#lightly implied here and present in the fic this is inspired by

[artvm1s]

My part of the OP Fan Remix over on Ao3!

Inspired by as I hold your hollow heart by @betsib

[dovveri]

you can kiss a hundred boys in bars

synopsis: good luck, babe! - inspired fic (essentially sana left 6 years ago and you still can't stop thinking about her even though you're married to another man)

warnings: cheating, internalised homophobia, not chronological, implied sex, cursing

w/c: 6.4k

a/n: hi 😀 this one may not hit as many of the audiences but it was interesting to write. i zon't think i like it toooo much for how much time i spent on it (edit: the moots have made my day i do like this one a lot actually) but just one of those things i needed to get out before i was able to move on to the next thing :P weeeEEEEHHEEEE i love angst!!!!!!!

ok this one's going to be a bit different guys pls READ THIS or you'll be like what the fuck. purple text is the present. ty enjoy, that was it LOL.

▂▂⌇

you wake up with a migraine. it came not long after you married frank and it’s stayed ever since. you sit up on the bed, careful not to make too much movement or sound to wake your husband next to you. although that was pretty unlikely anyway considering how he slept.

you sigh lightly, holding your head in your hands trying to mitigate the damage.

your head starts drifting off, as it did on most nights these days. it seemed the only thing that ever worked to stop the pounding in your head was thinking about her.

▂▂⌇

funnily enough, sana was actually the reason you and frank had met.

it had happened when the both of you were at a bar after class celebrating the end of exams. sana being sana had made a whole group of friends 10 minutes upon entering the establishment. you were sitting back watching her challenge someone to down the most shots in one minute. you would have stopped her on another day but after the hell week she's been through with her finals, you figured she deserved it. and you'd be there to take her home afterwards anyway.

she's whooping and jumping around, turning back to you with a grin when she wins. the poor loser skulking away back to his friends.

frank goes up to her then. introducing himself with that kind voice of his, just making sure she had someone to go home with and look after her.

and sana adored the attention. she's flirting with that charm of hers that no one could resist. but strangely enough, frank resisted. he was a gentleman, not wanting to pursue anything while sana was intoxicated, instead, he asked who could look after her, and sana points to you.

▂▂⌇

you're not getting back to sleep. instead you silently step out of bed, grabbing your phone and the hidden pack of cigarettes you kept in the second drawer of your bedside cupboard.

you step outside onto the balcony, breathing in the cool night air, shivering a little as you wrap the blanket you left on the balcony chair around you.

you click the lighter on, the small flame illuminating the darkness of the night, the only other light source aside from the moon. you're thinking if sana's somewhere she can see the moon right now while you put the lighter to the end of your cigarette. is it night for her? was she asleep? did she ever think about you?

you bring the stick to your mouth, inhaling, feeling the roughness of the nicotine hit your lungs, and exhaling softly, watching the wisps of smoke dissolve into the night sky.

sana hated when you smoked. frank didn't like it too much either, but he was never able to stop you.

▂▂⌇

"do you have to do that here?" sana's frowning when you release a puff of smoke into the air.

"sorry. stressed." you mumble in response, cig still stuck between your lips.

"you know i can help with that. just not when you taste like an ashtray." sana's still staring at the cancer stick you're sucking on with contempt, she never hated anything but if you had to place your money on something it'd be your bad habit.

you're smiling sheepishly, taking the cigarette out of your mouth and smooshing the end until it's not burning anymore.

the frown on her face is gone immediately, she's charmed you listen to her so easily. and she sticks to her word, stepping closer and leaning in.

your lips meet lazily, she's got a hand on your cheek, the other at your waist. you're wrapping your arms around her hips, holding her against you as your lips slot against each other.

sana was an attractive woman. there was no doubt about that. the two of you had met during high school. she had caught you sneaking off for a smoke during P.E. and had somehow convinced you to go and get your nails done with her instead. ever since then you two had been inseperable.

it was after you broke up with your first boyfriend in college that you started sleeping together. you remember he had decided to call it off because he was going all mormon and was ashamed of having had sex already, calling you a 'sex-addicted whore who was sent by the devil to tempt him into the flames of hell'. sana despised that he made you feel unwanted, and even more that he blamed you for the break up. she needed you to know just how valued you were, just how wanted you were, and in her drunk dazed mind that meant worshipping you until you came crying under her. and in your drunk dazed, heartbroken, self-pitying mind, you let her.

when it happened again, and again, and again, and then not under any alcoholic influence, the both of you decided to continue seeking each other out for sexual relief whenever you were stressed, or in any sort of mood that called for sex. you stopped every time one of you started a new relationship, but you always found your way back into each other's arms eventually.

▂▂⌇

you curse lightly when you reach the end of your cigarette.

picking out another one, you’re repeating your actions, lighting it up, bringing it between your lips, inhaling, feeling it fill your lungs, and then pushing it back out.

there hasn’t been a single day that’s gone by where you hadn’t thought about sana. frank didn’t get it at first. he asked you why you couldn’t just call her, you two were the best of friends, surely it wouldn’t be that difficult to reconnect?

he didn’t know you slept with sana on the night of you and frank’s wedding. doesn’t know the countless times you’ve slept with her before that. doesn’t know sana woke up earlier than you the next day, disappearing into the early morning, no note, no text, nothing. you were too ashamed to try and contact her for weeks after that, it wasn’t until you came back from your honeymoon that you realised you were knocking on an empty door when you tried to find her at her apartment. it was cleaned out, no furniture, no remnants of her, nothing to prove she even existed. you had called her over and over, tears of desperation spilling over, holding back choked sobs that only grew stronger with each voicemail message.

it wasn't until sana's old landlord holding a 'for lease' sign in his hand comes and kicks you out that you finally realise you'd lost her.

after that, your relationship with frank started to deteriorate. what did you expect though? was it sana's fault? if sana hadn't left would you have lived happily ever after, the three of you together?

it took a long time to realise the answer to that was no. you spent years blaming sana for leaving, and when you finally came to the terms that you were the one who drove her away, it was too much to bear.

▂▂⌇

"y/n!"

you smile at the sound of sana calling you in the corridor, turning to meet her hug as she crashes into you.

she starts talking your ear off and you nod along enthusiastically, but suddenly she stops, looks down to your hand, intertwined with someone else's.

"oh. who's this y/n?"

you look over at your newest boyfriend in surprise, almost forgetting he was holding your hand and standing next to you. you tended to forget a lot of things when sana was around.

"oh this is danny. we met at that bar i told you about last week remember?"

"hmm..." she's looking up at him in scrutiny, eyes squinted and eyebrows furrowed. you can feel danny's palms start to sweat under her gaze.

"one week huh? not bad, let's see how long you last, if you go longer than a month then i'll introduce myself to you." sana says then.

"sana!" you're hitting her lightly, flabbergasted at her insinuation.

"what? your last one was like 3 days. you just keep breaking these guys' hearts y/n." she places a hand over her heart dramatically.

danny's tightening his grip around your hand, speaking up, "excuse me, i don’t appreciate you wishing doom on our relationship even before its started. and i wouldn’t want to be introduced to a slut who’s never had a real relationship before anyway.”

sana’s speechless for a second but her face morphs into a scowl quickly after, “okay danny,” spitting out his name, “first rule of being a decent boyfriend? don’t talk shit about your girlfriend’s best friends. let’s see you last another hour after that comment.” she turns to you, raising an eyebrow, “you gonna let him off with that y/n?”

you’re stuck, and danny’s looking at you expectantly.

“sana… that comment was a little uncalled for y’know… you did kinda start this…”

danny’s smirking, looking smugly back towards sana.

“what?! are you serious right now y/n? y’know what? i don’t care. your life and whatever. see you later.” she’s stomping off, your heart sinking as you watch her.

“c’mon babe, forget her. let’s go get sushi.” danny doesn’t wait for a response before he’s pulling you in the other direction.

▂▂⌇

when you wake up again the next day, frank’s gone.

you stumble to your feet, clumsily making your way to the bathroom.

it’s almost late afternoon already. you’re lucky you didn’t have work today.

sana always used to scold you if you woke up past noon. she said you'd waste the whole day sleeping when you could have been spending it with her.

these days the second option wasn't exactly viable.

you cringe a little when you catch sight of yourself in the mirror. unkempt hair, dark circles under your eyes, visible signs of ageing. you'd bet sana still looked as radiant as she was all those years ago.

your phone starts buzzing when you turn on your electric toothbrush. it couldn't be anyone else other than frank. you didn't really talk to anyone else anyway. after sana left, you became a social recluse, and a lot of your friends were technically sana's friends so without that mutual connection anymore, you drifted from them very quickly.

