand on his arm. “We’ll figure it out, and we’ve got time! In the meantime, what can I call you?”

“Ro,” Ro said without hesitation.

“Ro’s okay?”

“Ro’s great. I love it when you call me Ro.” Ro paused and jumped up. “That’s it! I’ll find a name that has Ro as a nickname.”

“That’s kind of specific,” Patton pointed out, but Ro’s energy made him smile as well.

“There’s gotta be something!” Ro grabbed Patton’s computer and started tapping at it. “Hmm.”

Silence fell. Patton enjoyed watching Ro bite his lip and furrow his brow in concentration. He shouldn’t be, of course, because they were just friends and not soulmates and that was what they’d decided. Still, when Ro wasn’t looking, he enjoyed soaking in the sight of his best friend. Ro’s pen tapped against his leg as he scrolled, the light of the screen illuminating his defined chin and the dip of his lips--handsome. Handsome and beautiful. His hair was messy from all the times he’d run his fingers through it and he squinted at the screen.

It was dark, Patton realized--they’d been here for hours, working their way through a pack of gummy worms. Ro had promised they’d stop and watch Disney if Patton said the word, but Patton didn’t mind helping Ro, curled up on the bed surrounded by pieces of notepaper and watching Ro’s eyes light up.

Still, he turned on a little lamp. It had tassels on it. Classic Ro.

“Pat,” Ro said slowly.

“Yeah?”

“This.” Ro looked up, his eyes shining. “I think I found it--let me--”

He threw the laptop aside. Patton caught it before it fell off the bed. He dug around in the pillows and extracted his sparkly pen, setting a piece of paper against his arm and scribbling something down. He paused and stared at it a few seconds. Patton saw the exhilaration in his eyes. He quietly repeated something to himself.

“Yeah.” Ro shook his head, laughing. “Yeah, this is it, Pat--I found it!”

“You found it?”

“I found it!” Ro squealed and shimmied. “I think?”

“Let me see!” Patton paused. “If...it’s okay?”

“It’s okay, take a look!” Ro slid the piece of paper over to Patton. Patton smiled and looked down.

His heart stopped.

“It’s a little unconventional,” Ro was saying, “but it’s a nice name, and it fits with my nickname, and it’s definitely a noble and royal name--”

Patton swallowed. His hands were shaking. He read the name over and over, but it didn’t change, still scrawled in sparkling ink and taunting him.

“--I think this might be it, seriously, it just feels right--” Ro went silent. “Pat?”

Patton kept staring at the name.

Roman.

In Ro’s spirally handwriting, curling at the edges, a familiar script that made his stomach clench up.

Roman.

“Pat? Are you okay?” Ro’s voice grew quiet. “Is there something wrong? Do you not--I know it’s kind of stupid, I just thought--

Patton jerked his head up. No! Ro was fidgeting with his sleeve and he looked about to grab the paper and tear it up, and gosh, Patton had to say something.

"Do you remember,” Pat blurted out, his voice strained, “when I showed you my soulmark?”

“Huh?” Ro blinked. “I, um, yeah? I think so? Heckity heck, that was a while ago.”

“Yeah.” Patton rubbed at his bracelet. He’d gotten rid of the glitter because it tended to get all over his stuff. Now it was a thick leather strap with a little pawprint dangling from it. “Um...do you remember the name of mine?”

“No, I don’t think so.” Ro frowned. “Why? Was I supposed to? I just remember that it--” Something crossed his face. “Wasn’t mine.”

Roman.

Patton swallowed. “Great! Fantastic.”

“There’s something wrong.” Ro scooted forward, pushing the paper aside and touching Patton’s hand. “What’s up, Pat?”

“Does it fit you?” Patton asked desperately. “That name--does it fit you?”

“I...” Ro paused. “Yeah. I--I like it a lot. Why? Do you not--”

“I like it,” Patton immediately said. And it was the truth. He loved it. It was beautiful and regal and very Ro. But he’d spent his whole life hating that name. He’d spent his whole life hoping for that name to save him from his best friend and feelings he couldn’t control.

Patton looked down at the paper.

Roman.

Gleaming in ink, perfect and poised, close enough to touch.

“Pat?” Ro asked again. He was really worried now. Patton could tell from the crinkle between his eyes.

Before Patton could stop himself, he tugged off his bracelet and bared his wrist.

Roman.

Red ink, looping curves, smooth and polished and a name Patton had refused to look at for most of his life.

It gleamed bright in the darkness.

“What--” Ro froze. “Pat--”

“You didn’t know,” Patton said, “but you chose it, and--it might not mean anything, it doesn’t have to mean anything, it’s birth names--”

“It’s true names,” Ro corrected, his voice oddly distant. “They disproved the birth name theory.”

“I’m sorry,” Patton begged.

“Pat.” Ro shook his head. “What the heck are you apologizing for?”

“I don’t know, I just--” Patton looked around at the paper strewn on the bed. “This was your moment, and I ruined it, and--”

“Pat.” Ro reached out and pulled Patton’s hands into his own. He ran his thumb along the red letters on Patton’s wrist, and Patton shivered. Then he pulled his own ribbon off. It snapped in half from the force.

Patton. Bubbly and blue and cheerful. Neat against Ro’s skin, and a long-buried wound ruptured in his chest.

“Would you look at that,” Ro said, placing their wrists side-by-side. “A perfect match.”

Patton stared at them. “But--it could be a coincidence--”

“It could be,” Ro allowed. He was starting to smile. “But I don’t think it is, do you?”

“It could be...” Patton shook his head. “That might not be your name. What if we’re wrong?”

“Then we’re wrong.” Ro folded his hand over Patton’s so their wrists bumped each other. “But I don’t think we are, do you?”

“It could be--” Patton shook his head. “It could be a mistake!”

Ro looked surprised. His hand jerked in Patton’s. “The universe doesn’t make mistakes.”

“Maybe it did this time!” Patton pulled his hand away and tucked it to his chest, hiding the red letters from the room. “Maybe--what if we break up, what if we hate each other, what if we aren’t meant to be together--”

“Calm down, love,” Ro said. “I hear you. But--what if we are?”

Patton looked into his face.

What if they were?

What if they were soulmates all along? What if they were two sides of a coin, two halves of a whole, two peas in a pod? Soulmates meant nothing but the world decided they meant something so it meant something that their names matched, it meant something that Ro was staring at Patton like Patton had just saved the world, it meant something that Patton’s heart was beating out of his chest and he wanted to fold into Ro’s arms and nestle there forever.

What if they were?

It wouldn’t change a thing.

And it would change everything.

“We’d be soulmates,” Patton said. “We’re soulmates.”

“We’re soulmates,” Ro repeated, shaking his head. “We’re soulmates--oh my gosh-peck I could have been with you months ago, years--I turned you down and I didn’t even realize--it would have changed everything--”

Ro jumped up and grabbed Patton’s arms, pulling him off the bed. The next thing Patton knew, Ro was lifting him in the air and spinning him around. Patton clung tightly to his shoulders and felt laughter bubble up in his chest.

“You’re my soulmate!” Ro yelled. “Pat, Pat, oh, Patton, you’re my soulmate, it’s you, it’s always been you, I was such an idiot--”

Patton laughed and covered his mouth. “Ro--”

“I love you,” Ro blurted out, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you, I love you so much, darling, and I would like nothing else than to be with you for the rest of my days, you’re the light of my life, the moon to my sun--”

“Ro!” Patton exclaimed, face burning.

“Sugar, honey, dearest, I love you!” Ro spun him around once more. “I knew that, I’ve known that for years, but we weren’t together, I wasn’t supposed to--”

“You were the one who said we couldn’t be together,” Patton choked out, but it was hard to even be a little angry when Ro was beaming at him with sparkling eyes.

“How dare you listen to me!” Ro shook his head. “I was blind, I was a fool, I could have had you and was an idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot,” Pat said softly. “You just didn’t know. Neither did I.”

Which was the truth and yet not, because Patton felt very suddenly that he had known. All along. The revelation sat neatly within him, a new chapter of a book he already knew by heart, a twist ending he’d plotted with Ro ahead of time, swapping ideas on the floor of their treehouse.

Ro was his soulmate, and gosh, everything made perfect sense.

“I love you too,” Pat burst out, and he leaned in and kissed Ro on the nose. Then the cheeks, then the jaw, then all over, a kiss for every time he wished for this. A kiss for every time he didn’t dare to hope this could be real. “I love you, I love you, Ro, I love you so much--”

“I’m sorry,” Ro said. “I’m sorry it took so long, we could have been so much more if I let us--”

“More than what?” Patton shook his head, filled with a huge joy. “More than us? We were always us. Now we just get confirmation that the universe knows it, too.”

“The universe is smart,” Ro said, pressing a small kiss to Patton’s cheek. “Just like you are.”

Patton giggled. “Ro!”

“What? You’re my partner, I get to compliment and kiss you all I want.” Ro paused. “We--we are partners, right? If not, I get it, we can stay friends or give you time, I get if you need time--”

“I’ve had way too much time,” Patton interrupted, beaming. “I would love to be your partner.”

“We’re partners.” Ro somehow grinned even wider, squeezing Patton in a quick hug. “We’re partners, and we’re soulmates, I love you--”

“Does it fit?” Patton asked suddenly, lifting his hand to brush hair from Ro’s face, because Ro’s hair was always messy and Patton dreamed of sweeping it aside and now he could. His wrist shone with Roman on it. A little piece of Ro, glowing, and for once he didn’t look away. “The name?”

“I don’t know,” Ro said softly, “why don’t you try it out?”

Patton looked at Ro. His brilliant, beautiful, supportive friend. His partner. His soulmate. The person he’d spent his whole life beside, and wouldn’t mind continuing that trend for the rest of it.

Ro, who he’d promised he’d be friends with forever and always.

Always was a long time, but there was nowhere Patton would rather be.

“I love you, Roman,” Patton whispered.

Ro gasped. His eyes watered.

“Is that okay?” Patton asked. “Does that fit?”

“Pat,” Ro breathed, “Pat, it’s me. I found it.”

“Roman,” Patton said again, rolling the name around on his tongue. “Roman, Roman, Roman.”

Roman.

Roman, grinning, eyes wet with tears, happier than Patton had ever seen him.

“It’s me,” Roman said, laughing. “It’s me, Pat, I found me.”

“I knew you would,” Patton said, smiling back. “And so did the universe.”

“I found us.” Roman leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Patton’s again, his breath light on Patton’s cheeks. “I found us and I’m not letting us go.”

“I’ve always had you.” Patton shook his head. “We were confused for a bit. And scared. But...I don’t think we were ever lost.”

“You’re right. How could I be lost?” Roman laughed. “I have the most excellent of sidekicks.”

Patton laughed too. “Now that you’re my partner, I think you’re the knight and I’m the damsel.”

“I’m afraid that’s incorrect.” Roman dipped Patton suddenly, grinning. “Pretty as you are, I don’t think you’d wait around to be rescued.”

“I don’t know,” Patton teased, “I might let you do all the heavy lifting.”

“This is an equal partnership!” Roman declared. “Which means dragon-fighting together?”

“Dragon-fighting together,” Patton agreed. “But talk to them first. Maybe we can reach a compromise.”

“Of course!” Roman’s face softened. “We shall go on many wonderful adventures, my dear.”

“I look forward to it, my knight.” On impulse, Patton leaned forward and hugged Roman. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Roman asked, reaching up and cupping Patton’s head.

“For being you. For being there.” Patton looked up, smiling. “For being my friend.”

“I did promise,” Roman teased.

