#I have like a half maybe 1/3 of chapter 4 to write then a whole chap 5 and then introduction and ending and putting it together | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sweetflanfiction · 8 months ago

Text

Asymetrical Symphony - Part 8

Universe: Arcane (LOL)

Pairing: Viktor x reader

Summary: You had been on the rooftop with Jayce and the Herald and somehow you were sent to a place where things can be different with your help

Disclaimers and Warnings: If you want me to tag you on the chapters let me know! Also leave a comment with your thoughts :D Not finished, not proofread. English isn't my 1st language. All I know about LOL is from google and all I know about Arcane is taken from the show, so inacuracies will be plenty. I have a sort of idea on how to I'm gonna go with magic and runes, so bear with me. The reader will be written as GN (going by they/them) to get everyone involved, but if you see any discrepancies let me know.

AN.: Should I post this on AO3? Maybe? Thoughts? Or do you guys like this format??

Part 1 • Part 2 • Part 3 • Part 4 • Part 5 • Part 6 • Part 7

• ··········· • ············ •

“Drink this.” Viktor placed a steaming white mug filled with a pinkish, translucent liquid. You looked up at him, curious. “Don't worry. It’s just tea.”

Bringing the mug to your lips, the warm liquid filled you with comfort and calmness. It smelled and tasted sweet, but you couldn't place what flavor it was. Your brain was half turned to mush from the meltdown at the memorial.

Viktor had gently dragged you as best as he could to the Academy, not that you were fighting him. There was fuzziness that still lingered in your mind, and although his hand on your wrist felt like it had thorns, your willingness to fight had disappeared, your head tired and foggy.

Once inside the Academy and near the lab door, he silently opened it and led you inside, apologizing for the state of disarray. He had grabbed something from the back of a chair and mentioned a wheeled bench for you to sit in. You did, and he placed a blanket on your shoulders. Heavy, thick wool that smelled of mint and cinnamon.

You laid your head on the table, cheek touching the surface of it, your eyes looking out the window, letting the cold surface relieve you from the headache that was about to burst.

You started drawing runes on the table. You found, at some point during one of your worst nights, that the fluidic movement of the runes calmed you. Sort of like making lists in your head. Unless you intended for it to go free, it only shined for some seconds and dissolved into the air, creating blue embers that floated upwards and disappeared.

Viktor's eyes, you also noticed, behind the blue shimmer, never left the hand or the runes.

Looking around at your surroundings, you found that the lab was indeed a mess. Not that you thought that Viktor as Jayce could ever be tidy. No matter the universe, these two brainiacs have this whole lab in an 'organized chaos' situation.

“Your desk is a mess.” You noted, staring at a pile of blueprints, tools, and papers.

“I wasn’t expecting guests.” He told you quietly without malice.

You turned your head to lay your chin on your arm, looking at him as he sat in front of you, sipping his own cup of tea. A tired chuckle came out of your mouth at the picture of Jayce with a mustache drawing in ink.

“If you were, would you have cleaned up?” You blinked up at him.

“Maybe…” you blinked at him again, raising one eyebrow. He leaned into the table and smiled. “No. Actually, would you mind if I worked? I wasn’t expecting to come back to the lab tonight, but since I’m here... eh... might as well.”

“Pretend I’m not even here.” You told him, once more turning your head to lean your cheek into your arm and look out the window.

“If you want more tea, there’s more in the kettle.” He pointed to a small table next to where you sat that had a kettle and some half-eaten sandwich on top.

You stared at the window again, waiting for the attack on the memorial to happen. However, by your mental calculations, it should have been done and over with.

Several minutes passed, the only sounds heard being Viktor’s writing and the handling of his current invention. When it was clear nothing was going to happen, you took a deep breath and looked at Viktor.

(Evelyn Trouble - Made of Rain)

I haven't seen the moon in days... Been so busy changing my ways.

He had taken off his jacket and was hunched over his desk tinkering with something, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a small bandage wrapped around one of his forearms. The dark color of his shirt contrasted beautifully with his pale skin, and you noticed his vest hung open. His hair was a mess, sticking out in all places, especially the little hairs near his neck, the ones he liked to curl when he was thinking. You couldn’t help but give his back a sad smile.

I haven’t cried in forty days. Though inside I am made of rain.

Had this been another time, another place, you’d be leaning into his shoulder blades, annoying him, careful not to hurt him, only heavy enough for him to huff and puff at you being a nuisance. You realize now how much you missed this man.

Oh baby, baby, that’s ok. It has always been this way.

“I can feel you staring.” Viktor remarked, not looking up.

“You have no proof of such accusation.” You moved so you could lean your cheek into your hand.

He touched a magnifying glass the size of your hand with the tip of a screwdriver. It was pointing straight at you. You narrowed your eyes and scoffed, but the corners of your mouth tilted upwards.

Slowly you rolled the bench towards his desk. The squeaking of the heels announced your movement, making him stop his work to look at you over his shoulder. It took you a comically long amount of time to reach him, making a curious Viktor swivel in his stool to look at what you were doing. Once you arrived, he shook his head and rolled his eyes, moving himself to the side so you could sit next to him.

“I am only allowing you to sit here because this is for your mother.” He announced going back to his calculations.

“Had no idea.” You placed an elbow on the table and leaned into your hand.

“Well, now you know.”

You looked at his desk, noticing the differences between your Viktor and this carbon copy of him. Less coffee mug stains, a lot more little notes, some with actual notes, others with his telltale hatching. His pencil cup was filled with colored pencils and colored chalk. The Viktor you knew was an avid fan of white chalk and charcoal pencils. Under piles of paper, you spotted a newspaper crossword puzzle half made, and on the corner of the desk, a dusty old framed photo of him and Jayce. You knew that photo from Jayce’s desk, not his.

A purple pencil had rolled over as Viktor tried to reach for it and was about to fall from the table. Instinctively, you used magic to make it roll back to the inventor’s hand with a soft breeze. His neck snapped to look at you.

“What?” You blinked at the quickness of his movement.

“Nothing.” He cleared his throat and went back to his work.

A couple of minutes passed, and he seemed to have forgotten about your illegal use of magic inside the lab he shared with a councilor. You kept watching him work, his deft hands working with small wires and cogs. He was ambidextrous in this dimension. Your Viktor would be jealous.

“Thank you, Viktor.” You began, and he looked at you again, his pencil stopping midway through a note. “And I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” He turned fully to you, his knees bumping into yours. Neither of you moved away.

“You’re going to have to put up with a... healthcare provider...”

“I don’t even think Jayce saw us leave. Besides, you weren’t exactly... able... to leave for yourself. I would not be comfortable if I had just let you walk out in your state.”

“I’m sorry about that too. I haven’t had one of those in a while. I thought they were over..." You explained, soothing yourself by gently swaying the stool from side to side.

“Is it because of the…” He pointed to the hand. You shook your head. “Mmm, maybe you just need rest.”

“Pot meets kettle.” You blurted out and heard him chuckle.

“Actually, yes.”

He went back to the tinkering, and you laid your head on your arms again, watching him work. There had always been something relaxing in watching either Viktor or Jayce work, especially if they were deep into what they were doing.

There was this laser focus on the work; their movements became sharp and precise, and it was like they had honed in their bodies to only move when extremely necessary. Their expression changed as they worked, eyebrows furrowing, eyes widening, and a little smirk would grow on their lips when they figured out something or turn into a frown when they did something wrong. If you looked at them for a long time, it was like magic; their hands moved, and something appeared.

Once again, your mind started drawing runes on the table; this time you let them go. A pencil was being whooshed away from you, and when it rolled back, you did it again.

“Does it hurt?” Viktor asked, not looking up from his paper.

“What?”

He opened his palm, the pencil he had stuck on his middle finger and thumb, and shook it. He meant your glowing member.

“Oh. No, not really.” You placed your glowing hand on the table, palm down, fingers spread. “It tingles, but… It’s not uncomfortable. It's soothing even.”

“Mmm… do you know why it glows?” He asked, his eyes landing on your hand, his paper forgotten. You chuckled.

This is what he wants: to study something new. You would happily oblige him; he had been incredibly accommodating. He had brought you to his second home and even let you sit next to him as he worked.

To you, this—all of this—the sights, the sounds, the mess in the lab, the somewhat tired man sitting next to you—this was your normal.

To him you were a stranger; your presence was uncommon in his space, someone who was naturally yielding something he had only managed to create artificially.

“I do.” You turned your hand over, and the white line of the rune there glowed a little lighter. “The rune makes me able to…write…without physical means.”

“Fascinating.” He was about to touch a finger to your palm but stopped abruptly. “Will it hurt me?”

“I don’t know. Haven't slapped anybody with it yet.” You smirked; he rolled his eyes.

Viktor grabbed a pencil and poked your hand. It felt normal. It was underwhelming even to you.

“So?” He asked, observing the tip of the pencil.

“You poked me with a pencil, and that's exactly how it felt.”

“Mmm…” He ripped a little note sheet and placed it gently on your palm.

After a few seconds of it just lying there, with him looking at it intensely, you brought your head down next to his.

“Are you expecting the paper to burst into flames?” You whispered, and he looked at you and back to the paper and then back at you.

“Oh…this is…” He groaned and replaced the paper with his hand.

Your eyes widened, half scared of what would happen to him and half scared of what would happen to you. His palm was cold as usual, heavy and bony. You swallowed, taking deep breaths, waiting for his hand to turn to white and gold.

“Surprisingly warm but seemingly harmless.” He said, taking his hand away, and you sighed in relief. He realized what he had done and looked at you.

“I…apologize. I should have asked if I could.”

“It’s alright.” You cleared your throat.

“Would you mind if I asked you more questions about this? It will stay between us, but I think I can use it for the hex-”

“No,” you interrupted him. “You won’t use this on that.”

“Do you know what hextech is…it’s a—”

“I know what hextech is, and I know how easy the hex-core is to corrupt.”

“Corruptible? No, no…It’s stable; we have been trying new things with it… and they run—"

“No, Viktor.”

“But... it... can be helpful to it.” He was starting to get frustrated, his forehead starting to crinkle as he narrowed his eyes.

“It might help, but what would be the costs? You’d add an unknown variant to a stable environment…” you felt proud being able to use his verbiage against his own argument. “The result could vary, and it could destroy everything. I’ll let you study the magic, but not for hextech. Not for use in hextech.”

“But…”

“I will not go anywhere near the hex-cores.”

Viktor opened his mouth to argue, but after a while, he shut it and nodded. You knew, if he was anything like your Viktor, which it appeared so, there were some doubts about the usage of hex-core in more unstable scenarios.

From where you were, it seemed the hex-core hadn’t been corrupted yet, but his leg had still been enhanced, which meant that the possibility was there. And you knew he knew that. Nothing was ever just pure. There is always a way to corrupt the incorruptible if anyone tries hard enough.

“I accept your terms.”

“Good. Give me the notebook.” You mentioned the new notebook, and he slid it to you. You turned it over to the last page, writing something on it.

“Read it and sign it.” You gave him back the notebook and the pen you were holding.

“What?” He looked at what was written on it, his golden eyes moving through the lines. “I, Viktor, co-creator of Hextech, agree to investigate the matter previously discussed without using it to further my investigation of the hex-core.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow and looked at you, his face blank, unimpressed. You, on the other hand, smiled triumphantly.

“This does not look very legally binding.” He tilted his head to the side, still looking at the book.

“It may not look official, but it could be used against you after you sign it as an informal commercial agreement.” You added.

“No. To be an informal commercial agreement, I will have to receive something in return.”

“Alright. Write down what you want then.”

Without second thoughts, he grabbed the pen and scribbled something on the page, passing it over to you.

“In exchange, the subject of the study will be available whenever and answer all the questions asked truthfully.” You mentioned the pen, and he handed it to you.

You added ‘possible’ after ‘whenever and showed it to him.

“I’m not about to be woken up after you figure something out in the wee hours of the morning.” You explained.

“Eh...fair...”

He did a little VK on the side of the page, and you did your own signature.

“I guess we have a deal.” Viktor smirked, excitement contained behind his amber eyes.

• ············ •

“So…nothing happened?” Your mother asked, still in her sleeping attire, a purple silk robe wrapped around herself.

“Nope.” You drank some tea from the delicate yellow cup.

It was still early in the morning, but you had places to be at. When you asked Viktor when they should start, he mentioned the earliest convenience, pointing to the ‘contract.’ So, you had woken up before the sun came up and were already ready to leave, only stopping by the kitchen for breakfast. Everything was quiet until your sleepy mother walked in asking all kinds of questions.

“So, what now?” She was leaning on the kitchen counter, arms crossed, chewing on some vanilla cookies Voltaire had dropped.

“I don’t know.” You sighed. “I was counting on the events being the same and going from there.”

“I guess it’s good you're a musician…” You looked at her. “You’ll be playing it by ear.”

“Oh…by the gods…Mother…” You snorted and got up from the table as she snickered at the bad joke.

“What? That was funny.”

You kissed her forehead and walked away from her, laughing on your way to the Academy.

• ············ • ············ •

@marshy-moo @victormydarling @blueesmiski @th3stup1dcat @22carolina08 @httpstes @that-one-shitty-blog @disa-pointment @sseleniaa @moons-lighttrail @aysluxe @fae-doodle @kitewa @local-mr-frog @bakusquadobsessed @cherry-cola-100 @optimistic-but-very-realistic @seeksrsnn @thecordelialetters @notsaelty @lansy-4 @ayupfrogg @sammypotato @wnbrw

243 notes · View notes

noiriarti · 9 months ago

Text

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU) | Chapter 7

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: descriptions of anxiety + guilt, piv sex WC: 7.8k AN: hello my darlings!! i am back!!! (from the dead aka first semester of my PhD) i've missed you all so much. this chapter took sooooo long to write because i wanted to get everything just right, but we have now entered phase 2 of the fic, where new shenanigans begin. stay tuned!

Ch. 1, Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, [Ch. 7], Ch. 8

Chapter 7: Burning

"Need to talk to you," Anakin blurted out loudly over the music, obviously catching you by surprise based on your empty, blinking face. The guy who was upsettingly close to you shot him a look equal parts murder and possessiveness, and Anakin's lip curled in disgust. His face looked eminently punchable, and Anakin could just imagine the satisfaction of his fist in the guy's cheekbone, or the way he would buckle after one good hit to the stomach.

Somewhere, a rational part of him reminded him that this was not caveman times, and that you had agency and were allowed to make your own choices, but Anakin silenced it. Feeling angry was easier than admitting that it felt like his organs were being torn out when he saw you flirting with anyone else. Thinking about kicking the shit out of some random guy was easier than admitting that knowing you had put this outfit on for someone else, someone other than him, was killing him.

"I--" You began, half-yelling over the noise, then your face twisted into something Anakin couldn't read. Annoyance? Hatred? Pity? "Fine. Let's talk," you finished. The man, who looked like if all the finance bros in the university were merged together into one terrible Pokémon Evolution, scoffed his annoyance, but you ignored him.

Anakin didn't even try to suppress his smugness.

You pushed past the guy, then past Anakin, all the way to the staircase tucked in the corner of the room. He was enchanted, brainless when he followed you. The air got warmer, stickier, and the number of couples making out along the walls increased dramatically. Anakin remembered when that would have been the two of you. That night at TKD. How he wished he could turn back time to that night and just live it in a loop.

Just like then, you were divine in front of him. Your legs climbing the stairs, the gentle sway of your hips that he had fantasized about. He couldn't help it. He'd be noticing these things forever.

You slipped into a bedroom, and it smelled a bit disgusting, but he couldn't care less because he was with you. Anakin closed the door with a decisive thump, then turned to look at you.

You had that look on your face, that one he hadn't puzzled out yet. Your perfect eyebrows were scrunched together, and he could see you swallow hard. He couldn't care less if you hated him. If you pitied him, wanted him gone. At least some small part of you would have still cared. He had prepared a whole speech--telling you how sorry he was. How much he wanted you. That he hadn't felt this way about anyone before, and that he wanted to make you fall for him the same way he'd fallen for you. That he wanted more than whatever the two of you had been. That he wanted to be your boyfriend. Long-term, preferably.

Anakin was ready to get on his knees if he had to.

He opened his mouth to start, but you interrupted him.

"No, I have something to say." The words came out shaky, and dread clawed in his stomach. Were you going to say you wanted him to leave your life? That you had moved on with the finance bro downstairs, who had a trust fund and probably said slurs? That you were excited to never see him again in four months, when you graduated?

Then, you sighed and said something he never would have expected.

"I'm sorry, Anakin."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

It set in later than it should have. Much later.

All throughout finals, you were desperately trying to stop thinking about him. That horrible feeling in your stomach when his face popped into your mind. Which it did, all the time. It was a sticky, terrible pit that opened up whenever something reminded you of him. The lingering smell of him on your pillow. His hatred of orange Skittles. You'd been angry before, but this was different, worse, somehow.

But you pushed it down. Exams mattered more right now. So much more.

Sometimes, the wave of nausea hit you a little too hard, like when you thought about how badly you needed a hug, and how you didn't really want a hug from anyone but him. When it got too hard, you'd leap out of your desk and march to the corner store, just to buy a Red Bull and maybe some chips. Something crunchy, something to puncture the silence of your suddenly suffocatingly empty room.

On the walk through the biting air, you would let yourself think of him. You'd let that pain in your heart blossom, and you'd just pretend you'd said something, anything else. That either of you had made different decisions. That you'd be walking back to your room and he'd be sitting on the bed, giving you that crooked smile, ready to quiz you on fluid dynamics. It was the cold that made your eyes water, you swore.

And then you'd arrive home, and you had to get back to work. Anakin Skywalker was not an allowable topic of thought at any other times. You pulled yourself through finals like a zombie, not letting yourself think beyond the next meal or next exam.

That was not the brightest idea, it turned out, shockingly. When you left your last final, you were blank, empty. You went home and collapsed on your bed, and you finally let yourself imagine his arm wrapped around you as you drifted off.

When your alarm went off at nine PM to remind you to get to the airport, the pit was back. As you stuffed things in your suitcase, then rushed out the door, you felt like there was bile clawing up your throat.

It was a disgusting feeling. You'd been mad in your life, but this was different. It made you want to jump out of your skin just to be free of it.

Around a third of the way through the red-eye plane ride back home, everything was dark and quiet, with only the whir of the engines disturbing the cabin. You slipped out from your aisle seat, just to stretch your legs and use the bathroom, and then you passed him. Or, at least, you thought it was him. But it wasn't. The stranger sitting in 16C had Anakin's nose and curls, but his eyes were all wrong, and his hair was just a smidge too light. He didn't have those little dimples on the side of his mouth.

But just the same nose and the same curls were enough to light that painful burn in your heart. How many times had you looked at those features, traced them, even before all of this started? Why, why did your heart leap for a second, hoping that he'd followed you, like in some 90s romcom, to declare his undying, hopeless love?

That pit in your stomach you thought was bad before was swallowing you whole now. Your skin felt hot, clammy. You willed yourself to move one leg, then the other, heavy like bags of sand, just to get somewhere private before you imploded.

By the time you slid the lock closed on the bathroom door, you were bawling. Big, heaving sobs ripped from your chest, and you couldn't place the emotion. Anger, sadness, guilt--it was all mixing into a knot that kicked the breath out of you.

What had you done? What had you fucking done?

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Things got a little better at the airport, when you got to hug your family. On the drive home, they occupied you with anecdotes about the neighbors--the house across the street had apparently put up a garish snowman--and questions about your semester. And it was nice to recount some high points. A couple of times, you were tempted to tell a story that involved Anakin, but you held your tongue.

When you got home, and it was around time for bed, you tossed and turned, but all you could think about was him. That feeling in your gut was unbearable, and you were debating whether you should just go retch over a toilet to get it out of your system. You only managed to fall asleep by putting on Criminal Minds, and even then it took you two episodes.

The next night, the same thing happened.

And the next. And the next.

The next time you were in bed, you made yourself confront it. Just for a second. That feeling that came up whenever you thought of him.

For years, he was just some guy who got everything he wanted. You knew the department was stacked against you from the start--being in classes where only four people weren't men was symptomatic of the department culture. But when Anakin interacted with the professors like that, got all the internships, you wondered if you could do the same thing. If it had been you networking with the professors, would you have gotten the same reaction? And you didn't know.

Anakin was frustrating. So, so frustrating for years. Because everything just came so easily to him. It was like he waltzed in every day to your freshman lab course and made breadboard circuits that were even neater than the professor's. And when he did so well on every exam, he didn't make a secret of it. He gloated about how his projects were used as examples. Initially, that rivalry was one-sided. You'd do anything to beat him. Later on, when you'd worked on more than a couple projects together, you could see it in his eyes. He knew you were a threat, good competition.

And when he was clearly closer with the professors and got accepted to an internship you didn't get, it was whatever. It annoyed you to no end and you complained about it to your friends, but it wasn't terrible. Those were minor things. Your theses were major. This was what you'd present to employers, to the world. This was what you were going to do for the rest of your lives. And he'd gotten it from somewhere.

If even this was stacked against you, why did any of it matter?

You were still furious. You felt like you wanted to punch something or scream into your pillow at how unfair the world was, how you just wanted something to be easy for once.

But the worst part of it all was that you knew that, in his place, you would do the same exact thing. Or, at least think about it a lot. You'd feel like shit about it, granted, but you might do it. That feeling of trying and failing for months to get the perfect idea that was equally attractive to employers and the thesis committee, to get something that even worked, was probably the most frustrating cycle you'd ever experienced. If someone gave you a ticket out, what would you have done?

You probably would have taken it, if things were bad enough.

And that meant Anakin wasn't a bad person. Just a desperate one.

You knew he wasn't a bad person, though. You'd seen him smile at you with such openness, such sweetness. You'd seen him coach freshmen, including your own roommate, to become good athletes. You'd seen him get you food when you were too out of it to do it on your own. You'd felt him put his jacket around you when you fell asleep in the library.

But there was always that fear that, just maybe, your first impression had been right. That he was an asshole. That, one day, the mask would fall off, and you'd realize he was just pretending. That your relationship didn't matter to him as much as it did to you. That if you told him that you wanted more than sex, he'd laugh.

And, when you heard from Barriss of all people, that maybe he was exactly what you had thought he was, a liar, it felt like he was stabbing you in the back and twisting the knife.

Looking back at it, it still felt terrible, but you couldn't move the image of Anakin helping you, keeping you company in the library. He wasn't scheming against you when he took the idea, he was just scared and desperate.

It was the department that had pitted you against each other from the start--curves, calling out the best homework solution, TAships, and thesis competitions. None of it was made by him. He was just like you, trying his best.

You also hadn't heard all the details. The idea for the hand had been his, just the idea to scale it down had been someone else's. Just like you'd asked professors to help you choose between ideas early on in the process.

The more you thought about it, the more it felt like your heart was being carved out with a blunt spoon.

You impulsively opened your phone. The texts he had sent you.

please come back we can talk this out please give me another chance

How could you not trust him? How could you have watched him cry and just left? What kind of a person were you?

Fuck, what had you done?

You were gasping for air, the tears rolling down your face and onto your pillow. You had ruined something perfectly good. Just because you were blaming him for everything that had gone wrong.

It was too much. It was all too much. The stress climbed up your throat and choked you, and you writhed in the sheets to try to escape the feeling. To just go back to a time when things mattered less, when you were purely happy and never worrying about GPAs or rankings.

Fingers shaking, you opened Ahsoka's contact and smashed the tauntingly green 'Call' button.

She wouldn't answer you anyway, you reasoned. It was the middle of the night, after all.

The ringing was painfully loud in the empty room. The tone sounded one, two, three, four times, and you were about to give up when Ahsoka's tired voice mumbled your name.

"'Soka--I--Can I talk to you?" You managed to spit out the question despite the thick cottony feeling in your throat.

"Hey, woah, what's the matter? Are you okay?" The grogginess left her voice as she fretted on the other end of the line, and her protectiveness made you feel the tiniest bit better.

As you spilled your guts to her, she made comforting noises at the appropriate places, and grossed out noises when you described that you'd had sex with Anakin. Soon, your breathing stabilized, and she said exactly what you'd been thinking, too: you needed to apologize, stat. Preferably, in person.

You fell asleep on the line with her.

In the morning, everything felt better. Manageable. You just needed to collect yourself before you returned home, and then sit him down and talk to him--actually talk.

For the remainder of the break, you immersed yourself in the everyday. Your holiday traditions were familiar, calming. The constant clamor of your family to get this and that from the store kept you busy. You'd wake up late, eat some lunch, get some coding done, scroll Instagram, eat dinner, then pass out in front of the TV. And just like that, another day slipped by. And another. And another. And another. And then it was Christmas, and all you could think was that Anakin was opening presents right now, somewhere far away. You opened your texts again, trying to draft a message that seemed right--Hey or Merry Christmas both seemed slightly weird. But maybe hearing from you would mess up his day, or maybe he'd realized what you had, that you were in the wrong, and now wasn't interested in talking to you. As you were debating, the roiling guilt in your stomach grew, and, when your father laughed particularly loudly, you were relieved to turn off your phone and pay more attention to the breakfast table.

In the back of your mind, there was a subtle thrum of guilt that never really went away. It only got worse as the break came closer to ending, and you realized you hadn't really gotten anything done on your thesis in weeks. You set a countdown on your phone homescreen, just to keep you on your toes. All it did was make you feel worse.

On New Year's Eve, when you were watching the ball drop with your parents, your phone chimed.

It was Anakin. The world stopped, and your mouth went dry. happy new year. What could you even say to that?

Happy New Year. I miss you.

Happy New Year. I'm sorry for everything.

Happy New Year. Wish you were here

Happy New Year! How are you?

All of them felt wrong. But then one of your parents said your name, trying to get your attention, and you locked your phone.

That night, while having your nightly stew on your feelings, you resolved to talk to him in person after lecture. Otherwise, you were worried you'd never bring it up.

On the first day of classes, you were resolved to catch him before or after lecture. Any time would work, really. You'd have two chances that Monday, and then two more on Wednesday if you chickened out. The fact that you acknowledged you might chicken out was a bad sign, but you ignored it.

You got there ten minutes early, an act that was generally considered psychopathic in college, and you were ready to zone out while the professor said some things about the goals of the course for just long enough for class time to end before speaking to Anakin.

Would he say something to you? Would he try to sit next to you? Would he even notice you?

You kept your eyes firmly trained on the board, and tried not to look too desperate as you snuck glances. Then, finally, he arrived, and you tried to look as nonchalant as possible. You made a point not to think too hard about how he was more handsome than you remembered and not to wonder if he wore that shirt just for you. That wasn't your place. You needed to apologize, not ogle him. You expected him to sit down somewhere in the middle of the seats, somewhere distinctly Anakin, but he crossed the room entirely. He even sat one row in front of you. Did he not even want you in his periphery? Your heart sunk. Maybe he had a change of heart after you didn't respond to his New Year's Eve text. Maybe he was just done with you. Maybe maybe maybe, your mind chanted.