“hello?”

“hey y/n, is my white button-up back from the dry cleaners yet? i need it tonight for this work event.”

“… no you didn’t tell me to pick anything up.”

“what? i left a note for you on the fridge did you not see it?”

“i just woke up frank.”

“it’s 2pm.”

“yeah.”

you can hear him sigh over the phone, “alright it’s fine i’ll pick it up after work.” he hangs up abruptly after he says that.

no goodbye, no i love you, he doesn’t call you by any pet names anymore either, just y/n. well it’s not like you did any of those things for him so you suppose it’s fair. he did do a lot of those things when you were dating and early in your marriage but eventually, when you stopped responding and got more and more tired of being with him, he stopped trying as well. you can’t even remember the last time you were intimate together.

frank had suggested the both of you try out marriage counselling but you were strongly against the idea. you didn’t feel particularly excited about disclosing everything that went on with sana with frank let alone with a complete stranger. you remember that week you fought about it and you ran away and didn’t come back until a month later. frank only tried to call you once during that time.

▂▂⌇

you were standing in front of an apartment door in japan.

you weren’t really thinking when you stood at the front desk of the airport, demanding a ticket for the next flight to osaka with only a small backpack and some essentials you were able to grab after your fight with frank.

it wasn’t until you were physically in the plane that you realised you didn’t actually know anyone but sana there. and you had made that unconscious decision because being with frank was simply too… nothing, and being with sana was… everything. it had been over 6 years since you had seen her last, when she left you that quiet night in may.

though it seems fate was on your side this time. sana’s cousin just happened to be working at the airport the night you arrived, when she recognised you, she was waving excitedly, ushering you over.

“y/n right? oh my goodness i haven’t seen you in so long! not since that time sana brought you here 7 years ago right?” her accent is a little thick but you’re grateful she can speak korean regardless, you could only understand very basic japanese picked up from sana.

you’re nervously rubbing the back of your neck, “ahaha yeah… do you actually happen to have sana’s address?”

she frowns a little, “she didn’t give it to you when she found out you were coming?”

it seems like sana hasn’t told many people about your relationship with her either.

“u-um ahaha no she must have forgotten. you know how she gets… too excited she forgets the important little details.”

the cousin laughs a little in response, agreeing and quickly typing in sana’s address on your phone. internally you’re thanking all the gods and deities you know of for this stroke of luck or you’d really be stranded in osaka with no knowledge of the language and nowhere to stay.

“i have to get back to work but say hi to sana for me! we haven’t seen her much since she came back a few years ago, she’s been really busy with work i think.”

you nod, heart pounding at the tidbits of information you’re getting about sana. anything to fill in the 6 year gap you’ve been apart.

you wave goodbye, thanking her again and then you’re hailing down a taxi and showing the driver the destination on your phone.

so now you’re standing in front of her apartment door, hands sweaty and nervous, just praying she wouldn’t kick you out or worse.

you’ve been standing here stupidly, deliberating when, how, if you should even knock. when there’s a slight commotion to your left, the sound of a bag of groceries dropping and a light gasp.

“y/n?”

it’s very cinematic when you turn, sana coming into view for the first time in so long is like finding water in a desert. you’re drinking her in hungrily, her darker hair, smile lines, perfect nose, she looks just as beautiful as you remember.

“sana…” you’re voice is hoarse with emotion.

she’s taking slow steps towards you after picking up her groceries. one… two…

“what are you doing here?”

“i-i- u-um i-“

“how did you get my address?”

“u-um i saw y-your cousin at the airport and she recognised me and i- i may have asked her for your address... i'm sorry! i would have called or like let you know but... y'know... i-i couldn't really do that..."

she considers you for a little bit, looking you up and down, her face stoic.

"...did you come here for something then?"

"i- um- well not really it was k-kinda an impulse decision. u-um frank and i fought and i just- i don't know i went to the airport and i found myself here i guess..."

you notice how her hand tightens at the mention of frank's name, the slight sound of the crinkling of her grocery bag.

"and what did you want me to do about that?" she's pushing past you now, taking out her keys and starting to unlock her door. you begin to panic, scrambling for words.

"i- sana please! i- i'm sorry! i'm sorry okay?"

the jingling of her keys stops, but she doesn't look back at you.

"what are you sorry for? i'm the one who left remember?" her voice is bitter and a little shaky, you realise she's not facing you because she's trying not to cry. you ache to hold her.

"i… i’m the reason you left though. right? it took me a long time to realise but i’m sorry i wasn’t able to be true to myself and i’m sorry you were a casualty to that. i missed you sana…." your voice is quiet, you feel your own tears welling up in your eyes.

“… what weren’t you true to yourself about?”

you take a big inhale, breath shaky when you let it back out. “that i love you.” your voice is tiny, you just confessed your love for the woman you’ve spent most of your life with, the woman that’s occupied your mind every second of every minute since she’s entered your life. the woman you were too scared to admit you loved, who waited for you to do exactly that only for you to enter a loveless marriage with someone else. you can only imagine the pain you’ve put her through. it would be nothing compared to the last 6 years without her. and the last 6 years without sana were undoubtedly the worst of your life.

sana’s sniffling now, unable to hold back her cries.

you inch forward and tentatively place a hand on her shoulder. when she doesn’t move it, you shift closer again to wrap your arms around her loosely.

suddenly sana’s turning and burrowing her face in your neck, you feel her wet tears stain your skin, but also your own start to run down your face. you're surrounded with sana sana sana, her smell, her sounds, the feel of her against you when you tighten your arms around her. you missed this so fucking much. you missed her. and for the first time in 6 years, you finally felt like you were home again.

▂▂⌇

after you've finished your morning routine, you lazily trudge into the kitchen, discarding the small note frank had told you about, and pouring yourself a bowl of cereal.

you sigh into the empty house. frank wanted kids of course, that's why you bought such a large house in the first place. he had dreamt of the whole white-picket fence family and you were excited to share that with him and sana. she had helped you design the place, decorate it when you first moved in, she was meant to move across the street and you were going to grow old together and watch as your kids played around and became the best of friends, just like the two of you were.

now though? you hated this house. it just felt so much more empty. you and frank had tried for kids, although that only really drove you further apart. sex just became more of a chore than something you enjoyed, and when people know you're trying to get pregnant? suddenly everyone has their 2 cents on what you should eat, what types of exercise you should do, the latest superfood that was meant to make you more fertile. everyone seemed to have more control over your own relationship, over your own body than you did.

eventually, the small amounts of love you and frank had for each other, fizzled out. and you decided you didn't want to raise a child in a loveless marriage, that wouldn't be fair to them. frank, even with his endless optimism and kind soul, agreed.

▂▂⌇

that night in japan, for the first time in six years since you saw sana, you were able to kiss her again, to feel her bare skin against yours, to taste her as she writhed and cried out your name above you.

you woke up before her the next day, sun sluggishly making its way past the horizon. you watched as her breaths came in and out, soft, her expression at peace, not clouded with anger or sadness at you. you traced the lines of her face, recollecting every single hair, every mole, every perfection and imperfection on her, so she'd always be with you in your memory.

she stirred after a while, blinking softly and you wait for her to come to, fingers tracing soft lines over her side.

you feel her freeze under you, breathing picking up, just barely noticeable but you were sharing the same airspace. her eyes meet yours for the first time that morning and you're committing the brown irises to memory now as well.

"you didn't leave." her voice is laced with morning fatigue.

you only hum in response, continuing to trace random shapes into her skin.

"why?"

you take a moment to think about your answer. years ago, you would've been terrified with the idea that someone would've found out about the two of you. that someone would know your dirty little secret. and that secret was that you were in love with your best friend. it was different for sana. sana was flamboyant, and proud, and happy. it wouldn't matter who sana liked because that didn't take away from her personality. she was still valuable as a person. you weren't like that though. you were always just sana's best friend or danny's girlfriend or frank's girlfriend or whoever else you dated at the time. the moment you deviated from that, a new label would be stuck on you, and people would pity sana, talk about how she could do so much better, how you were a witch who lured sana in. so you were selfish. you took from sana, and you never gave back. because sana was perfect in your mind, and she didn't need anything else.