“And now...” Patton shook his head, still barely able to believe it. “We’re partners.”

“We are indeed.” Roman laughed. “I had my doubts in the universe, but it pulled through.”

“And this...” Patton chewed on his lip. “This is what you want? I don’t want you to feel pressured to keep Roman as your name because of me, I don’t want you to feel pressured to keep me--”

“Sweetheart,” Roman said, “that’s very kind of you, but I know exactly what I want, and it’s the black-haired cutie standing right in front of me.”

“You sure?”

Patton didn’t like the vulnerability in his voice, the quiet hope. Then again, if anyone would understand, it would be Roman.

Roman. His partner. His soulmate. His best friend and the person he loved most in the world.

Of course they were soulmates. How could it be anything different?

“I’m sure,” Roman said.

“Promise?”

“I swear on all the stars in the sky and all the phases of the moon,” Roman declared. He brushed Patton’s forehead with his fingers and cupped his chin. “I love you, Pat. I promise.”

Patton swallowed. “I want to stay with you. Can we stay?”

“As long as you wish.” Roman smiled. “Always, if that’s what you’d like.”

“I’d love that,” Patton admitted. “So, so much.”

Always.

Always with Roman, their wrists gleaming, their arms around each other and their heartbeats fluttering in time.

That sounded wonderful.

That sounded like more than Patton had ever hoped for.

“Magic,” he whispered to himself, because that was the only word for this feeling, a buzz and a spark and a warm wind swirling through the wind, rustling the notebook pages, slipping down Roman’s face.

“I told you, it shouldn’t have rules.” Roman laughed a little. “And I forgot that. I should have listened to myself--should have listened to you. We lost so much time.”

“We’ve got so much time to make up for it,” Patton said. “We’ve got always, Roman.”

Roman curled Patton tighter in his arms.

“And it wasn’t a loss,” Patton whispered. “I was with you, and that’s all I needed.”

“I love you,” Roman said again. Maybe it should have felt less new, less real and tangible and euphoric, since he’d repeated it over and over. But it still made Patton feel like a sun had come out behind a cloud, like his tears were drying and the world was opening up and everything was settling into place.

Patton didn’t even need to say I love you back. He could just stay there, wrapped in Roman’s arms, eyes closed and enjoying the warmth of the sun on his heart, thawing places he didn’t know were cold. Roman would know.

“I love you,” Patton said anyway.

Because he could, and because he wanted to, and he finally had what he’d wanted. An always with Roman. Roman. Roman here, Roman with him, Roman exactly who he’d needed all along.

They stood there for a long time in the darkness, and spent a long time together afterwards, and had a long future ahead of them.

They didn’t quite live happily ever after, of course, but nobody did.

They lived ever after. They loved ever after.

And that was so much more than enough.

General taglist:

@the17thmeatball

@most-likely-fandom

@csi-baker-street-babes

@caffeinated-cryptid

@thefivecalls

@ollyollyoxinfree

@the-gay-is-back

@dramaticsnakes

Taglist from @the-taglist-repository:

@dragonwithproblems @snowdice @locked-prism @nonasficcollection @enby-phoenix @idont-freaking-know @sign-from-god-complex @hitmewiththatfanart33 @aceawkwardunicorn @star-crossed-shipper @a-fandom-trashdump @notveryglittery @thatgaydemigodnerd @somehow-i-got-an-account @starlight-era @just-your-typical-trans-guy @potatsanderssides @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @intruxiety @brain-deadx0 @the-grounded-raven @grouptalekindnesssoul @the-hoely-bleach @anvil527up @fanficloverinthesun

#sanders sides #royality #roman sanders #patton sanders #soulmate september #soulmate au #averywrites #dkjhgfdhjkl this is just patton pining and being soft #fluff and angst #angst with a happy ending #qpr royality #also the excess of trees and foresty stuff is because i wrote half of this on vacation #this is all kind of a mess but i like it and i need to write more royality anyway #also!! do not tag as fem!sides!!! please!!!!!#trans roman sanders #wow i just realized all the parts get shorter and shorter w e l p #consistency is for the weak #high school au

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murderousginger · 4 years

Text

Pretty but Naive

Part 2 of Cops and Robbers

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Some steamy kisses. They're criminals guys, they do bad things.

Word count: 5.4k

Note: This took quite a turn from it's original idea. I hurt my own feelings writing a part, just know that. Take a deep breath and enjoy the ride, darlings!

Tagging: @imagine-that-100 @blinder-secrets @rae-you-gotta-be-kidding-me

Working at The Garrison was so much easier than Sabini's club. After the night that John drove you home to Birmingham, you had started work the next afternoon and quickly picked up the routine.

No more skimpy or overly shiny dresses. A plain cotton one did the trick and breathed better as you ran around to tables and across the bar to refill drinks. You were back home, so almost everyone knew who you were and why you were there so there were almost no issues with wandering hands or vile words. An occasional drunkard misstepped, but it was nowhere near as bad as London. You were generally happier and making the same amount of money as before.

Harry was a good boss and not long after you were taken on, Arthur bought The Garrison. The boys did their business there anyway so it was only smart they own it. Nothing much changed afterwards. Harry still ran things and you were a hard worker as well as a friend of the Shelby's so you were well cared for.

Except for once.

On a very busy night, you went to pass around a round of beers to a group of younger Peaky Blinders boys; Finn and Isaiah leading the group.

"Oy, Finn, be a sweetheart and pass this to Isaiah," you said as you handed two beers to the youngest Shelby. He and Isaiah had chosen the seats with their backs to the wall, their friends surrounding them in the other chairs.

"Yes'm," Finn said as he passed the second beer to Isaiah. "Any way I could get a nip of whiskey?"

Finn eyed you curiously as you stopped handing out beers on the tray and stood up, wiping your hands on the apron around your dress.

"How old are you now, Finny?" You said. "Fourteen, fifteen?"

"There's abouts," he replied, puffing out his chest. "I run things around for Tommy and even play lookout sometimes. I'm grown."

"Hmm," you considered. "I think Tommy'd still prefers you off the heavy until you're at least 17-18 like 'saiah over here, eh?"

You started leaning back over and passing out the drinks as the group started to laugh and Finn turned red around the ears. He sipped his beer in defeat. You were almost finished passing out drinks when you felt a teenage hand slap your ass and squeeze.

"What is she, Finn, to be calling you Finny and denying you whiskey?" The boy asked. "Is she your old wet nurse?"

The other Blinders teens laughed along with him except for Finn and Isaiah. Both had wide eyes as you slowly stood up to look down upon the teen with a scowl and a cocked eyebrow.

"I did nanny Finny while he was younger," you said evenly. "I've also run more errands for Pol and the boys than you could imagine while you were still playing in the dirt."

You eyed the boy sternly as you felt the heat rise in your gut and your anger increase.

"If I asked, you'd be dead by morning," you said, teeth bared. "But I won't ask, I'll just cut you m'self. So kindly put your hands on your beer and off my arse."

The teen's eyes were wide as his hand dropped from you and went to his drink. His eyes cast down as he let out the smallest "yes ma'am" you had ever heard.

You nodded, looking up at the rest of the table.

"Now," you said, expelling your breath and putting a real smile back on, "can I get you boys anything else?"

A quiet round of "No ma'am" and "No (Y/N)" echoed around the table.

"Good boys," you said as you picked up your tray and walked away.

The table erupted with laughter behind you as you left. You heard Isaiah and Finn immediately begin to tease the boy and you smiled your way back to behind the bar.

"Always had a way with the boys, didn't you, (Y/N)?" Tommy teased as he slipped out of the private room and sat at the bar.

"Never had a problem with the ones that weren't easily afraid," you retorted with a wink. "Who wants to keep the yellow ones around, anyhow?"

Tommy chuckled.

----

On slow days, you had time to sit in the private room with the boys and shoot the breeze. On a particularly slow day, Tommy had the others running errands for him and he had decided to sit at the empty bar and talk to you.

"(Y/N)," Tommy asked as he eyed you before taking a drink of his whiskey. "Why aren't you married by now? Surely you've been courted by someone."

You leaned on the counter, leaning in as if to tell a secret.

"Once," you replied. "Remember Timmy McKee?"

"The git we beat for pushing you down when we was kids?" He asked incredulously. "He had the balls to try to marry you?"

You nodded solemnly.

"Tried," you whispered. "He was talking to Da about it and started coming around after you lot were shipped out."

He leaned in, curiosity written all over his face.

"I told him if he valued any appendages he'd walk out and not look back," you said solemnly. "Mum turned blue from anger. Dad was stone faced. McKee all but ran out of the house. Ended up marrying Sue. Sweet girl. Pretty sure he beats her."

You shrugged and stood up, going to clean a few of the dirty glasses pilling up by the sink.

Tommy chuckled, leaning back in his seat and spread his hands across the bar in front of him.

"What did your dad do after McKee ran?" Tommy asked.

"He started laughing," you said with a grin. "Mum sent us both to bed without dinner."

----

Time sort of blended together after working at The Garrison for a while. It was all pretty much the same. Some nights were slow. Some were packed with people. Sometimes the Shelby's had you working the private room while they conducted business.

On days off you were closer to your Mum and would visit. She was angry you worked for the Shelby's but seemed happier you were closer to home. When she drove you too crazy you ran off to visit Polly or Ada.

The days bled together, but you didn't care because you felt a part of the Shelby's again. They were family and you felt loved.

Your favorite part was being able to goof off with your boys, but you had never forgotten the night that John had driven you home.

On yet another night of working at The Garrison, you were walking back to the bar after dispensing more drinks when warm hands grabbed your middle and spun you into a chest.

"Did I ever tell you how nice you look in that color?" John said as he deflected your tray from hitting him and took it out of your hands and placed it onto the bar counter.

His cheeky grin was contagious when he bit down on the pick in his mouth.

"Only every time I wear it, John boy," you said, relaxing into his arms and patting his chest. "What do I owe this honor?"

"Well," he said, faking seriousness, "I've noticed our young Finn has gone from clutching your skirts to wanting in them -- and as one of his big brothers -- I'm here to tease him by teasing you."

"Oh now," you said, your pat turning into a smack, "he's just a babe. The wind blows wrong and he's as stiff as a flagpole. You should know, you've never grown out of it."

"Maybe," he murmured, ignoring the jab, "but maybe I just like a chance at holding you close, (Y/N)."

Your eyes jerked up to meet his before you giggled nervously.

"Be careful where you aim that charm, John," you warned before you hesitantly stepped out of his arms to return to behind the bar.

"Right," John said before sitting in an empty seat at the bar. "How about two whiskeys then."

"I can take them to you in the private room if you like?" You asked before turning your back on him to reach the whiskey on the top shelf he liked best.

"That may be a problem, unless Harry plans on covering for you, (Y/N)," John said playfully before raising his voice. "Harry, can I nip (Y/N) off your hands for a bit?"

"Aye," Harry said, not looking up from cleaning off a table. "But have 'er come back out during the rush in a few hours."

"I can do that, Harry. I'm still right here," you said loudly as you sat back on your heels with the whiskey in your hand. When you turned, you saw John staring at you with a smirk. He rolled the pick across his lips with his tongue as he made eye contact with you. Your breath caught for a moment.

"Well you didn't bloody well ask me, now did you?" Harry chirped back. "You had John do it. So he got your answer."

Harry's retort snapped you out of it and you rolled your eyes at the cranky old man. You picked up two glasses with the hand that wasn't holding whiskey and followed John into the private room the Shelby's used for business.

"Slide in," John said as he went to sit with his back to the wall.