The second that the professor was done, you rushed out.

The same thing happened again in your afternoon class, and you walked home regretting every life choice that brought you to this moment.

The next day, when you got home from your class, you entered your living room to find Anakin on the couch. Immediately, that nausea that had been plaguing you punched you in the throat.

There he was. Looking so unbothered, so casual, like him being in your room didn't make him think back to the last time you had been here, entwined on the bed. Like it didn't make him think of how you'd ruined it. All you could hear was static.

The worst part was that you couldn't stop ogling him, even though you felt terrible about it. He must have been working out over the break, because his arms looked incredible in that shirt, and his jawline was etched even more strongly than usual. The haircut he'd gotten over break left his hair falling just over his forehead in those perfect waves. It caught in the light as usual, and when he turned to look at you all you could see was blue blue blue.

And then you realized he was looking at you--at you--and his eyebrows furrowed. You could see him swallow, hard, as he looked at you. Was it a glare? Was he angry? Was he about to storm out? Who knew?

But this was your opportunity. Class didn't work out--this was it. You had to talk to him now.

You opened your mouth to say something, maybe "Hey guys, can I talk to Anakin for a second?" or "Hey, can we talk?" or "I think I like you a lot," or literally anything, but nothing came out. The static in your ears got louder until it was deafening. Your stomach roiled and, for a second, you were worried you'd throw up instead of saying anything.

"Hey," you croaked out. The awkward silence sat between you three, and you didn't see his expression change. Fuck. He didn't even say "hey" back.

You had to get out of there. Had to. Right now. You bolted into your room and closed the door behind you, then dove into your bed and screamed into your pillow.

Motherfucker.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Your next attempt to apologize came at practice the next day. You hoped to catch him at the end of it, maybe pull him away and talk in some empty stairwell. You crept up to the room, but, the closer you got, the more that tidal wave of terrible feelings threatened to wash you away. Through the door to Aerobics Room 1, your eyes found him in the crowd immediately. They were practicing some kind of form (pumsae? the exact name escaped you), and Fives made some sort of comment to Anakin which sent him cackling.

He looked light, and with the afternoon sun casting its rays into the room, he almost became angelic. When he laughed, and his eyes crinkled in that way that made you soft, you lost all your nerve. He was never like this when you were in class together, or that time he was in your apartment. Whenever he saw you, he got that look on his face.

But now, he was all smiles and laughs as he playfully smacked Fives, who repeated whatever he'd said and sent a bunch more athletes into fits of laughter.

Dappled in the sunlight, his face split with an enormous smile, Anakin was so perfect in that moment. How could you ruin it by making him have a hard conversation?

At the same time, you felt the anger at yourself build up. You said all those awful things to him, and you had the nerve to delay your apology?

But you knew that, if he heard your apology and didn't forgive you, that would ruin the day for him. He was just like that. And you didn't have the heart to do that to him.

Tomorrow, you promised yourself, as you took one last look tracing the contours of his jaw and lips.

As you turned to go, you didn't notice that he'd turned to see something moving in the windowed doors to the Aerobics Room.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Ahsoka was fucking tired. There were approximately two people she cared for most on the campus, and they were both huge dummies. They'd proven that over and over. She knew something was amiss from the day the two of you fought/broke up/ended things/whatever, when you started sulking in your room alone and consuming an upsetting amount of caffeine. She started gently probing right when the worst of finals was over. She didn't want to rush anything, but a well-placed "hey going to go get some food, want anything?" might soften either of the two of you enough to let her know what happened.

She found out when you told her on a phone call. And, yes, it wasn't great. It was, perhaps, morally dubious and a little misguided, from what she could tell, but it wasn't clear to her why this was such an issue. Wasn't taking advice from others and collaborating the whole point of academic research and theses?

But she also knew you had gotten feedback from multiple professors after you'd submitted your initial proposal, trying to pick between several approaches, before one of the faculty nudged you in the direction of 3-D printing instead of plastic molding. And, sure, Anakin was a little more than nudged, but he came up with the idea for the mechanical hand in the first place. This was just a different application, right? And yes, it wasn't super duper ethical that the idea was just given to him, but what would you do in his shoes?

Ahsoka told you exactly that, and you sounded like you were choking on the other end of the phone. You told her about how horrible you felt, and that you felt like you didn't know if he even wanted to ever see you again, and she groaned. Of course he did. He was the biggest simp she knew.

So Ahsoka did what she did best: she meddled.

It started small, with mentioning the taekwondo team in front of you once the semester had started. Sometimes an anecdote would include Anakin, and she made sure to casually drop his name, just to gauge your reaction. You didn't even flinch when she said it, which seemed like a good sign. But the pulse in the hollow of your neck jumped. When you confessed that you'd failed to talk to him in class, because it just felt too awkward in public, Ahsoka nodded sagely, like she wasn't already scheming to give you a private time to chat.

Within five minutes, she had texted Anakin to invite him over to plan the competitions they would be attending that semester. Like she hadn't already discussed it with him in December, but whatever. A meeting between the captain and the vice captain wasn't out of the ordinary. And it just so happened that her room was free. Crazy, right?

She really couldn't have made it turn out this well if she tried. When you entered, and Anakin looked like he might fall off the couch, Ahsoka had to suppress a smile. You looked like you wanted to say something, like maybe you'd built up the courage, and she was about to say that, actually, she had forgotten an incredibly important errand she had to run at a cafe for 30 to 45 minutes, but then you just said "hey" and walked into your room. Ahsoka grumbled internally. What was so hard about just apologizing?

Two days into classes, Ahsoka had not-so-subtly hinted to Cody that he should host a party, just in case her other meddling didn't work. It was her backup plan, and, apparently, she needed it. So, after giving you a pep talk that this would be the perfect time to talk to Anakin because you weren't in class or a meeting, and after digging out some dress in the back of your closet for you to throw on, the two of you were off.

Once you arrived at the party, she watched you do a sweep of the room instantly. She knew what you were looking for, and rolled her eyes. He probably hadn't arrived yet, but she texted him anyway, just to check.

In the two seconds she was looking down at her phone, she watched you talk to some sophomore from the business school. He looked douchey, but he was cute enough and said something that made you laugh. Come on, Anakin, she thought, praying he'd arrive soon before she had to watch this guy flirt with you any longer.

Again, she realized she was great at meddling when Anakin showed up and beelined to Cody. She pushed her way through some people, and came to greet him, drag him to get a drink, but he'd already taken a beer from Cody, then insisted that they go dance.

At every opportunity, Ahsoka tried to hint that maybe they should go over there? Toward the other side of the room? Get some more drinks, maybe?

It took ten minutes, but Anakin finally agreed. He didn't see it, but Ahsoka was smiling like a maniac when she saw him take you in. When he started marching over, she was practically cheering. It was show time.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

As you walked to some quiet(er) room, your heart was pounding. This was more nerve-wracking than the first time you slept together, than anything you had done together before. When he just appeared in front of you, looking so intense, it took you a minute to get yourself together enough to form words. Was he mad at you? And now the moment of truth had come.

You pushed into a room which belonged to someone who had more weed than deodorant, and was covered wall-to-wall in dingy band posters. You didn't want to even look down to see how stained the carpet was.

But none of that mattered. Because right now, he was here. And you finally had the opportunity to say what you needed to say.

Before you started, you drank him in one last time, just in case. His deep eyes, the peek of collarbone through his shirt, his broad chest. A quick mental catalogue.

And then you started speaking.

"I'm sorry, Anakin." You weren't sure what gave you the courage. Maybe it was because he approached you first, so you couldn't hide behind the excuse that he didn't want to see you anymore. Maybe it was the slightly awkward conversation with that dude downstairs who seemed to have way too many takes on types of beer. Either way, you'd finally done it. You'd said it. Just apologizing to him made you feel lighter, but that was drowned out by the anxiety of hearing his response.

You were trying to read his expression, the draw of his eyebrows, the purse of his lips. This was the weirdest angry face you'd ever seen.

"Wait--huh?" Both of you were probably wearing the same expression--sheer confusion. Wasn't he supposed to be mad at you? What? You watched his eyes trying to read what you meant, and his plush lips were the tiniest bit open.

You continued anyway. It had to be said, even if he was just going to tell you to stay away from him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, you didn't deserve it. Not everything was your fault, and I've been feeling so guilty over the whole break that I just--I couldn't bring myself to tell you. I chickened out every time. I wish I hadn't… ended things. Between us. I'm--I'm so sorry." Your voice came out more confident than you felt, comfortable in the words you had been rehearsing for weeks in your mind.

Once again, the room went quiet. Anakin stood, as still as a statue, clearly trying to process. Behind the pounding of your ears, you could hear the bass line downstairs and the chatter of people, and you tried to remind yourself that if this goes badly, you'll just go back home, time would pass, and you'd be able to heal your broken heart in peace.

Then, suddenly, Anakin pulled you into a crushing hug. You couldn't breathe from the weight of his head on your shoulder, and the tight squeeze of his arms around your waist. The sandalwood of his shampoo was comforting, familiar. He smelled like home as he buried his face into your neck.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry too--I wish I could take it back, that I just never entered this goddamn competition, then you never would've been mad at me and--" His voice came out broken and shaky.

"Anakin, hey," you interrupted. Had he spent the whole break feeling like this? He should be mad at you, not just upset with himself. You could talk to him about that later, but right now you could feel his desperation to just be near you again, mainly because you felt the same way. You wrapped your arms around him until your hand found his hair. Burying your fingers in it felt so good, so natural. How could you ever have ended this?

"It's okay," you said as you rubbed his back. You could feel his breaths were ragged, and he squeezed you even tighter. "I shouldn't have been that mad at you in the first place--I just got so upset that you had some sort of upper hand, and I went crazy," you continued.

"Fuck," Anakin muttered against your skin. The shift of his lips over your collarbone reminded you of the last time he'd kissed up and down your neck. You took a deep breath. Now was not the time to get horny.

Anakin pulled away, but kept his arms wrapped around your waist. Your heart clenched when you saw the mix of anguish and relief dancing across his features. His eyes were swimming, and a tear rolled down his cheek, then another, then another, until he was crying.

"Fuck," he mumbled again as he pulled one hand away from you to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand, almost as if he was embarrassed. Despite it all, you found him immeasurably cute.

"Uh, I was gonna come up here and beg you for another chance--I just couldn't watch you move on or talk to that guy downstairs, it hurts too much," he confessed. His eyes met yours and you felt that familiar jolt of joy that he brought, this time over the idea that he was jealous, possessive even, over you.

"I'm not moving on." It was a risk to say it, but you did it anyway. It was definitely true, but it came out more careful, more tentative than you wanted. Because there was a chance he didn't mean it that way, and you'd just shown your hand.

Fortunately, he had a terrible poker face. Even streaked with tears, a little bit sweaty, and standing in a room that stank like weed, Anakin's smile burst onto his face and shone like the sun.

You'd forgotten how many butterflies that smile gave you. Tentatively, you moved your hand from his shoulder to his jaw. His eyes slid closed and he leaned into your touch, like you might disappear if he didn't keep you there.

Then, someone hollered in the hallway, something about a round of shots, and Anakin's eyes snapped open.

"Do you want to go somewhere quieter to talk more?" You asked. "We can walk back home or--" Anakin cut you off.

"Um, if you don't hate me right now, and I don't--I could never--hate you, can I just--" His hungry eyes flicked down to your lips, and you knew immediately that the answer was yes. Yes. A hundred times yes.

You didn't think too many brain cells were firing, so you just nodded. His smile widened, if that was even possible, and he pulled you into him just like he had so many times before.

As he got closer, your heart started pounding, and your palms got sweaty, like this was a first date. And, in a way, it kind of was. It was your first time kissing as more than just enemies who fucked every once in a while, but as something else, something more.

When his lips met yours, he was so heartbreakingly tender, you melted under his touch. Anakin was so warm when he held you this close, and you were half expecting him to start deepening the kiss when he pulled away so that your foreheads were touching.

"I fucking missed you so much," he whispered reverently, then immediately kissed you again, deeper this time.

His kiss was all-consuming, like a whirlpool sucking you in, until you'd forgotten everything except how he felt against you. Your kisses grew deeper, until you felt his tongue gently brush your lips, and you immediately opened them.

Everything felt new, gentle, and you relished it. One of his hands slid down to your ass, squeezing gently, and you felt yourself get wet. You'd been pent up for weeks, and the simultaneous relief of being with him again and the way he had all but told you that he had feelings for you were making you dizzy with want for him.

Your hands grasped anything they could, his shoulders, his hair, his arms, as much of him as you could reach. Did he even know what he did to you?

He broke the kiss, just for a second, and you were about to protest when he pulled the two of you back until he was sitting on the twin bed shoved into the corner of the room. You stood between his legs, his hands trailing down the backs of your thighs.

You swung one knee over his hips, lowering yourself until you were straddling him. Anakin watched you, his eyes dark and mischievous, and let out a small "fuck" when you were finally in his lap. He was a sucker for this position, you knew. This was exactly how you'd gotten together, at that stupid night of truth and dare. The memory filled your heart with warmth.

As you settled onto his legs, you felt a familiar hardness under you, and the butterflies returned. You loved doing this to him, making him care about nothing other than the moment you were sharing. You not-so-subtly shifted your hips as you kissed him again, and you were rewarded with a low moan.

His hands kept teasing you, running up and down the sides of your thighs as he captured your lower lip between his teeth gently. You groaned loudly into his mouth, and he used that moment to slide a hand up your inner thigh, until he had passed the hem of your dress.

Using all the willpower you had left, you pulled away. You were both panting, and he was a vision when you looked at him again, his pupils blown wide and his lips red and wet from your kiss.

"Anakin, are you sure this is okay?" You desperately wanted him to say yes, because it felt like you might implode if you didn't have him inside you tonight, but if he was this emotional, you had to say something. Give him an out.

Instead, Anakin looked at you like a man starved. His pupils were wide, and, even through the tears, he looked ravenously hungry for you. Like you made his world spin.

"Yes--God, I've thought of you every day, all the time. I don't want to wait any more than I have to, unless you don't want to, or if you think you'd regret it--" He was rambling. It was adorable.

"I've never regretted you," you said, cutting him off. "But are you sure you're sure?" You stared into his eyes, looking for any trace of worry, or hesitation. All you found was desire, and something softer. Affection, love, maybe.

He rolled his hips, pressing his hard cock against you.

"Can't you feel how much I want you?" Usually, a line like that would make you roll your eyes, but with the mischief in his eyes and the feeling of him hard underneath you, it only served to make you wetter.

You immediately grabbed his shirt to pull his lips to yours again, rocking your hips over and over until he matched your rhythm. The hand on your inner thigh crept upward, until it reached your clothed pussy.

You'd forgotten how well he knew your body, like he'd been made to touch you. His fingers found the perfect angle to stroke your clit, and you became a mess, your kisses sloppy.

After he'd teased you for a long enough time to make you a wreck on top of him, Anakin pulled your underwear aside. He dipped just one finger inside, and he groaned at how soaked you were.

"Can I fuck you, baby?" He asked, as if the answer would be anything but please. You nodded as hard as you could, and he started unzipping his jeans as fast as he could while keeping his eyes on you. You weren't sure he'd ever look away.

Meanwhile, you stood up off of him just enough to pull your soaked panties down your legs and kick them off. As he pulled his cock out, you vowed to give him head the next time you were together, because goddamn, you'd forgotten how nice of a sight he was like this.

He pulled a condom out of his pocket and rolled it on, still looking at you and only fumbling a couple of times in his trance.

"C'mere," he grabbed your waist and pulled until you were straddling him again, right above his cock. He grabbed your hips with one hand, and lined himself up with the other, then slowly started guiding you down onto him.

As he split you open, you forgot how to think, or talk, or do anything other than feel him inside of you. Every ridge, every inch. You let your head fall back as a keening moan erupted from your throat. He kissed everywhere he could, up and down your throat as he grunted against your skin.

You realized you couldn't even draw a steady breath, you were so overwhelmed by the feeling of being with him again.

His breath fanned your collarbone as he finally rested his forehead there and groaned your name. It was music on his lips.

The hand on your hip started guiding you to move, and you gently rocked your hips. God, had it ever felt this good before?

The feeling washed over you like honey, drenching your limbs and making your fingers tingle. Almost on their own, your hips picked up the pace, spreading the feeling everywhere in your body.

As you rode him faster, he pressed his face into your neck, letting the wetness from his crying earlier rub onto your skin. He was groaning at almost every thrust, incoherent mixtures of yes's and your name falling off his lips with every breath.

You were holding on for dear life, fingers fisted in his hair, when he grabbed under your thighs and stood up, slipping his cock out of you while you were still in his arms.

Anakin turned around and laid you down on your back as he busied himself throwing off his shirt and pants until he was bare in front of you. Within two more seconds, he was inside you again, this time thrusting into you from above.

He was holding himself up on his elbows, so his face was right above yours, eyes locked onto yours. You could see every reaction, every groan fall from his lips.

Usually, he was rough and made his hips smack yours, but, today, his thrusts were slow and languid, like he was trying to make it last as long as possible. You could live in this moment for the rest of your life. A particularly strong twitch of his cock made you whimper.

"Fuck, baby. You're so gorgeous like this," he breathed, pressing a kiss to your forehead tenderly. You locked your legs around him, holding him close, so that this wouldn't end. So that you could always stay here.

His breath hitched, and you knew he was getting close. You loved that you knew things like that about him, that only you knew that about him right now.

"Shit, fuck. Your pussy is so fucking good, like you were made for me," he groaned into your ear, speeding up until he was going faster than you thought he could. The intensity made you grasp at his back desperately, your nails catching on his skin. He hissed loudly. Anakin's cock twitched inside you, and you knew he was seconds away from his release. And you were even closer, that delicious tension building with every thrust.

His hand came between you to rub small circles on your clit, and then you were gone. Your mind went blank, and everything became just sensation. Warmth, all around you. Him, everywhere.

Somewhere far away, while you were still twitching around him, he groaned, low and loud and raw, as he came while sheathed deep in your pussy. Anakin laid his head in the crook of your neck while he recovered. His breath hitched as he took a shaky exhale, then pulled his cock out of you.

You didn't need to say any words, you both knew what you wanted. He pulled you into his arms like you were the most precious thing on the planet, then let his eyes slip closed. All the tension that had been building in your body was released, gone into the wind. All that was left was him, and the rise and fall of his chest as you lay against it.

"I missed you, too," you ventured after a few seconds of comfortable silence. He hummed, letting the hand trailing through your hair cup your jaw and pull you up for another kiss.

This one was tender, not about fucking, not about anything but his feelings for you. It was addicting, and, when it stopped, you almost pulled him in for another round. But it was midnight, and every muscle in your body was screaming.

Anakin said something about cleaning up and getting out of here, and you nodded, but you found you were having trouble with coherent thoughts at the moment. Anakin gently kissed your forehead and then rolled out of bed.

"'Kay, I'm gonna go look around for a bathroom, be back in a sec!" He called out, putting his clothes back on quickly, but not quickly enough that you didn't have time to check him out.

Even when he left the room, you were still smiling. You grabbed your phone, discarded somewhere near the bed, and sat back down. You wanted to text Ahsoka to thank her for bringing you to this party, for introducing you to Anakin, hell, for being born, when your homescreen reminded you of something.

54 Days, 18 hours, 27 seconds until Thesis Due Date

That pit opened in your stomach. You thought you had gotten rid of it, but there it was again. Everything went tight in your body, and suddenly all you could think was how could you have let yourself get this far behind? You had to get to work.

Something bumped your leg. It was Anakin's hand. You hadn't even heard him come in.

"Everything okay?" Anakin asked, with that gentle smile that hadn't really left him since you'd made up.

You looked at him, the man who you kind-of-sort-of-definitely had feelings for, and you shot him a half-assed smile as you locked your phone.

"Yeah," you said, your voice tight as you put it away. But, for the rest of the night, even when he walked you home and kissed you in front of the building--in public--it echoed in the back of your mind.

54 days.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Tag list (lmk if you'd like to be added!):

@skywalkercinema @throughparisallthroughrome @anak1ns-wife @radiantvader @eloquenceinpurple @rosekillerdaughter @doblasftcisco @rhiannonhippiegirl @mistress-amidala @johnbassplayercutie @mortalheartache @xorilixx @sunnytotheend @olivia091108 @aniiuv @sotal3rsa @springnaiad @bettysgardenswift @ursogorgeous13 @avalovesjoe1 @anibeaar @anisluvrgirl @mcdonaldshelppage @usuck @sythethecarrot @lovrsm @ann4zw @gimmefood

#anakin skywalker #star wars anakin #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin x you #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker/you #anakin/you #anakin skywalker smut #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #star wars prequels #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen imagine

188 notes · View notes

carlos-in-glasses · 11 months ago

Text

Rhythms

124k, 17 chapters, E, complete and on Ao3.

TK swoons when he discovers a sentimental scrapbook full of notes he and Carlos have left for each other – but he also unearths a book of poems that closeted teen-Carlos wrote about his struggles, including a few dedicated to his high school crush. An adorably mortified Carlos recalls the stir he caused when he was published anonymously in the high school paper, and everything he went through to write his wedding vows for TK years later. With TK as a hype-man, maybe Carlos can embrace his creative side again.

Read on Ao3

Chapter 1 - Love Heart: The day after TK and Carlos’ first wedding anniversary, TK is sent home from work sick. Back at the loft unexpectedly, he makes a surprising discovery about Carlos.

Chapter 2 - Club Can't Handle Me: In 2011, sixteen-year-old Carlos is both in the closet and in his high school’s wrestling team – and it’s all a bit too much. Perhaps against his better judgment, he turns to poetry and makes a decision that will change his life.

Chapter 3 - Crossroads: Daydreaming about his wedding vows mid-drive, Carlos gets pulled over for a traffic violation – and Gabriel isn’t happy. Reunited with TK, Carlos might be lost for words, but he finds another way to express his love and desire.

Chapter 4 - The Wrestler: Carlos’ poems are published – and he quickly learns there’s no putting the genie back into the bottle.

Chapter 5 - A Gay Fantasia: In the aftermath of being abducted by a serial killer, Carlos reflects on recent events and resumes work on his wedding vows.

Chapter 6 - La Tormenta: Carlos is devastated when Scott gets a girlfriend, and he finds himself in another snowballing situation.

Chapter 7 - Soulmates: When TK has a Huntington’s disease scare, Carlos finds he knows exactly what to say. But will it help him with his writer’s block when it comes to his wedding vows?

Chapter 8 - Man of Mystery: It’s the day of the Lake View High School Talent Show – and will the real Shadow Poet please stand up?

Chapter 9 - Crush: In 2011, it’s make or break for sixteen year old Carlos at the talent show. In 2024, TK becomes the hype man Carlos had needed over a decade ago.

Chapter 10 - From Behind: A couple of weeks before the wedding, Carlos is still working on his vows when a deeper rift develops between him and his dad. In 2012, seventeen year-old Carlos is spiraling after coming out to his parents.

Chapter 11 - The Other Wrestler: TK decides to lift Carlos’ spirits by learning how to wrestle.

Chapter 12 - Carlos Reyes Will Be Okay: At Gabriel’s funeral, Carlos regrets saying no to reading a poem in tribute – but during the wake, he finds himself under a whole new pressure. Later that night, he realizes the vows he’s worked so hard on for TK cannot be spoken yet.

Chapter 13 - The Closet: Despite some good news, Carlos ends up in the doghouse with his mom and with TK.

Chapter 14 - Once in a Blue Moon: Reeling from his confrontation with Andrea, Carlos seeks advice and admits a secret.

Chapter 15 - Raining on Prom Night: In May 2012, chaos erupts at Carlos’ senior prom.

Chapter 16 - Tyler Kennedy Strand: The wedding day arrives, and Carlos finally gets to recite his vows to TK.

Chapter 17 - Shadow Poet: Carlos attends his poetry reading with TK by his side and some important people in the audience – but will he actually perform this time?

“I was just remembering–” Carlos says, “The first time you stayed for a while after one of our hookups. It was, like, the third time we hooked up, I think. I asked if you wanted tea and cookies and you looked at me like I’d said the weirdest thing ever.”

TK’s exhausted, puffy face breaks into a dazzling grin. “You were being such a Boy Scout.”

“But then you said yes and you ate half the cookie jar.”

“You called me the Cookie Monster.”

“That was the first time I really made you laugh.”

“Tea came out my nose.”

“It was beautiful,” Carlos says, pausing then to qualify: “Your laugh.”

TK gazes up at him, his clear green eyes large and shining. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“The first time you made me laugh was when we were dancing at the honky-tonk.”

“Hey!” TK swats his arm. “I was trying my best!”

“You were so goofy,” Carlos chides. “I just loved it. I loved you.”

Read on Ao3

#Tarlos #Tarlos fic #Tarlos fanfic #911 lone star #gay fanfiction #Rhythms #poet fic #cig fic #my fic #Thank you so much for reading! I'm so excited about this fic!

337 notes · View notes

glubglubgurgle · 1 month ago

Text

honey crisps (chapter 8)

calebmc college au! aftermath of the party :3 and they celebrate their confessions at home

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 end

pairings: caleb/unnamed afab mc

tags: college alternate universe, FLUFF, calebmc are both freshmen, AU where they both have parents lol..., childhood friends to lovers, fake dating/practice dating/practice kissing/practice more...?, SMUT, caleb third person pov, caleb yearns as usual, jackson wang party, SEX!!!!, p and v sex!, oral (f and m receiving), premature coming (like usual hehe) makeout in car, car kisses, elevator kisses

word count: 3.9k

a/n: sorry for the wait !!! ive been so busy hngh but thank u for being patient. i hope this was a good for chapter for u guys, pls lmk if the...smut is smutting bcs i wanna start writing one shots and stuff. MAYBE aahhh i hope u guys like it ily mwah

ping list!!: @mcdepressed290 @st4rlight707 @auroranavi @plzdonutpercieveme @ippilulu (it wont let me tag u TT) @honeycrispangels @kiyadeleine

CROSS POSTED TO AO3

chapter 8

The party wined down and people were drunkenly leaving. Caleb was shocked as to how attentive Jackson was, along with the help of Gideon. He recalled how he said the two weren’t close, but they worked together perfectly, making sure everyone had rides settled and sober drivers. Other people ended up in his extra rooms, passed out drunk from Gideon’s concotion.

Caleb took a few shots here and there, but he kept it to a degree to remain sober enough to watch over her. Which happened to be perfect since she ended up drinking until she, too, passed out on the couch. It only took her half a cup of the mystery mix and two shots before she started saying she was sleepy. The jacket he brought came in handy and she was wrapped up in it and asleep in two seconds. Once the living room emptied, he got up from sitting beside her on the couch, and started to help cleaning.