"i'm sorry. there's a lot to be sorry for and a lot i need to make up to you. but at the core of it all, i love you sana. these six years without you have been hell. and i'm sorry it took that long for me to realise this, but i love you, not frank, not anyone else, just you."

you feel your eyes begin to tear up, heavy with emotions, sana's mirroring you, her bottom lip slightly quivering.

"what happened with frank?" her voice is a little shaky.

"we fought. i didn't want to deal with him anymore, my feet took me to the airport, and i ended up here."

sana sighs then, turning away from you and lying on her back. "so you're still together?"

"well... i- no but-"

"how is this time any different then y/n?"

"i- i- it's over, me and him. seeing you again has affirmed that for me. there hasn't been love between frank and i for a long time. i never loved him the way i love you. i'm ending things as soon as i get back. i promise sana. please- please believe me." you're scrambling a little, you couldn't afford to lose sana again. not after you had just gotten her back.

you can see tears running down the side of her face. you hate yourself for making her cry. that seems to be all you ever made her do.

"okay."

"okay?"

she turns to you again, wiping at her eyes, "okay. i really shouldn't but i love you too much and i've missed you too much to say no."

"really?" your perking up, disbelief clear.

"you keep asking me that and i'll change my mind." she teases, smiling for the first time.

you're overjoyed. rolling onto her and sweeping her up in a kiss, hoping your actions convey your feelings for her better than your words do. she's laughing into you and god have you missed that sound. you attack her sides immediately, almost desperate to hear it again, to make her feel something other than the sadness you've caused her. you make a promise to yourself in that moment, that you'd never, never make sana cry again.

it took you only a month to break that promise.

▂▂⌇

"hi, frank's wife right?"

you resist the very strong urge to roll your eyes, instead nodding politely and listening as the woman who approached you launches into a conversation about her husband and how he and frank got along at work and really you couldn't care less.

you were at the work event frank had mentioned in the morning. he did end up picking up his own dry cleaning and you saw him briefly at the event when you first showed up, only saying a quick hello and kissing your cheek before he was off again mingling and entertaining guests.

you had intended on just sticking to the bar and making use of the free-flow alcohol but now this woman was talking to you about her kids, and whatever else and you really just want to throw your drink in her face and yell at her about how to read a room.

you spot frank in the corner of your eye, surrounded by a group of women. you knew he had slept with other people ever since you stopped accepting his advances and affection. you're honestly surprised he hasn't asked for a divorce yet.

but frank was kinder than you. you were still his friend before you were his wife. he still cared about you and didn't want you to be left alone. you couldn't seem to convince him you were fine alone. you learnt to be fine when sana left. although lately, even he seemed to see you less as a friend and more and more, just as his wife.

▂▂⌇

"i still can't believe that time you thought danny was a good choice for you. and you defended him too!" sana was laughing, slapping your arm playfully.

you whine in response, "i told you i was sorry for that alright!!"

she's still laughing when frank comes back to the two of you, looking at you inquisitively and gesturing vaguely towards sana. you shrug, helping him set the food he had ordered for the three of you on the table.

"what's funny sana?" he asks, sliding into the booth with you and picking up a burger.

sana's waving a chip around now, pointing at you, "just talking about y/n's shitty taste in men."

frank fakes shock, looking at you with an exaggerated look of hurt, "me?"

you laugh, hitting him lightly, "not you dummy."

"yeah you're one of the good ones franky. probably the only good one out there."

"aww thanks sana."

sana grins, digging into her food.

you smile at the two of them. your two favourite people in the world. when you first met frank, you were skeptical of him. you were sure he was only trying to be friends with you to get with sana. so imagine your surprise when he had actually been plotting with sana behind your back to ask you out. you had said yes of course, he was a sweet guy, attractive too, and most importantly, sana liked him.

you ended up hitting it off, and the three of you were almost inseparable after that.

it wasn't until about 7 months into your relationship that sana started distancing herself. she would say she was busy, turn down more offers to go out, start hanging around a new group of people.

you heard from frank later that they had some sort of disagreement, which was why sana had started avoiding you. you were hurt by this though, because sana was still your friend. she was yours before you were frank's, and even when you were frank's you were still hers. didn't she know that? she had to.

you intended for her to know that when you cornered her, a late afternoon on a friday when the three of you used to go out for ice-cream as a reward for the week's end, but she had been staying behind to study or always had something else on instead.

"why are you avoiding me?"

sana's eyes are everywhere, her movements skittish as she tries to look for an escape before giving up and huffing. "i don't know what you're talking about."

"yes you do."

"no i don't."

"stop this sana. frank told me the two of you fought. if you don't want to be around him fine. that's your choice. but that doesn't mean you get to avoid me too."

she looks at you then, eyes fiery, "is that what he told you?"

you nod, "i don't understand sana. i don't care that you fought. i can seperate us and my relationship with frank. you're still my best friend."

"we fought because he told me he felt like i was stealing you from him."

"what?"

"yeah. he said he never got to spend any time with you. i was always there. he felt like he was the one who was third-wheeling our relationship."

the words third-wheel and our relationship swim around in your mind, "w-what? that's impossible!"

"is it really though y/n?" sana's voice is soft now.

"what do you mean?"

"i mean, is it really impossible for you to see us that way? frank obviously did, and he felt threatened by that."

"w-what- sana what are you talking about?"

she sighs a little in frustration, and then suddenly she's yanking you forward by the collar and planting her lips against yours. you react automatically, kissing her back, hands immediately going to her waist as you revel in the feeling of her soft lips against yours. it was always so different kissing sana compared to all the other guys you've been with. you chalked it up to the fact that sana took care of her skin, her lips, the way she smelled, all of that made kissing her that much sweeter.

but then you remember frank and you're pulling away, breaths heavier than they were mere seconds ago. "what the fuck sana?!" you're whipping your head around, looking to see if anyone had seen the two of you. it seemed to be clear.

sana's chuckling lowly, wiping at her lips, face downcast.

"what were you thinking?! i'm with frank! you set me up with frank!"

her eyes meet yours again, and you're taken back by the glassy look on her face. she's whispering, "i know. i know and i hate myself for it. i thought- i thought if- i thought i could get over this if i saw you happy with someone else. and then you were! and i just felt worse y/n. and then frank could tell and that was the last straw i guess. i needed to be away, away from you so i could get make these stupid feelings go away. i'm sorry y/n i'm so so sorry."

you're dumbfounded, staring at her blankly when she starts sobbing, hands coming to wipe at tears falling faster than she could catch them.

you don't understand what this means, what you felt, all you knew in that moment was sana was crying. the person you cared about most in the world was crying and you were the reason for it. so you do the one thing to make her stop. you tilt her chin up, heart breaking at the sniffles and the watery eyes, and you press your lips against hers again.

you end up where you've ended up so many times. legs entangled, sweaty bodies on sheets, heavy breathing, and minds lost.

▂▂⌇

you couldn't stand being inside anymore. it was suffocating.

you breathe out smoke as you exhale, the cigarette end still burning.

you watch as someone makes their way outside, shuffling around a little in their pockets and cursing when they realise they don't have a lighter.

the person looks towards you and you hold out yours. you help them light the end of their cigarette and nod when they mutter their thanks, inhaling the smoke into their lungs and standing awkwardly to the side.

it's a few minutes here in the cold, and you're almost finished your cigarette, about to throw it away when the stranger speaks up.

"do i know you from somewhere?"

you pause, looking back, you don't think you recognise this person. "you must have me confused for someone else, i'm sorry."

"wait... no you're sana's best friend right!?"

you drop the cigarette in your hand in shock. it had been a long time since someone had said that name out loud. she only ever lived in your head, it was hard to believe she was someone to other people too.

"right yes of course i remember now! i'm momo i was sana's roommate in college. although you probably don't remember i think we only really met like once. sana was always with you around campus and posted you a lot though so i remember you."

you vaguely recall the woman as she chatters away excitedly.

"right... momo... it's nice to meet you. i'm y/n."

momo grins, "have you spoken to sana lately? i don't think i saw you at the wedding, although i may have just been drunk." she chuckles a little at herself, not realising the way your face drops.