"A lady doesn't slide," you said, placing the whiskey and glasses on the table and moving them toward the back where John sit

"Good thing you aren't a lady then, huh (Y/N)," John teased, taking the pick out of his mouth and setting it on the table.

You huffed a little as you sat down and moved to sit next to John. He was already filling the glasses with a double neat.

"To bringin' old friends back into the fold," he said as he raised his glass and motioned you to take yours.

"I've been here a while now," you said, clinking his glass before you both shoot back the drink.

As you open your eyes and look back at John you catch him staring again.

"Yeah well," he said, clearing his throat, "might've missed you more than I realized. You're a sight for sore eyes, you are."

"Aww," you cooed teasingly. "Is my John boy getting soft?"

You bumped his shoulder playfully before filling the glasses again.

"To friends that feel like family," you said, raising your glass.

John hummed noncommittally.

"Never much thought of kissing my sister," John said with a wink as he clinked your glass. You both quickly finished that round, too. You both put your glasses on the table with a thud.

"Never had the guts to kiss me anyway," you said offhandedly. "You chose not to, remember?"

John grabbed your chin so fast your head spun. His thumb and index finger dug into your skin as he pulled your face closer to his. When your lips were barely grazing his, his fingers dropped from your chin and his hand firmly rested upon your throat. He didn't choke you, but firmly held you in place. Your heart thudded against your rib cage.

"I could choose to," he said gruffly.

His blue eyes met yours before looking down at your lips. His tongue wetted his lips and ghosted over your own. You couldn't breathe.

"You could," you finally squeaked out.

"Do you want me to?" John asked.

"Yes," you whispered.

You had expected John's lips to collide with yours, but instead he pulled you closer by your throat and ever-so-softly kissed you. He left you hungry.

When he let go of your neck and pulled away, you pushed against him in the booth, needing the space to not exist between you. You pressed your lips back on his and could feel his smile as you slid your hands under his coat.

He licked your bottom lip and you opened your mouth to his silent request, deepening the kiss. His hands pressed into your sides and set your skin on fire.

As you both continued kissing, one of your hands found his face again and his hands started to wander to your skirts. John softly kissed your jawline and down your neck as he pulled you under him in the booth. His hand found warm skin near your knee and he groaned into your neck as his rough fingers pressed upwards into your soft thigh.

"John," you half moaned, half said apprehensively.

You pushed his face up to yours as his hands froze in place and his face pressed against your hand to kiss you again before meeting your gaze.

"(Y/N)," John murmured back, his pupils blown out and a lazy smile appearing on his lips.

"Slow down," you said quietly.

Recognition lifted the haze in his eyes and he gave your thigh one last squeeze before he slowly moved his hand down and out of your skirts and used his hand around your waist to upright you beside him.

He looked at you like you were a spooked mare. He set a soft kiss on your forehead before releasing you from his grip. He cleared his throat, scratching his head as his ears turned pink.

"Right so," he said. "Another drink?"

You did have another. And another. And when you finished your shift, John was waiting for you with a bottle in hand for many more. You walked through town in the dead of night, drinking and talking -- and occasionally kissing.

You stumbled into your flat at dawn the next morning, knowing full well you were going to nurse a hangover and be miserable before work. But you were absolutely elated.

And when you finished your shift the next night, John was there.

And the night after.

And after that.

John didn't push during kissing after the first night. He waited for you to lead. He started learning your tells as the nights went on and would kiss you or touch you so softly that it would drive you to kiss him harder. You would push against him more until you could feel that cocky grin of his against your lips. And you both would laugh and go back to what you were doing.

Some nights you wandered town. Others you dipped in the pond. You would sit on the steps of your flat and talk. Most nights were filled with conversations. You talked about each other's days, of business, of family, of dreams or ideas or anything that came to mind.

You were exhausted at work but in such a happy mood that no one commented on the bags under your eyes.

After too many nights out with John to count, there was a slow night at The Garrison that had you itching to be home.

Harry and you both started doing inventory on the liquors to order, as there were not but a handful of patrons in the place. None of the Shelby's had been in most of the day. Business, you were sure. Bloody business.

Tommy walked in close to midnight, looking stiff. He waved you to him and nodded toward the private room. You nodded and grabbed his favorite whiskey and a glass.

"Long day, Tommy?" You said happily. "Not long till close."

"Very long," he replied shortly, reaching into his breast pocket for a cigarette and lighting it.

He eyed you for a moment before patting the bench beside him. You sat down and put the whiskey and glass on the table in front of you.

"You've been staying out late every night with John," Tommy said, taking a long pull from his cigarette.

"I have," you said smiling as you poured him a glass.

"(Y/N), you know he has children," Tommy said kindly.

"Yuh," you said. "Three, from Martha, his late wife. John's told me."

"Four," Tommy said. "He has four children. A newborn. With his wife."

"Wife?" You said, frozen to the spot.

"Esme," Tommy said, lightly resting his hand on your shoulder. "A Lee girl. He went to marry Lizzie a year or more back, said he needed a wife. It was my doing. We needed a truce. He needed a wife. He fought me at first, but he seems to like her."

"I see," you said softly, holding your breath.

"John boy didn't mention that part, did he?" Tommy replied just as soft.

"No," you flinched at his name. You could feel your lungs lose all their air as your world crumpled around the edges.

Tommy nodded, more to himself than you, and his eyes were far away. He set his jaw.

"She's missing him, in the nights," Tommy grinded out, rubbing your back softly. "Starting to get worried. Upset. Gypsy women are hard enough to keep in one place. Home with a newborn and three kids. Best to keep her happy. For the truce."

"For the truce," you recited, voice cracking. "Nothing comes in the way of money or family."

Tommy touched your shoulder, and when you didn't turn he grabbed your chin and pushed your head up to look at him.

"Unless it is money or family," he said softly.

"Hey," he said in a low voice as your eyes locked with his. "Look at me. You're all right, love. You didn't know. You didn't know."

You crashed into his arms, burying your head into his shoulder before your tears could fall. Your breath hitched and Tommy wrapped his arms around you, forgetting about his cigarette dropped into his drink. He petted your hair, soothing you with soft sounds like he did the horses. It only made you hold on tighter.

"Take a couple days off," Tommy said finally, putting your face into his hands. "Go see Polly. Drink some tea. Get your head straight, yeah?"

"Yes, Tommy," you sniffled, nodding into his hands like a child. Tears streaked your face. He wiped one away with his thumb. His eyes softened.

"Atta girl," Tommy said quietly, kissing the top of your head as he pulled you back to his chest. "Stay outta sight for a few nights until you get your head straight. Then come back."

"Tommy," you said, voice so small.

"Yes (Y/N)," Tommy said.

"It was silly of me to ever think I'd really be a Shelby girl, wasn't it?"

Tommy sighed and lightly squeezed you closer to his chest.

"No, sweetheart," he whispered into your hair as you started sobbing again. "You've always been a Blinders girl. You just can't be his Shelby girl."

When you walked home that night, it was alone. Your chest was tight with anticipation. You only relaxed once you closed your door and locked it behind you. You slid down the door in a puddle and cried again, arms wrapped around your knees.

----

Tea with Polly was pretty much what you expected it to be. You waited until the house was empty from the boys running work or errands and then slipped in the back door.

Your face was still red and puffy from crying, and you froze as you ran into Finn in the doorway. Finn jolted to catch his biscuit before looking up at you and immediately changing his scowl into concern.

"(Y/N), what --" he started.

"Not now, Finny," you said softly.

"But what --" he tried again.

"Leave the girl alone and run your errands, Finn," Polly's harsh voice echoed across the kitchen. "Go on."

Polly leaned in the doorway of the kitchen opposite of the two she was cooly eyeing. You shrunk under her critical gaze as if you were already being scolded. Finn huffed and slipped past you to go outside.

"Not now, Finn," he mocked, stomping away. "Go on, Finn. Bloody adults."

"Water's on the stove," Polly said. "Grab two teas and bring them in to sit."

"Yes ma'am," you said quietly as you set out to do what she tasked you with. In a few moments you had two hot teas placed on the table and sat opposite the chair Polly sat in watching you.

"So," she trailed. "What's wrong with my (Y/N)? Did the boys leave you out again?"

You flinched at the tease. Polly sighed.

"What'd they do?" She asked in a more gentle tone.

You told her about John and the conversation you had with Tommy. Her face grew more and more grim as the story went on.

"So you were the tarte keeping John from coming home," Polly said, leaving back in her chair. She saw your face fall and she waved you off. "Oh, you aren't a tarte but you were the tarte, girl. All those conversations that were whispered while we couldn't find out what he was up to. Where he was sneaking about."

"I think I love him, Pol," you whispered as you ran your hands through your hair. "Nothing else could hurt this much, could it? He lied to me."

"Don't think with your heart when a man is thinking with his dick," she scowled, taking a long drag from her cigarette and pointed at you. "Even if it's one of my nephews -- especially if it's one of my nephews."

"How was I supposed to know he was thinking with his dick?" You asked crossly, putting your head in your hands. Polly laughed.

"All men think with their dick," she said. "And Shelby's are especially known to ruin many a good thing because of it."

"I won't be his tarte, Pol," you said.

"I never expected you to be," Polly said, taking a sip of her tea. "I expected you to be smarter. Go be about your business and make him realize his mistakes."

----

You didn't visit your mum, knowing full well that she would only chide you for the indiscretion. You weren't strong enough to pretend, so instead you went shopping. You got your usual groceries, and when you noticed a pretty blue cotton dress in a window, you bought it. You had to. It was Shelby's eye blue.

You stayed home the next day and just read. You soaked in the tub until the water was frigid. You started to fidget when the time came that you usually left for work, but you stayed in. One more night. Two nights at home, and you'll be strong enough to go back into work. You had to be strong.

The next day you woke up and lounged. You took your time primping yourself, putting your makeup on slowly, teasing your hair up into something more intricate than a ponytail, fitting into your new blue dress. With each layer you put more mental walls up, preparing for your night at work. You even wore a pair of higher heels than you usually did.

When the time came you clacked down the cobblestone to The Garrison, not entirely sure of what your night would end up like but entirely ready for anything.

You reached the steps of The Garrison and took one last big breath and exhaled before you walked in.

"Harry, I'm back," you called, walking toward the bar and grabbing your apron to put on.

"Thank fuck for that, little bird, because we're busy tonight," he called as he emptied his tray with a round of beers to a table. "Grab a tray and I'll see to behind the bar."

"Aye," you called back, already filling a few drinks at the bar and taking their money before doing as he asked.

The night was definitely fast. You spun yourself around the bar, filling drinks and laughing with a few of the regulars along the way.

Arthur popped in around eleven and waved you over, smile on his face.

"Well would you look at (Y/N)," he offered as you walked toward him with a smile. "Don't you look pretty tonight. I'm sure you're getting all the tips."

You laughed as he took your hand and spun you once, looking from your dress to your heels.

"Good night on your end, Arthur?" You asked.

"Good night indeed," he answered, whiskey already on his breath. "Business was good and now that I've seen you, the night is even better."

"Oh, now," you joked. "Don't be too sweet on me. I might melt."

Arthur spun you into a hug and you laughed as Tommy and John came in behind him. Tommy nodded his head to you before slipping into the private room and John watched you closely before doing the same.

"Let me go, Arthur, and I'll get you boys your drinks," you said as you went to turn around.

"Don't be long, love," Arthur said with a wink. "It's going to be a rowdy night."

"The rowdier, the better," you called over your shoulder, already slipping past Harry behind the bar to grab the glasses and the bottle.