Gideon came over to him with a huge trash bag, helping him with the stray cans on the tables. “Wonder what’s gotten you in such a happy, helpful mood.” A smirk was evident through his voice even as Caleb was faced away from him. “Thank god the lights were darkened earlier, if I saw a full view of your guys’ lovey dovey looks at each other, I might’ve hurled.”

He rolled his eyes, tossing cans into the bag. “Please, weren’t you too busy talking it up with all those people earlier. You were a hotshot tonight.”

“That’s because hotshot number one had a girl wrapped around him the whole night. You finally had the balls, huh?” Gideon punched his arm. Despite it being playful, Gideon was strong and he winced slightly. Caleb took a mental note of asking to workout with him next time. “Kind of…she confessed first.” He sheepishly answered, recalling the events in the laundry room. Her words rang in his head, dissipating every worry he had.

“Someone had to, I was getting sick of watching Caleb picking up his phone every three minutes in class to see if she texted back.” Jackson intervened. He also had a plastic bag in hand, cleaning as he teased Caleb. “I don’t know how you still managed to ace that pop quiz we already had yesterday when I swear you weren’t even paying attention.”

Caleb shrugged, “I can multitask…worry myself to death about her and be a star student.” He answered smirking, stealing a glance at his lover on the couch. “I guess I didn’t have to worry too much…”

Gideon and Jackson glanced at each other before rolling their eyes.

The three managed to clean up the house rather quickly. Despite there being multiple people and many of them drunkenly dancing most of the night, the only mess were cans and bottles littered on tables. Caleb was surprised at the etiquette of everyone invited. Jackson offered them all a room to stay the night, but only Gideon took the offer. He handed Caleb the keys to his car and told him that he’d pick it up the next day.

They helped Caleb open the doors for him to carry her sleeping body into the passenger seat, and once she was buckled in, the three said their goodbyes. A playful wink and teasing jokes about having a good night were exchanged as Caleb got into the driver’s seat, earning bashful scoff from him.

It was almost three in the morning, and the roads back to their home were nearly empty. She softly snored beside him, still fast asleep. Caleb would glance over every now and then, admiring her being lit up by the yellow streetlights he drove by. He reached over to hold her hand, rubbing circles on the back of it with his thumb.

“Mm, Caleb…” She muttered in her sleep, adjusting her head on the seatbelt.

The domesticity warmed Caleb’s chest. As he held her hand, driving the two of them back to their shared home, it made it easier to picture their future together. The future he always envisioned, the one that once felt like a faraway dream, was suddenly a reality he could realistically work towards. And he could do so without a criminal record.

He thought about how Gideon lied, and although he wanted to be angry, he was right. It was a push he did need. He chuckled to himself thinking about the many ways he had to get rid of him, but he was glad he was able to keep having a friend like him.

They were lucky to find a parking spot on the street near their apartment. Caleb unbuckled his seatbelt once he put the car into park, and then reached over the center console to unbuckle hers. As he pushed on the button, she turned her head from facing the window to facing him, still asleep. The sudden movement that brought their faces close to each other made Caleb hitch his breath. Their noses almost touching each other, her breath tickling his lips, alcohol still slightly evident in it. Caleb accidentally let the seat belt go from the sudden closeness, making the buckle hit the interior of the car with a loud thump.

She slowly stirred from her sleep, she squeezed her eyes before blinking them open. It looked as if she was trying to make out the scene in the dim lighting. And then her eyes met with his, a small smile instantly growing on her face. “Hi,”she softly muttered.

He mirrored the same expression and he reached his hand up to move the stray hairs away from her eyes, tucking locks behind her ear. “Hey,” he muttered back. “How are you feeling?”

Her own hand reached up to hold onto the one holding her face. “I don’t know what being drunk is supposed to feel like, but I think everything was funnier and then I just wanted to sleep. I don’t think I’m drunk anymore…” Her eyes flickered from his eyes down to his lips. “So if I asked for a kiss…”

Caleb instantly received the message she was sending in between the lines and leaned in for a quick kiss. A soft peck on the lips just to tease her. Once he pulled away, “Now come on, let’s go in-”

He was cut off by her pulling him in by his necklace into an open-mouthed kiss, her tongue darting into his mouth to mingle with his tongue. The contact made the two of them moan into each other’s mouths. She swiftly swung herself over the middle console, straddling him on the driver’s seat. Her butt accidentally bumped into the steering wheel causing the horn to go off, abruptly pulling the two away from each other with a jump.

“Oops,” she giggled, before leaning into the crook of his neck. She pressed her body onto his, sucking on the skin right below his ear. She grabbed the hand that was on her face and dragged it down to her waist, and then she shimmied out of his jacket, tossing it to the side.

Caleb bit back a moan but failed. He could feel her smile against his neck when the noise came out of him. His grip on her waist tightened as he reached down to the side of the seat to adjust it flat, having the two of them in a more horizontal position. The movement earned a giggle on his neck, her breath tickling his earlobe.

She put a hand beside his head and held herself up to face him. Even in the dark, she looked like a goddess to him. He couldn’t tell if it was her glowing or the lights from outside. “How would your friend like it if he knew what we were doing in his car…?” She asked, smirking down at him.

He let out a breathy laugh before holding onto her hips with both hands, making her grind down onto his clothed erection. He bucked into her, moaning, maintaining full eye contact with her. Her eyes fluttered slightly, and she bit her lip, suppressing her own noises. “You started this…you’re so- fuck!” Interrupted again with another roll of her hips, stronger this time. “You’re driving me crazy… God, you’re crazy.”

Her skirt was rode up her hips, revealing red underwear just slightly. And it drove Caleb insane. He reached up with one hand to the back of her neck, pulling her down for another kiss. Hungrier and messier. Their teeths clashed and tongues nearly weaving together as he tried to swallow every essence and noise coming out of her. Her hips continued to relieve the pressure in his pants, and he wanted everything to come off in that moment. And then her hand trailed down to his pants, trying to touch the zipper.

He broke from the kiss, “As much as I want to take you in this car,” he attempted to talk steadily, yet he was breathless and shaky. “I would much rather have our first time on a bed. And-” He grunted as she gave up on his zipper, her hand caressing the skin below his belly button, her hips rolled onto him again. “Ngh. Fuck, I want you so bad, baby.” The new name made her twitch on top of him, a breathy moan forced out of her throat as she leaned down into another kiss.

“Take me…” She whispered into his lips.

“Hold on to me. I can’t risk having anyone see you like this…” He said through gritted teeth grabbing her arms to wrap around his neck, hiking her leg up to his hip. He grabbed the keys and their phones before exiting the car, lifting her effortlessly as she clung onto him. He locked the doors and took long strides into their building, itching to enter the elevator.

Her legs were locked around him, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Wet kisses being placed all around his neck and marks being left as he tried to keep his composure. Caleb was sure his legs were going to buckle from her teasing him, but the drive to fully make her his overrode anything else.

They normally skipped the elevator since they liked racing each other up the stairs, but he couldn’t risk accidentally missing a step, especially with her antics. The moment it dinged, he walked right in, pressing the button to their floor. He waited for the doors to close before pressing her up against the wall, nuzzling his face into hers so she would face him. The cold metal wall made her gasp as it met her bare skin from her backless top. “You’re so impatient…” And he took his revenge, taking the tip of his tongue from her collarbone up to her ear, earning a shiver and another bitten back moan from her. “You want me this bad? Huh?” He nibbled at her ear, his free hand slipping in between her legs, feeling her soaked underwear. “God, you’re so- ngh.” He couldn’t help but groan when he pushed past her underwear to feel how wet she was, dragging two digits in between her folds. She squirmed in his arms, breathy moans reaching his ears as he felt her flutter around his fingers. The elevator dinged again, indicating they were on their floor and he pulled his fingers out of her, pulling away slightly from her face to shove the fingers into his mouth, keeping her eyes locked with his. Her taste made him feel intoxicated and left him wanting more.

He walked them to their apartment, his hand fumbling with his keys to open the door. The moment he got the two of them in, he slammed the door harder than he intended, locking it before practically running into her room. Despite the rush, he laid her as gently as he could onto her bed. He took his jeans off, the tight denim becoming too constricting on his dick. The tent in his boxers made him blush, embarrassed. Regardless, he climbed into bed with her, kneeling in between her legs. His fingers running up her thigh, riding up her skirt again, revealing her underwear. Bright red.

“You’re so pretty for me…” He muttered, feeling his dick jump in boxers as he studied her up and down. And he couldn’t wait any longer, he lied on his stomach and shoved his face into her underwear. He sucked on the damp fabric, moaning around it.

A soft yelp came out of her at his sudden moves, her hands flying down to the top of his head. Her fingers gripped onto his hair like she was going to fall off the bed if she let go. “Caleb…more, I want to feel you. Please just take them off.” She grinded herself further onto him, his nose nuzzling into her clit.

He felt lightheaded from how aroused he was, all the blood in his brain going straight to his cock and he felt drunk off of her. Caleb grinded down on her mattress, relieving more pressure, but he was afraid he’d come way too quick. He pushed the gusset to the side, revealing more of her to him. Glistening with her needs, he didn’t waste another second before dipping his tongue into her.

“Oh my god, Caleb…right there, fuck!” She moaned out loud, one of her hands releasing his head, muffling her loud sounds. The hand gripping onto his hair was shaking.

His eyes opened, glaring up at her when he noticed she was trying to keep quiet. He pushed himself up and away from her, earning a whine from her. She glared back at him. Caleb grabbed the hand covering her mouth, interlocking their fingers together. “Let me hear you. If you keep quiet, I’ll stop.”

Her eyebrows knitted together, and a smile grew on her lips. Like she enjoyed the way he talked to her. She bit her lip and nodded.

Caleb went back to devouring her. His left hand held her thigh, massaging small circles on the inside, keeping her open for him. Whilst the other held her hand tightly. His tongue lapped at her, lewd wet sounds, filled the room and he slurped it all up. Her moans progressively got louder and louder, driving him even crazier. He was in love with eating her out. The way she tasted on his tongue mixed with the way she reacted every time. He could get off just from having his mouth on her.

“I’m so close- ngh.” Her thighs shook around him, and the grip she had on his hair was stronger than before. Her breathing got faster and her hips grinded onto him with more fervor. “Right…ah…there, fuck.”

“Come on my tongue,” he gasped, his lips still on hers. “Be a good girl…” He muttered loud enough for her to hear before he fucked into her with his tongue.

And she was almost screaming when she came, her hole tightening around tongue, more liquid gushing out of her. All of which, Caleb lapped up like he hadn’t drank water in days. He swore she almost pulled out all his hair, but he didn’t care.

She twitched around his tongue for a few more moments. He continued to eat her, driving her over the edge so far that she had to pry him away. “Ngh- surely…this time you won’t deny me, right?” She asked through labored breaths.

He got back on his knees, kneeling in between her legs. The tent was still prominent, but so was a large damp stain where the tip of his dick was. He was so enamoured by her that he truthfully couldn’t remember coming. Too drunk on her, he didn’t have room to be embarrassed anymore. After all, this wasn’t the first time it’s happened.

“H-how do you-” She looked at him, switching between his face and his dick, baffled. She got on her knees and locked eyes with him before playing with the waistband of his boxers. Her fingers dipping under it, making him buck his hips into the air. And she slipped them downward, finally freeing his cock.

The chill air touching his dick made him hiss. When his boxers hit his knees, he adjusted himself and took them off fully himself. He even removed his shirt, leaving him completely naked in front of her. His dick was messily covered in his cum, yet he was still so hard.

Her hand moved to cup his balls, earning a groan from him. “You’re a mess…I should clean you up, shouldn’t I?” Her eyes were filled with lust, he swore they glowed red in the moonlight.

He sat on his feet, still on his knees, trying to make the angle easier for her. “Y-yeah…” Was all he could get out.

She giggled, “You were all confident earlier…I don’t even know where you learned to talk like that.” Her finger traced the slit at the tip of his dick, making it twitch. “Now you’re like this…for me?” She asked him. She scooped up a bit of him with her index finger before putting it in her mouth,

He groaned at the sight below him. “If you’re going to- ngh.” He winced when she licked him softly, cleaning the mess he made, slowly. His hand flung to her hair this time. He combed through it with his fingers, trying to keep a grip, afraid he was going to ascend into another plane of existence. “Fuck, you’re so good for me…”

She licked him from base to the tip, wrapping her lips around the tip each time she reached it. Hollowing her cheeks and sucking on it before letting go with a pop, swallowing every drop of him. Once she was done, she smirked up at him. “You actually lasted this time.” She giggled.

He turned red and gripped her hair, pulling her upwards into a kiss. He could taste the saltiness of himself on her tongue, but he searched for the taste of her instead. Their lips were still connected as he got up to push her back down onto her back, climbing on top of her. He reached underneath her to untie the string holding her top together, surprised at how easily it came undone. He practically ripped the top off of her, revealing her already topless. He backed up to admire her. “Fuck…you weren’t wearing anything underneath this whole night?” His hand palmed at her breast, “You’re such a fucking tease…is this what you wanted? To drive me crazy?”

She nodded her head, moaning softly. “I’ve been wanting this for so long, Caleb…ngh.”

His dick twitched near her own sex. And that’s when he was hit with a terrible realization. He didn’t have any condoms. “Oh god, I don’t have an-”

She shook her head with panic, “I’m on birth control…we don’t need one.” She read his mind instantly. “I trust you.” She locked her arms around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss.

He wanted to question her, ask why she was on it, but his dick strained in between them and he couldn’t argue with anything anymore. “Are you sure?” He said in between kisses.

“God, yes, Caleb.” She said with exasperation and grabbed his hand, pushing it down to her heat. “Now, prep me…you’re so big, I need you to- hngh!”

He instantly inserted two fingers into her, not waiting for her to finish her sentence. He scissored his fingers in and out, lewd wet sounds filling the room again. “You’re practically dripping, god you’re so tight.” He pressed kisses down her neck, hoping it would relax her and open her up more. “Can you take another?” He whispered into her ear, earning a nod from her. And he inserted another, curling his fingers up into her. She tensed around his fingers. “Good girl…” He groaned into her neck. He felt her tighten exponentially when he said it, making him smirk. “You like being called that, huh? My…good…girl.” He said it again, in between wet neck kisses.

And she came on his fingers. Her fingers left marks on his shoulders as her nails left half moon crescents. “I need you, Caleb. Please, I want to-fuck! I want to feel you…” She begged.

He got back up on his knees, her legs on his hips. He pulled his fingers out of her and he couldn’t help but clean it up with his mouth again. Caleb pushed up her mini skirt further up, scrunched around her waist. And then he lifted her legs together to slip off her underwear, before slipping in between her again. He held his cock, dragging the tip up and down her wet folds. The sight almost killed him.

Her face was flushed, her skin glistened with sweat. Hair was glued to her forehead, and her eyes were on fire staring up at him. She was beautiful to him. “I’m not gonna last…” He confessed, already knowing.

She laughed, almost out of breath. “Stop teasing me…I just want to feel you.”

He positioned his tip near her entrance and started to push into her. The two of them winced. He looked at her for approval and she nodded, motioning for him to keep going. He carefully kept pushing in, slowly, inch by inch. Once he was half-way in, she tightened around him. “Fuck…if you do that, I definitely won’t last. Be good for me.” He nearly growled, gripping onto her hips.

After a minute or so, he finally bottomed out. She threw her head back, “G-god…I feel so full.” She moaned, her hand gripping his wrist. “You feel so good inside me…”

Caleb groaned, “It’s like you’re made for me, baby, fuck. You feel insane, you’re so pretty like this…you look so good on my cock.” He babbled, not even moving yet. And then she tightened around him again, a response to all the praises he gave. And like Caleb said, he came instantly. “Fuck…I told you not to-agh!” He tried to hold back but failed. He spilled into her, thrusting through his orgasm.

His movements made her moan louder, her hips moving to match his rhythm as he rode out his orgasm, and then she came too. “Oh my god, you feel so warm inside me, I’m-” Her legs shook around him, clenching his hips with her thighs.

Caleb took his thumb and rubbed circles on her clit to help her out, hoping it’d make up for coming the moment he got inside her. He expected himself to collapse, but the way she twitched around him seemed to drive him to keep going. He fully got on top of her, kissing her with no direction, just pure need.

He was still hard. He pulled away from her lips and rested their foreheads together. It looked like she was about to say something and then Caleb pulled out just enough, leaving the tip in before he slammed into her. Her eyebrows knitted together with confusion, but her lips twitched upward into a small smile. A moan ripped out of her throat. “I don’t know how…but I hope you don’t have any plans tomorrow.” He said before pulling out again. “I’m going to make sure every inch of you remembers me.” He slammed back into her, her back arching upwards to him, moaning. “You’re…mine.”

#lads caleb #caleb smut #lads caleb smut #love and deepspace #lads caleb fic #caleb fic #xia yizhou #lads fic #lads smut #xia yizhou fic #lnds smut #xyz smut #love and deepspace smut #caleb #lnds caleb smut #lads au #lnds au #love and deepspace au #calebmc smut

75 notes · View notes

hogwartseighthyear · 1 year ago

Text

wax paper

"your girl" series: part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | (part 4)

(can be read as a standalone)

pairing: neville longbottom x fem!reader word count: 3.7k tags: rated G, house-neutral reader, fluff, established relationship, maybe a smidge of angst, no Y/N used summary: neville introduces you to his parents. note: cue me strolling in like it hasn't been over a year and a half since i last posted a fic. this is based on a request i lost a long time ago for something with neville's family (iirc). i might come back later and give it another edit since this was a bit hasty, but for now, enjoy and thanks for reading! (cross-posted here to AO3)

After spending the last several years living through an outright war, the months immediately following Voldemort’s demise were tinged with a sense of unreality.

You mourned for the lives lost and the destruction that had been wrought. You slept fitfully and replayed the worst moments of the Battle in your nightmares. Sudden, loud noises sent you diving to the ground with your wand in hand, reminding you of crackling spellfire, flashes of green light hurtling overhead, smoke in the air and screams ringing in your ears.

Yet, for every moment of grief and pain, there was hope and happiness in equal measure. Wizarding Britain was gradually reassembling. The Ministry was being gutted from the inside out, Aurors were hunting down wayward Death Eaters, repairs were underway at Hogwarts. For the first time in a long time, the future didn’t look so bleak.

And somehow, in the midst of it all, you’d started dating Neville Longbottom.

You’d both confessed your feelings just after the Battle had finished, when you and Neville finally managed to escape the cacophony of noise and emotion in the Great Hall and retreat to the quiet shores of the lake. The two of you were still singed and bloodied and covered in dirt, but it hadn’t mattered in the slightest. When you finally kissed him, it felt like coming home.

It was difficult to separate you and Neville that following summer. In all honesty, the amount of time you were spending together might have been excessive, if not bordering on codependent, but considering the hell you had just endured, neither of your families voiced any complaints. May, June, and July passed in a languid procession of warm afternoons in the back garden and hours of general lazing about around each other’s homes as you recuperated from, well, your whole adolescence.

You and Neville had already accepted Professor McGonagall’s offer to return to Hogwarts to properly complete your education, and while you were looking forward to it, you knew that it wouldn’t be easy. So, you greatly appreciated the chance to take a break from life before the fall term rolled around.

One day in early August, you were doing just that, lounging on the couch and reading a particularly interesting chapter in Dragon Species of Ancient Mesopotamia, when the fireplace whooshed with a burst of green flames. To your surprise, it was Neville who stepped through the Floo into your living room.

In a rare turn of events, you and Neville didn’t actually have plans to see each other until tomorrow. Today, he, Ginny, and Luna were scheduled to meet in Diagon Alley for an interview with Farida Wolff of the Daily Prophet, who was interested in writing an article on the student rebellion the three of them led during the Death Eaters’ rule over Hogwarts. Afterwards, Neville was planning on paying his parents a visit at St. Mungo’s; fetching money from his Gringotts vault; getting fitted at Madam Malkin’s for new robes; picking up treats for Seymour, the Longbottom family owl, at Eeylops Owl Emporium; then joining his gran in the evening for a belated birthday dinner with his great-uncle Algie and great-aunt Enid.

A glance at the clock told you that while Neville’s interview must have just wrapped up, he definitely hadn’t had time to finish the rest of his errands in downtown London already. There was no reason for him to stop by your place. And yet here he was, wearing a rather nervous expression.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” you asked, sitting upright, a worried frown quickly overtaking your face.

“Hi. Um. Yes,” Neville said haltingly.

“Are you sure?” you asked. “Did something happen during the interview?”

“No, no, the interview was fine.”

You waited for further explanation, but he remained silent.

“Neville?”

He dithered for a few more moments before taking a deep, steadying breath and finally looking at you.

“I was just about to go see my parents,” he said, standing a bit straighter, “and… I was wondering if… you’d like to come meet them?”

Your eyes widened. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” Neville said, this time with more conviction. “I know they don’t really— They can’t exactly, you know—” He cut himself off, his mouth twisting. “But. I’ve already told them about us, and it would mean a lot to me.”

“Okay,” you said, unable to keep the slight tremor out of your voice. “I’ll come. Of course I’ll come.”

Meeting your boyfriend’s parents for the first time was nerve-racking on principle, but meeting Neville’s parents was especially so, considering how fiercely guarded he was when it came to them.

He’d told you what happened to his mum and dad during the First War, but it had always been a sensitive topic. You remembered how agitated he’d been when his friends ran into them at St. Mungo’s a few Christmases ago. Neville was protective of his parents; he didn’t want anyone witnessing them in their vulnerable state. And yet here he was, asking you to meet them.

No pressure, right?

You smoothed your hands over your lap and looked down at your outfit: the soft, comfortable one you’d been lounging around in all day while you read. “Oh! I should change before we go. And fix my hair. Shit, wait, give me a few minutes,” you babbled as you stood from the couch, anxiety already churning in your stomach, but Neville caught you before you could rush past him.

“Love, you look fine,” he said.

“I look like I just rolled out of bed!”

You were too busy fretting over your appearance to notice the way Neville rolled his eyes, though his expression was still unmistakably fond. You refocused only when he put his hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him.

“You’re beautiful, I promise, but”—he stressed the word when you went to open your mouth again—“if it makes you feel better, I was going to suggest we Disillusion ourselves anyway.”

It took you a moment to catch on to his reasoning. “Oh,” you said with a sympathetic wince. “How bad was it this time?”

“At least ten different people asked for my autograph.” Neville kept his voice low, as if he were saying something scandalous. “I tried telling everyone I didn’t have a quill, but then some of them conjured quills for me, so I just signed what they asked. I felt like the world’s biggest prat!”

Fame was something Neville was still struggling to get used to. He’d been largely shielded from it these past few months, considering that the two of you had been living like hermits. But on the rare occasion he happened to wander out into public, there was almost always someone who recognized the Boy Who Killed Voldemort’s Snake.

“We’ll have to brainstorm some new excuses,” you said with a resolute nod.

Really, you should have remembered that magic exists when you came up with the quill idea, but to be fair, it was better than Neville’s plan to claim that he was sick with the highly-contagious doxy flu anytime a stranger tried to approach him.

After putting on a pair of shoes and casting your respective Disillusionment Charms, you followed Neville through the fireplace, Flooing directly into St. Mungo’s reception area.

The chaos inside momentarily stopped you in your tracks. You’d never had a reason to visit St. Mungo’s before, and you couldn’t help but gawk at the various witches and wizards gathered in the large waiting room. One man swaying unsteadily in line appeared to have his legs spelled on backwards. A woman whose entire body was covered in green boils napped in a nearby chair. There was even a man seated against the opposite wall with a continuous stream of soap bubbles pouring from his ears and floating up to the ceiling.

Neville, of course, didn’t seem to be phased by any of it. He’d surely grown used to such sights after visiting for so many years.

“This way,” he said, taking your hand and leading you through the double doors past the inquiries desk. He took out his wand to remove the Disillusionment Charm only once you’d reached a quiet stairwell.

“That felt a bit… unauthorized,” you said, patting nervously at your hair and hoping you were still presentable. “Will we get in trouble if someone finds out we haven’t, I don’t know, signed in anywhere?”

“No, they keep track of everyone who passes through the Floo. Whoever’s currently attending mum and dad probably already knows we’re on our way. Although”—Neville sent you an apologetic look—“they’re on the fourth floor.”

The last time you climbed four flights of stairs at once was during the Battle of Hogwarts, caught in a panicked crowd of students rushing through the castle and ducking spellfire. The months since then had been, for the most part, very slow-paced and sedentary. Your legs were not going to like this.

“Right. Well.” You straightened and took in a big breath. “Up we go.”

You and Neville were both huffing and puffing slightly by the time you reached the fourth floor. In the brief pause the two of you took to catch your breath, you made a mental note to find a magical solution to make climbing stairs more tolerable. Some sort of numbing charm below the knees? No, tripping would be entirely too easy. A Feather-Light Charm? Possibly, though if you cast it too strongly you might be liable to launch yourself over the whole staircase and into the wall.

Whatever. You’d figure it out later.

You followed Neville along the Spell Damage corridor, straight to a door at the far end, which happened to be the entrance to the Janus Thickey Ward. He knocked, and a few moments later a lock clicked from the other side and a middle-aged witch in green Healer robes answered.

“Neville, dear!” she greeted, reaching up to give his cheek a fond little pinch.

“Hello, Miriam,” Neville said, enduring her fawning. You had to hold back a laugh.

“I’ll say, it was such a wonderful surprise to see you were stopping by. And with company, no less.” Miriam turned her twinkling eyes towards you.

You introduced yourself, giving her hand a polite shake. “I’m Neville’s—” You paused, not sure how you should label your relationship in front of Miriam. The fact that you and Neville had started dating was something only your immediate families knew, so far.

You cast a questioning look at Neville. He nodded at you, a small smile curving his mouth.

“—girlfriend,” you finished.

All your other current anxieties aside, saying it out loud still made you feel embarrassingly giddy.

“Girlfriend!” Miriam exclaimed, beaming at you and Neville. “Oh, isn’t that just delightful! I’m Miriam Strout; I’m so pleased to meet you, darling. Come in, come in.” Healer Strout ushered the two of you through the doorway.

The Janus Thickey Ward was a long, open room with a number of beds lining the walls, each sectioned off by a set of floral-patterned curtains. Despite the somewhat sterile feel of the tiled floors and the off-white walls, the residents here were long term, and the collection of personal effects made the room a bit friendlier: things like knitted blankets, family photos, stacks of books, house slippers. You could even recognize a song by the Forty Phantoms playing on a radio somewhere nearby.

“Your father’s been a bit sleepy this morning, Neville, but he and the missus were both awake the last time I checked. I’m sure they’ll both be happy to see you,” Healer Strout said, locking the entrance once again with a wave of her wand. “Are either of you thirsty? We have a new elf in the kitchens that makes the most excellent cup of masala chai.”