"wedding?"

momo looks at you a little in confusion, "yeah. last month? sana got married in sapporo."

your head is spinning with the new information. sana was married?

“woah you feeling okay?” momo’s reaching out for your shoulder, steadying you. you didn’t even realise you had lost your balance.

“i-i- yeah sorry.”

“you sure? are you here with anyone? anyone i can call?”

“no. it’s okay, thank you though.”

“yeah no problem.”

she’s shuffling back again, sucking on her cigarette.

“sana and i haven’t spoken in years. i was just a little surprised is all.” you speak up when you feel a little steadier on your feet.

“oh shit! i’m so sorry y/n i had no idea!”

“it’s okay, it seems no one really does.” you laugh a little bitterly.

momo doesn’t know how to respond to this, flicking her eyes between you and the door.

“it’s fine though. i’m happy for her.” the words taste vile on your tongue. is this what sana felt when she watched you walk down the aisle on your wedding day?

momo softens a little, “she is happy.” she offers you a kind smile, tapping out her cigarette and mumbling a quick thanks before heading back inside.

once you're sure she's gone you let yourself break down. sobs wrack your body as you hold your hands over your mouth trying to quiet them. you can barely see through the tears streaming out of your eyes. this was it. you'd finally lost her. you couldn't cling to the delusion that somewhere out there, some of her still belonged to you, some of her happiness, her memories, her love. you'd lost all of that now.

▂▂⌇

"what was that y/n?"

"what?"

"don't fuck with me right now. that was frank wasn't it? on the phone just then?"

you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, "what do you want me to say sana?"

"that you're keeping your promise. that you're going to return to him, break up with him, and then you're going to come back here to me. and then we can finally start our lives together."

"it's not that easy sana."

she explodes, "what do you mean?! it is that easy y/n! you told me when you came here that you and frank were over. have been for years. and now you can't tell me that same thing?"

"i don't- no sana-"

"what? what y/n? what’s your excuse now? do you have to make sure your job is secure? after you've spent a whole fucking month here you expect me to think you still care about that? do you have a child with him? is that it? is he sick? what other possible excuse is there for 'it's not that easy sana'?!"

"you don't get it! you can't say that to me sana!"

"what?! what don't i get?! tell me y/n, let's sort this shit out right fucking now. tell me why you can't be with me."

"it's not- that's just the way i am sana! i can't-"

"you told me you loved me. was that a lie then?" her eyes are brimming with tears, anger evident and your heart breaks again. you promised, you promised her and you promised yourself that this wouldn't happen again.

you're quick to step in again, trying to stop her from crying the one way you know how, brushing her cheeks with your thumbs and kissing her.

she doesn't let you get away with it this time though. she rips away from you, placing a hand on your chest and pushing you back lightly, keeping you literally at arm's length.

"don't do that." she's chuckling, her laughs mixed in with quiet sobs, "don't think you can just kiss away your problems. that's not how real life works y/n."

"please sana, please just-"

"what? you want me to be okay being your secret again? you want to be able to go around in public with frank only to come home to me? you can't have both y/n! i'm not going to do that again for you!"

you’re both crying now, standing across from each other in sana’s apartment, a place that’s felt more like home to you in a month than your place with frank has felt for you in six years.

your voice comes out in a hoarse whisper when you speak up, “i can’t- i can’t feel like this sana.”

sana’s wiping at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater. then she’s turning on her heel and heading into the bedroom.

you follow her, you’d follow her anywhere, but your heart sinks when you realise she’s going around the room picking up your belongings and shoving them into your bag.

“w-wait s-sana, what- what are you doing? stop please-“

you’re almost begging, scrambling after her trying to pull her back but she’s stubborn, she’s able to fill the bag within a minute and then she’s pushing it into you, and out the door.

“please! sana please i can’t lose you again don’t do this please- you’re my best friend sana.”

she’s managed to successfully push you out the front door now, still crying. “but you’re not mine y/n. you were never my best friend. you were always the love of my life. and you can’t be that for me anymore. so leave. please. don’t try and find me again.”

“n-no sana please d-don’t-“

“you’d have to stop the world just to stop what you feel for me y/n. but you don’t realise that. and i’m sick of loving someone who can’t give me all of that love back.”

and then she’s slamming her door shut in your face, the both of you sobbing on opposite sides of the door, hearts shattered a second time, and later, when it happens a third time, it’s only the sound of yours breaking.

[stardust-kenobi]

Stay

Din Djarin x reader

Summary: You had been traveling with the Mandalorian for weeks now. He’d saved your life, inevitably creating a stronger bond between the two of you. One evening, Din opens up to you.

Warnings: just fluff (“no smut?” yes! I am just as surprised as you are), Din being starved of affection

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: In this fic, the child is not with him (don’t kill me). this has not been proofread yet, might be some grammatical errors.

I have requests sitting in my inbox and I’m so sorry for pushing them to the side right now but I got hella inspired to write for mando and could not wait. I’ll get to them soon I promise 💕

gif is not mine

He saved you.

Three weeks ago, he broke his metaphorical tough exterior shell and saved you from an impeding doom.

He didn’t have to, in fact it was probably easier for him to leave you there, but he placed himself in that same danger to rescue you.

You were standing there, suddenly surrounded by troopers, some with artillery questionably beyond his defense capabilities. Mando had escaped, he was fleeing successfully, but he returned when he realized you weren’t with him anymore. 

Never had you seen a human being destroy so many armed enemies so swiftly in the realization that he may lose you without even a single scratch upon your skin. Prior to this occurrence, you didn’t believe he cared about you at all. You were just temporarily valuable to him.

You joined him on his adventures after meeting him in the cantina on Sorgan, with the promise to present him with information on a bounty if he provided you shelter from people who wanted to harm you. You told him it was complicated, and you couldn’t go into detail about the situation. He was reluctant, and even told you no initially. You weren’t sure if it was the motive to collect the bounty money or his secretly warm heart that changed his mind, but you were thankful nonetheless.

After your rescue, you gave him the information he sought, he captured his target and gathered his reward, but still, three weeks later, you remain a passenger of the Razor Crest, and he hasn’t insisted that you leave him. 

After it happened, there was a lot of silence between you two. Gradually, though, he spoke to you more. To your surprise, he initiated most of the conversations. He wanted to know about you. Unfortunately, your past created a wall, a barrier, between you and anyone who tried to get too close. You bonded with him slowly, and you were appreciative of his company. Against your strong intentions, you were starting to have romantic feelings for him. Feelings you had tried to ignore for the sake of having your heart inevitably broken in time. Feelings for a man you’d never even truly seen with your own eyes. Somehow, though, the mysterious nature of the Mandalorian was all the more interesting to you.

He was lonely, living in the vast galaxy all alone. No matter someone’s lifestyle, surely that becomes hard after some time. You wonder if his loneliness drove him toward you. He was kind, that much was obvious, but even with his warmth, he seemed to block himself off from you as well. You’d call him a friend, or an acquaintance at the very least. The new feeling of being able to trust him with your life added a thick layer of depth to your friendship.

Tonight, both of you were rested opposite to each other around a crackling fire located in the distant forests of the lusciously green moon of Endor. The air was thin, and a slight breeze sent chills down your exposed arms every now and then. Mando wanted to stop here as peaceful place to rest for the night rather than sleeping on the Crest again. A change of scenery is certainly nice, you thought.

“Its quieter here than I imagined” you break the silence. 

“Wasn’t always quiet here” he mumbles, looking up at the stars beginning to peak into the evening sky.

“That is true...” you agree, remembering the events that took place here only a few short years ago in the days of the Empire.

Mando brewed some tea on the fire. You’d both grown to enjoy the soothing heat of the tea before you went to sleep.

“Do you want some?” he called out to you, pouring a cup for himself in the process.

“Yes, please”

You walked over to him, the fire warming the skin on your arms as you passed it. You attempt to look him in the eyes, only to be met with the reflection of the small flames staring back in the shine of his helmet. You smile softly, still aware that he could see into your eyes.

“Thank you” you nodded to him, accepting the mug from his gloved hands. As you move to return to your seat across the fire, a leather encased hand wrapped around the small of your wrist and pulled lightly toward him.

“Stay, please” he gently pleads. You were surprised, he’d never been so forward before.

“Okay” you responded, turning back toward him.

“I need....someone” he released his hold, spilling his words out uncomfortably.