"Get them their drinks and come back out," Harry chided as he worked at cleaning glasses. "Now's not the night for you to run off."

"Yessir," you said sweetly as you kissed his cheek quickly and slipped past him again.

"Don't tease an old man and do as yer told," Harry yelled, but he had a smile on his face as he watched you run off.

You open the door and moved into the private area, the Shelby's already in their spots smoking cigars. Arthur nearest the door on the left, Tommy in the corner facing the door, and John on the right. You stood between John and Arthur, facing Tommy.

"Cigars tonight?" You lilted. "Business really must have been good."

"We're expanding, (Y/N)," Tommy said. "Bigger and better business."

You poured their drinks, handing them to each brother, a wide smile on your face.

"Congratulations, boys," you said.

"How about a congratulations kiss," Arthur said, taking his cap off and placing it on the table. He raised his cheek to you and pointed at it. "For good luck."

"Now," you said, faking exasperation with your hands on your hips. "Harry just told me not to tease an old man. I thought you said when you hired me to listen to him."

All the boys chuckled good naturedly and you bent down to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"Anything else before I get out of here?" You said with a laugh. "Harry will have my head if you keep me too long."

"Not right now," Tommy said. "But do check in."

You raised your eyebrow before dipping into an exaggerated curtsy.

"Whatever you say, King Tommy," you drawled before spinning on your heels and returning to the rest of the bar.

You left the bottle with them, knowing they'd easily finish it.

You went through the motions of the night, checking in periodically with the Shelby men to see if they finished the bottle or needed ice, or sometimes just to give one a jab. They all seemed in high spirits over whatever had happened and it lifted your own attitude to see them acting like kids again.

However, John hadn't said more than a word or two all night and it was driving you mad. He was joking with Arthur and Tommy plenty, but as soon as you would enter the room it was almost like he grew quiet. He watched your jabs and taunts to the other two but never joined himself.

After the bar had quieted and patrons left for the night, John came out of the room and stood between the door and the bar, watching you clean. Harry had disappeared into the back to take stock and pick up the alcohol to replace the night's used bottles.

"You've been tiptoeing around me all night, John boy," you said, finally breaking the silence. "I'm guessing you know I know and cat's got your tongue."

John stuttered a step but walked up and sat at a chair at the bar.

"I know," he said, tracing the wooden grooves on the bar top.

"That's all you got for me?" You said, tired but incredulous. "You lied to me and all you can say is you know?"

John gulped, but looked up and kept eye contact.

"I didn't lie," he said. "I just didn't tell you. There is a difference. Home is home. Business is business. They don't mix. They don't meet. That's why I don't invite her here."

"And I'm neither," you said, washing glasses a little more vigorously than before.

"You're home, too," he said quietly, resuming his focus on tracing lines on the bar top. "But more like the first home. The one you grew up in as a child. The one your parents read to you and tucked you in, like."

You released a breath that you didn't know you were holding and lifted a soapy hand to your forehead. You dropped your shoulders.

"Gotta grow up sometime, John," you said before you resumed scrubbing.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you, (Y/N)" he said.

You slammed your glasses into the sink, hearing at least one break. You paused to take a heavy breath before you grabbed a towel to dry your hands.

"You once told me you're only as much trouble as I'm willin'," you started in a whisper that steadily grew louder.

"(Y/N)," John pleaded.

"I'm not willin' no more, John boy," you said in a stronger voice than you thought capable.

It almost sounded like your heart wasn't shattering. You finally found the courage to look him in the eye. His face was sheer regret. You stepped out of your heels and walked the paces to stand in front of him. You rested your elbows on the counter as you held John's jaw in both hands, squeezing tenderly.

"Do me a favor," you said with tears threatening to fall. "Give me a goodbye kiss, then go home to your family."

He looked you in the eye before looking down to your lips and squeezing his eyes shut.

"It's alright, John," you soothed. "We're alright. I just need a goodbye."

He took a deep breath and placed a hand over your own and squeezed.

"Goodnight, (Y/N)" he said hoarsely, before kissing you softly.

You held the kiss for a moment before letting go of his face and leaning back slowly until you were standing upright again. Your eyes were still closed. That was it. It was done.

"Goodnight, John," you said, slowly opening your eyes.

He was already slipping out of the door.

Tommy leaned in the private room's doorway watching you when you finally pulled yourself together. You decided to grab a rag and clean tables to get away from his prying eyes.

"Tommy," you stuttered. "I thought you had already left."

He hummed, kicked off the door frame, and walked your way.

"Wanted to make sure that went smoothly," he said. "Looked like you parted just fine."

"You should know me well enough to know I'm not that girl," you glared at him before you wiped a table down and moved to another one. "I'm not anyone's tarte."

"Wasn't you I worried about," he said. "John's not always one to hear no."

You moved tables again and wiped it down.

"What do you want, Tommy?" You asked, watching him follow you around the bar from the corner of your eye. "What are you scheming?"

"I just wanted to see if you're alright," he said before stepping closer. "That dress looks good on you, (Y/N)."

You threw the rag down on the table and stood up straight to look him in the eye.

"I'm fine," you said.

"You shouldn't lie," Tommy retorted. "You're bad at it. But you did fine."

You grunted noncommittally as Tommy stood toe to toe with you. You looked up at him and he touched your face, hesitating before he cupped your cheek.

"(Y/N)," he said quietly as his warm breath teased your lips.

"Tommy," you interjected, grabbing his hand that cupped your cheek. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you? You wouldn't … not tell me?"

"I wouldn't lie to you unless you wanted me to, (Y/N)," he said.

Your hand dropped from his and the creases that had appeared on his forehead smoothed. You were enamored with how blue his eyes were at the moment. At how they sparkled.

"Now, (Y/N)," he murmured as he leaned closer, "you absolved my brother of his sin with a kiss. Suffer me with a sin from the same indiscretion."

#peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #tommy shelby #john shelby #john shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #arthur shelby #finn shelby #fan fic #storytime with murderousginger

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lilolilyr · 3 years

Text

Tagged by @ongreenergrasses, thank you!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Way over 300! Tho it feels like it's been at 300sth so long by now, it'll be weird to look at once it hits 400 :D

Btw, funny how this tag meme asks for so much stuff that can be looked up by just... looking at my Ao3... without asking for any commentary by me? Lol

Anyhow, rest under the readmore bc this is 20 questions and Long!

Personal post - do not reblog

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

995596 - just a few more ficlets or 1 longer fic, and I've got a Million! Hey, maybe I should try to write one with... 4404? (I'd need to ask a calculator xD) words exactly... not rly a hardship with how many drabble exercises (exact wordcounts, 100 is the most used, I also do 200, 500, longest was 10000 exactly lol) I've already done... we'll see!

Over 400k for this year alone, and over half of that is my actual writing (not translations etc), I'm so proud! Last year I only barely hit 200k and that included a lot of translating work

3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Again, one could look this up in my works filtered - sorted by kudos? But all three of my incubus!jaskier witcher series are in it, part 2 of the series is highest with 1091 kudos, then a Venom halloween oneshot, and 'Belonging', a fluffy snake-crowley piece from my ineffable spouses series (yes, sth with under 1k words - 666 to be exact - is in the top 5... my poor longfics lol)

4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

...I try to? But atm I have 202 unanswered (and I always click 'mark read' on replies so these are all comments on my own fic) even tho I told myself I'd not let it get past 200, and now I'm doing a tag meme instead of replying to anything so ummmm

Edit: 203 unread now

But I do love love love all the comments I get! And while atm it's still semi-manageable, if it ever gets to the point where I really can't manage to reply to everyone cause it's too much, i'd rly take that as a compliment lol :D I'd still try to reply to the longer and/or more thought through comments tho :)

5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

*thinks* I have an MCD fic? But not only is that very much a case of ~posting a draft version that's barely in complete sentences insgead of taking the time to turn it into a real longfic~, I also just killed off the mlm couple I only semi care about and left the wlw couple with a happy/hopeful (rly don't remember) ending, so... hm idk whether that counts for angsty ending

Apart from that... I dunno, I just prefer my babies to be happy and fluffy? *.* i remember a mirror milippa in the mirrorverse one where in the end Michael is worried about lying to Philippa about her identity... there are some angsty TOG and Gomens ones but I think they end happy-ish (my memory is. Bad. but looking through my 'angst' tag I just saw a lot of h/c and 'angst with a happy ending')

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

They're all happy???!?

7. Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Ahahahahahhahahaahaha

Check this out

I need you to know that all the works in that collection take part in the same universe (or rather, multiverse), and are alltogether just scratching the surface of my gigantic headcanon multiverse that I've been building in my mind since I was like 10

Actual crossovers other than that I don't remember writing

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Yeh but I only remember clicking 'delete comment', as it should be

Recently I've just gotten a bunch of 'you Need to continue this' and 'omg why isn't there more' or 'this shouldn't end' type comments, not hate, probably not meant maliciously, but So Annoying (maybe espesh bc I don't want to just hit delete on these, but I also don't want to pretend it's fine, but I also don't have the energy for a fight, and trying to explain why that behaviour is entitled and annoying and that I write what I want to write and nice comments should praise what I actually have written, and hoping that they understand and don't get mad is... hard.)

9. Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Check out my rated E and rated M in my works

Mostly femslash lately, but I did also write other smut in the past

Most is a bit dominant/submissive play, but I do also like good fluffy smut with feelings! Best in combo, really :D

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not in the sense of pretending someone else wrote it (that i know of), but posted to other sites without my permission - writing 'don't repost to other sites' etc did Not help, they even copied those tags lol, so I just let it be, choosing my battles wisely etcetc, I'd prefer for my fic not to be cross-posted by others bc then I can't edit or otherwise influence the fic anymore and don't see everyone's reactions to it, but as long as it's not someone pretending they wrote it, I only semi care, not enough to fight it tbh

PSA: I Only post fics to Ao3 (and WIPs/prompt fills to tumblr&discord at times), if you see them somewhere else that's Not Me and you'd do me a favour by checking them out on ao3 and kudosing&commenting there instead :)

11. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yup, one to Russian a while back, a floreleine (Gunpowder Milkshake) one to Korean just today actually, and I translated a bunch to German myself

12. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I made a TOG fic together with @cinnamonplums, well mostly I wrote and she made the art :D

Trying to remember whether I ever actually co-wrote anything... don't think so?

13. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Don't make me choose!!!

Atm Milippa is OTP bc I'm busy writing them for @discoveryfemslashfortnight (this is not a post to reblog for the fortnight), but I'm also still rly into Floreleine, Bering&Wells and Andromaquynh and Andronilynh, and I read a lot of Mirandy lately

All-time favs I'm not rly active in atm but will always be dear to me are the ineffable spouses, clintcoulson, heistwives, gosh so many more I'll stop here tho xD

14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

A Heistwives Kinda Job immediately comes to mind

I also rly want to finish at least one cohesive original-ish storyline for the lverse that I already linked for the crossover question above, but I just have so much backstory (it's been over 10 years!!!) and it's... hard...

And everything else that's still WIP and untouched for more than a few months will probably have the same fate lol

Also have a few that haven't even seen the light of day at all, most recent a Mirandy ~what if Andy had been pregnant when Miranda hired her and how would it change the entire storyline~ bit - I wrote it in bulletpoints in one go as quickly as I could, I know I had the finished product in my mind, I don't remember anything now and don't feel like going through the bulletpoints painstakenly filling in the blanks

15. What are your writing strengths?

Writing one-shots quickly in one go

16. What are your writing weaknesses?

Forgetting everything about a fic if I leave it in a draft for a second too long

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

There are many ways to go about it, and I think they all work (depending on the fic and the length and relevance of the dialogue)

I tend to leave single sentences as is, and for longer and important sequences use cursive and 'they said in xylanguage'.