“That’s alright, Miriam. We’ve got it from here,” Neville said.

“Thank you, though,” you added on.

“Of course, just tell me if you need anything.” And with that, Healer Strout stepped away to tend to a nearby patient who was standing on top of his mattress, stretching to pin a photo to the wall amidst an already-excessive number of portraits. All of which appeared to be self portraits.

He looked awfully familiar, in fact.

Wait. That wasn’t…?

“Gilderoy, you silly man, what have I told you about climbing up there?” Healer Strout called out fondly. “Falling down and bumping your head is the last thing you need!”

You whipped around to look at Neville. “Lockhart?” you whispered.

He nodded with a grimace. “Don’t make eye contact, he’ll take it as an invitation to show you his fan mail collection.”

The two of you hurried away.

Neville lost a bit of his steam as you neared the end of the ward, slowing his steps and running a nervous hand through his hair. You were nervous too, but you still made the effort to send him a supportive smile. He returned it, a bit wobbly, but there nonetheless.

And then before you knew it, you were standing in front of the floral curtain drawn around the very last two beds. “Mum? Dad?” Neville said. He grabbed the edge and pulled it open.

You’d seen photos of Alice and Frank Longbottom from their Auror days; Neville’s gran had several hanging proudly in her home. You’d always been struck by Neville’s likeness to his mother. Sure, he’d ended up with his father’s height and smile, but the rest belonged to Alice: his coloring, his round cheeks, his gentle eyes.

Now, though, it was evident that the life and verve you’d seen in those photos had been drained from Neville’s parents over the years. The familial resemblance was much more difficult to pick out in their current state.

Frank was propped up in his hospital bed with a heavy quilt draped over his lap, donning a thick, knitted jumper despite the warm weather. He gazed vacantly out the nearest window, which had been spelled to show a pleasant view of the English countryside. Meanwhile, Alice was sat in an armchair between the two beds, wearing a pink cardigan over her nightdress and fiddling with something small and papery in her hands.

They were both gaunt and pale as a sheet. Their hair had turned white, and their skin had creased and wrinkled, aging them far beyond their years. Neither Frank nor Alice reacted to their son’s arrival, and you had to wonder if they even realized anyone was there at all.

“Hi guys,” Neville said quietly, stepping forward and sitting himself on edge of his mother’s bed.

It took you a moment, but you eventually managed to unstick your feet from the floor, making sure to close the curtain behind you before taking a seat next to Neville.

He cleared his throat and continued. “It’s Tuesday, August 4th, 1998. I turned eighteen last week. Sorry I didn’t stop by sooner for my birthday, but I wanted to bring someone along this time.” Neville introduced you then, telling his parents your name.

“Hello Mr. and Mrs. Longbottom,” you said, your hands clasped tightly in your lap.

Again, they showed no reaction. Not that you thought you would get one out of them. You just weren’t used to it yet: speaking to someone so unresponsive.

Neville, however, was clearly well practiced in these one-sided conversations with his parents. “I know you’ve, erm, heard quite a lot about her,” he continued, casting a somewhat sheepish glance your way. “I just figured you should finally meet each other, now that we’re together. Though, really, I should’ve— I should’ve brought her ‘round a long time ago. She survived meeting Gran when we were twelve, after all.”

You huffed a laugh, remembering how terrifying the formidable Augusta Longbottom had seemed back then, nearly making you sick with nerves when faced with her hard, assessing eyes and stern tone. Neville had to assure you multiple times that his gran didn’t hate you the way you feared she might. In fact, after taking some time to warm up to you, she actually grew to be quite fond of you, often asking after you in her letters while Neville was away at Hogwarts.

You’d always remained quietly cautious of her, knowing how easily and often her sharp words could cut through Neville. There was no doubt Augusta loved him, surely, but that didn’t mean her standards for her grandson weren’t high, or that the comparisons she made between him and his father weren’t harsh. It was only over the course of the last year that Neville had finally gained his gran’s approval, and some of the bumps in their relationship seemed to have smoothed over.

“It wasn’t so bad. We get along pretty well these days, I think,” you said, looking to Frank as you spoke of his mother.

You weren’t expecting to find anything other than Frank’s blank stare still fixed on the window, unmoving, save for the slow rise and fall of his chest—which is why it was so startling when he sat forward and rose to his feet with a quiet grunt. You straightened your posture, briefly thinking he was going to approach you, but Frank’s eyes skipped over you and Neville completely as he shuffled past his bed.

Neville followed suit and stood. “Dad?”

“Is he okay?” you asked with a concerned frown.

“Yes, uh, he’s probably just headed to the washroom,” Neville said, already trailing after his father. “I’ll walk him there. We’ll be right back.”

They both passed through the curtain, where you heard Healer Strout call out, “You boys alright?”

“All good, Miriam, I’ve got him!”

That left you alone with Alice.

You floundered, unsure how to fill the silence between you, punctuated only by the crinkling of whatever Alice was still turning over in her hands. You tried to think of what a mother might like to speak about with her son’s girlfriend upon their first meeting, but you didn’t exactly have a frame of reference for this sort of thing. The only common ground you could find with her on short notice was, well, Neville.

“Neville is really good at Herbology,” you blurted. Then, sheepishly, “…You probably already know that, though.”

Great start.

“It’s what most people know about him. I mean, people who actually knew him before the Battle.” You realized a moment too late that the reminder that her son lived through the horrors of war might not be well received by Alice—assuming there was a chance she could understand you, even if she couldn’t respond—and you quickly moved on. “I struggled with it more the further along in school we got. I’m pretty sure the only reason I managed to pass my Herbology O.W.L. was because of Neville. He made this for me while we were revising that year, see?”

You reached underneath the collar of your shirt and pulled out the necklace that hung there more often than not. The pendant was a petal Neville had plucked from the flutterby bush the two of you had spent time tending to in one of the greenhouses. With the right combination of charms—and some help from Hermione, he’d later admitted—the petal had been hardened and polished, as though encased in glass.

You remembered how the urge to grab his face and kiss him had swooped through you when Neville presented you with the gift after your exams, and you remembered how little that urge had surprised you, even then.

“The fact that we only recently started dating feels rather ridiculous now, looking back on everything,” you muttered, rubbing your finger across the smooth edge of the petal as you peered down at it. “I can’t even pinpoint when I started… fancying Neville. I suppose I’ve always loved him in one way or another.”

You looked up to Alice, feeling somewhat shy and hot in the face after sharing something so honest, and found that her own gaze had risen to settle on your necklace. You stilled your hand and held it out for her to see. She stared for a long moment before returning to her fidgeting. Except this time, she began twisting something, the crinkling sound getting louder.

You leaned forward for a better look at what Alice held in her hands. It was a piece of Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, you realized. The was a whole dish of it sitting on the nightstand behind her.

She unwrapped the gum and placed it in her mouth, then held out the wrapper for you.

“Oh… alright,” you said, taking the wrapper. Did she want you to toss it for her? There was a small bin tucked next to the nightstand, but it was clearly within her reach. Uncertain what to do, you smoothed out the waxy piece of paper into a neat little rectangle, idly admiring the gold foil around the edges.

It wasn’t much longer before Neville and his father returned. Once Frank was situated in bed, Neville returned to his seat by your side, smiling at both you and his mother. However, he froze when he caught sight of the Drooble’s wrapper in your hand.

“Neville? Are you alright?” you asked.

“Is that—? Did she give that to you?” His wide eyes darted back to Alice, whose jaw was working as she chewed on her gum.

“Yes. Was she not supposed to? I can throw it away—”

“No!” Neville’s outburst made you pause from where you’d risen to your feet, and he grimaced at himself, urging you to sit back down with a gentle hand on your arm. “No, no, sorry. It’s fine.”

“Well, if you’re certain.”

“I am.” He hesitates for a moment. “She’s… giving you a gift. It’s all she has to give, really. But it’s for you.”

You looked over at Neville in surprise, emotion suddenly twisting inside your chest. You could see some of it reflected in his face, the crinkle of his eyes, the slope of his mouth. A face you loved so dearly, made of the two people sitting across from you.

You swallowed a bit roughly and held onto the wrapper with care. “Thank you, Mrs. Longbottom.”

Neville pulled you into his side and laid a kiss on your temple.

#neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x you #neville x reader #neville x you #neville longbottom #neville longbottom fic #my writing

157 notes · View notes

serenadeonacanoe · 6 days ago

Text

Untitled, 2025 (GD x OFC) Chapter 10: Tour

Pairing: G-Dragon/Kwon Jiyong x OFC Genre/Warnings: in this chapter: a whole lot of fluff...

It’s 2025 and the King of K-Pop is back. He and his music are everywhere. On the charts, all over social media and smack in the middle of Maddie’s work schedule. Sometimes she still can’t believe this is her actual job now - documenting the chaos behind the scenes and trying to make sure no one on his team gets lost, bruised or accidentally starts a viral scandal.

What’s even harder to believe? That she and Jiyong met five years ago. Actually… scratch that. They met ten years ago too. Time has a weird sense of humor like that and things get blurry when you’re busy, nostalgic, and maybe just a little bit smitten. Also, life throws more daisies your way than you’d expect.

Part 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

More on AO3 Guys, I really appreciate your comments and messages recently, it makes me feel so damn good about this story and writing in general, thank you, truly <3

December 2014

"I'm sure you’ll love it there." Cheungha says and I can’t help but laugh.

It’s winter in Seoul. No snow yet, but the cold is the kind that bites through your coat and clings to you long after you’ve crawled under your covers. Summer heat nearly knocked me out when I arrived and the monsoon season was its own nightmare, but this cold? It’s relentless. Still, winter has been my favorite season so far because I finally feel like I’ve arrived here. Work is still insane, but manageable. My neighbor still drives me mad, but I’ve figured out how to shut him up at night. I’ve even found a handful of friends I know I can rely on.

Cheungha is one of them. The rest? Regular, everyday people like me. That’s why last summer at the lake house with all those famous faces already feels like a weird fever dream. I’m happy to have my life back to normal. Which is why I laugh when Cheungha says that. If she’d actually been thinking of me when planning our evening, we wouldn’t be on our way to some swanky pre-Christmas party in Gangnam. We’d be crammed into a tiny, slightly sketchy neighborhood restaurant with steaming bowls of something spicy and cheap, gossiping until closing time. But this is Cheungha and glittery parties are her thing.

“Is that so?” I ask, eyeing her reflection in the mirrored elevator. She’s fixing her hair, already glowing like she owns the night. When her eyes meet mine, I think for a moment I’ve annoyed her, but then she grins. “Okay, fine, there’s a good chance you’ll hate it. But it’s too late now, you’re mine for tonight.” That’s how she is - half-flirty, always dramatic. It never goes anywhere, but it’s fun and honestly, it’s nice to feel wanted. Who says you can’t flirt with your friends? If she ever crossed a line, I’d say something. But this? This is just Cheungha and I like her for it.

So I let out a theatrical sigh, ditch my scarf and follow her out when the elevator dings.

The party is exactly what I expected - polished, expensive, not really my scene. But the music isn’t terrible, the canapés are amazing and the champagne is free. Since I’ve been perpetually broke since moving here, I make the best of it.

And that’s when I see him.

Jiyong is across the room by a window, champagne flute in hand. His outfit is a dark suit with glittering accents that catch the light. He literally shines among a crowd of rich-but-safe choices. His hair is longer than it was in the summer, sleeked back and his face is... yeah, as unfairly beautiful as I remember. To be perfectly honest… he looks like a bit of an asshole. It might just be me projecting, but still.

Since that lake weekend, I haven’t seen him once and now he’s literally sparkling. Perfect.

Of course, Cheungha’s route through the crowd takes us straight toward him. Daesung spots us and waves, all warmth and smiles and I wave back before letting my gaze flick across the rest of the group. Jiyong’s on his phone, head down, oblivious. Even when he finally pockets it, he greets Cheungha like the old friends they are and… nothing. Not even a nod for me.

Maybe he genuinely doesn’t remember me. Wouldn’t shock me. Either way, it’s rude. I don’t need a bow or a song and dance, but some kind of acknowledgment would’ve been nice, even if I am a stranger.

I tell myself it shouldn’t bother me - it wasn’t a big deal then, so why does it matter now? Except it does. And it’s even more annoying that, despite all this, he still makes my pulse jump. It’s not just that he’s handsome. There’s something magnetic about him. The way he dresses, the way his face shifts from soft to unreadable in seconds. I catch myself watching too long before I shake it off and down my drink.

For once, I wish this was an actual party with music and dancing. Instead, it’s polite small groups and pleasant conversations. Since I don’t know anyone else, I stick with Cheungha’s circle.

Then Seunghyun arrives. He smiles wide at me, hand brushing my back in greeting and the second Jiyong notices, he pointedly turns away. That’s it. My last shred of patience snaps. I scoff - loud enough for him to hear, childish and deliberate. It works. He turns back, one eyebrow arched and gives me a look I’ve never seen before. A few seconds pass, heavy with unspoken things, before he finally speaks.

“What? Did you expect me to tell you I missed you? To please please give me another shot?” The words hit like ice water. My jaw drops, not to reply, just because I’m stunned.

Of course I didn’t expect that. I didn’t expect anything. At first, after the lake, I wondered if I’d see him again. Maybe Cheungha was keeping us apart, or maybe it really had been a one-off. In the end, it didn’t matter - I’d had enough even before it started.

But still… it stings. Because somewhere, buried deep, there’s a tiny part of me that would’ve liked to hear it. And he knows it.

I want to tell him to fuck off. That he can be famous and obnoxious somewhere else tonight, just not next to me. Anything. But no words come. Instead, I silently admit he’s right by turning away, giving him nothing and too much at the same time.

“You’re such a dick, Ji. Seriously. Super low… a simple hello would’ve sufficed.” Cheungha mutters under her breath. I bite my lip, wishing no one had heard him, but apparently everyone has. The rest of the group pretends not to notice, which is almost worse. Cheungha’s probably the better person here for saying something, but all I want is for this to go away.

I last another hour, making small talk with Seunghyun before I finally excuse myself and escape. Cheungha knows why, everyone knows why. Jiyongs eyes meet mine for a single second before we both turn away.

In the cab home, I already know this is going to be one of those memories. The kind that resurfaces years later, when I’m already feeling low, to remind me how pathetic it felt to stand there, frozen, letting him look at me like that. And the worst part? Even when he was being a complete ass, some part of me enjoyed that he looked at me at all.

Ugh.

March 2025

I used to hate it when people said they were on cloud nine; it seemed overly dramatic.

And… well… I get it now. It's not just Jiyong. Well, he is a big part of it. But everything else as well. Suddenly, everything seems so easy and everything is going well. The simplest, but annoying, daily tasks are suddenly just fine. All the ideas I had for content at work spark interest and engagement; I feel proud of it. Life just feels good right now… Surely this can't be a constant state, right? But fuck, it would be nice.

Work is crazy… again. When is it ever not? We are so close to the start of the tour, I can't believe it's finally almost here. Ji is exhausted but excited. And maybe a little scared. I've heard so much about how drained he was during the last one, all those years ago, it scares me as well. Precautions have been made; he only performs on the weekends and a lot less in general. It's still a little scary. But he seems happy at the moment and knowing that I might have something to do with that makes me grin from ear to ear.

And it really helps with the content. Sometimes it also ruins it. Like when he flirts with the camera so much that I really can't post it, deleting the videos right away. Or when he suddenly breaks character and says my name. Definitely deleting that! It only happens when no one else is around, which isn't very often, he is careful enough. And then there are those videos where I am so fucking smitten that I start giggling… and he has that smug face because of it. Also, not gonna go public. But the tibits we make work… really work. It spurs my creativity on even more, as I said… cloud nine stuff.

When Jiyong drags me into a quiet room for the first time during work hours, not quite a broom closet, but you get the idea, I am a little nervous. This is… rock star behaviour that in my life simply never had a place. But instead of trying to get into my pants, he takes my face into his hands and kisses me like that is worth everything he has… while not actually risking anything. What a perfect combination. We stand there and kiss slowly, carefully, almost innocently… and then fuck our brains out at night… if we get the chance. Often enough, we don't. And complain about it plenty. But this is the reality of his life. And mine.

If we find the time though… shit. It's just hard to stop once you start. Only once make-up Noona scolds him for the eye bags he recently sports we try to get at least a bit more sleep, it really is needed.

Maybe it's that, maybe the pressure, maybe just a bug, but two days before the first tour stop in Seoul, I start a fever. I can count the times I have been properly sick since moving here on one hand. There was a 2018 broken leg moment that was pretty dramatic, but apart from that, I don't even get the flu often. Now… I have a fever, my limbs feel like jelly and I've spent the morning on the bathroom floor regretting my breakfast choices. Yesterday was already kinda bad and even though Korean work culture isn't happy about taking time off for any reason… the rules about coming sick to MY work are pretty strict. Because idols can get sick as well. I worked from home yesterday. Tired and weak and frustrated, because there is only so much I can do from my computer. But also feeling like I am missing out. It isn't MY concert, but we all work up to these big events and here I am stuck in bed.

But today I don't even care that much anymore, I think it's the fever, I have not slept longer than two hours at a time last night and time passes in a weird way, slow and fast simultaenously. When I made the mistake of telling my mother, she, of course, let half of my family in Seoul know and today, some auntie is supposed to come by to bring me soup. I haven't seen her in ages and we are not close enough for me to be okay with her seeing me like, in bed, in an apartment that starts to look like I feel. But in the end, I had to accept that I could need some help and texted her my passcode after she kept asking.

I have never been good at asking for help. And I also always had the tendency to downplay whatever I was going through, your average millennial woman basically. It isn't a good habit to have, but one that is hard to shake. And at first, Jiyong believes me because of it, even hardly has the time to ask because he is so busy. I had texted him that I was staying home because of my cold, but he shouldn't worry; it was more to just not make others sick. He had responded that he hoped I would feel better soon and then a little heart emoji. I had smiled at it and only this morning, he had called me, the team already at his place.

“It's not just the sniffles, hm?” Even though my throat hurts when speaking, I have to chuckle because of the way he phrased it. The same cute voice he uses for talking to the cats was now being sent my way, but I don't hate it. I do feel miserable. “No… I guess it's not.” “You should have told me, I would have… I don't know what I would have done, but now I feel like a bad…” Hesitation. “I would like to be there for you, you know?” “That is sweet, but… honestly, I don't think there is much you can do, I just need to rest and not… make others sick. Not make you sick in particular. And also… my aunt is coming by to bring me some food and help me.”

He still doesn't seem happy. I could hear it in his voice. “It shouldn't be your aunt, it should be me! I know you can… order groceries instead of buying them, but I should be the one putting them in the fridge at least.”

The example is oddly specific and funny in a way because I am pretty sure that Jiyong has never been in a position where he puts his own groceries away, whether store-bought or delivered. He has gone straight from teenager to pop star. But the gesture is sweet and I know what he means. Before I would starve, I could get food. But even the thought of carrying bags from my door to the fridge seems a lot right now.

“No, I get it, you are right.” I eventually murmur and lean even further back into my pillow, letting my wall down a little. “That… that would be really nice actually, I would love to have you around, but it's just not a good idea, ok? Just know I am taken care of and… in a couple of days, I am back. I'm just sad I'm missing the concert.” “Well… you will see so much of it on tour, you will grow sick of it in no time.” “I really, really doubt that, Ji.”

No response. “You still there?” “Yeah… It's just… fuck. It feels so damn good when you say my name. It's like I suddenly just… like the word itself a lot more.”

Now, no response from me. “Daisy?” Same effect, I know what he means now about my own name.

“No, I am here just… really… could need a hug right now.” Because he is good with words. And hugs. And because I like him a lot. And because sometimes a simple hug makes everything better, even a fever. Or at least more bearable.

“I'm gonna come over later after the last rehearsal” “No, Ji, you are not, you… just… I am gonna go to sleep, okay? I will drink plenty of tea and have soup later and who knows, maybe by tomorrow I am all better.”

Neither of us believe that. I would be fine - sure, eventually - but it would take its time.

By the time my Imo shows up in the afternoon, I am actually glad to have someone here. She doesn't hold back. Even though we aren't close, she tells me to get up and take a shower while she tidies the kitchen cursing under her breath and warms up some food. Back home, it would have been rude to be so blatant towards someone sick, but I have gotten used to it through that side of the family.

I lean against the shower wall and it really takes my last energy, but it also feels very good. When I step out, she has put on fresh bed sheets because I have sweated through the old ones, she has opened all the windows to let fresh air in and still it smells like rice porridge and yuja tea. When she sees me walking into the room, she smiles and I smile back. Thank her a million times.

I finish half a bowl of food and the tea is so sweet and sticky going down my throat, it all really helps. The bed smells nice and… it isn't long before I am ready for some more sleep. “You get some rest, girl. I will go out and run some errands and then I will drop off some nice fresh fruit before I go home and see how you are doing, yeah?”

Nodding, I already drifting off. My dreams were weird. Abstract, a little scary. When I wake up again, I am confused. The sun is just setting, so time must have passed. And there is a sound outside my open bedroom door, so surely that is why I woke up. Have I really slept from the moment the aunt left until she returned?

I try to sit up a little when suddenly Jiyong appears in the door frame. My eyes opened wide, as if I am having hallucinations. But no, it is really him. Tracksuit pants, a sweater and hair in all directions, like it always does when he has tons of hair products in it and then wears a hat. And a mask.

Right away, he raises both hands. “Look. I am sorry. I know you told me not to come and I get it… But when I tried to call you and you didn't answer your phone and I… maybe… was already in front of the door anyway, I figured I just… let myself in.”

Fuck. Right. He has the door code as well so he doesn't have to wait in front of it, just in case someone notices him.

“I know that all sounds super stalkery and not okay, I am sorry.” I am shaking my head already. But that makes me a little loopy, so I quickly stop again.

“It's alright. I think… I think I would have done the same.” I admit. Not our strong suit, I guess. “But… Ji, seriously. I mean this in the most loving way possible: Can you fuck off, please? I am so damn happy to see you, but… the concert tomorrow…”

It is hard to read his expression. The mask covers half his face, he is too far away for my blurry vision to actually see his eyes properly. And still his body language seems familiar. He is fidgety. I have seen it plenty of times when he gets nervous or uncomfortable. The more people he doesn't know there are around him, the worse it usually gets. Whenever we are walking up to the airport gates, my heart bleeds a little for him. And it's not that bad right now, but it reminds me of it a little bit and I hate it. Because I don't want him to be like that in front of me. Unsure. Because I am sure he gets what I am saying, but he clearly also is here for a reason. His hands grapple with the hat he must have been wearing. “I could just… sit here for a bit?”

And without another word, he sinks down to the floor and just looks over at me like a puppy that craves any sort of affection. Oh, good god. How am I supposed to have the energy to resist this when all I want is for him to crawl into bed with me, get my bugs and then we can spend a couple of days here?

In the end, I just flop to the side, lie there looking over at him. “Fine, I give up, you are a grown ass man.” I say with a sigh, the croak clearly audible in my voice. He sits up a little, a smile reaching to his eyes. “How are you feeling, baby?”

I shrug. “Well… not great, I still have a fever and I am just… so damn tired. But I had some food and a shower… actually, I am kinda glad you didn't see me before because I was sweaty and I smelled.” Now he is the one shrugging. “I wouldn't have minded. You know what I look like after a show. You have to smell that all the time…” We both chuckle. And yet know it's different, sick smell isn't nice. But I believe him.

Smiling, I just look at him for a while. “I am really happy to see you, Ji.” He matches my gaze and then moves his mask down to his chin. I want to protest, but I know it won't stop him. “I am happy to see you, too. I missed you… like…” A scratchy little laugh escapes his mouth, the one I have filmed in cute Insta stories, what feels like a million times. It makes him seem like a mix of Peter Pan and a grandpa, but also so very much simply him. “…so much? I miss you all the time, Daisy.”

Suddenly - probably thanks to the fever - I see him in front of my inner eye. Much younger. Different color hair. A very different expression on his face. And he tells me the opposite. It feels like a lifetime ago - that stupid Christmas party - and it's still hard to understand that that was the same guy - rude, full of himself and holding a champagne flute - in contrast to him, sat on my bedroom floor, eyes full of concern for me, desperate to just see me for a bit, ready to risk quite a bit actually for this. Hard to grasp.

“I missed you too…” I say with a shy smile and move a hand across my face. “One hug? Please…” I hear him say and I am too damn tired to say anything, I am still looking for words when I feel the mattress move under me because he has just climbed onto it. Ji lies down behind me, his now once again masked face appears on my shoulder when he moves both his arms around me. I take a deep breath and with the exhale, it's like all the pressure falls off my shoulders and without me realising, a couple more tears roll sideways down my cheeks.

“I am so glad you are here.” I murmur and put my hand on top of his. Honestly, if he gets sick now, it will be whether I touch him or not.

“Good. I am relieved. I… I think in the past I wasn't the best at… well. Not just boundaries but relationships in general. I don't want to fuck this up. I so badly don't want to fuck this up. I find it hard to understand when… when people want one to do things even though they said no, but at the same time I want to respect what you say…”

The long sentence needs a second to enter my tired brain. “I get that. I think that is hard for everyone, Ji, but I am glad you think about these things. Probably all we can do is try to be honest and… just say what we need. And I do need you… I just wanted to keep you away for professional reasons, but I really wanted you here… you made the right call, okay?”

He nods against my shoulder and holds me even tighter, a small laugh escapes him, tickling my ear. “I was standing outside the apartment for like twenty minutes and didn't know what to do… I had two espressos while I waited for you to call back.”

I chuckle at the thought. His heart is thudding hard against my back, but maybe it's just the coffee.

“Is there anything you need? Can I maybe… wait, the fuck… Why does this bed smell so good? Is this what your bed smells like after you have been sick in it for two days?" His voice sounds almost offended and I get that, but I explain with a little laughter. Auntie magic.

It's incredibly hard not to fall asleep in his arms. And it's even harder to tell him to leave. Ji just tells me about his day, makes me another cup of tea and moves his hand through my hair. Makes me forget that I am sick (well, almost) and that he should be somewhere else, really busy (completely) for a while.

So when the door opens again and Imo steps back in, Ji just looks at me, puzzled and I wake up like from a daze. She is talking loudly before coming in, telling me how incredibly incapable every single person in this city is. Ji shuffles up. But before we can move much farther apart, she has stepped into the room and then just stares.

“Oh, Imo, hello, you are back so soon. My friend came by to bring some more medicine…” Ji jumps up and keeps bowing. It would look funny if I weren't as freaked out. Again, back home, in the States, no biggie. Well, actually, still a little awkward. Here… even in our mid-30s, you never know.