“I’ll stay here, I don’t mind” you comfort him, noticing in his tone and shifting body language how shy he was becoming. You sat next to him, your knee barely brushing against his.

“Thank you” he spoke quietly, dropping his head.

“Are you okay, Din?” You asked, uttering his name out loud to him for the first time since he’d told you his real name. He looked toward you again, likely warmed and charmed by hearing you address him correctly.

“Yes. I’m okay. I’m just..” he started. It was obvious he was struggling with his words.

“Lonely?” You filled in his sentence for him. He audibly exhaled, indicating that you hit the nail on the head with your assumption.

“I guess you could say that” he mumbled.

“Din, I’m always with you” you consoled him.

“I know. Sometimes I just need more than that” he said sadly. You knew he didn’t mean sexually. You knew he wasn’t implying that he wanted you to give him anything.

“I know what you mean” you admitted.

“You do?” his tone was hopeful.

“Yeah...sometimes you just need the touch of another human being” you said, moving your hips- toward him. You were as close to his body as you could be.

“Sure” he agreed immediately, thankful that you formed the words for him.

“Have you always been alone, Din?” 

“Not always, there were more of my kind that I was close to, years ago” 

You dared not question what happened to those people as you were certain it would upset him.

“I thought, after what I’ve been through, that maybe I wanted to be alone” You began. “But, its growing old and I’m growing lonelier”

“You’ve probably wondered why I’ve let you stay with me this long”

“Everyday, I wonder why...every single day”

“You’ve grown on me, y/n” He said after moments of silence. “I care too much about you now to leave you in danger. I realize that may be overstepping some boundaries” he was gentle in his words. A smile was plastered onto your face. Never had the Mandalorian dug so deep into his feelings for you.

“I care about you, too” you reciprocated the gesture. He snapped his attention to you, certainly not expecting this from you either.

“Its not something I’m used to. Being cared about” he said, looking down to the forest floor again.

Your heart was shattered at the sound of his confession. This gentle giant was deprived of affection and was turning to you for comfort.

“You are just as deserving of love as any other being in this galaxy” you blurted suddenly. You realized the weight of your words, and you worried none for how he’d respond.

He was without words and you expected no response.

“That’s...that’s kind of you, y/n” he says. You could hear the blushing smile he possessed.

You planted your palm on top of his hand that rested upon his knee. You slowly, and hesitantly, leaned your head onto his shoulder. The beskar shoulder plates made it uncomfortable against your skull, but it was the best effort you could make in the moment. His body shifted, noticeably unaware of how to react to you.

“I know we are still getting to know each other, but, I’m here for you” you said.

Din was silent. But after a deep breath, his hand pulled itself away. You were worried you’d made him uncomfortable, but it was quite the contrary. His other gloved hand gripped the tip of the middle finger and pulled the thick covering from his hand. For the first time since you’d met this man, you were seeing his bare skin. Internally, you gasped, but you were inaudible to him in response.

As your palm lay flat on his lower thigh, you watch him lower his newly exposed hand move to lay atop of yours. The warmth collected on the surface of his skin from being encased in the glove immediately transferred heat your frigidly chilled hand.

“You’re so cold” he sweetly states the obvious.

“I’m okay”

“You need to get warm” he says, wrapping his fingers around your hand and squeezing lightly. Your heart fluttered.

“I feel warmer sitting next to you” you reassured him. This was true, as the heat from the fire stored itself in his armor at a quicker rate than that of your skin.

“You can get closer, if you want”

You did just that, and removed what little space remained between you and him. You looked up at him, wishing so badly that you’d be able to kiss him. You knew the impossibility of doing so.

“Your cheeks are red” Din said with concern. He released your hand and slowly raised it to meet your cold cheek. There was not only another transfer of warmth from his skin to yours, there was a spark of electricity that felt so deeply intimate. You leaned your face into his hold, and closed your eyes with the feeling of affection he offered.

You opened your eyes again, to see him intently staring, or so it seemed. You wrapped your hand around his wrist, encouraging him to continue his touch against you.

“I wish I could be even closer to you” you muttered. Speaking partially against his palm. You respected his culture but wanted nothing more than to really feel him.

“Can I trust you?” He spoke at a whisper. Your mind wandered. What could he mean?

“Of course. You’ve saved my life. The least I could be is trustworthy to you”

“Can I kiss you?” He inquired. Your heart began to beat rapidly in eager anticipation.

“How would y-” you began, knowing it wasn’t allowed for you to see his face.. He already knew the end of your sentence.

“Close your eyes, cyar’ika” he said sweetly. You didn’t know what that word meant, but with his tone, you assumed it meant something kind. “As long as you don’t see me, it’s okay”

You did as he asked, nonverbally giving him permission to kiss you. You heard the beskar unlatch and be lifted from his head. You breathed in sharply and slowly released your lung’s capacity.

“Keep them closed” his voice, now not muffled by his helmet, was such a wonderful sound. It graced your ears so raw, and so close to you. You’d always imagined what he sounded like without the thickness of his helmet blocking his mouth, but actually hearing it was breathtaking to you.

His hand returned to your face to cup your cheek. You felt him move closer to you without saying a word.

Suddenly, his lips delicately crashed into yours, and you form your lips into him. Your mouths were fused and still for a few moments, just taking each other in. You were able to finally smell him. He gave off an aroma of cedar that mimicked the scents of the luscious forest trees mixed with a deep masculine scent. You absorbed the presence you could observe of him without the sense of sight.

His lips were surprisingly soft and supple as they pressed into yours. He was gentle, and by the sharp breath he took, it was obvious he had not kissed anyone in a long time. If ever. You were both enthralled in one another’s affection. Neither of you expected this contact when you first sat around the fire. Slowly, you both rotated your lips in sync together, as if you’d both rehearsed it.

After what felt like a lifetime of connection to Din, you both made the decision to pull away. He breathed out in a giggle. The type that you hear when someone is overwhelmed with passion. Your eyes remained closed until he couldn’t put his helmet back in.

As you hear it latch back, you still wait for his confirmation.

“You can open your eyes now”

And he looked the same as he did the last time your eyelids were open. You tried to wipe the uncontrollable smile off of your face, but that effort alone made it more noticeable.

“Thank you for trusting me” you broke the silence. He grabbed your hand again, and lightly squeezed as he did before.

“Y/n” he called to you.

You looked to him.

“I don’t want to be lonely anymore” he said plainly.

“You don’t have to be, Din” you promised him.

“That’s why I never asked you to leave” he started “You make me feel whole...I don’t know how else to say it” he spilled out. It was clear that he was hesitant to say these things and be so forward, but it also seemed to be a relief to him.

“I’d love to stay with you. Wherever you go, I’ll go. I’ll stay until you decide you don’t want me around anymore” you said. You were both speaking at a whisper, despite being alone in the forest.

“That won’t happen” he assured you. “I can’t let you go now”

You smiled ear to ear. Your heart was full in the intimacy of your conversation. You couldn’t wait for the endless travels and adventures that the two of you would have to come.

[scabopolis]

the gift of gab, the gift of you

Here it is @thisonesatellite! your 2020 CS Secret Santa gift. It was a complete and total delight to get to be your gift giver this year. That is not hyperbole - you are a gosh dang delight! Each of your message responses left me in stitches and while I will NEVER try and convince you a movie you think is bunk is good, I am delighted at the opportunity to recommend rom coms that don’t make you want to gouge your eyes out. 

This fic is heavily inspired by your love of coffee shops AUs (except...you know, a pub), your travel stories (which I shamelessly incorporated into the fic) and I believe rates about a 4 on the reindeer scale of Christmas cheer.  You’re a total eagle eye, so I just need to say I am well aware that Colin O’Donoghue’s accent in no way resembles an accent from Cork, but I just need that to be ignored, please and thank you.

Also, I’ve decided we’re fandom friends now. Okay? Okay! Finally, thank you to @cssecretsanta2020 for organizing this exchange and being the actual best and most patient fandom soul. 

*** Title: the gift of gab, the gift of you

Summary: Emma needs an Irish man. Wait! No! It’s not what it sounds like. And then the universe just has to go and provide her with the world’s chattiest, flirtiest, blue-eyesiest Irish man in existence. 

Available on AO3. ***

Emma is in no position to complain. From where she sits both literally – (perched upon a comfy barstool in the world’s coziest pub) – as well as existentially – (traveling abroad for the first time in her life) — she is fortunate and blessed. 