18. What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The Hobbit apparently? I remember thinking that fic was so long lol, it's 3k

19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to?

Kat/Ana from Reef Break, they have Such Shippable Chemistry, and it would totally fit Kat's player personality to bang both siblings (she's canonically friends with benefits with Ana's half-brother)... but the ship has one (1!) fic on Ao3 *cries*

20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

TOG Andromaquynh longfic In Your Stead has had the title since last year and probably for a while to come! I loved the story idea so much I really worked with several drafts and only! worked on that fic until it was finished so I wouldn't get distracted & forget about it, and the result was wonderful.

Tagging, if you want to do it, @sarah-fiers @purlturtle @cookie-sheet-toboggan @ussjellyfish @onaperduamedee @startrekgeorgiouery @rosalie-starfall @lonely-night @banashee @xvnot15 and everyone else who sees this

Questions to copy:

1. How many works do you have on AO3? 2. What’s your total AO3 word count? 3. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? 4. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not? 5. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? 6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending? 7. Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written? 8. Have you ever received hate on a fic? 9. Do you write smut? If so what kind? 10. Have you ever had a fic stolen? 11. Have you ever had a fic translated? 12. Have you ever co-written a fic before? 13. What’s your all time favorite ship? 14. What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will? 15. What are your writing strengths? 16. What are your writing weaknesses? 17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic? 18. What was the first fandom you wrote for? 19. What’s a fandom/ship you haven’t written for yet but want to? 20. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

#tagging meme #tagged #mine #ongreenergrasses #ao3 tag #ao3 link #lilolilyrae #sept'21 #personal #Personal 2021 #28.09.21

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flightrules · 3 years

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Which Kind Do You Want to Be?

Summary: You’re from a deeply sex-positive culture. He hasn’t gone unarmored in front of another human in... It’s been a very long time.

Three days on board the Razor Crest featuring moments of angst, domesticity, kindness, explicit consent, and Din doing his best to be a conscientious parent in the midst of everything. Heads up for descriptions of canon-typical violence, mention of past dubious consent, and a moment of (unintentional) violence between our protagonists. Din/cis female OC, on the hetero end of the scale. Ending is bittersweet.

Rating: Mature? Explicit? Anyhow, grown-up sexy stuff in later chapters. Please be old enough to be reading this kind of thing.

Watch for upcoming chapters here, or read the complete story on AO3.

Chapter 1

He's sitting there looking at you, head tilted, and it's like somebody needed an illustration of curiosity for a children's book so they drew this Mandalorian and stuck that on the page.

"Isn't 'stop' good enough?" he says.

"Sometimes people like to say that and not mean it. Having a different word lets you both know you don't want what's happening anymore."

"If I say stop, I'll mean it."

There's something about that voice modulator that makes everything he says sound final.

The two of you are sitting across from each other on the floor, in the cramped hold of the Razor Crest. You're dressed in your usual practical trousers and shirt, but you've kicked your boots into a corner and your rifle's propped against a nearby wall.

He's still wearing the beskar.

The child is spending the night with Peli, who took him delightedly, crooning about getting him some decent food and a nice soft place to sleep.

She also spared a moment for you, looking you up and down before shooting a pointed look at the armored man beside you. "It's about time."

"Can you trust her?" you asked on the way up the ramp, as Peli and the child disappeared into her shop.

He shrugged. "With my life? No. With his? Yes."

How exactly does this man decide whom to trust with his life?

You've known each other, what, a few days? The acid burn on your right shoulder is still raw, the skin still peeling away in shreds. Interesting lesson, that. Gark-vipers don't bite, they spit.

The scar will be your souvenir from a three-day trek through the jungles of Silicaria. One day in to snatch the little green rug-rat back from the bounty hunters who took him, two days back on tired legs, without food and no idea if the water in the streams you passed was safe.

You were hired help at the beginning.

By the end, between fighting off hungry jungle creatures, sharing watches through pitch-black nights, and taking turns carrying the kid, you and this man were something like friends.

Not that you didn't still collect your credits. A girl's gotta eat.

But you also didn't turn down the chance to get cleaned up in his ship's refresher, or to bunk down in a corner of the hold for a decent night's sleep.

He got the baby to bed first, briskly bathing the yawning little creature in the galley sink, then wrapping him up in a clean blanket and tucking him into a hammock in what looked like the man's own sleeping quarters.

Then he indicated the refresher and sonic shower for you to use. "I'll wait upstairs."

It was nice of him to give you privacy to get cleaned up and changed, even if it seemed a bit odd to you. Where you come from the human body's nothing to be ashamed of. But not all cultures see things that way.

Clearly his did not. You'd think after what you'd both been through, he'd want to get into some comfy clothes and leave the armor in storage for a while. But no, he switched places with you in the cockpit, disappeared down into the hold, and came back up a little later smelling a heck of a lot better but fully decked out again.

"I promise I'm not dangerous," you said, teasing.

It was a little insulting how easily he said, "I know." But he added, "I have food. If you're still hungry," and that felt like something a friend would say. So you bit back the temptation to remind him that if you wanted to, you could be dangerous, indeed.

The Razor Crest's food stores were nothing to write home about. Your body was going to make good use of the calories though, whether they tasted good or not. You leaned against the galley cabinet and gnawed on a protein bar. He started working on cleaning weapons and putting them away in what looked like a small but impressive armory.

"So what's the deal with the outfit?" Curiosity wasn't a sin where you came from, either.

"What do you mean?"

"You're home, right? We've agreed I'm not dangerous. Who are you planning to fight?"

"I'm not," he said, settling a blaster in its place next to an array of grenades.

"So?"

"Mandalorians don't go unarmored around anyone but family."

You were struck by a sudden image of him with the kid, the two of them playing tag or something down here among the crates and stowed weapons. The kid in his little brown robes and the Mandalorian in, what? A pair of soft trousers, maybe a shirt that showed his arms. Barefoot, maybe. Probably hair all a mess. If he had hair. Or would he shave his head?

You had to shake your own head to get the image to clear.

"Huh," you said in reply. "Really? I crossed paths with some guys like you, a couple years back. They didn't seem to have any issue."

You were surprised to hear a sigh. "There are different kinds of Mandalorians."

"Do you get to choose?"

He didn't answer.

You finished up the protein bar and looked around for somewhere to toss the wrapper. There wasn't an obvious wastebin, so when he looked back your way again you held it up, inquiring.

"Behind the door, lower left," he said. And then, "You don't get to choose."

"Who chooses for you, then?"

He turned back to the armory. It looked to you like everything was in its place now, but he lifted out the grenades, turned them over in his hands, put them back. "I was a foundling," he said. "They raised me in the Way."

How he said "the Way," you could hear the emphasis, like it was a sacred word. "A foundling? Like your kid?"

"Yes."

"So, you're going to teach him to live like this, too?"

The answer came quickly: "No." He closed the armory doors. They latched with a clicking sound. "We should go."

"We?"

"The child and I need to get off-world. Someone knew we were here. Where do you want to go?"

What made him think you didn't already belong in the village where he met you?

"You're not from here."

No, you weren't. The place you're from isn't there anymore, though, thanks to the Empire.

It wasn't a story you cared to tell right then.

"Sure, yeah, wherever you're headed next." Anywhere you could find work would do. "I'll jump off at the next port." You indicated your shoulder, where the acid burn still stung. "As long as they don't have gark-vipers."

You slept cozily enough that night, wrapped in a blanket he gave you and using the bivy bag from your own pack as padding beneath. At one point you woke to the sound of the child fussing, followed by the man's voice softly singing. The child quieted down and you found yourself lulled back to sleep, too.

“Are you sure the kid’s safe down there?”

“He’s safe.”

You’re picturing the dusty repair yard, the bare-bones shop behind it, the handful of repair droids who were probably great with wrenches but not so much with guns. Peli looked like she had some wiry strength to her, but she was on her own. “She a former soldier or something?”

“She has a safe-room behind a hidden panel with a ten-centimeter durasteel door. They’ll be fine.”

Your eyebrows go up. Mos Eisley looks like a shambling backwater town.

“Tatooine has wildlife. Some of it has guns.”

You glance at your own rifle, leaning against the wall nearby. You’ve fought off some of that kind of wildlife before.

What a strange family you’ve fallen in with.

“All right,” you say. “Good. I guess you know what you’re doing.”

You expect him to nod, confirm, like he did when you said you weren’t dangerous. Instead, you see pauldrons and breastplate shift as his shoulders sag a bit. “Sometimes.”

This thing you’re doing now, or about to do. It started with a joke. Well, mostly a joke. A victorious mission, the child safe, the two of you safe now too, and alone behind closed doors. The sweat of the mission washed away, guns laid down, a chance to rest. Back home, you said, as you took the blanket he’d found for you, a man and a woman would celebrate.

You hadn’t expected him to take you up on it, but you also hadn’t expected him to freeze like that, one hand still holding the blanket. Until this moment, he’d looked like that armor was part of him. Suddenly, somehow, the way he reached out to you looked awkward, pauldron and vambrace no longer in line, and that helmet turned the tiniest angle, like he didn’t know where to direct his eyes.

“Never mind,” you said, smiling to let him know it really was ok. “We’re not where I come from, are we.”

Something shifted back now, and the shapes of his armor made sense again. He let go his grip on the blanket as you took it. “No.”

As you went to shake the blanket out and make up your bedroll, you noticed that your shirt was sticking a bit to the burn on your shoulder. “One thing, though, I could use from you. Do you have a medkit?”

“Sure.” He turned in the small space, graceful now, broad shoulders under the beskar pauldrons shifting as he reached up to open a high cupboard. You couldn’t help noticing how trim his waist looked, even under all that steel and fabric. Oh well, some things were not for you.

The medkit had burn ointment and bandages, but no bacta. You’d have been hesitant to use any, anyhow. It would heal that wound in a day, but you knew what it cost. You’d never had the credits to buy it yourself.

He started to turn his back, to let you undo your shirt in private and get a bandage over the oozing burn. But the acid had dripped far enough down your shoulder blade that you couldn’t quite be sure you’d covered it. “If I promise to stay decent, can you help here?”

He made quick work of anchoring the gauze to your skin with strips of steritape, while never putting pressure on the places that still ached and stung. Those were hands that had bandaged up wounds before. You’d wondered already what was underneath the armor, but suddenly you found yourself wondering what pattern of scars you might find. On a man who clearly fought as easily as he breathed, maybe almost as often--and apparently didn’t have the credits for bacta, either. Unless he went through it so fast, he couldn’t keep it stocked.

He flipped the medkit closed. He stowed it back on its high shelf, then crossed to the little room where the baby was still sound asleep, curled in that tiny hammock. “Sleep well,” he told you, before lowering the room’s metal door.

When you woke in the morning that metal door was up and you were alone in the dimly lit hold. You took advantage of the refresher and used your fingers to comb down your hair, where you could feel it was standing on end. No mirrors in here. You’d been too tired last night to notice.

Well, if you really wanted to know what you looked like you could check your reflection in that armor.

You made yourself at home in the galley, poking around until you found some caff powder and another of those protein bars. Then, mug in one hand and bar in your pocket, you climbed the ladder to the cockpit.