She stares at him for a while. “Good, I have more groceries downstairs. Come with me and carry them up, boy.” Jiyong just bows again and follows her. Only turns around for a second in the doorframe and has an odd mix of panic in his eyes. While I bury my face in my hands.

Great. Worst case… somebody takes pictures of Ji carrying half a month's supply of groceries into my apartment building and tommorrow morning I will have death threads. Best case, I will get a call from my mother in a couple of hours, who the dude in my bed is.

When they return a couple of minutes later, Imo is just basically shouting orders and I hear a steady “nae nae” stream from Ji. Carefully, I get up and watch as Jiyong is reorganising my kitchen drawer, basically, everything Imo wanted to do earlier but thought too exhausting. It's weird and cute.

By the end, Ji looks kinda tired. “Okay, I guess… I will let you say goodbye, but… she really could use some more rest, so don't stay too long.” She tells him as if we are teenagers and Ji just nods and then bows and bows some more.

When my aunt is already on the way to her jacket and shoes, she suddenly stops. Glances at a shelf. And at first, I don't get it. It's where all my work stuff is usually dropped; I haven't touched it in days. And when I see all that G-Dragon merch, some magazines with his face on, I normally don't even connect it to the real person anymore… It's what I see lying around at work every day. But she recognises the face, turns around, studies Ji and then shoots me a bit of a judging look. I think she is aware of who I work for. And who she just found in my bed. But she doesn't say a thing. Damn. Perhaps I don't even need to explain to my mum WHO later… she will do it for me.

The door closes and Ji waits a second, then he turns around. I just walk back into bed and he follows me. “That… wow. She…” “Yeah, I know…” When he sits down next to me, he suddenly looks a bit concerned. “Do you think she will tell anyone?”

I know who he means. And good question, you really never know. “No, just my mother…” I say with a sigh and fall back onto my pillow. Jiyong lies down next to me again and moves some hair out of my vision.

“Well… I am sorry about that, I assume it wasn't the plan to tell her about me…” I think for a second. “Not like this. Eventually… sure. We are close. I want her to know, but…” Awkward. Of course, I want to tell the whole world… well, maybe at least everyone I know about us and how happy I am, but we haven't even talked this out amongst ourselves. And I enjoyed that. It's fluffy and light and I know things will get serious soon enough. So there is no reason to rush.

“Well, maybe I get points at least because she will tell her that even though your boyfriend isn't buff, he carried all the groceries up without complaining.” “You did… but…” I murmur, distracted by the word he has just used for the first time. “I am not your boyfriend. I know. But I hope I will be.” He says with a cheeky smile. There is a hint of insecurity in his eyes, but the way he says it, so forward, feels nice. I turn around and try to read him more. And that in turn makes him a little shy, maybe he thinks he rushed too much?

Two people in their mid-30s using words like boyfriend seems weird in itself…

“Is that so?” “Yes. I officially apply.” I grin. “Application is received and under review. We will get back to you soon.” He pokes my side. “In how many business days?” “We are currently understaffed due to sick leave, but we really appreciate the effort and are positive that…” I start coughing and bury my face in the pillow for a second, mid sentence. When I remerge, I give up the act. “You are the sweetest, you know that?"

He curls into me in a way that I haven't been able to resist ever since he started doing it. “It's all good. I wasn't planning on using your being sick to make you say yes. I just… want you to know what I hope this is when you talk to your mother. So I am not just some idiot your aunt found in your bed.”

I smile at him. “You aren't. You really aren't."

Now he smiles too. My heart feels like it's shaken and it's not just my body giving it a hard time.

Kicking him out is hard, but eventually I do. My bad conscience weighs so hard now, but I am still tired enough to fall asleep before he even texts me he got home.

The next day, I watch the concert via another team member's livestream and try not to be too sad that I am not there. Afterwards, Ji is so hyped, I can tell by the way he sends me the most chaotic texts and voice messages. “It's really happening, Dais, the tour has started.” “I can't wait to travel the world with you!” “Did you see how well that part I kept messing up last week worked out?” “And I hit… well, almost all notes during your song.”

My song. This isn't the first time I've heard about this from him. And I am not sure why I never asked. Maybe because I am embarrassed, I don't get which one is supposed to be my song… Well.

It has to be something older, when we met again last year, he had written all of the songs on Übermensch already and we hadn't been in contact for years. But isn't that true for all of his songs? Theme-wise, I also don't think I can get there…

Before I fall asleep, I look at the setlist. Getting nowhere. I should just ask him. Why don't I? But somehow, there is an eagerness to get there myself.

My eyes get stuck on the number 2014. It's that year. But… I mean, the lyrics… are about an established relationship that breaks apart, so how is that supposed to be about me? I truly love the song, I think it's beautiful in it's sadness, the melody and especially his voice could make me tear up on it's own. But no, that can't be about me. I pout a little, not able to think much longer without yawning again.

"Did you already talk to your mum?" I can't help but smile when that question comes in. "Yeah, she warned me that she thinks you might take drugs, Imo said she heard something." "Oh fuck." He keeps typing but I can't keep it up. "Nah, just kidding, I don't think Imo told her so she doesn't know WHO she found here..." "Evil, Daisy!!" He is still typing. "Doesn't know YET."

Yet. I grin wide.

---------------------------------------------------

Thanks for reading everyone <3 What do we think? :)

#kwon jiyong fluff #kwon jiyong x reader #kwon jiyong smut #kwon jiyong #gdragon fanfiction #gdragon fanfic #gdragon #gdragon fluff #gdragon smut #big bang fluff #big bang smut #big bang fanfic #big bang fanfiction #big bang #fanfic

27 notes · View notes

ladykailitha · 9 months ago

Text

Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 10

Yay!!! This story is back! I was able to get a little bit ahead so I put out a chapter this week. Caged Bird will be back as well, so yay!!!

In addition because Au Pair Boy is doing so well, I'll be putting it out on Thursday and just having two chapters of Around the World come out this week (I'm writing it all the time but last week slowed me down a lot because I wasn't feeling good).

In this we have progress on the Steve vs the pool front, Steve gets farther in his therapy, and Robin is the bestest.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Steve was sitting in his tower as always when Eddie swam up to the base of it. “Hey, I have an idea.”

“What’s up?” Steve asked leaning over to hear him better. He wouldn’t have done that for anyone else. Well, except Robin. He just didn’t trust them not to try and pull him into the water.

“Come with me,” Eddie said wading over to the part of the pool that had steps down into the very shallow end of only three feet.

Steve hopped off the tower and stood about a foot from the stairs. He gulped and shook his head. “No, I can’t.”

Eddie climbed the stairs to get out of the pool and cupped Steve’s face in his hands. “And I’m not asking you to. All I’m asking is for you to sit on the step, cross-legged and when you feel ready, dip your toes into the water. Just that.”

“Just my toes?” Steve asked, his voice wobbling with emotion. “Not my whole feet?”

“Maybe eventually,” he said with that dimpled smile. “But I want to start out slow...”

Steve gulped but nodded. He grabbed his clipboard and sat down cross-legged at the top of the stairs leading to the pool. Then as they continued to train, he absentmindedly swung one foot into the pool.

He didn’t even notice until he looked up to see Max and Eddie arguing with Robin. Max and Eddie were in the pool but Robin was crouched on the edge of it. They seemed to be very against whatever Robin was for.

He blew on his whistle and suddenly all three heads turned his direction.

“Don’t tell him,” Max hissed at Robin. “You’ll ruin it.”

“Well I think he deserves to know,” Robin snapped. “Because it’s fucking awesome!”

“He’ll freak out,” Eddie insisted. “I don’t want him to get self-conscious and get worse!”

“Hey, uh...” Steve said, unsure, “but what’s going on?”

Robin looked pointedly at his feet.

He blinked at them for a moment and then looked down at his feet. His whole right foot, all the way up to half his calf was in water. He looked back up at them in awe. “Oh.”

Eddie moved toward Steve slowly, hands in the air. “Now, it’s just your foot, you can pull it out if you want, or and bear with me here, you can try putting your other foot in the water.”

Steve set the clipboard to the side and took a deep breath. The other three also held their breath as they waited for his reaction.

He went to move his other foot toward the water, but he stopped just shy of the edge and turned away. “Nope. I can’t–”

Eddie finally reached him and grabbed his wrists and started massaging them with his thumbs. “You did so good with the one foot, Stevie. I was only expecting your toes or even nothing at all. Because this is just a first step, okay?”

Steve turned to look at him and gulped. His eyes locked on Eddie and lowered his other foot into the water slowly. The water was lukewarm and the gentle lapping of the water was actually soothing.

“Oh.”

Eddie’s grin was as wide as it was effervescent. “Hey there.”

Steve smiled back. “Well, hello there.”

“You would be a fan of the prequels,” Eddie huffed. “Those are trash, man.” He gave Steve’s hands a squeeze. “I’m going to let go now, okay?”

Steve nodded. “Oh, I know they’re shit, dude. But Ewan McGreggor is hot as Obi-wan and Padmé was either stupid or blind to go after Annie when that smoke show was standing there!”

“You like the boys, Stevie?” Eddie asked wagging his eyebrows.

Steve just shrugged. “I’ve been known to wade in both streams on occasion.”

Eddie just licked his lower lip. Max tired of being ignored splashed Eddie and started a splash war she could not win.

Robin shared a smirk over their heads with Steve, who blushed. Soon after they all piled out of the pool and into the dressing rooms.

They walked out talking and giggling about their celebrity crushes. Robin was talking about the how much hotter ScarJo looked as a red head over her natural blonde, while Eddie and Steve bickered about who was hotter, Han or Luke.

Poor Max just shook her head in disgust.

When Robin and Steve got into the car, he let out a long sigh and hit his head on the steering wheel.

Robin rubbed his back. “Yeah, I think Eddie was right not to tell you. Because while you got both feet in the water, you did freak out.”

Steve nodded. He probably would have put the other foot down naturally and been surprised when he stood up. Now...

“Come on,” she said with a sad smile. “Let’s go get you some ice cream.”

“And do you agree with her?” Dr. Hughes asked after Steve described what happened.

Steve leaned on his elbows and clasped his hands together. “I mean, I thought so at the time but now I can see that there were other ways that things could have gone wrong if they hadn’t told me. But I was able to get both feet in the pool.”

“Good,” Dr. Hughes said with a nod. “You’re starting think things through when you have had time to digest the situation. I need to warn you though, there will be times where one day you won’t be able to get near the water and others where you’ll take steps you never thought possible. I wish progress was a straight line, but it’s more like those bead toys at doctor’s offices.”

Steve buried his head in hands. “Is it worth it, then?”

“Yes, Steve,” Dr. Hughes said, “it will always be worth it, because one day you will look back and see how far you’ve come and be shocked at how much you’ve changed.” He steepled his his hands and pressed his forefingers against him mouth. “You recognized at in the first proper session that you might not ever properly swim again, has that changed?”

Steve sat up and rubbed his palms on his thighs with a heavy sigh. “No. Of course not. It just doesn’t really feel like progress. I had to have Eddie’s help. I would have never done it on my own.”

“And I wouldn’t have made you do it on your own, Steve,” he said gently. “The better your support system the further you’ll go in healing.”

Steve nodded. “I lost a lot when I hit my head. My friends, my parents, my hopes and dreams. I like what I do, but I’m not me anymore.”

“Losing your sense of self is probably one of the things contributing to your new phobia,” Dr. Hughes agreed, nodding. “And yet you were able to subconsciously put one foot in the water. Why do you think that was?”

Steve just shrugged.

Dr. Hughes chuckled. “I think I hit today’s limit on introspection, but that’s all right. So I’ll give you something to think about until our next session. I believe that the reason you were able to put your foot in the water without help is because you felt a sense of accomplishment when coaching Max and Eddie that you haven’t felt since your accident.”

Steve frowned, pursing his lips in thought. He nodded, settling back into the chair. “Yeah, I’ll think about that for sure.”

They wrapped up the appointment and Steve drove home to the small apartment he shared with Robin. They could afford a nicer place, but it was perfect for them. Decent rent, okay landlord, and quiet neighbors.

He made it up the stairs, but as he went to put his key in the lock, he stopped. He put this free on the door and leaned his head against its solid surface.

He always felt like a wrung out towel after his sessions with Dr. Hughes. It was just so draining. He knew he was making progress, but it felt so insignificant.

Before he could turn the key, the door opened slowly as to not make him trip on his feet. On the other side of the door was Robin. She gently pulled him inside, closing the door. She sat him on the sofa and then handed him a beer and a large spoon.

He was about to ask what the spoon was for when the microwave beeped and he was handed a large bowl of soup.

“Thanks, Robs,” he murmured, setting the beer on the end table and digging into the soup. Cauliflower and Wisconsin cheddar cheese. His favorite.

Robin came and sat across from him on their coffee table, cross-legged. “I figured you’d want some serious comfort after today’s session.”

He nodded, munching away through the whole bowl, taking sips of the beer to wash it down. When he was done Robin carefully took both the bowl and empty bottle to the kitchen. She came back and pulled him to her, both of them just cuddling on the sofa as Steve relaxed, bit by bit.

“You’re the bestest friend a boy could ask for,” he mumbled into her shoulder.

“You helped me through that horrible break up with Vickie,” she said soothingly. “It’s only fair I help you through your therapy.”

Steve sat up and looked her in the eye. “Except that was a one time thing, this might be for the rest of our lives.”

Robin tucked her knees under her and cupped his face. “You still do things that help me with the break up. You’ll change the station if me and Vickie’s song comes on. You’ll make carbonara when you crave it instead of getting it from that little Italian place she used to work because she might there. So let me do the same for you, okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” he murmured softly. Then he told her all about what Dr. Hughes had said in the session.

“It would make sense,” Robin said after he was done. “Like teaching kids how to swim is fun for you, but it’s not what you grew up doing your whole life. And you have a shiny new sense of purpose that you didn’t have before.”

“So you don’t think I’m hinging all my recovery on Eddie?” Steve asked sheepishly.

“I’m not your therapist,” she reminded him, “I can’t tell you that for certain, but Steve? It happened when Max was there, too. Had it occurred when it was just Eddie? Maybe. But I don’t think so.”

“That’s a relief,” Steve said with a sigh. “I’ll bring it up to Dr. Hughes next time for sure. But I think that he’s using Eddie to help me with the trauma. Like with the way he pulls me out of panic attacks, to the suggestion about sitting by the pool. And yeah it’s a bit sneaky, but it also makes sense.”

“Get Eddie to do the physical aspects of the breaking free of the trauma,” Robin said, nodding her head in understanding, “then he, Dr. Hughes deals with the emotional and mental part of it before and after.”

He let out a long shuddering breath. “I’m still scared.”

Robin gave him a big hug. “It’s okay to be scared, dork. But I’m here for you.” She stood up and held out her hand. “Come on, Max and Eddie are waiting for us.”

Steve gave her a bright smile and took her hand, allowing her to pull him to his feet. He had work to do, it was time to get started.

Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15

I'm not sure if it's clear enough in the story, Steve went home between the therapy session and his coaching of Eddie and Max. I hope that clears any questions about the ending up.

Tag List: CLOSED

1-@mira-jadeamethyst @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chameleonhair @sadisticaltarts @dreamercec @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mac-attack19

10- @aol19 @eriquin @tartarusknight @gloomysoup @morallyundefined

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailitha writes #olympic steddie #olympic swimmer au

73 notes · View notes

camaelias · 3 months ago

Text

Sunny Winter Day

CHAPTER 1: The Man Across the Hall

CHAPTER 2 - The Winter Soldier

CHAPTER 3 - Whispers in the wall

CHAPTER 4 - Black Coffee and Cookie

Pairing : Grumpy Winter Soldier x Sunshine Reader

Tags : enemies to lovers, angst, slow burn

PLOT : you get really drunk and bucky really pissed

Author's note : okay this chapter is REALLY long but it was so fun to write! oh well, enjoy

CHAPTER 5 : Ambient Empathy

The party wasn’t your idea.

In fact, it sounded terrible when Natasha first brought it up over lunch: something about morale, birthdays, and how Tony had a new whiskey he needed everyone to taste immediately or he’d combust from lack of attention

“We haven’t had a proper hangout in weeks,” Nat had said, her fork twirling through a sad-looking salad “And I’m not talking about a ‘let’s all sit in a conference room and trauma-dump’ kind of bonding. Actual fun, dumb fun!”

You'd hummed in agreement, half-distracted by the folder in your lap, nodding at all the right moments “And,” she added, eyes narrowing, “you’re coming”

You blinked “I never said I wouldn’t”

“You didn’t say you would either” Her tone was calm, but knowing “No excuses, you’ll even wear something nice, I’ll make sure of it”

That night the Compound felt like something out of a memory you didn’t have: warm lights strung up across the ceiling, jazz weaving into synth-pop, tables pushed to the corners so there was space to laugh and spill drinks and maybe dance if anyone was brave enough. Someone lit candles in old mason jars... the whole thing looked like a Pinterest board accidentally exploded in a highly classified government facility.

You were wearing a dress : dark cherry red, simple, fitted through the ribs, soft on your skin, comfortable enough to move in. Natasha approved. Your hair was down and your hands only shimmered faintly gold at the tips when you first walked in, nervous energy sparking as you scanned the room.

He stood near the back, shoulder half-propped against a column, dark jacket over plain clothes. His sleeves were long, cuffed once. Gloved hands relaxed at his sides. He didn’t have a drink, just a careful kind of stillness to him, like someone watching a room for danger that wasn’t there. He saw you almost immediately, his eyes tracked you across the room like a reflex.

You didn’t look away this time, just smiled. He didn’t smile back, not exactly, but the corners of his eyes softened, and he dipped his head a fraction like yeah, I see you too.

Fifteen minutes in, you were already holding two drinks you didn’t ask for (Tony), in the middle of a story you didn’t fully remember starting (Clint), while Bruce quietly explained to someone how your aura trick worked-“She doesn’t read minds, she reads energy... It’s instinctual, not cognitive, like… ambient empathy”

You rolled your eyes and made a mental note to talk to him about the term ambient empathy later.

The party was in full swing now-Steve was losing a bet to Nat over some 90s pop trivia, Clint was trying to play beer pong off the edge of the balcony (“It’s a challenge round!”) and someone had already spiked the fruit punch. You were laughing, actually laughing, when James reappeared beside you. You hadn’t seen him approach but there he was, eyes on you, something different in his face. Curiosity. Focus. A small frown pulling at the corner of his mouth like he didn’t realise he was doing it

“You okay?” you asked, half-turning toward him

“You glow more when you’re happy,” he said, low voice

Your chocked on your drink “That’s not creepy at all”

His brow twitched, “Didn’t mean it like that”

You tilted your head, “How did you mean it, then?”

He looked at you like he was trying to understand, not just observe, then he chuckled half amused half exasperated as he shook his head

“You’re different when you’re like this,” he said eventually

“Like what?” he gave you a side look before answering

“Unarmed”

“I am always armed,” you said, wiggling your fingers so they sparked faintly gold “Just selectively threatening”

That made something flicker behind his eyes. He chuckled again.

“Besides,” you added, bumping your shoulder lightly into his, “you’re one to talk. You’ve been standing there like you’re guarding a vault”

“I am guarding a vault,” he said too quickly, then he nodded toward Tony across the room “That man had 8 drinks and no filter”

You snorted “Okay, fair, but you haven’t even had one, a drink I mean” He flashed you a small smile, his eyes locked in yours

"I was just waiting for the right company"

Before you could respond, Tony’s voice rang out across the room

“Is that Barnes socialising? Somebody mark the calendar. Take a picture. Frame it. Start a shrine”

You turned, hand instinctively grabbing James’ sleeve, like you could shield him from the attention

He didn’t flinch

Just leaned a little closer and muttered, “Tell me he’s not coming over here”

“He’s absolutely coming over here”

“Cool,” James muttered “Love that for me”

And then, yep. Tony Stark.

“Barnes,” he grinned “Looking downright festive; is that a brooding pose or do you need to be rebooted?”

You opened your mouth to intervene, but James cut in first : “Tony”

One word

Flat

It shut Stark up for a whole two seconds, then he turned to you

“So, what did Steve and I told you about boyfriends young lady? and you are distracting our very much needed head of security to make it worse?" he took a sip of his drinks and looked at you behind the dark lenses of the party sun glasses that were slipping lazily on the bridge of his nose "You are a bad influence Sunshine"

“I prefer glowing influence,” you said sweetly

“She’s like a heat lamp for emotionally stunted ex soldiers” Clint chimed in from somewhere behind the bar

“Thanks, Clint,” you called back “So nice when you contribute”

“I contribute truth,” he replied holding up his drink

Natasha passed behind you and leaned in just long enough to murmur, “You’re doing great, he hasn’t bolted once”

“Good sign,” you whispered back

You glanced at James -who still hadn’t moved- and decided to push your luck

“Do you dance?” you asked, looking up at him with mock innocence

He raised an eyebrow “No”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes”

“That sounded like a maybe”

“I was trained in knife work, not foxtrots”

You shrugged “That’s just stab-dancing”

He blinked

And then, finally -finally -he huffed a laugh. Just a small one, but it was real. You caught it like a firefly and stored it away for later

“I’m not dancing,” he said, but his voice had warmed at the edges

“Okay then, it's drink-pong duel time then, loser has to sing karaoke” Said Clint as he passed by you two

James looked at you as if he was asking for help

“Absolutely not”

Clint was already dragging a folding table into place

“Too late, Barnes, you’re in the ring now”

“I’m not singing”

“Then win,” you said, flashing him a grin. A beat passed.

Then James rolled his eyes “You’re insufferable”

“Yet you’re still standing here mr James Buchanan Barnes”

Another pause. His gaze flicked down to your hand - your fingers glowing faintly again, not from nerves this time, but from something else. A quiet kind of joy

“You can call me Bucky”

You blinked at him. Not shocked, just… surprised

“Yeah?” you smiled bright

He gave you a nod

“Well, alright then,” you said cracking a grin “Welcome to the losing team, Bucky”

His brows knit “We’re teammates?”

Clint, already halfway through setting up the table, raised a hand “Drafted. Sorry. I called dibs on Nat, you two are the leftovers”

Michael, the SHIELD agent that you usually spar with, handed you both red solo cups like it was a relay race “Rules are simple: two cups each, alternating throws. First team out sings karaoke. You miss a cup, you drink. You land a cup, they drink”

You looked at Bucky “You ready?”

He glanced down at the plastic cup in his hand like it had personally offended him “I’ve done worse missions”

“High praise,” you said, already grinning “Let’s smoke ‘em”.

You were up first. Your throw was decent : spiraled a little left, but landed. Clint groaned dramatically and took a swig from his cup

“Luck,” he muttered

“My aura guided it,” you shot back, tossing him a wink. Bucky didn’t smile, but his eyes crinkled slightly. He took his shot without comment. It arced just right, hit the rim, bounced once and dropped

Nat raised an eyebrow at him “Didn’t take you for a party game savant”

“Didn’t take you for a sore loser,” he said

You choked on your drink

“Damn, Barnes,” Tony said, eyebrows shooting up

Clint groaned again “Great. He’s funny now”

Your next shot missed wildly : bounced off the table entirely and smacked into the edge of the couch, you winced

“Ambient empathy, huh?” Bucky said, dry

“I’m distracted,” you replied

“By what?”

“By how serious you look playing a game involving plastic cups and peer pressure”

He raised an eyebrow “This is serious”

“You’re smiling”

“I’m not”

“You are”

“I’m scowling”

“That is not a scowl, Buckaroo”

He froze “Did you just-”

“Yup”

He turned slowly toward you, deadpan “We’re not there yet”

“Okay,” you said brightly, “noted. No Buckaroo”

You grinned over your drink. He shook his head like he regretted every life decision that led to this moment. But he was laughing. Quiet, almost under his breath, but it was there.

A few rounds later, you were tied - two cups each - and the tension was starting to mount. The rest of the team had gathered like an audience, cheering (heckling) from the couches

“Pressure’s on,” you murmured as Bucky lined up his next shot

“I don’t fold under pressure,” he said. He threw. It landed. Nat cursed under her breath.

You reached out and high-fived him without thinking, he actually met it, and it wasn't a limp high-five either but a real one. Solid. Confident.

“See?” you said, bumping your shoulder lightly into his again “Dream team”

He smirked- barely there, but real “It’s a high-stakes operation, I'm adapting”

“You’re adapting to me, Barnes"

Another look. A little longer this time

“Yeah,” he said, “I guess I am”

You opened your mouth to respond, but Clint’s voice cut in:

“Okay, flirting team, wrap it up, last round.”

Steve snorted

Final shot. You held your breath as Bucky leaned forward, lined it up, and missed by a hair. Clint whooped.

“You had one job,” you said, mock-scandalized

Bucky tilted his head at you “You missed three” he had an almost amused half smile. You sighed dramatically and downed the last of your drink “Fine. We’ll sing, but I pick the song”

He blinked “You’re actually doing it?”

“You’re not?”

He stared at you like you’d just suggested cartwheeling off the roof “I don’t sing”

You held out your hand “Time to adapt, Bucky”

He looked at your hand for a beat, and just before he took it Tony clapped his hands, the sound slicing clean through the post-game chatter

“Alright, alright, put the karaoke mic down, Barnes,” he said, pointing directly at you “We’ve got unfinished business. You lost. That means party trick” Tony grinned excited

You stopped in your tracks “Oh come on, Tony”

“Yes!” Natasha called from her throne of throw pillows on the couch

“Obligatory, mandatory,” Clint added, raising his glass “Don’t deny us Glowbug”

You shot Bucky a look “You see what I put up with?”

He shrugged, pretending to be neutral, but there was the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth

“C’mon young lady” Tony said, smug as ever “Light show, like right now”

“I’m not- ” you started

“It’s fine,” Bruce interjected gently, stepping in like the calming presence he always was “You’ve got control now, just keep it ambient”

You shot him a look. “We’ve talked about the phrase ‘keep it ambient’ I sound like a scented candle” You sighed dramatically “Fine. You people are relentless”

You took a breath. Just one, in and out, then you let it happen

From your fingertips, golden light began to rise : slow, soft, not blinding or loud. It shimmered like dusk on still water.

The gold shimmered outward in waves, it brushed against the people closest to you first. Clint blinked, then blinked again, murmuring something like whoa. Natasha’s mouth twitched faintly at the corner, and Steve, who’d been sitting stiffly in the corner for most of the night, visibly exhaled like a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying had just slipped off his shoulders. And that’s when you felt it.

A pull

Something… giving, releasing, like your light had found a frequency beyond visibility. You didn’t know what it was doing exactly, only that the moment it passed through someone, something quiet inside them seemed to shift. A softening relief.