It’s just – 

It’s just it would be easier to enjoy it all if she didn’t have to deal with a rather annoying request from her rather annoyingly persistent mother. 

Her headphones are in but Emma still takes great care to speak in hushed tones over video chat. There’s nothing she wants less than to be the loud American who shares her private conversation with an entire establishment. The pub she found is at the end of a quiet lane off of Cork’s high street. The customers within the pub appear to be locals well known by the staff who tend the pub. In truth, she wouldn’t even be having this conversation if it wasn’t for —

“Who have you talked to today?” her mother asks. 

“Uh, I’m pretty sure I thanked the barista who made my coffee. And I ordered a pint in this pub.” 

“That’s not talking.” 

“It is by definition talking.” 

“That’s not what I meant. How else are you going to get to know the city?” Her mom interrupts before Emma can properly formulate a snarky reply. “And don’t you dare say ‘guidebooks.’ Your father and I raised you better than that.”

“Mom, please don’t make me do this.” 

“You said I could have anything I wanted as a souvenir.”  

“What about a mug? I bought Grandma Ruth one with a big fat sheep on it.” 

“Sounds lovely, sweetie, but no.” 

“Mom.” Emma realizes that as a twenty-six year old woman it is probably unbecoming to whine, but her mother is being absolutely ridiculous. Where is her dad when she needs him to rescue her? All he requested was a bottle of whiskey. What a sensible person!

“No. It’s fine. If you don’t want to get your mother the one thing she asked for on this trip that’s okay. I won’t say one word about paying for this celebration trip, or paying for graduate school, or —” 

“Shit, mom. Did you take a Guilt Trip 101 class or just Google how to?”

“Oh, this is natural talent. My present, please.” 

“Fine.” There’s a group of bearded men, the ones she pegged as locals, tucked into one corner of the pub. They’re probably her best bet, but she just arrived last night, and the combination of jet lag and travel nerves make her feel not yet up for that. Which leaves the staff working the bar. 

One of the two men she’s seen pouring pints and serving up food has gone missing. Besides, Emma wouldn’t trust herself in her sleep-deprived state to not say something utterly absurd to the blue-eyed, dark-haired, scruffy bartender. Probably a good thing he’s gone. Much safer is the other man working the bar – the one who refused to serve her Guinness but was very kind about it. While arguably attractive, he is a decidedly less intimidating sort of handsome. Unfortunately, he is in the midst of a heated discussion with one of the patrons, the two of them gesticulating to something happening with a football match on the screen. Which leaves the blonde haired woman currently polishing glasses. 

Emma lightly clears her throat. “Excuse me, ma’am?” When the woman turns to look at her, Emma smiles, and signals her over. She sets aside the pint glasses and tucks the polishing rag into her apron. Her mother, on the other end of the video call, is not satisfied. 

“Did you say ma’am?” 

“Mom,” Emma whispers.

“I said an Irish man, Emma Blanchard Nolan. Man.”

“No. You said person.” 

“The man was implied.” 

“Then you should have been more specific.” 

“Ready for another?” the woman at the bar asks. 

Emma looks down at her half-full pint. “Not quite.” She frowns. “And, uh, you’re not Irish, are you?” 

“No. Canadian.” 

“Ah. Okay.” Emma lowers her voice again and looks at her phone screen. Her mother remains unimpressed. “That’s foreign. Technically she’s a foreigner.” 

The sternness of Mary-Margaret’s expression is evident even over the video call. “Emmaline —” 

“Not my name, mother.” 

“Emmaline Blanchard Nolan, you promised me.” 

“I’ll find an Irish person tomorrow.” It’s about this time Emma realizes she’s rudely ignoring the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender. The one she asked to speak with. What’s more, the very kind and apparently Canadian bartender has been joined by the curly haired bartender. Both of whom peer at her with matching expressions of amused befuddlement. Emma removes her headphones and addresses the man. “You’re Irish, right?” 

“Well, miss,” and the gentle brogue of his accent, even with those two short words, is quite evident, “you are in Ireland.” 

“Excellent! Can you talk to my mom?” She detaches the headphones from her phone and turns the camera around to face the man and woman. “My mom wants to have a conversation with an Irish person.” 

“Irish man,” her mother corrects.

“An Irish man. Out in the wild.” The bartenders stare at her, nonplussed. “It’s her souvenir.” 

The woman presses her lips together – an obvious attempt to stifle a laugh. 

“Well, uh, aye.” The man tugs at his ear. “I guess I could —” He’s interrupted from his stuttering by the return of the blue-eyed, stubbly bartender, hauling a new keg into the back of the bar. 

“Actually,” the woman cuts in. “My husband,” she hip checks the curly-haired man, “needs to replace the keg.” 

“I do?” he asks. 

“He does?” This from tall, dark, and holy hell! also possesses an Irish accent. 

“But Killian is in the middle—”

“Shh,” the blonde woman interrupts her husband. 

“Yeah. Killian is—”

She goes on to shush the man Emma now knows to be Killian. 

“Oh no,” Mary Margaret whispers over the video call, “there’s two of them.” 

“What is happening?” Emma’s not sure which of the two men asked, this whole interaction spinning rather absurdly out of control. 

“I don’t know,” Emma says.

The woman ignores all of them. “I’m Elsa, this is Liam, and that,” she points to Killian, frozen with a hand on the keg like he’s uncertain what to do, “is my very single, very Irish brother-in-law.” And all at once it becomes clear what Elsa’s intentions are. “Killian, can you come over here and help our lovely patron and her lovely mother?” 

“Oh, Emma, Killian even sounds like an Irish name.” 

“Mom!” Originally she found her mother’s request to be silly but harmless. The more people who become involved, however, the quicker it approaches mortifying. Emma watches as Elsa whispers something to her brother-in-law, likely explaining the unconventional request. 

“I’m very friendly,” Mary-Margaret reassures anyone who might be listening. 

“You are a flirt, is what you are,” Emma scolds. “And what would dad say if he found out about this?”

“He asked for whiskey. I asked for this.” 

“Come on, lass. Don’t deprive me of a dashing rescue.” Killian leans across the bar, his hand reaching out for her phone. All that stubble and the blue-eyes and the accent are worse when directed directly at her. “Besides, your mum sounds like a woman after my own heart.” 

“If you’re sure—?”

“Absolutely.”

To her abject horror, the moment she hands Killian the phone, he walks away with it in hand. 

“As requested, milady,” he says to the screen, “one genuine Irish man.”

Her mother’s delighted giggle is embarrassing for all Americans everywhere but it seems to delight Killian. She can just makeout her mother’s question about where he grew up when he rounds the corner, out of her hearing. 

“Where is he going?” Emma asks, craning her neck. “Where is he taking my phone?” 

“If I know Killian, your mum is probably about to get the most thorough oral history of Irish pubs she could have asked for,” Liam says, tossing a towel over his shoulder. 

“Oh. Okay.” She drums her fingertips on her glass. “I’m sorry about all the trouble.” 

“Nonsense,” he waves her off. “This is the most exciting thing to happen in our pub since Seamus and Willy hosted their wedding reception here.” He jerks his chin towards the group of bearded men she noticed earlier, though which one is Seamus and which is Willy she can’t be certain. 

After another fifteen minutes, Emma has finished her pint and Killian still has possession of her phone. He crossed through the room once, merrily chatting with her mother as he regaled  her with the story of how he got the scar on his cheek. 

Elsa is filling a series of pint glasses for a group of women standing at the bar, and Emma feels the need to apologize again. “This isn’t what I expected,” she explains. 

“What’s that?” Elsa asks. 

“I was kind of thinking, best case scenario, there’d be an exchange of hellos and that would be that.” 

Elsa nods, hands the pints off to the women, and then fills one more. “Are you familiar with the legend of the Blarney stone?” 

Emma nods. She has absolutely no intention of kissing the dang thing (her research indicates local teens do all manner of ungodly things to the stone, knowing that tourists intend to kiss it), but it’s on her list to go see. 

“Well, Jones family legend —”

“I take it your husband and his brother are Jones’?” 

“And me by marriage. Jones family legend has it that Killian must have been birthed upon the stone because never has there been a man more endowed with the gift of gab.” Elsa finishes pouring the pint and sets it in front of her. 