The Mandalorian was in the pilot’s chair, helmeted head framed by the lights of hyperspace beyond the windows. The little green child was nowhere to be seen. You made your way forward to settle into the passenger seat, meaning to ask if one of you should check on the baby. But there he was, after all, perched on one armored thigh, staring wide-eyed at the lights while his tiny hand held fast to the man’s gloved index finger.

Neither of them looked over at you, but neither one seemed startled when you spoke. You addressed the child, because why not. You’d been through a lot together, the past couple days. You figured you’d reached an understanding. “Does he sleep in that armor, too?”

The baby looked your way for a second, cooed cheerfully, and returned his gaze to the sky.

You took a sip of caff, appreciating the spark it sent straight to your brain. Caff was a rare treat for you at the best of times, and on that jungle planet, where every bean had to be imported, it had usually been out of your reach. “Well? Do you?”

“Sometimes.”

“Last night?”

“Last night you might have needed something.”

“But most of the time, you don’t have to. You said, family.” You gnawed off a corner of the protein bar and washed it down with another sip of caff. “So where are the rest of them?”

He reached forward to adjust something on the console, a smooth movement of arm, shoulder, and back that left the baby peacefully balanced in his lap. “This is my clan,” he said. “Until I find the child’s people and return him to them.”

“He’s your whole family?” You needed another gulp of caff to process this. “And when you’ve dropped him off you’re just going to--” That couldn’t be right. People couldn’t go their whole lives walled off like that, beskar steel and cloth padding between them and the whole entire world. “Are you sure you don’t get a choice, here?”

He was silent for a long time. During the quiet, the baby looked up at him, then looked your way. The man disentangled his hand from the baby’s grip and rested it on the tiller. “This is the Way,” he said. It was hard to hear emotion through that helmet and whatever the electronics were doing to his voice, but--he sounded quieter than usual. A little slower. He sounded sad.

“Well,” you said. “There’s got to be other Ways. Those other Mandalorians I met, they sure had a different way. Pretty sure they weren’t flirting with the barmaids because they wanted to keep their armor on.”

“There are different kinds of Mandalorians,” he repeated, same thing he said the first time you asked.

You wrapped both hands around the mug you were holding, enjoying the warmth against fingers that still ached a bit from the punches you’d had to throw. “Which kind do you want to be?”

For some reason, you couldn’t let it go. You didn’t push, exactly. That wouldn’t have been right. But there wasn’t much else to do as the ship sailed through hyperspace. He was making a couple jumps, he told you, right-angle turns at out-of-the way nodes, to make it harder for anyone to guess the ship’s trajectory and follow.

In between setting the next course, there wasn’t much to do besides watch the sky, play with the baby, and talk. After a while, he started asking you questions, too.

“What’s it like?” was one of them. What’s it like to walk around exposed all the time, nothing between your fragile skin and the world but a thin cotton shirt and trousers. You’d never thought about it all that much, but he had a point. The knife scar just below your ribs was a testament to that.

“What’s it like,” you asked him back. He told you about the electronics in the helmet that make it hard for anyone to sneak up on him. He showed you a few of the hidden weapons, although you’re certain there are many more you haven't gotten to see. He explained the history of some of them, how he’s wearing not just the latest technology but a thousand years of Mandalorian history. He said, in a way, it’s like always having your own backup. Like never being completely alone.

It wasn't until much, much later, when the ship was on its last trajectory, the baby was in bed, and the two of you were sitting side by side on the floor down there in the hold, a jar of bitter ale in your hand and him still stone-cold sober, that he admitted it was lonely.

And that’s how, after a couple more hours of talking and a night of much more restless sleep, the child’s ended up with Peli as a babysitter and the two of you are alone up here in the Razor Crest, sitting cross-legged across from each other, knees almost touching but with space and several kilos of beskar definitely still between you.

“All right,” you say. “The word for stop is, stop. You sure you still want to do this?”

“No.”

You’re disappointed, but it’s got to be up to him. You start to scoot back, ready to stand up, to give him some actual room.

A gloved hand closes around your calf. “Yes.”

You cover that hand with your own. When he doesn’t pull away, you lift his fingers gently from your leg, find the cuff of that glove, and slide it from his hand.

His hand is trembling.

“You’ll remember? The word for stop?”

He laughs, short and sharp. It makes a faint sound of static through the helmet’s modulator.

Carefully, slowly, you use your own hand to guide his fingers to the bottom edge of that helmet. “How do I…?” He lifts his other hand to help you. There’s a soft, electronic sigh as whatever holds it in place loosens. And then, all on his own, he lifts the thing from his head.

He’s got curly hair. It’s the first thing you notice, as you run your fingers along his scalp and those curls, flattened by the shape of the beskar, spring back into ringlets. You’ve no idea what color his eyes are because they’re closed, and his head is bowed down as, fascinated, you wind one of those curls around a finger. You slide the other hand down to his neck and lean in to plant a single, gentle kiss against his temple.

It takes him two tries to gasp out the word. “Stop.”

You drop your hands and rock back from kneeling to sitting, putting space back between you.

He huffs out a short laugh again, catches his breath, then raises his head to look at you.

His eyes are dark brown, almost black. Tiny lines at the outer corners hint at how old he might be. The paleness of his skin reminds you, it probably hasn't seen much sun. You might look the same age, but you bet he's got a few years on you.

"Was that a stop for now, or a stop altogether?"

"I don't know," he says. "No one's done that since…" His voice trails off.

"Do you want to get put back together? We can try again later. Or not."

He's so solemn when he says, "There's no going back." He adds softly, as if to himself: This is the Way. And then, looking at you again, "Do you mind if I…?" He indicates the vambraces covering his forearms, moves as if to take one off.

You can't resist. "Can I help?"

The whole thing is more complicated than you might have thought. It's not just the individual steel plates. Each piece connects into an underlying electrical array, woven into the fabric of his clothing. He shows you first, on one side, then lets you follow his hands with yours to do the other.

It's probably good you're helping, actually, because his hands are shaking again. By the time you get to the shin guards above his boots, he needs you to undo the catches.

"No wonder you never take this stuff off." You're kneeling at his feet now, and you reach over to set the second boot next to the pile of beskar that has now joined your rifle against the wall. You worried briefly about just stacking it up like that, but he shrugged. The stuff was made to take blaster bolts. You weren't going to hurt it.

"How long does it take to put it all on again?"

He's watching the tremor in his hands. "It's faster when I'm alone."

"I can go," you offer. "Climb up to the cockpit for a bit and let you…" Let him what? This whole thing got started because he was tired of being alone.

"No," he says. "Stay."

All right. "You've still got a lot of… machine going on there. Am I going to break something if I touch you?"

He looks down at his own body, as if surprised to realize he's still wearing anything.

"Where do we start?"

The bodysuit array turns out to be a single piece with a diagonal seam across the chest and down to his waist. You work together to undo the line of hook and loop tape that holds it shut. His hands, so capable with fists and weapons, have gone clumsy, and as you help slide the array from his shoulders you can feel the shaking has spread. The man's whole body is trembling.

Underneath, he's wearing a simple, soft shirt with sleeves down to his wrists and black leggings that you can't help but notice cling to slim hips and defined quads.

You knew he was fit. You spent three days fighting beside him. It's still fun to get to see, even if he also looks like he's not going to last much longer on his feet.

You step closer and reach a hand out, and although you can't see his face well now--he's still almost a head taller than you, even with you both now standing in stocking feet--you can hear his breathing quicken as you lay your palm against his chest. His heart is pounding like you've been in battle.

He's proven he knows how to say stop when he wants to. You move closer again, thighs up against his, belly to belly, your chin against his collarbone, and wrap your arms around him. You're not sure if the sound he makes is a grunt, a laugh, or a sob.

Before long you've sunk to the floor and you end up half in his lap, tangled together, and usually by this point with a new partner you'd be laughing and reaching for bare skin beneath each other's clothes. Here, he's now holding you so tight you couldn't get free if you tried. His face is buried in your neck and there's no mistaking it now. He's absolutely sobbing.

Where you're from, the human body was nothing to be ashamed of. And that includes all the awkward things that bodies do. You slide one hand from his back, up his neck, to rest your fingers in those lovely curls again, and you let him cry.

When he finally winds down, the shaking has stopped too. Gradually his hold on you loosens, and you find yourself shifting against him so you can see his face. His hair's plastered against his forehead now and those warm brown eyes are lined with red. He looks awful, and the thing you want most in the world right now is to kiss him.

He doesn't smile, but he gives another of those short laughs.

You bring a hand to his face, curving your palm against his cheekbone, using your thumb to wipe away some of the wetness below his eye. You lean in slowly to try a kiss against his temple again, and then his cheek, and then, gentle as you can manage, against his mouth.

He's already warned you this would be new for him so you're careful, slow, pressure first and then tracing his lips with your tongue. One hand still caressing his face, the other against the back of his head, and you can't resist a gentle tug on those curls.

But when you do, suddenly he's not responding, until he chokes out your safeword. Stop.

You do, of course, disappointed until you see he's gasping to catch his breath. "That good, huh?"

"It is." And then, he shakes his head. "I don't think I can. I don't know what to do with it all."

You've never been shy around men. Where you're from, a tumble is so normal you don't even count partners. This is new for you. Usually, they keep asking for more.

All you can think to do is say, "You got any more of that bitter ale?" It's not for him exactly, you wouldn't want him making decisions he'd regret.

It's for you.

He does, indeed, have a whole stash of the stuff, although the dust on the lids suggests he doesn't get into it all that often. You end up sitting side by side on the floor again, backs against a row of cupboard doors.

When you get up to get you both a second round, your own judgement's fuzzy enough that you plunk back down right next to him, hip to hip, and rest your head a moment on his shoulder.

A little later his hand finds yours.

You sit there, side by side, fingers twined together, until both your ale jars are empty. By now you're tired, you're a little bit drunk, and you're still turned on. And you can't do a damn thing about it because the last thing he said was, stop, and now he's probably a little drunk, too.

"I should get some sleep," he says beside you. "You should, too."

You end up back in your makeshift bedroll, while he's a whole two meters away in his sleeping quarters. You lie awake for a while, wondering if he's lying awake too, until the combination of ebbing hormones and the effects of good ale finally lead you to sleep.

It's easy to lose track of time on the Razor Crest, where sunlight doesn't make it down into the hold. But the ship's chrono wakes you with its loud, annoying buzz.

He's already up. He hits a control panel to silence the noise, then takes the few steps from the galley to bring you a cup of caff. He crouches beside your bedroll to hand it to you.

He stays there a moment while you sit up, drag your fingers through your hair, then take the mug from his hand.

He's dressed now in a pair of black trousers and a black shirt that shows off chiseled arms. The color makes his brown eyes look even darker. Overall, the effect is making it hard for you to think.

"I need to pick up the child," he says. "You'll be all right here?"

You rub your eyes, trying to clear your head. "Give me a minute, I'll come with you. I need to figure out where to stay tonight. Look for some work. Maybe your friend can point me in the right direction."

You've gotten so used to having to read him through the armor, it's startling to see the expression of surprise on his face. Like he'd forgotten he only offered you a ride this far. I'll get off at the next port, you'd told him. Tatooine is it.

He settles down beside you, now, watching you sip at the caff. You're halfway through the mug and thinking you'd better get up and get ready, when he reaches out to rest his hand against the side of your head, then draw his fingers through your hair.

"We didn't get to finish, did we," he says. "Will you stay?"

Tatooine's twin suns are making complicated shadows on the ground of the repair bay. You have to squint against the bright light as you and he make your way down the ramp.