You turned slightly and saw Bucky. His eyes were closed, ot tight, not defensive, just… still

The glow hovered near him and, strangely, stayed

It didn’t bounce or ripple, it just lingered. Settled on his shoulders. You watched how the lines in his face had eased. His jaw, always tight, had unclenched, and his chest rose slow, deep, as though he’d been holding a breath since the moment he walked through the door. For a moment everything was quiet.

You blinked once, then again, hands still faintly aglow. The warmth had dimmed a little, but your fingertips still pulsed with that same golden shimmer.

You didn’t know what just happened, you’d never done that before

“Okay,” you said, voice trying very hard not to shake “That’s… new”

Bruce was in front of you before the last word even left your mouth, glasses already pulled from the inside pocket of his cardigan. His eyes were lit up, the way only a scientist's can be when the theory starts cracking open in real time.

He didn’t touch you, Bruce was too gentle for that, but his eyes flicked from your hands to your face and back again, like maybe the glow would spell something out for him if he just stared hard enough.

“Did you feel that?” he asked, “That was, wow, that was like... like an emotional transference field. You weren’t just projecting light, you were regulating...modulating energy at a neurochemical level”

Steve leaned in from behind him, his eyes going from him to you with a slight frown “Alright, dial it down... please translate”

Bruce waved a hand “She’s like… you know how sunlight helps regulate circadian rhythms and makes people feel better?”

Tony blinked “No”

“Vitamin D, mood stabilisation, overall emotional uplift,” Bruce clarified, gesturing vaguely toward you “She’s that. But, like… concentrated”

“So what I’m hearing is,” Tony said, pointing with his drink, “she’s the cure to seasonal depression in a dress, got it”

Clint snorted from the couch and made a joke you didn't hear, Steve was still standing just to the side, arms crossed loosely, and there was something soft behind his eyes. Almost proud, like watching a kid hit their first home run

“That was good,” he said simply “Whatever that was, you gave people something”

You tried to smile at him. You really, really did

But your chest—

God

Your chest was on fire

You could feel it beneath your ribs, blooming slow and deep like molten glass. It didn’t pulse, it throbbed and radiated. Not a sharp pain but a consuming one. You wrapped your arms around yourself without realising it, the gesture small, instinctive, a poor shield for something that felt like you chewed broken glass

A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle. Except sometimes it does. Sometimes it burns all the way down to do it.

They didn’t notice

Natasha had turned back to Steve, muttering something about new training routines, Bruce was practically vibrating with hypotheses, Tony had returned to his corner of the party already trying to figure out how to harness your powers for sustainable nightlife energy. Laughter was returning, the moment was fading. Except for one pair of eyes. He was still watching.

Bucky.

You looked away quickly. Too fast. Which of course made it worse.

He started walking toward you

“I need a drink,” you said to no one in particular, already turning “Like, now”

No one argued, no one followed except-

“Hey,” came a voice low behind you as you reached the makeshift bar, already fumbling with one of the vodka bottles, hands shaking just enough to spill a few drops “You alright?”

You didn’t turn around. Just popped the cap, took a long sip

“Peachy,” you said

A beat

Then another

Then, gently, “Don’t lie”

You swallowed hard, and when you finally turned your head he was right there. Not hovering, just there, steady as ever. His brows were drawn, mouth flat. One gloved hand flexed at his side like he wanted to reach out and didn’t know if he was allowed to. You didn’t mean to say it out loud but it slipped

“It hurts”

There. Soft. Barely audible.

But he heard you, you knew he did. His jaw tightened.

You waited for the lecture : the suggestion to sit down, to tell Bruce, to get medical, to stop using your powers so recklessly, but it didn’t come.

He just stood there, watching you, and said

“You don’t have to prove anything tonight”

That’s what undid you. You blinked fast, shook your head, smiled like it didn’t mean anything. Then tipped your vodka bottle toward him

“Let me have tonight,” you said “Just this, let me be fine”

He didn’t answer, not out loud, but his eyes—those goddamn eyes—they said he knew you were lying. And they said he’d let you do it anyway just this once. So you threw back the rest of your drink and let yourself spin back into the noise and the light and the mess of bodies and laughter, trying to forget the way your ribs still burned and the fact that you’d just become something new.

The second drink went down too easy.

You weren’t a lightweight, exactly, but pain made the edges of everything sharper, and liquor dulled just enough of it to make the buzz feel like a mercy. You could still feel the burn behind your ribs, soft and searing like a glowing coal, but it was background now. Manageable and far away.

So you drank again

And then, well, you came alive.

It started with the shoes

You’d kicked them off somewhere near the armchair Bruce had claimed and now padded barefoot across the compound’s sleek floors like it was your own personal runway. Your hair was loose, your eyes shimmered, every movement sparked a little glow that you couldn’t quite contain, but for once, you didn’t try. You dance without freely, giggling and laughing every time you would lose your balance a bit

“God, she’s drunk,” said Tony, delighted

“I’m festive,” you corrected, now spinning on your heel

Tony leaned in toward Steve “That’s your cue Cap. She’s gonna fall over and take out the new speakers”

But Steve just sipped his cider, amused “She’s alright”

“Oh, I’m amazing,” you announced, arms raised dramatically as you swayed toward the makeshift dance floor “I’m the emotional support rave this party never knew it needed”

Bucky watched all of this happen like a man trapped in a hostage situation no one else could see. He stood stiff near the bar, arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, like he was ready to lunge at the first sign of disaster. And given the way your barefoot self just tripped over a beanbag chair trying to curtsy to Pepper, he was seeing disaster where everyone else saw charm. Steve stepped beside him

“She’s got energy tonight” Bucky didn’t respond

“Different than the last few weeks,” Steve tried again, nodding toward you as you laughed so hard at something Natasha said you nearly spilled your drink “It’s good to see her smile”

“She’s drunk,” Bucky muttered

Steve raised a brow “So?”

“So she’s gonna fall, or light something on fire, or both”

Steve gave him a long, assessing look

Then, lightly “You know you can just say you’re worried about her”

“I’m not”

“Sure”

“She is my mission” a muscle of his jawline jumped as he almost gave himself away "you all are, I'm the head of security and she is not being careful"

“Okay”

Steve smiled silently as he sipped his cider again, searched for Tony's eyes through the crowd and gave the tiniest nod towards Bucky when he found them. Bucky's eyes on the other hand flicked toward you every time you were more than 5 meters away. When you leaned a little too far back laughing, he straightened. When you stumbled near the balcony, he took a single step forward before catching himself and clenching his fists.

He didn’t know when he started watching out for you.

He just did.

It was muscle memory now, like breathing

Tony noticed

“Barnes,” he said, slinging an arm around Bucky’s tense shoulders, “you are vibrating at a very specific frequency and I think I know what it is”

Bucky gave him a slow, unimpressed stare “Don’t”

“Protective. Irritable. You keep tracking her like a sniper scope in a soap opera. Don’t worry,” Tony said breezily, “we’ve all had a thing for her at some point. It’s the light. Very biblical.”

“Do you want to be punched?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, but I get it-”

Bucky didn’t hear the rest, because you were laughing again and this time it was a full-body laugh: head thrown back, eyes crinkled, hand over your chest like you couldn’t contain it. Natasha was pretending to be offended, Clint was gasping for breath. Whatever you’d said, it had landed. Hard.

And you were glowing again

Not just your hands this time, your whole damn body. It was subtle, like the light had seeped under your skin and decided to stay, like it belonged there, and that, that was the part that pissed him off

Not the danger, not the recklessness, it was the joy

You were joy in a bottle someone shook too hard and left uncorked, and even in pain, you gave it freely, carelessly

And he hated it

He caught you by the elbow when you nearly slipped on a puddle of spilled cider, steadied you, and said gruffly, “You’re gonna fall”

You looked up at him, eyes glazed and bright, lips pink with drink and laughter

“Oh hey, soldier,” you said, beaming “You came to dance?”

“I came to make sure you don’t break your neck”

“You’re no fun”

“And you’re drunk”

“And you’re hot when you’re worried,” you said without thinking. His brow furrowed, his mouth twitched. You turned- well, spun, really-and promptly lost your balance. It would’ve been a disaster if it weren’t for the gloved hand that caught you by the waist, firm and immediate

“You’re done”

You blinked up at him, grinning “I’m not done. I’m just pre-pausing”

“You’re drunk,” he said flatly, one arm still around you

“I’m hydrated,” you argued, jabbing a finger into his chest “I had punch. Lots of fruit in it. Very responsible”

“That punch was 90% vodka”

“Tony said it was organic”

He stared at you for a moment, unblinking. His hand was still on your waist. You hadn’t noticed until right then how warm he was

“You’re going to bed,” he said

“Oh, how romantic”

He didn’t rise to the bait “I’m head of security”

“And I’m a delight”

“C’mon doll” His voice softened, just a little. He exhaled like he was weighing the pros and cons of sedating you and hauling you over his shoulder

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, you grinned like a child in response

“C’mon, ” he said, tugging you gently toward the hallway “Let’s go sunshine”

You stumbled a little but he adjusted without thinking, steadying you with both hands now, one at your elbow, the other on your lower back. Every point of contact buzzed, something that made your breath hitch

He noticed

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice low

“Totally,” you said, smiling “I just… got a lot of sparkle in my system”

“Sparkle,” he repeated

“Mmhmm” You leaned into his side as you walked “You ever feel like… like you’re too full of light? Like you’re gonna burst out of your own skin? No? Just me? Cool”

He didn’t answer

But his hand didn’t move from your back

The compound hallways were quiet now. Warm lamplight buzzed overhead, and your footsteps echoed just a little on the tile. You were still half-laughing at your own joke when you tripped over absolutely nothing and stumbled hard into his side

This time, he caught you completely

One hand on your hip, one hand curled around your wrist. You were pressed against him now, your chest to his ribs, your face tilted up because he was so goddamn tall and everything felt loud and hot and close.

“You shouldn’t push yourself like that”

“I know”

“You don’t”

You shrugged “I like making people feel good”

“You can’t do that if you’re dead”

You blinked

Something flickered in his expression then- guilt, fear, something-but it vanished before you could name it

His eyes flicked down to your mouth, once

Back up

His breathing changed

“Bucky,” you whispered, and you didn’t even realise you’d said it until the sound of it made his fingers twitch against your skin

He was drowning, you could see it. In the way his throat worked as he swallowed, in the way his grip didn’t loosen, didn’t retreat. His lips parted for just a fraction, and just for a second, just a flicker—he looked like he wanted to say more. Like there was a dam behind his teeth and if he opened his mouth again it would all come out

But he couldn’t.

Because somewhere in the back of his mind, the wrong voice whispered: She’s not yours. She’s the mission.

And he couldn’t remember why that was supposed to help anymore.

CHAPTER 6 - Do you want to stay?

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #enemies to lovers #grumpy x sunshine #steve rogers #ao3 #captain america #marvel #winter solider x reader #drunk reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes

40 notes · View notes

wren-kitchens · 7 months ago

Text

paint me in trust

2193 words

there are endless problems that etho could have foreseen if he had been told that the new game would be to link two people's souls with each other. just the premise of that sounds terrifying—what if something broke, and suddenly your souls are just- untethered from your bodies. etho doesn't know a whole lot about how souls work, but that does not sound very enjoyable. he’s still not sure how they’re meant to unlink after this whole song and dance is over, and for his own sanity, he’s decided to assume that grian has it all handled. although- etho doesn’t actually know if grian's own soul has been mixed with mumbo's this whole time. maybe he shouldn't think too hard about that.

and it only took me 5 months to write a part 2!

it's not necessarily chapters that follow immediately after one another, but these are all in the same universe, in order. I liked the idea of a slow burn esque kind of friendship between them and chapters felt like the easiest way to do it!

the sillies ever

[part 1] [part 2 - you are here!] [part 3] [part 4]

on top all of this existential threat, etho is quickly learning that, when you hang out with someone who you don’t really know all too well for a little while, you run out of things to say alarmingly soon. there are only so many small talk social scripts that don't sound rude when repeated more than once. after all, if you asked someone where they were from three times, you’d either look like you weren't paying attention, or very desperate. etho thinks he’s probably reached the very desperate stage.

it's not like he doesn’t want to talk to joel, it's just- how do you keep up conversations when neither of you have anything much to say? there's so much left unsaid in the awkward remarks about the weather and laughter at jokes that finishes too soon, but there's nothing else either of them have to contribute. which is- an enormously dull problem to have in the face of soulmates and unbreakable bonds: they've run out of things to say. etho thinks he'd rather have to worry about his soul exploding, or something.

joel, it seems, has also noticed the predicament they’re both in, because his contributions to their failing conversations are a lot more out of pocket than etho ever expects. which, to be entirely honest, ends up creating far more entertaining conversations than etho's failed attempts at civility ever have.

"okay- well, I have to ask,"

etho looks down at joel, where he's sat against the bed, on the floor. for the past half hour, he’s been idly carving what might be a wolf into the floorboards of the ship with what might be a completely different chisel than the last four etho has seen him using since joel made the ship last week.

"go on." etho says, a little amused.

something shifts in joel's expression, and etho wonders if he was nervous to bring this up. "where'd you get the scar?"

etho hesitates, and joel visibly considers whether he should have said it or not. "it's not- I kinda-" he tilts his head to the side, as if that could kick his brain into gear and come up with a better lie than his last one. quite frankly, he has no idea why he thought scott would believe that he fought technoblade. "it's a long story." he settles on.

joel nods. "well, I just- I was thinking we could swap stories." he shrugs, and etho gets the impression that he’s trying to disguise how much he liked the idea. "I- y’know, I have a few scars of my own. but- I don’t wanna, like- encroach."

"it's not- you’re not encroaching." etho can’t help but smile, against his own fruition. stupid joel. "what stories do you have?"

something lights up in joel's face, and etho feels a kind of softness in his chest. not that- it's unrelated. it's probably joel's actually- which might not be much better. whatever. it's not important. "you- I mean, they're not all that interesting, but-" he pulls up his sleeve to display what looks like a wolf bite. "that's from geraldine- y’know, my dog in 3rd life. I think she got confused, right at the end. it was just before I died."

etho leans forward to have a better look, and joel moves to sit next to etho on the bed, crossing his legs. the impulse to rest his head on joel's shoulder sticks itself in the back of etho's mind, and he very purposefully looks closer at the bite.

"it's nice." joel is saying, entirely unaware. "'s like I have a part of her with me still, y’know?"

"yeah." etho nods. "I never really thought about that- you’d lose your dogs each season."

still looking at the bite, joel hums. "I try not to think about it too hard." he grins up at etho with a lot more nonchalance than etho would expect after a sentence like that. "might go insane again." he snorts a laugh, and etho is suddenly reminded of his final moments in last life. "anyway, it's your turn."

"oh- right." etho pauses, trying to recall a scar he has that isn't followed by a very dull story. "I- well, I guess I have the one you gave me." he says, and joel cackles.

"i’d forgotten about that." he says, watching with interest as etho pulls his clothes up enough to display the scar. "oh- wow, I did a number on you, huh? sorry about that." he adds, a little sheepish.

etho grins. "there's no hard feelings. honestly- i’m still pretty impressed." he says, dropping his clothes again. "you got cleo and me in- what, maybe thirty seconds?"

joel gives a huff of laughter, glancing at his lap, and it occurs to etho that he’s embarrassed. wow, he didn’t even know that was a thing joel could be. "yeah- well, I didn’t really- yeah." he clears his throat, and there's something familiar about it that etho can't quite place. "i didn’t expect to- to win that." he grins awkwardly.

and- alright, maybe it's a little mean, but- etho doesn’t really know joel all too well. he’s just getting to know how he works! .. by intentionally trying to embarrass him. okay- in his defence, etho was fairly certain joel was impossible to embarrass, so- he’s doing science. yeah- sure, that's what he’s gonna go with. science.

"it was very cool." etho says, as nonchalant as he can. helpfully, he does actually mean what he's saying—even if it did end up with him dead, it was pretty impressive (if terrifying) to watch. "honestly, with you as my soulmate, we're absolutely gonna win."

much to etho's delight, joel is blushing, which- he's happy because is funny. it's funny and not- there's no other reason, okay. it's just funny. "I- you- thank you. I wouldn’t-" he meets etho's eyes, and immediately frowns. "you’re doing this on purpose, aren't you?"

"I- no, I-" even before he’s started a full sentence, etho knows he’s not gonna convince anyone. joel raises an eyebrow at him, and he immediately caves. "it- okay, I- maybe a little, but-"

joel gives an exaggerated scoff, and etho almost laughs. "I can't believe you would do such a thing, etho." he says, far more dramatically than the situation would require, but he seems to be enjoying the drama. "actually though- why?"

it's etho's turn to blush now, and joel's eyes light up with mischievous laughter the second he sees it. "it- there's not- it's unimportant. very unimportant, actually- it's just boring."

"go on." joel grins, teeth sharp. it suits him.

etho shoots joel a glare, but he can’t pretend to be upset in the face of joel's laughter for long. "okay, I just- you’ve never been embarrassed. that- that I could see, so I kinda- I was curious. about- y’know. how far I could push it."

there's a muted kind of warmth in the centre of etho's chest, which has to be coming from joel. the man in question just smirks. "okay, well- now you have to tell me about your eye. since you were so horrible to me."

etho hesitates. "I- okay, it's not-"

"i'll tell you about this." joel says suddenly. etho looks up, and joel pulls his shirt to the side, revealing burn scarring across all the visible skin on his shoulder. "y’know- it's a trade."

"okay- for that, you get the truth." etho pulls his mask down, not really thinking about it. joel looks a little taken aback, and it occurs to etho that joel has never seen his face before. maybe it should feel more uncomfortable, but it doesn’t. "so- I never tell anyone how I actually got it, except like- cleo and bdubs."

joel blinks, and the warm thing in etho's chest grows a little. "I- wow, i’m up there with cleo?"

"you- well, you’re my soulmate, right?" etho says without thinking. before he or joel has time to dwell on whatever that means, he says hurriedly, "it- everyone always assumes it's some huge traumatic thing, or like- a cool fight, or whatever, but. I- yeah, I literally just tripped. I was- I managed to land directly on the corner of my furnace." he gives a huff of a laugh.

"that- you're such a nerd, etho." joel smirks, still looking somewhat stunned. he looks pleased too though, so maybe it's a good thing. "you- and no one else knows?"

"well," etho pulls his mask back up. "now one more person knows." he finds himself smiling at the thought.

"okay, well- hang on." joel pulls his shirt over his head, revealing far more scarring than etho expected to see. the long sleeves of joel's shirt were the only things hiding it. "i’ve got them on my legs too, but i’m not taking my trousers off." he grins.

"I- how did you get all that?" etho leans closer, pushing his hair out of his eyes to see better.

"you remember when cleo set my house on fire in 3rd life?" joel says, looking far happier about this story than etho thinks he ought to be. or- maybe he’s just happy to tell the story to someone. etho decides not to think too hard about it. "well, I also set on fire." he grins. "they're also from that game tango made for those diamond boots."

etho winces sympathetically. "does- does it still hurt?" he asks, surprising himself with how nervous he is.

joel hums, running a hand over the puckered skin absentmindedly. "not really. I mean, you should know." he looks up, grinning. "soulmate and everything. it's just- it aches a little when I respawn, but.. not much."

before etho has time to think about what he’s asking, he reaches out a hand on instinct and glances at joel. "I- can I?"

"oh- yeah. yeah, I don't- I don’t mind." joel blinks, apparently surprised. etho is hit with a wave of embarrassment, but- well, it'd be a bit awkward to back out now, wouldn’t it?

the skin is surprisingly soft underneath etho's fingers, despite how textured it is from the scarring. it's interesting- etho has accumulated several scars over the years, but he’s never seen something so large as joel's. it's kind of cool.

joel gives a huff of a laugh, and etho looks up to see him grinning. "didn’t think it'd be that interesting."

etho shrugs, suddenly embarrassed but not wanting to back down. "it's pretty interesting." he says, and he can’t help smiling a little as he sits back again. "like- battle scars, or something. it's a cooler story than mine." he gestures at his eye and joel cackles.

"you said I got the 'truth'," joel says, pulling his shirt back on. "does that mean you’ve been lying to people about what happened?"

"I- well. a little?" etho says, awkward all of a sudden, and joel grins at it. "it- I just- it's not a good story, and I kinda- it adds to the mystery if no one knows."

joel nudges him, apparently entertained—or something similar, at least. "what have you told people?"

etho glances at the wall. "I- well, I told scar I fought herobrine-" he’s very rudely interrupted by joel's laughter, apparently overjoyed to learn this about his soulmate. "it- he believed it! that's not- I can’t be blamed if he believed that."

"I did think you were mysterious at one point." joel grins, and there's a kind of comfortable amusement in his expression. it's nice.

"what- you don’t anymore?" etho pouts, and joel cackles at it. he can’t help feeling proud of how good he is at making joel laugh.

"not now- you told scar you fought herobrine." joel says, and etho huffs a laugh. "you’re just- you’re a dork, etho."

etho pretends to be offended, and joel cackles at all the right moments, and frankly, etho's mask is the only thing preventing him from looking even more like a dork (in joel's words- he’s not a dork, for the record) as he can’t stop himself grinning along. it's weird, but etho keeps ending up being thankful for joel's bluntness or his loudness or his ability to take up so much space in conversation when it comes to these sorts of moments- all of which he used to find annoying last season. maybe it's the soulbound being weird.

maybe he just likes the way the ship fills with laughter whenever they talk.

41 notes · View notes

yellowocaballero · 1 month ago

Note

hi!! with obi-wan's 4/4 chapter uploaded i'm rereading the fic from the beginning (i reckon i'll be doing this every time one of the inner stories are finished because holy amazeballs, batman, stupendous work) and noticed that when rex & obi-wan are sparring, fives says "His problem is that he thinks too much ... If he stopped thinking and started doing then he could be a real beast." which i think is funny, or maybe grimly ironic, given that obi-wan certainly was in do/not-think mode when he... y'know... pulled a small-scale french revolution on the twilight. though i reckon obi-wan was in no state to be thinking, either way, with the whole... everything... happening. just a little detail i noticed thanks to the rereading! on a separate note, cody and obi-wan's relationship makes my entire soul hurt and i am constantly devastated by them.

while i'm here i also want to gush about new wave and the unique way it made me fall in love with steph as a character and also fall in love with girlhood. i read new wave probably once a month because the emotional growing pains she goes through feels kind of like a celebration of what young teen girls are capable of as they realize that they can, like, break out of whatever molds they've been put into (sometimes unwittingly) by the people around them. the first time i read new wave i was almost overwhelmed by how much i admired her moxie. and tim is SUCH a funky dude in that fic. reading how you wrote him in new wave & in your reverse robins au is a treat and a half. and i would pay a gagillion dollars to be able to read new wave from bruce's perspective, even though half of the narrative would just be bruce going ?????????? at steph every time she opens her mouth. bless her heart. i cry at the jewelry box scene every time.

okay, oops, a little bit more commentary. your writing style and narrative voice tickles me pink and is a merit all on its own. i have read some of your fics while having zero knowledge about the source material simply because i know that your story will be 1. funny as all hell 2. engaging 3. well-crafted and 4. thought-provoking. some of your fics were my introductions into that media and spurred me to go engage with it (even if it's a 200-ep long podcast) (or an 86-year-long comic run that refuses to settle on characterization, DC). you are an absolute virtue to any fandom you're apart of for a billion different reasons.

thanks for sharing your hard work with all of us!! blanche thirtied.

THANKS!! And rereading from the beginning is a good idea. Actually, I'll give an author's recommendation here. If you have, uh, free time. But once you finish Rex, I do encourage re-reading Obi-Wan with the information we've learned. Rex is very much the clone POV of Obi-Wan - I thought of it as 'what was actually happening' - and I think it will very, very much recontextualize the story. Muuuuch later I'll also recommend that people reread Rex after they read Boba, and that they reread Boba after they read Neyo.

"Later POVs giving new perspectives or explanations about previous POVs" is actually an important part of this anthology - I put a lot of thought into the narrative of the stories next to each other. I said that I thought of Obi-Wan's story as a flipbook - a bunch of disconnected vignettes and scenes that mean nothing individually, but when placed next to each other a much more damning picture emerges. That is the intention with the POVs: I want each new POV story to explain elements of what came before it. We frequently see WHAT people do far before we see WHY they do it. At a certain point I think something very big and important is going to click for readers, and I'm excited to see when it happens.

(This is why I'm saying not to read the rough drafts - they basically deliver information out of order, which hurts the story I'm trying to tell! Do not do it!!! Be patient, grasshoppers!!!)

Wow I did not address what you said lol. But yes, you're right to pick out that line - I'd keep it in mind as you read Rex. The clones aren't the kind of people to encourage thinking when you could be doing.

And thank you for the Steph love :) NW is very much a celebration of the good-for-nothing, go-nowhere, ghetto teen girls who have so much joy and spirit and so much to give for a world that will never give them anything back. I feel like the AU-ness of Tim is understated in that story, but it's very present - putting aside my joke of "NW!Tim is a Tim who had an early childhood special interest in cybercrime instead of Batman and Robin", I do think that B&R had a very big impact in his moral code and sense of priorities as a young kid, and a world where he didn't have B&R (in a Gotham that was seeped in unchecked crime and violence, and without hope) I do genuinely think he'd be different. Like. Um. You Know. Unabomber different.

Thank you for following along with my work and enjoying it so much :)

#blanche thirtied............#i was really going to delete that. i was.#my writing #my asks

11 notes · View notes

elletheactualmenace · 1 year ago

Text

You Would do That for Me? - Pt. 4

Pairing: MCU!Peter Parker x Stark!fem!reader

Summary: Its finally Friday and Peter isn’t expecting what happens at your house.

Warnings: Mentions of physical assault (not in this chapter), Slight verbal bullying, swearing, suggestive (just a bit)

Word Count: 3.8k

a/n: Hello! Sorry this took so long, life has been crazy. I hope you like this part! Its getting exiting and the next part should be, if i write it correctly, more exciting. Enjoy!!

Thoughts = “Italicized dialogue”

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

After everything that happened during first period, Peter puts aside his work during his study hall to wrap his head around it. There is no way that what happened actually happened. Peter is stunned but finds it all hilarious at the same time.

“What does this mean for us?” He thought. “Or maybe I’m looking too deeply into this…” Peter doesn’t want to admit how you defending him warms his heart and sends butterflies swarming in his stomach. He admires how you could be so brave, so bold without a mask. Without his mask he doubts he could do half the things he does as Spiderman. Not that you knew he was Spiderman, oh no. You don’t know, and he plans on it staying that way, at least for as long as he can.

He can’t imagine what would happen if you found out. What if- what if you got hurt, or- or die- No. He can’t think like that. You’re safe, everyone is safe. Besides, if you do find out, in some miraculous way, he assumes you’ll be pissed he didn’t tell you, but the whole hero thing won’t be new to you. For now, he pushes those “what ifs” out of his brain.