“Oh, I didn’t order this.” Right at that moment, Liam returns to the bar and sets a turkey sandwich in front of her. “Or this,” Emma says. 

“Knowing my brother, you might be here a while,” Liam explains. 

“Gift of gab?” 

He nods, pleased that the Jones family lore has reached her. “Gift of gab.”

Liam proves to be correct, which means Emma has ample time to get to know both Elsa and Liam. The two of them are freakishly adept at juggling bartending, interacting with their customers, and keeping up a steady flow of conversation with her. The highlight is hearing the full story of Seamus and Willy (she is able to identify them by their matching navy sweaters – sweaters which Willy apparently handknits for the both of them), two men who worked on the same fishing boat for decades before realizing they were in love. 

“Once they sorted that bit out, they got married three weeks later,” Elsa says. 

“So which one of them is the designated driver?” Emma asks. 

“That whole lot lives down the street.” Liam raises his voice so the group can hear them. “And they do nothing but hassle me every day of my life!” The group all raise their pint glasses and cheer, indicating this kind of teasing is something central to the pub’s dynamic. 

Killian returns from wherever it was he was busy flirting with her mother and sets her phone on the bartop. She looks down at the display only to find it blank.

“Uh, your mum had to run to the market, but she indicated she’ll call you later.” 

“She didn’t even say goodbye? Unbelievable.” As Emma gears herself up for peak mom-annoyance, she gets a text message. “Speak of the devil.” 

4:38 PM - Mom to Emma hubba hubba

“Ah, geez, mom,” she grumbles. 

“What’d she say about me?” Killian asks. 

“What makes you think that text was about you?” 

“Because you have roses in your cheeks.” Emma frowns. She what? “You’re blushing,” Killian says. 

“No I’m not.” 

“It’s getting deeper, I’m afraid.” He takes away her empty pint glass. “Another?” 

“Yes, please.” 

He sets another pint of Murphy’s in front of her (Liam was the one to inform her that one drinks Murphy’s when one is in Cork). “Your mother is lovely.” 

“Yeah, she’s something alright.” She sips the beer and licks the foam off her lip. “What were the two of you talking about for so long?”

“Oh, just having a chat. She wanted to know about the pub and how Elsa and Liam met.” 

“The gift of gab.” 

“Ah,” he says, “Elsa told you of that, then?” 

“Like my mom didn’t tell you anything about me?” 

“It was all good, Emma.” 

She snorts. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

“Why a conversation with an Irish man?” Emma frowns at Killian, not quite certain of what he’s asking. “For a souvenir. That’s truly all your mum wanted?” 

“Oh, that. In between flirting, did she tell you anything about her and my dad?” Killian shakes his head. “It’s kind of a long story.” 

As if waiting for his cue, Liam comes up behind Killian and slings an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “My dear little brother has time.” 

“Younger brother,” Killian corrects. 

“Shorter brother.” Liam bumps Killian towards the other side of the bar. “Why don’t you keep Emma company?” 

“I have another three hours on my shift.” 

“I think Elsa and I can handle it until Will arrives.” 

“Liam.” 

“Don’t make me fire you.” 

“You can’t fire me. We’re co-owners.” 

“Fine. Don’t make me quit.” 

Killian rolls his eyes but slides out from under Liam’s arm. He crosses to the other side of the bar and sits beside Emma. “I’ll take a pint, then.” He raps his knuckles on the bartop. “And make it quick.” 

Emma hides her smile in her pint glass. Both Liam and Elsa have been so lovely. There’s no reason to switch allegiances at this point. Regardless of how much she might be tempted by the stubbly-faced, blue-eyed flirty Irish man sitting beside her. 

“Between the two of them and my mother,” Emma says. 

“Yeah, not the most subtle lot.” Liam shoots Killian a glare as he sets the pint down to which Killian responds with the cheekiest grin Emma has ever seen. The interaction has older and baby brother written all over it. “So, your mom and Irishmen. Go.” 

“Oh, that.” Unlike her mother, and even her father, Emma holds the details of her life close to her chest. She’s made the mistake in the past of sharing too much too fast. When people leave her, either by choice or circumstance, it physically pains her to know there are people out in the world with knowledge of her worries, fears and dreams. But maybe it’s the sandwich sitting warm in her stomach, or the jet lag, or simply the buzz of international travel, because she feels inclined to share at least a few details of her life with Killian. 

“My mom and dad both took a gap year after high school and met while backpacking across Europe. They met at the Roman Colosseum, decided to match up their itineraries, and by the time they arrived in Budapest five months later they were in love and my mom was pregnant.” 

“And they’ve been together ever since?” 

“Almost 27 years.”

“That’s quite the story.” 

She nods. “They cut their year of travel short, and went to live with my Grandma Ruth, my dad’s mom. They always talked about returning to Europe, finishing their trip at some point, but by the time I was old enough to leave behind with my grandma, dad was in vet school, mom was teaching, and they were running a wildlife rescue from the family farm. They kept making new plans to travel but they just kept getting pushed back and back and back. Until, one day, they decided to put all that money towards sending me on my first trip instead. So, as much as I fight every silly request she has of me, I would do anything if it made her smile.”

“Your mum and dad never made it to Ireland?” 

“Nope.”

“Thus the strange request.” 

“Thus the strange request.” 

“Well, it gave me a reason to chat with the lovely lass at the bar, so for that I’ll be forever grateful.” 

Her Grandma Ruth, Aunt Ruby, and frankly everyone who knows her parents well, routinely comment on the resemblance between Emma and her dad. Apparently in temperament and affectation they are almost identical. But maybe she’s more like her mom than anyone knows because the conversation between her and Killian flows fast and easy. Easy enough that she barely notices when she and Killian finish their pints and Elsa slides new glasses in front of them. Emma’s head is feeling a little buzzy, and that turkey sandwich was more than a couple hours ago. Maybe she can hint at Killian that she wants to go to the Christmas market. Hint even more specifically that she wouldn’t hate if he went with her. 

No, she can’t do that. To even think such a thing would be ridiculous. 

She can’t possibly ask a practical stranger to walk up and down the stalls of the festive market with her. She can’t expect him to want to sample all the baked goods and food they can handle. Or to hold her hand while they drink spiked apple cider. That kind of thinking is romantic, and hopeful, and not at all her brand. 

“This is really your first trip out of the states?” Killian asks.

“I mean, Canada, but that’s so close to home it doesn’t count.” Emma catches herself, eyes darting to Elsa. “Don’t tell your sister.” 

“Your secret’s safe with me.” Killian angles his body on the stool to face her more directly. Without Emma realizing it, they’ve drifted close enough together over the past hour or so that the move makes it so their knees knock together. Emma could move away, put some distance between them, but everything is foggy and hazy in that delicious way, and she can’t bring herself to move. “What does that make me, then? The ruggedly handsome foreigner you intend to seduce as a notch on your bedpost?” 

“Who said anything about seduction?”

“You’re giving me bedroom eyes.” 

“I do not make eyes of any kind. Especially bedroom eyes.” 

Elsa jumps in, setting glasses of water down for each of them. “Yeah, but Killian does. And he needs to put them away.”

Emma tries to react quickly enough to Elsa’s teasing to evade Killian’s detection, to turn away and hide her smile in her shoulder so he can’t see, but the gentle tug on the end of her braid indicates he caught her. 

“Think that’s funny, do you?” 

“You and my mom ganged up against me. I deserve to join with your family against you.” 

“Your mum is great.” He shrugs. “Well, based on the little I know.”  

“I know she can be a little intense. I hope she didn’t—”

“She was as lovely as her daughter.” Before his words can fully sink in, perhaps bringing that blush back to her cheeks, he’s moved on. “You’ll have to bring her with you when you return.” 

She rests her chin on palm, blinking up at him. Okay, maybe she sometimes makes eyes. “What makes you think I have any plans to come back?”

“Ireland gets in your blood. You’ll be back.” 

This time they’re interrupted by Liam. He swipes away the pint glasses in front of them, remaining beer and all. “That’s about all I can stomach of that.”

“What do you mean?” Killian asks. 

“You’ve been flirting with the kind tourist long enough. Time to go.” 

Oh. Emma looks down at her boots. A surge of deep embarrassment heating her cheeks and causing her stomach to churn. “Sorry,” she says quietly, her eyes turned down. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No!” The twin cries from both Liam and Killian startle her. She’s not sure which one appears more stricken by her announcement she intended to leave.   