You're wearing the same clothes as yesterday--it's all you've got that's anywhere close to clean--but you've made yourself presentable, checking your hair in the shiny surface of the beskar breastplate that's still propped against a wall.

You made sure he looks presentable too, finger-combing tangled curls into submission before you let him out the door.

Peli emerges from the shop with the child perched on her hip. As soon as he catches sight of the man beside you, the little arms reach out and he's bouncing to be let down.

Peli looks up and lets out a whoop of surprise. "Well how about that! I always wondered what was under there." She finally notices the child's struggles and sets him gently down. "You go ahead to your papa."

The little creature toddles across the yard to be scooped up and examined. "Did you have fun?" He tucks the child in the crook of his arm and crosses the rest of the way to Peli. "What do I owe you?"

She's staring at him unabashedly. You can appreciate her appreciation for how that shirt fits.

"I don't know how you did it," she says to you, "but I'd say this is an improvement. Although," she confides, as if he's not standing right there, "there was something appealing about all that--" she gestures to her own shoulders, hinting at the shape of pauldrons-- "all that shiny.

"Now go on." She's waving the three of you back toward the ship. "I've got a freighter coming in here any minute, and he's actually going to pay me. If you can get that thing off the ground," she adds as if to herself, and then to you, "You tell him if breaks that thing again he better bring it here to be fixed. No more of that Mon Calamari nonsense."

You've got no idea what she's talking about, but it's nice to know that somebody else cares about this man and his odd little child.

You'll go along with them for a while, you think, see where things lead. Offer to do what you can around the ship, help out wherever they're headed next.

Mostly though, you're looking forward to seeing what happens tonight, once the baby's tucked in and you're alone together again.

#the mandalorian #fanfic #din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin needs a hug

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eveenstar · 3 years

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𝑺𝒂𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏 𝑮𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒏𝒔 [𝑨 𝑳𝒐𝒌𝒊 𝑳𝒂𝒖𝒇𝒆𝒚𝒔𝒐𝒏 𝒙 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝑭𝒂𝒏𝒇𝒊𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏]

||➸𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈: 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐧𝐞||

Tags/Warnings: Mentions of death, angst, sadness, (Y/N) going a bit insane, a bit of spoilers but not much, happens three years after Infinity War. Also fem!reader, so it's easier for me to write, sorry guys!

Summary: It's been three years since Loki died, and two years since you isolated yourself from the outside. On a particular routine day, you receive a call from Natasha asking you to come by the Avengers Tower.

Note: First chapter of my new fanfic series, "Saturn Gardens"! Pardon me for any English mistakes, as you may know, it's not my native language :) Hope you enjoy!

Your fingers calmly slip through the book pages you're reading. The faint light that escapes through the clouds and into your bedroom provides enough light to see what you're reading. Not that it matters anyhow, your mind is somewhere else. Somewhere distant, old and familiar. Somewhere you wished to be right now.

Your lips met the cold glass of wine you've been drinking for the past twenty minutes, and your gaze drifts to the large landscape in front of your eyes. The sizeable windows made it possible to see almost of all the meadow and the trees in the background, some people would contemplate this beautiful view, but you thought it felt lonely. Empty. Voidless.

A soft and pale mist had fallen upon the land due to it being early hours in the morning. No birds were singing, no animal was in sight, just you and the current book that lays in your hand. You'd grown to enjoy silence, but this silence was restless.

Sighing, you stood up from your white chair and placed the glass of wine on the table. Dressing your Indigo blue robe, you made your way to the kitchen. This would be the second time you'd leave your bedroom since you woke up, first one was to get wine. What would your mother say to you, if she saw the horrible state you were in?

"You look like a widow, for fuck's sake (Y/N)!"

That's because you are one, indeed. Or were you wrong? You and Loki never married, even though you'd spoken about it a few times. This house, this stupiditly huge and modern mansion, was all that was left for you. Tony Stark offered it to you and the trickster God, according to him as a "offer of good will and peace" but it was honestly because your previous home burned down and you didn't have the money for another one. Tony, as the rich friend of the group, decided to be a gentle soul and get it for you.

You opened your fridge, which used to be filled with all kinds of food, but now there's barely enough for dinner. Your stomach is empty, it craves for food, but your heart is too heavy to think about it. Your feet felt chilly on the black mosaic floor tiles, and it reminded you that you aren't wearing any socks. You glance down to your feet, your mind drifting off once again and you lose track of the time you spent staring down.

The black tiles are ice cold and hurt your feet, they decor the floor of all house, minus the bathroom; in which the floor's tiles are white instead of black. Sometimes you get tired of the colour pattern; Black and white.

In the walls, in the floors, in the roof...Sometimes it was too much, sometimes it was too little. Maybe you should repaint them. Maybe you shouldn't.

Loki complained about them sometimes, he said they should be green and golden. You had no idea if he was being serious at the time. He never was much for decor, he said he wanted you to decor it at your taste; he'd love anything you love.

He was always like that.

He was.

He is like that

"What should I eat today, love?" You whispered to no-one. Your eyes shifted to the kitchen's balcony and stared at the Narcissus flowers on the small plant vase. Narcissus flowers are native to Europe, Asia and North Africa, there's more than 100 species of the plant and they were one of Loki's gifts to you. They are some of the first to bloom in the early spring, announcing the end of winter, which you found incredibly cute in a way. They came from the Greek word "Narke", which meant numbness, and ironically how you felt right now.

They also symbolize rebirth and new beginnings. Was this the Universe sending you a message? Telling you that it's finally time to move on?

You dragged your feet to the couch and drowned yourself on the pillows. Everything felt cold, no matter how many lays of clothing you'd wear, it felt cold nevertheless. Maybe it was coming from inside you, the emptiness had consumed you to the point nothing warm would take that effect away.

Your phone rang, and rang, and rang. You grunted and covered your head with a pillow, hoping to muffle out the annoying sound. But it didn't seem to stop no matter how much you tried.

So you finally answered it.

"(Y/N)?"

Natasha.

"(Y/N)? Can you hear me?"

Yes. I'm still here.

"(Y/N), could you please come by the Avengers tower? We need to talk, it's important."

Why?

"Please, " She pleaded, "Come meet me."

You looked at your phone for a while once silence remained. It seems neither you or Natasha knew what to say to each other. The silence remained for a long while that you even had doubts if she was still on the call.

"Do you want me to order something to your house? Are you in need of anything, (Y/N)?"

Yes.

"Do you know who you are?"

Yes.

"Do you know where you are?"

Yes.

"Do you want to keep living this way?"

A sudden sound woke you from your thoughts and startled you. Your eyes scammed the living room and saw there was no sign of threat, then you took a glimpse of your phone's screen.

Natasha - Call ended 10 minutes ago

Great, you were hearing voices now. How quite. She did asked you to go by the Avengers Tower, didn't she? Maybe you should go. It's been almost three years since Loki died, and two years since you closed yourself from everyone and everything. It's been a while since you've stepped foot outside your house or your lands.

Again, you dragged your feet relutanctly to your bedroom and stared at the mirror. The reflection of yourself was sad, to say the least. How did you break down so easily? How did you allow yourself to break this way?

"Do you think I should go, Loki?" You asked in a whisper while staring at a empty spot of the room. Silence.

"You're right." A tiny smile formed on your lips, "As always."

Your body always worked in autopilot. Even if your mind was somewhere else, your body took a shower and grabbed the first outfit in hand. Your hands were cold, once in contact with your skin.

Wet and cold like an abandoned dog in a rainy street.

You frowned slightly at the thought and realized you were dressed, heavens know for how long. Did your mind wander off again? Great. It has been like this a long while, no matter how many pills or medication you took, you began to forget things. Names. Places. Memories. It's like your body wasn't your own anymore, just a robot moving in autopilot. You wrote down notes about your favourite memories with Loki, as you didn't want to forget them. You missed his (surprisingly) warm hands, his deep grey eyes, or his charming smile. You missed running your hands through his hair while you both layed in front of the fireplace, books in hand.

You grabbed a framed picture of the Avengers together and noticed a strange detail. Your face was blurred out. You blinked once and twice, but it didn't go away. Was it always like this? Maybe it was and you forgot. Maybe a photo error, or it's simply dirty. Just that.

Placing the picture down, you stared again at a empty spot of the bedroom, "I'll be back soon, my love."

Your steps felt heavy on the floor, like no matter how much you'd walk, the exit door seemed to be distancing itself. By the time your hands grabbed the door knob, you were out of breath. I-just-ran-a-marathon out of breath.

The wind outside was refreshing, in a way. It felt different, lighter even. You closed your eyes to feel the breeze blow through you, just for a single moment. Then you heard a bird sing, just on top of the tree in front of your house. You weakly smiled and waved at it, then you entered your car.

The trip to the Avengers Tower was quiet and peacefully calm. Leaving your house, you didn't notice the dark silhouette standing on the living room's window, watching you from afar or the strange amount of ravens taking shelther in the same tree of the singing bird.

#marvel fanfic series #marvel loki x reader #marvel loki #loki laufeyson #loki laufeyson x reader #eveenstar #Saturn Gardens Fanfiction Series

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bethhxrmon · 3 years

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passed down like folksongs, chapter six- steve x reader

[gif credit to @flyingrichardgrayson]

chapter six- they say ‘move on’ but you know i won’t

series summary: Living in Hawkins was never easy for anyone. However, it becomes ten times more difficult than usual when you catch feelings for one Steve Harrington. What should be a simple schoolgirl crush ends up being complicated by your step-brother, Tommy Hagan, and the mysterious goings on in the town of Hawkins. [masterlist]

pairing: steve harrington x female! hagan! reader

chapter summary: Convinced there is nothing left for you to do, you spend a bulk of your time searching for Barbara Holland. A search that leaves you with nothing.

warnings: swearing, angst, the usual!

word count: 3.1k

a/n: Well, you can tell I was certainly going through it while writing this chapter <3 and because the steeb tag hates me *insert dudebro youtuber voice here* smash that like button and let me know what you think!

~*~*~*~

By the time March came around, you rarely got a few hours of sleep a night. You were trying to look for any sort of clues Barb may have left behind to be found. There had to be something. It was a long while ago since she left, but you didn’t have anything else to do in your free time. The last of your greenhouse ended up dying off and the winter was still going on at the beginning of the month. You would have to wait for weeks to try planting anything again.

You thought of every possible route at the bus station in the city, tracing lines all over a cheap map you bought at a gas station. It wasn’t that you thought it would be easy to do this, but you thought you would have had some type of lead by this point. As it turned out, you were by no means a great detective.

Still, you had a couple of ideas, and you worked on that map all hours of the day and in any free moment you got. That meant some people saw you tracing a map of the country, but no one ever asked what it was for. Either because they thought you were crazy already or they truly couldn’t care less about what you were doing at this point.

If you had anyone to stop you, they probably would have by now. The one perk of not having any friends was that you could focus on anything else that you wanted to.

That was until Tommy and Carol caught onto what you were doing. They came up to you while you were in the library one day. You were starting to get a good feeling that Barb ran off to Chicago. That just sounded right.

“What’ve you got there?” Tommy asked.

You were quick to try and fold the map shut, but Carol snatched it up, “She’s probably planning to run away.”

“I’d give you the money to get the hell out of here,” Tommy said with a laugh.

You shook your head, “I’m not running away.”

“Then what’re you doing?” Carol asked.

Tommy was quick to put everything together, “She’s looking for Barb! Hawkins Police couldn’t do it so she thinks she can!”

“Oh, sweetie, maybe we should take care of this for you. You’re never gonna find her and I think we all knew that,” Carol said, starting to rip the map.