“I still can’t believe she said all that to defend me.” Peter thinks blushing with a giddy heart warmed smile. “God, she’s amazing.”

He's astounded that anyone would do something like that for him. Sure, MJ and Ned did it too, but not in the way you defend him. He feels bad for feeling like this, but he just feels like there from different places, and they mean different things. Like you feel the need to defend him.

Peter doesn’t know if this should or will shift something in your relationship with him. But if something were to shift, he wants it to be for better, not in an awkward way. He wants this “relationship” to be just as healthy as a real one.

“For now, I guess, I’ll wait for her to talk about what happened. And when we do talk, I can say that this is what we both wanted. I can reassure both of us. It’ll be fine.” Peter concludes, just as the bell rings. He stands from his desk and heads over to the doors.

As he walks out of the class, he can feel all eyes on him. It messes with his senses and leaves him on edge. He just keeps walking. Even when he hears people whisper his name and yours and then some curse of astonishment. His hands tighten into fists as he holds onto the straps of his school bag.

He feels a person walking up next to him silently and before he looks he can tell it’s you. Maybe it’s your perfume, or maybe it's just that happy feeling he gets in his heart when you're close.

He glances over to you and a small smile graces his lips. You both walk in silence. That is until Peter, with his enhanced hearing, overhears someone say something about Peter and you. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep himself from curling into a ball in the middle of the hallway.

“Peter?” You ask and he whips his head to listen to you. “I just wanted to apologize about what I said in our first period.”

“Oh.” Peter thinks, relieved that this conversation didn’t have to wait too long. He decides to lighten your anxious mood, and makes a stupid joke.

“What? That you think Luke Skywalker is lame? Because, really Y/n it doesn’t bother me as much as I led on.” Peter says with a smile. You smile at his comment.

“No, I mean with Flash. I realize we should have talked about it before I told him, because now everyone knows." You utter quietly. Peter hums, thinking of how to respond in a way that shows you he doesn’t mind but also doesn’t show you that he thought what you said and did was incredible and brave and amazing and-

“And also all the other stuff I said when he was there." You add on quickly. Peter stays quiet, still contemplating what to say. Finally, he comes up with a good response.

"It's fine Y/n. Honestly it was really cool of you to do that for me." Peter is surprised at how cool and calm he sounds, because on the inside he’s got butterflies invading every corner of his stomach.

“Really?” You ask a little surprised.

"Yeah, and I mean, this is what we wanted right? Everyone to know?" He tries, repeating what he’s been telling himself all day.

A thought passes over him like a wave slapping him in the face. “Ask her about the thing,” he thinks to himself. “Now is the perfect time.” He reasons, as he gathers up the courage to ask you.

"On that thought, I can't remember, umm, how do I say this?" Suddenly his tone switches to one of seriousness.

"You know how you are helping me with Flash?" Peter whispers so no one in the hallway will hear him. His brows furrow as his face fills with concern.

"Well, I feel like a real ass for not remembering, but what exactly am I trying to help-"

The ringing of the bell cuts him off, annoyingly. He watches as you pull your phone out quickly checking the screen. And you give him an apologetic smile.

"Can we talk later? I have a history test to get to." You say, and he can tell you don’t want to leave. He knows you feel bad. But he also understands how important tests are and sighs sadly.

"Oh, umm yeah, of course." Peter mumbles out, he’s annoyed and a little disappointed but gets it.

"See you later." He says you both walk to your classrooms. He’ll just have to ask you about it later. But soon. He promises himself. Just in case he’s helping you with something bigger than what you're helping him with. That’s what scares him. But as he continues walking he tries to reassure himself.

”oh, good luck!” Peter awkwardly calls after you. People eye him with second hand embarrassment. He rubs the back of his neck, sighing

“Look, it's the smartass’s new boyfriend, penis Parker.” Peter hears someone whisper and then giggles follow. He dips his head, trying to sink into the floor. God, he hates how mean people are. He doesn’t care about himself, he's used to the dumbass nicknames. But for someone to make fun of you makes his blood boil. You’re too kind and- and pretty to be made fun of. He doesn’t understand.

Peter wills himself to let it go as he walks to his next class.

——

He really can’t believe how well he handled that conversation. He guesses that taking time out of study helped. But, when he tries to ask you the question again, you have another thing to get to. Peter tries not to dwell on it too much, not wanting to jump to conclusions.

When Peter gets on the subway, Ned starts up a conversation in the group chat with MJ, you, and him. After it's done, all he gets out of it is that you’re all going to be watching a horror movie, and that well, as MJ puts it, he can cuddle up with you when he's scared. He blushes so uncomfortably on the subway, his heart beating super fast, he swears other people can hear it, but he makes sure to play it off cool.

Peter eventually makes his way to his usual alley. There he changes into his Spiderman suit. Peter quickly webs his backpack to the brick wall of the alleyway. He’s learned from past experiences to try his best to get it higher up so it has a smaller chance of getting stolen. Aunt May talks his ear off every time he tells her he needs a new one, Spiderman activities, or not.

When his backpack is secure and his suit is on right he smiles. Peter shoots a web up to the top of the building and propels himself up. When he gets to the roof of the building he sighs, contently.

Being Spiderman makes Peter feel worth something. It feels good helping others. That's why he wants to help you. Or find out what you need help with. He cares about you, not just as a friend, not just as a crush, but as a person. I mean, how could he not care about you? You're perfect in his eyes. You’re smart, you're funny, you're witty, you stand your ground, you're pretty and you have a kind heart. He can’t even imagine a more perfect human being. And even better, you tolerate his shit.

He can’t believe that he’s in this situation with you, it makes his head spin. It makes butterflies erupt in his stomach. It makes him smile like a schoolgirl. It's honestly embarrassing to blush as much as he does around you. He wonders what you’re doing. He always does, really.

Peter looks out at the city from his high stoop on the edge of the building. He watches the people pass, he watches lives being lived. These are his people, the people he’s promised to protect.

During his patrol, Peter manages to stop a couple muggers, petty thieves and help a mother unload her groceries. Usually the ‘big bad guys’ come out later, when the night sky can hide their crimes, as Peter sees it.

Peter swings all over Manhattan, by the end of his rounds around the city he feels his body flood with exhaustion. He sigh in slight annoyance, the nuisance of having to deal with grumpy New Yorkers all day will leave a sour taste in anyone's mouth.

When Peter lands in the same alley he was in just a couple hours early he finds his backpack still webbed to the brick wall. He climbs up the wall, unwebs his bag, and jumps to the ground. He quickly changes out of his outfit and into his clothes from earlier. The awkwardness of being in his boxers in the middle of a New York alley has begun to dull out. After a homeless man saw, laughed, and then whistled a mock, and walked away, Peter was pretty immune to the flush of his cheeks.

Peter wings his bag onto his shoulder and saunters out of the alley, his headphones secure in his ears. He shuffles the songs in his playlist, and the song lands on one that reminds him of you. His lips quirk up. He’s not so annoyed anymore.

That is until he remembers the hours of homework he's walking home to.

——

The next day of school goes by with no hitches. Aside from the occasional odd look from passersby in the hallway. You and Peter manage to keep up your cover, undisturbed by Flash. But when Peter walked by Flash during first period, Flash immediately turned away in embarrassment. Peter smiled at the fact Flash was too shy to look Peter in the eyes.

Along with that, in every class you had with Peter, he felt your eyes on him. He tried to ignore it, assuming you’re lost in thought about more ways to make the relationship believable. He didn't want to jump to conclusions. Conclusions like: You were staring at him because you might actually have feelings for him that run deeper than just friends. But again, he had to stop himself from thinking like that. Because you couldn’t like him like that. Right?

It's Friday so, todays the day. Movies night at your house. Peter's eyes were drawn to the clock in every class he sat in. He couldn’t stop the bouncing of his foot, waiting for the final bell to ring. And then to meet you with you and both of your friends outside the building. You told them that Happy was going to pick you all up and drive you to your house.

When the final bell rings, Peter jumps out of his seat. He almost trips over the sluggishly moving people in front of him. But Peter swiftly maneuvers through the crowd of tired teenages and to his locker to collect his things.

Moving quickly, Peter stuffs his books into his bag before zipping to the doors of the school. He finds you and MJ already standing there talking. Peter dashes over, slightly out of breath.

”Hey,” He says as he waves to both you and MJ.

”What's up with you?” MJ asks, “did you just come from gym?” She asks as she chuckles. You smile too, and Peter finds his eyes drawn to you, longer than anyone normally should look at someone. But you don’t seem to mind, too lost in your own thoughts.

MJ sure notices both of you staring breathlessly at each other. She just scoffs playfully and shakes her head with a laugh.

“You two are too much,” She huffs out. “Get a room!” She says as she shoves you.

“What?” You ask as you turn to the sound of her voice, seemingly snapping out of your thoughts. And along with you Peter.

“Save that for later at the house, love birds.” MJ adds as she snaps her fingers in front of you and Peter's faces, making sure she's snapped you both out of your little trances.

“S-sorry,” Peter says as he blushes. He can’t believe she said that out loud, and with such ease. MJ just rolls her eyes.

Ned eventually joins us and soon after Happy pulls up to the front of the school. You call everyone over.

”Oh, look, Happy’s here.” You comment as you trudge over. “Sit wherever, just no shotgun, Happy hates that.” You chuckle as you pull open the door for everyone to get in.

Ned gasps as he hops in. There's two rows of seats facing each other in the back of the car. MJs eyes widen, impressed, as she follows Ned in the car.

“Damn Y/n,” Ned starts, “Sometimes I forget you're rich.” He says as he runs his hands over the leather seating. You smile awkwardly and you and Peter climb in.

“Yeah, me too.” You comment quietly as you pull your seatbelt on.

”Hey kids, you better not make a mess back there” Happy scolds you all, making himself known as he pulls out of the school.

”Hey Happs.” Peter calls with a small smile.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” Happy asks as he rolls his eyes. He then closes the divider between the back and the front of the car.

”Wait, you know Happy?” You ask, turning to Peter. You look really confused. He stutters for a second. You can’t find out that he's Spiderman. He won’t let you. He promised himself he wouldn’t. Especially with MJ in the car, she doesn’t know either. Oh god, what does he say? He just stares at you unsure. What does he say?

“He works for your dad as an intern, remember?” Ned chimes in. Peter swears he's a god sent. How did he forget about that? During freshman year it was basically his entire personality. Ned glances at him, letting him know he has Peters back. Peter lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding back.

”Right, that.” He says quietly looking at Ned.

”Oh shit, yeah, sorry I forgot.” You apologize, giving Peter a small smile, which he returns.

“How could you Y/n? It's where he gets his bragging rights.” MJ says as she rolls her eyes.

”That is, after you,” Peter adds on. “After all, if anyone should get bragging rights it should be the daughter of Tony Stark, not his intern.”

“Please, my dad does all the bragging for me.” You joke with a smirk and shake your head. Everyone laughs with you. Peter can’t believe you looked past his hesitation after the question you asked. He's just glad Ned was there to save the day.

Happy pulls up to the house in upstate New York and you can hear Ned, once again gasping. Ned practically presses his face against the glass.

“God, you live so far.” MJ says as she pushes open the door.

“I know,” You breathe out. “Sometimes I wish we had stayed in the Avengers tower.”

“That would be sick.” Ned grins from ear to ear. You all shuffle out of the car.

“Bye, Happy, thanks for the ride.” You wave to him through the glass. Everyone echos with their own version of your words. Peter waves to Happy and Happy waves back before driving off once again to park the car somewhere.

”How long was that drive?” Peter asks as he slings his bag over his shoulder.

“Forty minutes,” You answer. “with traffic.” You add as you stride over to one of the many doors.

“I would die.” MJ comments as she follows after you. Peter laughs, he can’t imagine going on that drive twice every day. You must do homework on the way home with that much time on your hands.

“Believe me, when I wake up every morning, I want to.” You groan as you put in a code and open the door. Everyone follows you as you walk.

“She knows this place like the back of her hand,” Peter thinks in utter disbelief that you knows the layout of this mansion. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised because you live here, but still, it’s impressive.

You guide them all to the kitchen. There you plop down your bag on one of the counter stools. Peter suspects that this isn’t the only kitchen in the house.

“uh, this is my familys kitchen, only my family uses it, sometimes the Avengers. You can put your stuff down.” You say with a smile. Your three friends take a seat.

“So, let me explain a bit about the set up.” You offer as you walk to the other side of the island and lean against it, facing them.

“We have a house house section of this building, and then an Avenger section.” You explain. “So on this side of the building it's more homey and you know, like a house.” You say gesturing to the homey kitchen.

“Should we take our shoes off?” Ned asks. You chuckle. “You can do whatever. We usually do, but you can keep them on if you want.”

“Where should we put them?” MJ asks, and you point to a closet near the entrance of the spacious kitchen. You walk over and slide off your shoes before placing them on one of the shoe racks.

”Fancy,” Peter smirks at you and you blush slightly and nod. Peter sees you blush and he can’t help but blush too.

——

Eventually you all make your way to the theater room that you somehow just have in your house. You all gather round in comfy seats with snacks from the snack cart and blankets. Peter, MJ, and Ned are astounded at your wealth.

MJ scrolls through the movies. You and Peter sit next to each other on a two person couch, while MJ and Ned sit together on another two person couch. MJ had insisted that you and Peter sit together. She reasoned, Peter would get scared and need his girlfriend to comfort him. You rolled your eyes, while Peter blushed furiously.

“So, how about The Sixth Sense? It's a classic.” MJ asks. You nod and look at Ned and Peter.

“I'm chill with that.” You note. Ned sighs loudly. You can practically feel MJ roll her eyes.

“Fine. As long as I can see your dads lab, Y/n.” Ned says pointing his finger at you.

“Promise is a promise.” You confirm, lifting your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, start it.” Peter says and MJ does. The music begins to rumble softly through the speakers in the room. It flows around you all, drawing you in. The screen flickers to life as the movie rolls.

As the opening scene plays Peter can feel your hand resting awfully close to his. The heat radiating from your skin hits his skin. Peter has trouble paying attention, his breath gets caught in his throat. And he's starting to notice a pattern of that when he's around you.

He can feel you shuffle closer to him. His body stiffens and he glances over at you. He makes sure only to move his eyes, not his head. He doesn’t know what to think of it when you move so your thigh is pressed against his. He doesn't want to assume it's something that it’s not, but, what else would it be? He asks himself. He runs through all the possibilities. And his conclusion is that you want this. You want him close. So he obliges, hoping his suspicions are correct.

As you move closer once again, your eyes still on the large screen, he moves his arms to wrap around your waist to pull you close. He feels you tense. And immediately he pulls away. Embarrassment and shame flowing through his veins.

But then, as if out of a book, you grasp his hands, and pull them back. He lets out a small breath. “She wants this? She really wants this?” Peter thinks with a relieved and thrilled smile.

You pull his arm back around you, to snake around your waist. You push your back into his chest slightly, at least as best you can while sitting next to him. You lean your head against his shoulder. Peter's heart drums through his chest as fast as it does while fighting crime. Almost faster.

Peter moves to nuzzle his head against yours. He sighs in euphoria. This is all he's ever wanted. Maybe it's not a kiss, but in some ways this is better. Holding each other close in a dark room is so intimate.

Peter closes his eyes, trying to savor the moment. He feels your hands graze over his that are wrapped around you. He moves one of his hands to intertwine with yours and the soft contact of your skin against his makes his heart skip a beat. His other hand sits securely around you. You let your body relax against his and Peter swears he’s dreaming.

You both just sit there. Both of you two focused on the close proximity to pay attention to the movie. Eventually though, your eyes slowly fall shut, and Peter can hear your breathing slow and soft snores leave you. He smiles, pulling you closer and glancing down at you. With all of his being, Peter hopes that the feeling in his heart, that this is too real to be you both faking your relationship, is not just a feeling in his heart.

Tag list:

@riordanness

@princess-ofthe-pages

@sunnyx07

@hollandweather

@crumpets-are-better-with-jam

#x reader #peter parker #peter parker x reader #mcu peter parker #mcu peter x reader #peter parker x you #spiderman #mcu spiderman #spiderman x reader

64 notes · View notes

staybabblingbaby · 10 months ago

Text

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.4 (Lewisia) a2d2

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 1,558

TO THE UNAWARE: THIS IS A PROGRESS UPDATE OF A CHAPTER NOT REMOTELY CLOSE TO DONE! PLEASE DON'T EXPECT A FULL OR POLISHED PRODUCT HERE

Notes: I told y'all that I was being lazy. We gotta play catch up now :c This is... roughly 1/3 of Ch.4? maybe more? I'm hoping to have them have a decent conversation but that's beyond me sometimes ^^;;

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, Flashback (yelling), pls lmk if this needs smthn more specific

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Main Part

The next morning marks a return to routine.

You roll out of bed half awake, sleep-mused and ready for murder. Your mood isn’t improved by the way you’d gone to bed - still in your work clothes with day-after mascara gluing your eyelids together.

A quick stop by the restroom to strip and scrub your face is a necessity, or you’re liable to just crawl back into bed and exist there. You brush your teeth while you’re there, doing your best to ignore grey streaks down your cheeks where your eyeliner hadn’t been as water-proof as advertised.

You don’t even know why you’d cried. After all, it’s not like you were the one rejected by your soulmate for no reason.

You do your best to shake off the maudlin feeling of the morning and lumber your way into the kitchen. You spy your twenty on the counter where you’d left it. You press your lips together to stop the bottom one from trembling and open the fridge. There’s a plate of eggs, fruit, and toast inside.

Taylor, freak of nature that he is, has been up for hours already, you know. He’d probably been up and out the door before the run had even thought about rising. Weirdo.

your roommate is well aware of how non-functional you can be in the morning, so it’s not unusual of him to leave you leftovers when he makes breakfast. The little note on top isn’t new either, usually a reminder, grocery list, or a little encouragement for your day. The whole thing makes you smile, usually.

Today that little note makes your eyes prick with a new wave of tears.

‘Give yourself a chance. Bet’s still on <3’

You very deliberately do NOT cry, though it’s a near thing. You’d done enough crying last night. But if you sniffle a bit into your eggs, well. That’s for you to know, isn’t it?

It’s a Tuesday, so after breakfast you drag yourself back to your room to throw on your largest, rattiest, t-shirt and a pair of leggings to head to the gym.

You can’t help your eyes from catching on the newly-bloomed marks on your skin when you strip away your sleepwear, and you realize that you hadn’t had the opportunity to study your mark in days. Things have been... hectic, to say the least.

In the name of returning to your baseline, you figure you can’t ignore this part of your routine either.

You amble over to your closet, swinging open the door to reveal the full-length mirror hanging on the other side. You don’t bother with your usual rounds of self-depreciation or daily affirmations. Instead, you find your eyes glued to droopy purple petals and blankets of white stars across your abdomen.

The names of the flowers come to mind with ease as you trace gentle fingers over echoes of delicate petals. ‘Bellflowers’ You recite to yourself, drawing your finger up thin stalks and back down dipped heads. ‘Edelweiss’ you muse, lightly tapping each fuzzy white star.

The knowledge comes easily to you, not from any cosmic force, but because of course it does. Your sister hadn’t been wrong when she’d said that asking a person’s favorite flower had been basically an obsession of yours.

The habit had started well before you’d gotten your mark. Before you’d even properly known what soulmates were, really.

Gardening with your mother had started as a way for her to drag you out of the house to get some sun while keeping an easy eye on you. Before your sister was born you’d spent many a joyous afternoon learning to work the soil beside your mother.

After the advent of your favorite gremlin, you’d spent those afternoons tending to the family garden alone. You remember being grateful to the newborn back then. Those solitary afternoons were some of the most peaceful in your memory.

At some point the ‘family garden’ had become more ‘your garden’. Your mother wouldn’t even bother to plan it out with you by your sister’s toddler years. She’d drive you to the store, hand you a bit of cash, and leave it all in your tiny hands.

You’d spend hours researching the best ways to nurture your plants. How to have them thriving more brightly, more beautifully, for longer. If you weren’t in the garden you were in the library by your house, nose buried in a gardening book.

You vividly remember the day it all went wrong.

It hadn’t even been that dramatic, as you recall. At least, not in terms of your parent’s usual fights. It was heartbreak- despair- that marked the day, instead of fear.

You’d been digging up weeds, clawing up deep roots with your gloved hands and a trowel, when your father had come storming outside. You don’t even remember what he’d said. Something about you always taking your mother’s side because of your shared hobby, you think.

Never mind that the woman hadn’t put so much as a toenail to the dirt since your sister had been born.

He hadn’t let up for quite a while, if memory serves. Stood there yelling at you in your safe space for close to an hour. Maybe two, but your child-brain couldn’t be trusted with the time. It might have just been minutes, now that you think about it.

Nonetheless he’d yelled and yelled and yelled. He hadn’t trampled on or broken anything, hadn’t even made sense. And yet, when he’d finally left, everything was different.

The blooms you’d worked so hard to nurture were no longer beautiful, and the soil you’d once called home was no longer safe.

You hadn’t tended another garden after that season. You’d seen your plants to winter, and you’d let go. You’d turn away from the sun and soil and leaned into your books and silly questions to fill the hole left behind.

You’re sure you left claw marks in the dirt.

Something like a gentle humming fills your soul, and you notice how tightly you're clutching the garden around your waist. You gingerly pry your hands away and study the crescent moons you’ve left behind, soft skin indented where petals should have ripped.

You wonder if you’ll leave claw-marks in this garden too.

You tear your eyes away from the mirror, ignoring the gentle tingling up your side where your fingers had dug in. You quickly toss on a camisole, forgoing your usual privacy wraps, and your t-shirt over that.

There was nothing for emptying your mind quite like running yourself into the ground at the gym. With full awareness that you’re going to regret your gym session later, you flee your apartment.

Maybe jogging all the way to gym wasn’t such a great idea. It’d sounded fantastic at the time, a head start on your cardio and a way to remove yourself from your negative headspace before you tried to toss around weights you barely knew how to use.

It had sort of worked, but now you hadn’t even entered the building and you were already a sweaty, panting, mess.

After guzzling down half of your water bottle you enter the building, resignation in your heart. Cardio wasn’t even your focus today.

The automatic doors slide open with their usual swish, and you’re greeting by the familiar stale smell all gyms seem to share, no matter how clean. It’s comforting, even if you do wish you could go home already.

There’s a guy already at the receptionist’s desk when you approach, talking in slow and measured English. His back is broad and built, huge biceps on display in a tight fitting black t-shirt. You kinda wanna squish them.

You try to shake yourself from your admiration, reminding yourself that there were very many well-muscled men in this place and that you’d always endeavored to keep a polite line-of-sight, even when they don’t. It hadn’t even been a hard ask, until now.

You really can’t help the way your eyes trace up and down his form. It should be impossible, you think, to somehow bulk up in only the right places, but by Jove his man has done it. This time you physically shake your head to snap yourself out of it.

You’d be polite if it killed you. Even if neither the stranger or the scrawny receptionist had noticed your wandering gaze.

Especially then.

While you were.... distracted... the man’s conversation with the receptionist seemed to be going a whole lot of nowhere. From what you can gather he’s looking for a short-term membership, and the receptionist is trying to tell him they don’t do that.

You know this to be true, even the trial period was an entire month. You’d specifically chosen this gym for that reason. If you hadn’t been able to stick it out for a month, you know you’d have never used the place enough to justify a membership.

Your sympathies to this stranger, it seems he really just needs a little less than a week. You know there are some no-commitment type places not too far though, so you wonder why he’s stuck on this place.

Their back and forth goes a while longer, but it’s evident that the beautifully-built stranger can’t really argue his case properly.

Eventually he steps to the side to make a call, and you’re able to approach the counter.

#skz x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #w.i.p fic #skz fic #w.i.p #baby writes #SGAU #Soulmate Garden AU #progress update #skz soulmate au #soulmates #soulmate au #stray kids soulmate au

24 notes · View notes

separatist-apologist · 1 year ago

Text

Long Live

Summary: All archeologist Elain Archeron wants is answers about the past.

Fate is determined to give them to her

MASSIVE thank you @abbadinfluence for having the idea AND allowing me to write - I've had the time of my life, this has been so fun.

And @octobers-veryown for being my personal Rome/Italy consultant- thank you for your knowledge, your time, and most importantly, catching when I used a particularly offensive and/or wrong swear word

Life moved slower. Elain woke each morning to open windows and her husband gone, already up for the day. She’d become lady of the house which was a whole job in and of itself. Was it wrong to weaponize her knowledge from the future to smooth things over between people? Maybe, but she did it anyway.

Partly because navigating this new world made Elain nervous. She knew everything in theory, but not in practice—and not in-depth. She made mistakes even children didn’t, which caused gossip about the barbarian the emperor had married.

She knew men had gone to Lucien to complain, though the results of said conversations were never shared with her. She’d asked once, laying on her stomach as she traced designs over his bare chest.

Lucien had merely flipped her to her back and with a kiss, urged her not to think about it. But she did, nervous that it was going to be his downfall. What had she already changed? Elain spun herself in circles wondering if everything they knew about the Empress was simply her, right now, doing exactly what she’d done. Had she been studying herself?

Elain tried not to think too hard about it lest she drive herself insane.

She threw herself into politics much the way Arina did, the pair like university students all over again as they read works long lost to their present day time. So much of it was fascinating but a lot more was painfully dry. Even Arina couldn’t get through half of it, groaning as she stared upward, bored to tears.

“Just ask Lucien for a sword and we’ll start killing people,” she said with a roll of green eyes. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

“We shouldn’t murder the people who annoy us,” Elain hissed at her friend. Marrying Eris had been a mistake—Arina was becoming far too Romanized far too quickly.

Arina shrugged. “When in Rome, do as the Romans do and kill your rivals.”

“Did Eris give you a knife?” Elain questioned.

Arina grinned. “I’m starting a collection.”

Of course she was.

For all the stress, though, Elain found she was happy. No longer did she have to wonder what things looked like—the vibrancy of the ancient world astounded her. She could see statues as they were, brightly painted in hues of red and yellow and blue. She could read the literature, could sit in grand atriums while philosophers debated passionately on topics they still discussed two thousand years in the future.

Sometimes she wished she could tell them they were immortalized in these discussions and their writings. That academics still taught their works and students still engaged in the same passionate debates. So many things from Rome still existed in the future, from their sewage systems to the roads they’d built, all the way to the language they used and the influence it would have on European languages. Their myths, their gods—all of it still existed as some faint echo of a past humanity would never return to.

And she wasn’t just witnessing it—Elain was part of it. Her mind couldn’t comprehend all of it. The whys, the hows—if it was magic or some other explanation they were too primitive to understand even two thousand years in the future—it didn’t truly matter in the end. Sometimes she thought she’d wake and find she’d merely dreamt it all up.

And other times she was certain she’d been born here for how natural it all felt to her. At times, Elain forgot everything else but the present—at least until something jolted her out of her bliss. She’d see something that reminded her of Graysen or her sisters or her home and spend the rest of the day wondering if they still thought of her. What they made of her disappearance.

She knew her sisters would be in pain over losing her. Gray would move on, eventually, and Elain genuinely hoped he did so with minor emotional wounds.

Her sisters would never forgive her if they learned she could have returned and chose not to. Elain was grateful they’d never know. Maybe that made her a coward—she simply couldn’t bring herself to care, especially as time went on. They’d continue their lives without her and maybe they’d all see each other again some day.

But not in this lifetime.

What had once seemed like a terrible decision seemed like the best idea Elain had ever had. Maybe that was all the lead water she was drinking, though. She was happy, and that was all that mattered. She watched other women marry, participating in the ceremonies as the Emperor’s Consort. She was part of festivals and just generally seen in the city with a guard of heavily armed soldiers Lucien made swear to protect her, even at the expense of their own lives.

And she had Arina.

That was enough.

Her favorite part of every day was when Lucien finished with the things he did to tell her everything, eyes bright as he stripped down to nothing. If he found it strange telling a woman about the political machinations of his empire, Lucien never said. He, instead, treated her like one of his advisors. He asked her advice on how to handle delicate situations both with his patricians and Senators and when trying to adhere to Roman diplomacy.

And then, once he’d said everything he needed to say, Lucien all but got on his knees and kept her up half the night. He acted like he’d only just discovered sex. Sometimes she felt the same way.

“Tomorrow I will be unforgivably late,” Lucien told her, hand on his stomach as he tried to catch his breath.

Elain rolled to her side. “Why?”

Lucien shifted, eyes on the dark ceiling overhead. “I’ll tell you when it’s over.”

She’d heard him say that only once before, and in the aftermath it had been an assassination he claimed to know nothing about. Elain very much doubted that was true, though his hands were clean. Eris likely arranged the entire thing, which seemed to be how things were done between them. Elain often wondered if Lucien truly trusted his older brother, or merely kept him close to prevent a coup.

She doubted being married to Arina would stifle his political ambitions.

That was a personal question for Lucien to grapple with. She knew he loved Eris, and figured Eris must love his brother to some degree if he was willing to stand by him even when everything he’d worked so hard for had been ripped out from underneath him. Beron had intended to drag his own son down with him, and never planned for his wife’s illegitimate child to take his own full-blooded son's place.

History said Eris remained loyal until he died, but Elain didn’t know how much of history she and Arina had already rewritten. They’d never know without returning to the future to read the books. She assumed something must have been altered since all records of Helena were gone save for Lucien’s own writings. She was here, though she didn’t dare leave a record other than her mere existence which was immortalized on coins and paintings and whatever doodles Lucien left in the margins of his documents.

She seemed to recall a half naked one with exaggerated breasts that had been so amusing at university and was now a little mortifying to think about.

“Should I go to sleep without you?” Elain asked, pulling herself from her endless musings.

“You can try,” he replied with that handsome, slick smile of his. “I’ll wake you up.”

“You’re a devil,” she said, forgetting he didn’t know that word—Elain quickly attempted to explain, foregoing the religious connotations to avoid getting bogged down with the future of Christianity. While Elain liked listening to Lucien talk politics, he loved hearing about the future. He was interested in the culture of her home, the art, the literature. She’d spent a full week explaining the Real Housewives to him in great detail while he’d listened, rapt and glassy eyed in his enjoyment.

Elain intended to explain Star Wars to him later simply to sketch out a lightsaber and see what he thought about it. She thought Lucien would enjoy that.

Just enough time had passed that Elain had grown complacent. She’d forgotten everything that happened during Lucien’s reign. She forgot the early years.

She forgot the coup.

The day passed like any other. She and Arina dressed and ate, talked with the other women living with them currently, and spent the later afternoon in the city buying materials for dresses and some rather pretty flowers likely handpicked by the small child Elain gave the coins to.

They returned home and bathed after eating and Elain intended to turn in for the evening mostly out of boredom. Lucien wasn’t coming back until late, there was limited lighting which made reading difficult, and the heat of the day had taken its toll.

“Where is everyone?” Arina asked, looking around the strangely empty halls.

“Wherever Lucien is, I’m guessing,” Elain replied glumly. Arina wasn’t having it through, brows knit together as she truly looked.

“Everyone? Even the children are gone—”

“To bed—”

“Oh please, there are no bedtimes here. I heard one of those monsters screaming at three in the morning last night.”

Elain, too, paused to listen. “Is anyone here?”

“What day is today?” Arina whispered, gripping Elain’s forearm before Elain could go any further. Heart racing, she only shrugged.

“I don’t remember,” she admitted. The calendar was different, the days rearranged according to the Julian Calendar.

“With me,” Arina whispered, turning while clasping Elain’s hand. If anyone watched them, it looked like two women merely wanting to be close. Not panicked, not scared—not yet. They walked as they normally did, eyes straight ahead as though nothing were amiss as they both counted back the days in their head.

When had it happened? The attempted coup that ravaged the city in flame—the assassination attempts, the upheaval? In her joy, Elain had forgotten how rocky the early years of Lucien’s transition were.

She’d forgotten his new wife went missing.

Arina closed them into the bed chamber she shared with Eris, locking it for good measure. “It won’t stop them—but we’ll hear the lock turn.”

“And then what?” Elain demanded as Arina made her way across the room for the collection of knives she’d bragged about. “We should leave.”

“They’ll be waiting to ambush us,” Arina replied coolly. “We have the element of surprise.”

“We’re also just the two of us against a bunch of men with swords,” Elain hissed, watching as Arina shoved a chair against a door. “There is no where to go.”

“Wrong,” Arina said with a relish, pushing against the wall. A little cubby opened, big enough for the two to slip through unnoticed. “You didn’t notice servants coming in and out?”

Elain wasn’t about to admit she was too busy admiring Lucien to notice what anyone else was doing, especially when they were alone in their room. Having given Elain a dagger, the pair slid into the wall just as the knob of their door rattled. They both froze, half hidden in the dark. Elain’s heart raced with fear.

“Where can we go?”

“The countryside,” Arina whispered before pulling Elain in. They still had time, though not enough. Not to mention, the last time they’d tried to flee they’d been caught by highway robbers and Arina had nearly died. Staying in the city was suicide, leaving a death sentence.

Arina’s grip on Elain’s hand tightened painfully. They only thing they truly had going for them was near prophetic knowledge of the future and, hopefully, a memorized map of the city’s layout.

They burst into the kitchen, a place Elain had never seen and was desperate to snoop around in.

“Not now,” Arina replied, tugging her toward an open door leading to the courtyard.

It would have been a clean getaway had that guard not been standing there. He was clearly just as surprised to see them as they were to see him. The pin on his armor didn’t belong to Lucien—it was another man's crest, another man's loyalty paid out in copper and gold.

“You ah…” he hesitated, clearly unsure what he should do. “You should go inside.”

“We’re just strolling through the garden,” Elain tried, offering up her most charming smile. “Surely you wouldn’t begrudge us an evening stroll?” His hand went to the hilt of his sword and Elain knew he had no qualms about killing them here. Arina took a step back, eyes wide with fear.

“Stand down,” Elain whispered, hiding Arina’s dagger in the folds of her skirts. She wasn’t going to die this day—not after everything else.

“For what it’s worth, I am sorry,” that dark haired soldier said.

It was Arina who struck, slamming her blade so viciously into his throat that blood sprayed everywhere. Elain had never seen rage like that, manifesting in each brutal stab. Channeling her inner Brutus, Arina hacked even when the soldiers knees buckled, brown eyes bulging in death.

“It’s over,” Elain told her, swallowing bile before she vomited everywhere. Oh, the movies made killing seem so easy. So elegant.

It was horrible.

“It’s over,” Elain told Arina, pulling at her arm. Arina swung, sharp blade slashing through the air. Her beautiful face was coated in blood, staining the blonde hair now hanging over her shoulders. “He’s dead.”

Arina looked down, expression hardening. “Let's go,” she said, reaching for Elain with trembling fingers. She’d lie and say that killing that man meant nothing, but Elain knew the truth of things. She knew the hardened act Arina put on was just that—an act. Underneath it, she was just as soft as Elain was, and just as scared.

“Do you think this is why there’s no record—”

“Smetti di parlare,” Arina hissed, holding a hand up to silence Elain entirely. “This is not where you die.”

But Elain wasn’t so sure as several more soldiers poured into the courtyard, unable to see them in the dark and yet clearly looking for them. Arina grabbed Elain, hiding the pair behind the large concrete base of the god Jupiter. Elain counted four of them, which wasn’t horrible, but they were well trained and armed, and they were unlikely to get away with another brutal stabbing before they were killed, too.

“This way,” Elain whispered. She knew the garden like the back of her hand—knew every shortcut, ever tall hedge, and where even the bees were kept should it come to that. They were somehow silent, dodging a chicken that hadn’t been put in the pens that evening. The servants seemed to have vanished, too—had they been told to go. Or did they simply know what was coming?

Trying not to feel betrayed—and failing miserably—Elain continued on, wishing Lucien would come charging in. She strained her ears for any sound of his thundering voice as he heroically cut down anyone in his way to get her. There was nothing but the shuffling of feet and whispering of soldiers looking for them. Elain could see no way out.

“Look,”Arina whispered, turning Elains head toward vivid orange in the distance.

Rome was burning.

It was a distraction, terrible as it was. A nightmare for her husband, wherever he was—did he know what was happening at home? Would he come back to empty bedrooms and blood soaked floors? Dead guards and her and Arina missing? She’d never wished for a phone more than she did right then, so she could shoot him a quick text telling him her plan. To tell him she was safe—and to hear he was, too.

There was only a stretch of silence before the screaming began. People flooded out of their burning homes both to escape a truly terrible death and in an attempt to keep the flames from spreading. Arina and Elain both stopped for a moment, half hidden by a copse of olive trees.

“He’ll crucify Hybern for this,” Arina whispered.

“If he isn’t slaughtered,” Elain replied, her voice cracking at the thought. Arina tugged, and the two took off again. They could consider the horror of the evening another night. For now, all that mattered was survival.

They weren’t lucky. When a soldier stumbled upon them just as they were headed toward the stone walls, it was Elain who struck first. He hadn’t seen them—was simply patrolling, sword still sheathed. Was it honorable to kill him? That was a question for the philosophers, though Elain did throw up when she pulled her knife out of that man’s throat.

Arina only grimaced.

“Do you think it gets better?” her friend asked. “How does Eris do it?”

“He’s a menace,” Elain managed, stepping over the still twitching body. “That was…”

No one ever mentioned the way you could feel the slice of tendon and muscle, the snapping of cartilage and the wet sound a human made when they tried to gasp for air that wouldn’t come.

Elain was sick again right there in the grass.

“In another life, Eris would have been a techbro,” Arina said, trying to take Elain’s mind off of what she’d just done. “And I would have fist fought him in a parking lot.”

That made Elain laugh. “I think Lucien would have been a politician,” she admitted, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand. “I’m not sure I would have voted for him.”

“You’d be such a Jackie though,” Arina told her. “Vogue would have loved you.” It was almost funny. Blood in their hair, hands shaking as they continued their journey through the garden in an attempt to escape Rome with their lives while they made jokes about being in Vogue.

They were so close to vanishing into the city. Mere steps away when they saw him, coming up the hill on a gray horse. Not Lucien or Eris, or anyone they recognized—but Hybern. He looked rough. Illuminated by orange glow, Elain could see an ugly, purpling bruise on his face. Selfishly, she hoped Lucien had given it to her.

“Arina,” Elain whispered, pulling them both behind the wall.

“No,” Arina hissed, back flat against the stone. “It’s suicide.”

“They think we’re dead,” she reminded Arina.

“He will kill us,” Arina countered, grabbing Elain’s wrist. “We need to run.”

“There’s nowhere left to go. Rome is burning.”

Arina looked over the wall again before ducking back down, unnoticed as Hybern continued through, flanked by two men wearing wickedly sharp blades. “What do you want to do?”

Elain sighed. “Follow me.”

LUCIEN:

Striding up the steps, Lucien had a sense of deja vu. I’ve been here before, he thought to himself, which—of course he had. Hundreds of times in life, even. But right then, he felt the hand of the gods stopping him.

Warning him.

“What is it?” Jurian asked, hand already on the sword at his hip. Lucien’s eyes cut to Eris, impassive as always. His brother looked from Lucien to the forum up ahead.

“It’s quiet,” Eris finally said.

Was that what stopped him? No, he thought, feeling phantom fingers squeeze his shoulder. Minerva was warning him, her presence looming large behind him. It wasn’t just the silence and the lack of bodies milling around—it was her voice whispering against the wind.

Don’t go.

“What do you know?” he demanded as he rounded on Eris.

Eris raised his palms in defense, eyes narrowed. “If I wanted to see you dead, brother, it certainly wouldn’t be a group effort.”

Their eyes turned toward the Roman Forum again.

“Surround it,” Lucien murmured to Jurian. “No one part of the plot leaves alive.”

Jurian vanished as Lucien took that next step. Eris glanced again. “I have no part in this.”

“I almost wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Lucien replied with a heavy sigh. He understood why so many who’d come before him were so paranoid. He could trust no one, maybe not even his brother.

Eris turned to Lucien, face blazing. “I won’t pretend I’m not angry. It was supposed to be me, not you,” he hissed, face red with rage. “But it was father, not you, who thwarted my ambition. And I sleep peacefully at night knowing whatever pit in Tartarus he inhabits is made more miserable by the knowledge the bastard son of his wife rules in his stead.”

Lucien took a breath, allowing Eris to add, “I’m with you until the end, brother.”

Lucien wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t afraid as they continued their assent. Even with Juran placing his soldiers strategically, there were simply too many unknowns. He could die here.

“If I die—”

“You won’t—”

“If I die,” Lucien repeated softly, careful not to let his words carry, “take care of my wife. Swear you will let no harm come to her.”

“I swear,” Eris replied, eyes glittering. “But only because there is no need to uphold it. You will be in her bed this evening while she tends to your minor wounds and praises you for rooting out the conspirators.”

That was a charitable picture of what Elain was likely to do. Lucien knew she was more likely to chew off his ear as she’d done after the games in the Coliseum. Still, that was better than never seeing her again. If he’d known that morning, when he woke up, that he might never see her face again, Lucien would have remained in bed a little longer.

He would have told her he loved her.

Taking a breath, Lucien forced himself into the same place that, nearly two months earlier had been soaked in Beron’s blood. There was a spartan group of senators, led by Hybern. Lucien should have guessed, he supposed—the man wanted war, wanted to push the borders of Rome into territory they couldn’t take. Hybern would fight Neptune himself if he thought it would win him favor and gold.

He was no better or saner than Nero in that regard. Lucien should have killed him when he first became Emperor.

“Oh, Hybernius,” Lucien said, adopting the air of a disappointed parent. “Is this what it's come to?”

“You’re weak,” Hybern replied, dark eyes nearly black. “And a bastard from Syria who has no business sitting on the throne.”

Lucien raised his brows. “Challenge me, then.”

Hybern gestured around at the Senators he’d managed to win over, their blades likely hidden beneath their togas.

“Challenge me like a man,” Luicen replied just as Jurian stepped into the open room, sword in hand. He handed it to Lucien with a grim smile, glancing toward the pair of open double doors.

“You have a rat in your number,” Jurian lied.

True fear slithered other Hybern’s features. He’d been so confident of his course of action, so sure things would work out in his favor. Now he’d die on the same marble floor so many others before him had, his reputation tattered. Lucien would get to write history—he’d ensure everyone remembered Hybern as little more than a pathetic traitor intent on undoing the legacy of Rome for his own selfish gains.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Lucien said, eyes sweeping the room. “I’ll let the birds do that. Your bodies will serve as a reminder to the populace of what happens to traitors of the empire.”

He was going to crucify them. He’d have them beaten and then made into a spectacle, forced to endure the humiliation of the city stares before hung up on the cross. It was, he’d been told, an agonizing death.

It was what Hybern deserved.

“Where is your wife, Augustus” Hybern whispered in response. Lucien froze. He wouldn’t dare. Eyes sliding to the windows at the far end of the room, Lucien found he couldn’t see his palace against the blinding brightness of the rapidly setting sun. Beside him, Eris had become taut with rage.

Lucien’s plans shifted. He’d kill Hybern right here, right now, simply to satisfy his need. The threat against Elain was too far—she was innocent in all this. Lucien advanced, sword unsheathed as Jurian motioned for the Praetorian Guard to swarm in. It was meant to be a bloodbath—and in some ways it was. In the chaos, Lucien lost Hybern. The smell of blood and the flurry of bodies, the unsheathing of weapons—it gave the traitor a chance to slip away.

Lucien and Eris were just behind, Jurian at Lucien’s side.

“Get them to the palace,” Lucien ordered, knowing he ought to go instead. “Get Elain out.” Jurian hesitated—he wasn’t supposed to leave Lucien.

“Please,” Lucien added, letting some of his fear slip from his otherwise cold countenance. Besides, he knew exactly who he needed for this endeavor. Jurian nodded, branching off as Eris and Lucien stepped into the city.

“You can’t trust him,” Eris hissed. He’d always been able to read Lucien’s mind.

“I apparently can trust no one but you and Jurian,” Lucien replied. “I’ll take men who fight for money over men who fight only for themselves.”

It was night by the time they reached the rather nice home Rhysand had made for himself. Lucien didn’t bother knocking—why should he? Everything Rhysand had was by his grace and mercy, and he could take it all back if he wished. Did the great Thracian General resent it? He had to, Lucien reasoned.

Rhysand looked up from a chair, dressed in a simple chiton and sandals. “Please, come in,” he said dryly.

“I need your sword,” Lucien told him without preamble.

“Why would I accept?” Rhysand countered, clearly bored with the whole spectacle. “I’d like to go to bed.”

“Would you like to kill some Roman’s before you fall asleep?” Lucien shot back, ignoring how the words felt treasonous.

“We’ll pay,” Eris added in a bored tone.

“It better be a lot of gold,” Rhysand grumbled as Eris tossed Hyberns emblem into Rhysand’s outstretched fingers.

“Only men wearing that,” Lucien said. “Kill them however pleases you best. Leave their bodies in the street.”

“Stop or I’ll think you’re propositioning me,” Rhysand said, throwing a wink at the pair. “Try not to die.”

Lucien only nodded as Eris sneered, clearly displeased with the whole thing. They turned to leave him, aware he needed to dress, just in time to see fire erupt in the distance.

“He wouldn’t,” Eris whispered, his expression sliding into fear. Lucien’s heart raced at the sight, mind terribly empty.

Rome was burning.

By the time Lucien made his way back to the palace, it was well into the evening. He and Eris had raced down to the sight of the flames, organizing the vigiles from their homes and beds to help citizens douse the flames. He trusted they’d get it under control, diverting the flow from the aqueducts so the water was more abundant where it was necessary.

But it took time—time that caused whole neighborhoods to burn to ash. The rebuilding would be costly and time consuming, especially in the middle of summer. If Hybern wanted to fund a war, burning his own city seemed antithetical to the cause.

To Lucien, it felt as though Hybern had decided to take as much with him to the grave as possible. Lucien wanted to kill him.

Lucien would kill him.

Drenched in sweat, heart pounding in fear, he made his way into his palace to find the entryway soaked in blood. Eris paused, too, sword held in one hand. They said nothing as they stepped over the bodies of traitors, men who’d sided with Hybern and had come to slaughter innocent women sleeping in their beds.

Had they succeeded?

Neither Lucien nor Eris spoke a word as they made their way over more bodies. Blood seemed to stain the marble walls, seeping into the cracks as it dried. How much of it was Elain’s, he wondered with dread in his heart.

His bedchamber door was wide open, the furniture strewn about. Someone had come looking—and hadn’t found what they were looking for. There was no sign of a struggle, that Elain had been woken by violence and dragged out. Still, Lucien wouldn’t be satisfied until he saw her, dead or alive.

“She’s probably with Arina,” Eris whispered, his voice hoarse. They turned for Eris’s bedchamber, which was far worse than Lucien’s. They’d clearly been in the room at some point and the scene of destruction was violent. Furniture was splintered and ruined, clothes pulled from drawers, windows cracked. A panel in the wall was left open—is that how they’d gotten out? Had they heard the commotion and made a run for it?

Lucien didn’t need to ask his brother to follow behind him. All he heard was his half panicked breathing as his mind began conjuring the most horrific images imaginable. He saw Elain’s body, broken and bleeding, eyes lifeless and her spirit gone. He could see no scenario in which Elain somehow managed to invade a swarm of well-armed soldiers with her life.

They emerged in the kitchen to a grizzly sight.

Eris exhaled when he saw that dead body. “Arina,” he murmured as though he were some kind of prophet. How he knew, Lucien didn’t ask. He merely followed into the dark where they found yet another body butchered with the unmistakable politeness that belonged to Elain. He could practically see the apology written into the skin beside the smell of vomit wafting upward from the grass.

“Where are they?” Lucien asked, turning to look toward the glow of the palace. “You don’t think they went into the city?”

Eris crossed his arms over his chest. “How much of the future do you think they know?”

“Too much,” Lucien groaned. They sprinted for the palace, though in truth Elain and Arina could have been anywhere. Was Hybern stupid enough to return here, when fleeing the city, living in exile, and amassing an army to better challenge Lucien would have been the smarter course of action?

In the end, Lucien and Eris found Arina standing before Hybern and six soldiers, kneeling before him with her eyes cast down. He was delivering some sermon, orating before a woman forced to listen. Lucien wouldn’t have wished it on his worst enemy.

“Step away,” Eris ordered, ending the long-winded explanation.

“You’re outnumbered,” Hybern said. Who had given him the black eye, Lucien wondered? Was it Arina? Gods above, he hoped so. The humiliation at being bested by a woman would follow him straight to Tartarus. There would be no heroes welcome for Hybern in Elysium. “Its over only for you.”

Lucien’s tongue was stuck to his throat. If Arina was here waiting to die, where was Elain? There was only one explanation—she was already dead, body yet undiscovered. It filled him with an icy hatred he couldn’t quite swallow.

They couldn’t take all seven without letting Arina die. Eris must have calculated the odds in his heads, too, and come to the same conclusion. Was her death acceptable collateral damage? Could Lucien look his brother in the eyes, could he ask for his support knowing he let his new wife die so they could retain control of the empire?

What would he do if it was Elain?

Lucien felt impulsive and reckless. Maybe he didn’t care. Why should Eris get his wife when Lucien’s was almost certainly dead. The unfairness of the fates to bring her to him, only to cruelly snatch her away.

He took a step forward as Hybern raised his blade for Arina. She looked up, eyes blazing not with defiance, but amusement.

“No—” Eris halted as a shadow moved just behind Hybern, slipping from behind a curtain. A moment later the sharpened tip of a dagger protruded wholly through Hyberns throat, causing his eyes to bulge with fear. He tried to turn, but Arina was on her feet in a flash, taking advantage of everyone's surprise to add her own dagger to the mix.

“I warned you,” Arina said. “I told you that you died tonight.”

Elain’s face was pale and splattered with old and new blood. She wasn’t built for war—Lucien’s sword was unsheathed, his mission reaffirmed. Hyberns soldiers never got within an inch of her beautiful face. They met Lucien’s sword swiftly, turning their attention to him and his brother while Elain and Arina continued taunting a dying Hybern as though they were Seers blessed by the gods.

It must have been terrifying final words, though, and for that Lucien was grateful for the pair of them. He’d laugh about it later. Right then, all Lucien cared about was Elain, staring at him with the widest pair of brown eyes.

She laughed when she saw him. Laughed even as tears began to gather in her eyes and laughed some more when her knees gave out and he had to hold her against him. It was nothing like Arina, who began yelling loudly at Eris in that strange language, hands flying while his brother merely nodded his eyes as if he understood a word of it.

Maybe he did. After all, Eris did say, “Watch your tone,” in a soft growl.

“Elain, I…” Lucien felt immense shame as he looked upon her. He’d sworn to keep her safe and failed at the first opportunity to prove he was a man of his word.

Elain merely threw her arms around his neck, face buried against his blood stained toga. “You’re alive. I was so afraid…so afraid…”

Lucien murmured nothing that was reassuring before Jurian returned with a good half of the Praetorian Guard. The night wasn’t over—but his wife was alive. Ordering soldiers to stand outside her door, the three returned to the city to help with the flames and sweep up the last few remaining dissenters.

They all met Rhysand’s blade while the Thracian General smiled widely, face upturned toward the inky night sky. He’d never seen the man happier which disturbed him. That was a problem for another day, another time.

Right then—all Lucien needed was Elain.

He didn’t bother washing himself, still coated in blood when he found her standing in their bed chamber.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, making his way toward her. Lucien meant to cup her face in his hands, but his knees gave way, causing him to once again kneel before this woman. Lucien bowed his head, hair sliding over his neck and if she’d wanted, she could have taken his head from him. Maybe he deserved it.

Elain’s dress rustled as she joined him on the ground, doing what he should have done—taking his face between her hands so he had to look at her.

“It was worth it to be here with you,” she whispered, eyes searching his own. “I have no regrets. Do you?”

“None,” he swore. “You are my empire, Elain. The only fealty I ever swore loyalty to.”

“Then rise, Lucien,” she murmured. Lucien did, taking her hand in his so they came up together. He reached for her then, kissing her fiercely. Elain had defied the very nature of time itself to be here with him, to live in this place. For him. She hadn’t stayed out of duty or some great love of the past, though he suspected it didn’t hurt that she was interested in his home and this place.

“Never again,” he swore, holding his wife close. Mouth pressed to her hair, Lucien repeated his vow. “Never again.

Two thousand years in the future, historians would examine the events of that July night. Papers would be written, accounts examined, sites dug up. Artists drew their renditions of the Emperor running into the street to put out the fire, of the Thracian Gladiator who fought side-by-side with Romans to quell a would-be coup.

And of the Empress who’d slaughtered the initiator of the plot. Elain understood, now, why there were limited records of Helena—because she was from the future, and couldn’t reveal how much she knew without destroying, perhaps, the very fabric of time.

Lucien wrote very little of her as well, though they did exchange letters that she knew would be mostly lost to time. Her face would be forever etched on coins, her memory preserved in academic works. In that way, she never really left her friends and family, though she doubted they’d ever see it that way.

But for Elain, it was enough.

#elucien #i had the time of my life fighting traitors to the roman empire with you #also that erina smut scene was stolen from the memory loss fic and just edited to fit the circumstances #i had to remove this line though and im sad about it:#Right then and there #Arina decided she wanted to be the girl he called whenever he couldn’t get out of his own head. She wanted Eris Vanserra to regret her.

44 notes · View notes