You leapt up to get it out of her hands, “No, stop! You can’t do that!” “You’re gonna drive yourself crazy looking at this all day. I’m doing you a favor, Y/N,” Carol said, tugging it back.

You tried to pull it back, putting a massive rip in the paper, “What did you just do?!”

“We did you a favor. Come on, you didn’t think she was actually going to come back, did you? She left and she doesn’t wanna be found. Deal with it,” Tommy said with a shrug.

Carol looked over the half of the map she took, “I think I’m gonna use this to start a fire when I get home. Thanks for the kindling, I might use all the dried up shit in your garden next.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from crying when they walked off with the other half of the map. They weren’t wrong, that was the worst part. You knew that there was no way you could find her on your own, but you had to try. Didn’t you?

A part of you wished that Barb had said something about running away before. Except, she never even talked about getting out of Hawkins any time soon. There were a few places she wanted to go to college after graduation, but she didn’t have her heart set on anything. You wished that she had a place she obviously loved to go to.

You hoped that she figured out that place and that wherever she was that she was happy. That was all you could do. Unless you went all the way to that bus station yourself and asked anyone who was there if they had seen Barb. The police may have done that, but they didn’t know Barb as you did. Maybe what led nowhere to them would give you something to grasp at.

While you didn’t have a car, you did have a bike. That would just have to do. The city was a long while away, but no one would really notice if you were gone for that long. At least, you would be able to buy yourself enough time to get to the station and ask some people what they had seen all those months ago. You could only hope that someone remembered her.

It was simple enough to leave the school. No one batted an eye as you went through the front doors and got on your bike. After that, you were off. In a way, it was the closest thing to feeling okay that you had felt in a long time. There was just something about the cool air hitting your face as you pedaled.

Although, that feeling of slight elation only lasted so long. Your legs started to burn while you were somewhere on the side of the highway. A part of you wanted to stop and hitchhike, but that felt too risky. It was either turn around or keep going. You had to keep going. No one else was looking for Barb so it had to be on you.

That thought was enough to keep you pedaling as hard as you ever had before. At least, until you felt a pedal go out from under one of your feet and heard it clatter on the road.

You skidded to a stop as you clutched your brakes. A swear left your mouth as you tried to twist it back onto your bike. All you had on you was your backpack. It didn’t have anything that would help, so you used your hands to screw it back on and went on your way again.

How long you were off for was beyond you. It never occurred to you that your bike wasn’t meant to go quite so far like this. Though, that realization hit you like a bus when you heard an odd noise and one of your bike tires flattened.

“You’ve gotta be joking,” you muttered and looked over your bike.

This, without a shadow of a doubt, sucked. You were never going to find Barb and all anyone was ever going to think was that you were crazy. Maybe you were but at least you didn’t give up like everyone else had.

Around that same time, Steve had gotten into a bit of an argument with Nancy. It was over everything with the Upside Down, because it always was. He loved her and wanted to be there for her, but it was hard to do when she wouldn’t tell him how she felt.

It wasn’t the worst fight they had, not by a long shot, but he went on a drive to clear his head, getting on the highway to do so. That’s when he saw you, standing on the side of the road, staring at your bike as though if you stared at it for long enough, it might just fix itself. Having not seen Steve’s car, you were pretty sure this was the part where you walked home.

What were you even going to say? How could you explain that you were biking to Indianapolis? Your mom would freak out and Tommy would have a field day. You were so screwed.

You jumped when you heard a car grind to a stop almost right next to you. For a moment, you thought you were in one of those dumb horror movies where the girl had to run away from a crazed murderer. However, you would have recognized Steve’s BMW just about anywhere. In a way, this was the second-worst option.

“Hey, uh, do you need a ride?” Steve asked.

You pursed your lips and nodded, “Yeah, I- I guess I do.”

“Get in, I’ll get your bike.”

“I can get it.”

“I got it, just sit down,” Steve insisted.

You couldn’t argue too much with him, so you got in the passenger seat of his car. He probably thought you were crazy too. Not that you cared all that much about what he thought or what he had to say about anything.

Steve didn’t complain or make any snide comments as he just barely managed to get your bike in the back of his car. Then again, saying hurtful things right off the bat wasn’t quite his style. You just hoped that the drive back could stay as quiet as things currently were.

However, you didn’t have much luck with that as he got back on the road. He kept driving away from Hawkins.

“I thought you were taking me home.”

“Is that where you were headed?” he asked.

You shrugged, “Well, no, but-”

“Where were you going?”

“You’re gonna laugh.”

Steve glanced at you, “I promise I won’t laugh. What is it? Were you trying to run away?”

“No, that might’ve been a better idea, though… um, I was trying to look for Barb,” it was dead quiet and you were quick to continue on, “I- I thought maybe I could get to that bus station in Indianapolis where they found her car and that maybe someone saw her and might’ve remembered where she went to.”

The car was still quiet and Steve knew he had to say something. He wanted to tell you everything, but he couldn’t bring himself to. You’d never believe him anyhow.

He sighed, “Do you still wanna go?”

“I- I can get there myself.”

“I think you got a flat tire. What were you even gonna do?”

“Well, I guess I’d walk or hitchhike if I had to. There’s gotta be something there.”

“Do you actually think you can do better than the police have?” he asked.

You shrugged, “They gave up and they don’t know her. Maybe I’d have better luck. A- and even if I don’t, I have to try. I don’t have another choice. Tommy took all the work I’ve done so far and I can’t just start from scratch again.”

“Y/N, don’t take this the wrong way, but don’t you think that if she were still around someone would have found her by now?” he asked.

The truth was, you had thought of that. You thought of it so many times, but you couldn’t accept it. Barb had to be out there somewhere. If she wasn’t then your best friend was dead and, in a way, it was your fault. It was easier to bike all the way to Indianapolis and back than accept that.

You stared at your hands folded in your lap, “I- well, it’s worth looking, isn’t it? No one else is, it’s like everyone’s forgotten that she disappeared. And if I don’t do this, then no one else will. I- I know it’s crazy and stupid, but I have to try looking.”

“You just wanted to talk to some people at a bus station?” Steve asked.

You nodded, “Yeah, that’s all, you don’t even have to go around with me. I mean, if you ever thought that you were going to take me there.”

“I don’t have anything better to do,” he said, “And I’m not letting some serial killer pick you up in their car either.”

Steve knew that if he didn’t take you that you would try this all over again. And when you did, he wasn’t sure that you would get any help if your bike broke down. He knew there wasn’t going to be anything where you were looking, but he couldn’t say that. Maybe it would be easier to let you figure it all out for yourself. That was his theory.

The car ride was mostly quiet. You didn’t ask what he was doing on the highway. He was probably just driving around to think. You knew he liked to do that. Steve turned on the radio so the silence wouldn’t get too awkward.

You did get a chance to go to the bus station and ask a couple of employees if they had ever seen Barb. None of them even recognized her name or appearance. It was a dead end. She must have really wanted to be gone. You wished that someone would tell you why.

Steve knew that when you didn’t find anything, you wouldn’t take it well. That didn’t make it any easier to see you just on the verge of tears when you got back in the car. He knew better than to ask if you found anything out. That felt like such a cruel thing to ask.

“They’ve never seen her before,” you said softly as you sat in the passenger seat, “It’s like Barb was trying to just disappear without a trace.”

Steve kept his eyes on the road, “It’s been a few months, they see a lot of people.”

“I know, but this feels more and more hopeless. And now I feel like I really have to find her because I’ll just look even crazier if I don’t,” your voice cracked, “I just wanna know what I did wrong.”

Steve winced a little, “Nothing, you didn’t do anything wrong. Whatever happened with her, it’s not your fault.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m not. I know you won’t believe me, and maybe you shouldn’t, but this isn’t on you and you don’t have to fix all of this either.”

“I’ve put too much time into this to stop now. My garden’s totally gone because I kept forgetting to water it, I don’t have any friends, Tommy never gives me a break anymore, everything’s just getting worse and worse and I can’t stop it,” you let out a sob, burying your head in your hands.

Steve pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the car, “Hey, it’s gonna get better.”

“You don’t know that! I’m the one who’s been dealing with all of this on my own and it’s not going back to normal. You were right, okay? Maybe I should just give up.”

“I told you, I shouldn’t have said that. And maybe things won’t go back to how they were earlier, but that doesn’t mean that it won’t get any better. Things can change. You can plant another garden soon. Maybe that’s a place to start.”

You shrugged, “What’s the point if it’s all just gonna die off?”

“Don’t you like it? I mean, I guess I don’t know what you like anymore, but you always seemed to like that sort of stuff before.”

“I do… I just don’t like it as much as I used to. I don’t really like anything all that much anymore. All I’ve had for months now is looking for Barb and I can’t even do that right,” you buried your head in your hands, “Sorry, this isn’t your problem.”

Steve frowned and put a hand on your shoulder, “Maybe it’s not, but I still care about you. You know it’s okay that you can’t find Barb, right? She’s been missing for months and no one’s found her. Including people who actually know what they’re doing.”

“But no one else is looking for her! Hopper said it’s a cold case and that’s just such bullshit! He gave up on her just like everyone else and I can’t do that to her. She wouldn’t have done that to me.”

“But maybe it’s time for you to start moving on,” he paused in case you were going to argue and then continued, “I don’t mean you have to forget about her, but I don’t think Barb would want you to tear yourself apart trying to find her.”

You nodded, “Maybe you’re right.”

A part of you still desperately longed to push Steve away, knowing that nothing good could come from letting him back in, but you couldn’t do that right then. Not when he was actually being helpful. You still couldn’t figure out why he would take you all that way and back without batting an eye. Maybe Nancy made him a more considerate person or something like that.

By the time Steve pulled up to your house, it was already past dinner time. You knew that, but you were still glad Steve got you home either way. Though, you were still trying to piece together a good excuse for being out so long in your head.

When you walked in, your mom rushed right to the entrance of the house, “Where have you been?!”

“Um, I was studying at school and lost track of time. I was biking home and my bike got a flat so I had to walk the whole way back,” you explained.

Your mom let out a sigh, “Why didn’t you call?”

“I didn’t think about it,” you said weakly.

Tommy’s dad walked in, “How were you at school when Tommy said you ditched the last half off the day?”

You stared at the floor, “I um… I- okay I wasn’t at school, I was riding around, I needed a break away from everything.”

“Oh, you need a break from your failing classes?” he asked, “What could you possibly need to get away from? You never do anything. What do you even do while you should be at school?”

“Nothing,” you said, clenching your jaw.

Your mom glared at him, “There’s a plate for you in the oven.”

You took that as your cue to get out of the entryway and go to the kitchen. Why did Tommy have to say anything about you? A part of you wished that he would just ignore you. That had to be better than everything he had done lately.

While you made sure your food was warm, you could hear the arguing just the next room over. It was about you and you didn’t need to catch any of the words to know that. Who else could they be talking about? They were arguing and it was your fault. Maybe Steve was wrong about things getting better.

Once your dinner was heated up, you went straight to your room to eat. You caught a glimpse of your phone and had half a mind to pick it up. Except, who in the world were you about to call? The only person you could think of was Steve and you felt like you unloaded enough on him for a lifetime. This was simply something that you would have to take care of on your own. You could do that. You had done that every single day for the last few months.

After you finished your dinner that night, you figured out what you were going to try to plant in your greenhouse for the spring.

taglist: @flyingrichardgrayson @holidayharringtons @scooprtroopr @insideafictionaluniverse @l0ve-0f-my-life (if you’d like to be added, lemme know <3)

#steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #folklore fic

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