“Apologies, Emma, I wasn’t clear,” Liam says. He extends his hand to Killian. “Apron.” It takes Killian a moment to react but when Liam stays in his place, his hand extended, Killian removes his apron and hands it to him. “See you tomorrow, little brother.” 

“Younger.”

“Dumber.” 

“Stubborner.”

“Not a word.” Liam stalks back over to Elsa who is shaking her head at the whole display. “They’re both idiots,” Liam says, and Emma is just going to pretend she didn’t hear that, thank you very much. 

“Have you been to the Christmas market yet, Emma?” Killian’s voice brings her back to the pub, and this particular bar stool, with this particular man. This particular man who has somehow intuited the secret desire of her heart to go to the town’s Christmas market with him. 

“No. No. Not yet.” 

Killian jumps down from his seat and extends a hand to Emma to help her down. “Come on, love. Let’s sail away.” 

There’s 100 ways Emma could respond to that. She could tell Killian she isn’t his love. She could jump down from the stool on her own. She could insist she’s fine going to the market by herself. But she tries to channel a little magic, that particular magic which for her mom and dad turned one day in Rome into a lifetime, and chooses differently. 

(Not that she’s saying she expects—)

She takes Killian’s offered hand and his answering grin is all the confirmation she needs she made the right decision. 

And so they go to the Christmas market, and at Killian’s insistence she tries mulled wine but quickly trades it in for a cup of boozy cider. They ride the ferris wheel, the cold stinging her cheeks from the top, the lights of Cork spread out before her, and that thrum of love for this place beats loudly in her veins. Suddenly every travel story her parents have ever told her makes sense and maybe Killian is right  – maybe Ireland is in her blood. 

They walk together side-by-side and at a point Emma can’t remember – somewhere between sampling whiskey, buying several bottles for her dad, and licking salt and malt vinegar from hot chips off her fingers – they transition to walking hand-in-hand. The heat of Killian’s skin, even through two layers of gloves, is what she blames for the fact that she actually starts humming along to Christmas carols. Where’s that deep cynicism she has been committed to for her life when she needs it? 

“Told you,” Killian says after the two of them step away from a stall with handmade ornaments. She must have been channeling her mom because she couldn’t stop herself from striking up a conversation with the vendor. Somehow by the end of the interaction she’d agreed to join him and his wife for their annual holiday pub crawl the following night. 

“Told me what?” 

“That you would fall for Ireland.” 

“You get the honor and privilege of keeping me company on my first full night on my first real trip out of the country and all you can say is ‘I told you so’?” 

“I believe what I am trying to say, love, is you appear very much at home here.” 

The sentiment makes everything in Emma buzz, but she does what she does best and works to diffuse it. “Well, uh, I don’t know. Does it ever snow here?” 

“Eh, we get about 50 mm every year?” At her look of confusion Killian smiles. “Not much.” 

“Have you ever had a white Christmas?” 

“Can’t say I have. They’re pretty rare in Ireland.” 

“In that case, I think this means you should come to Maine. We do a great white Christmas.” 

“Maybe I will.” 

“Great. Next year sound good?” 

Killian laughs and squeezes her hand. “Sounds great.”

She hears the faint echo of advice her dad once gave her. It was right when she was fresh off her heartbreak with Neal and wasn’t sure she had it in her to apply for grad school. He said something to her about moments. About the need to notice good moments even in the midst of bad ones. 

Standing here hand-in-hand with a man she met only five hours ago, the glow of Christmas lights dancing in technicolor hues against his cheeks and hair, Emma is absolutely certain this is a good moment. 

“Emma?” 

She answers Killian’s question by rising up on her toes and kissing him. It’s quick and fleeting, barely a brush of her lips against his, but the look on his face as she pulls away, all bright eyed-wonder, deserves to be classified as a good moment all on its own. 

It takes self-control Emma wasn’t aware she possessed to not drop their shopping bags to the ground, grip him by the lapels of his jacket, and kiss the crap out of him. Instead she loops her arm in his. 

“It’s getting late,” she says. “Want to walk me back to my hotel?” 

He swallows, that poleaxed expression still on his face. “Aye.” 

The next morning, Emma is woken up by the sound of her video call alert and boy it was a mistake to not extend her do not disturb until noon. She reaches out and blindly bats at the bedside table until she makes contact with her phone. As soon as she swipes up on her mom’s call, she squeezes her eyes shut again. 

“Hello?”

“Oh, sweetie. Are you still jet lagged?” 

“And a little hungover.”

“Sounds like you had a very eventful night.”

Killian grumbles from somewhere behind her. “What time is it?” he asks.

It’s right about this moment Emma realizes her error. Her mom goes quiet and Emma considers taking the opportunity to end the call. And then maybe ignore every call thereafter for the next five days. 

“Emma Nolan. Is there a man in bed with you?” 

“No,” Emma answers, though it’s perfunctory and not at all convincing. 

Killian presses closer to her, and shifts so his chin rests on her shoulder. “Hello again, Mrs. Nolan. And this must be Mr. Nolan.” 

That gets Emma’s attention and she opens her eyes enough to see her mom and dad sitting beside one another on the couch. While her mom is positively gleeful, her dad looks as though he wishes he could melt into the couch cushions and disappear. 

“There are certain things I don’t care to see,” her dad says. “Certain things I don’t care to know.” 

Emma rotates in bed and onto her back, holding the phone above her head so both she and Killian are still in view of the camera. “Oh hush, Dad, you and mom did it the first night you met.” 

“You told her that?” 

In response, her mom shrugs. “She asked.” 

“And not that it matters, but Killian and I didn’t have sex.” 

Though it didn’t stop them from trading long, slow kisses that left her dizzy and wanting more, more, and more. Killian must have felt the same because it took little to no convincing to get him to stay the night. Perhaps most remarkably, after extending the invitation, Emma had no desire to retract it or pretend it didn’t mean anything. 

“Your daughter was far too drunk to have sex.” Emma turns her head so fast in Killian’s direction she hears something crack. 

“That, for instance, is one of the things I don't want to know about,” her dad says.  

Killian cheerfully waves at the camera, ignoring both her father’s indignation and her glare. “I’m Killian, by the way. Happy to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Nolan.” 

Emma elbows Killian. The man is a total menace. “I’ll call you guys back when I’ve had coffee,” 

“I want details,” her mom says. 

“And I want no details.” 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Emma hangs up the phone and tosses it in the direction of the foot of the bed. She flips over onto her side and Killian mirrors her, reaching out to trace the freckles on the bridge of her nose. “So that was my dad.” 

“He seems a charming fellow.” 

“Don’t let the responsible tough guy act fool you,” she says, and snuggles closer to Killian. He responds just as she hoped, by wrapping his arms tight around her. “He once spent all his money on a cross country train ride and stole oyster crackers from the dining car for food. And during a California road trip, my mom almost froze to death sleeping in her wet bathing suit on the side of the road.” 

Killian chuckles, the vibrations of his laugh making her feel even warmer. “You’re saying they can deal with a half naked man in their daughter’s hotel room?”  

“Yeah, they can deal.” After a moment’s hesitation, Emma slips her hands up and under Killian’s shirt. It’s the one he wore to work, and she can still smell the faint aromas of beer and fried food that linger. She presses her palms against his back and bunches the shirt up, up, and then over his head. 

“Emma?” 

A girl could get used to the way his voice moves over the syllables of her name. “They might have a problem with a fully naked one, though.” She kisses his bare shoulder.

Killian’s hands move under her shirt to span her waist. Goosebumps breakout across her skin. By the slight twist of his lips, Killian notices. “So you’re saying—?” 

“I’m saying you should quit gabbing and kiss me before they call again.” 

“As you wish.”

And a week later, when she is back in Maine celebrating Christmas with her family and Killian is in Ireland with his, Emma convinces herself she imagined it. She must have. She must have imagined how safe she felt in the presence of another person. Imagined the comfort she felt as he joined her for a quick road trip to Dublin. Imagined that it could feel like your heart was split in two, half residing in the chest of a person you just met. 

But the week of New Year’s Eve, when he arrives in Maine to celebrate with her, she’s startled to find it was all real. 

The morning after Killian arrives, she sits with her mom in her parents’ breakfast nook, the two of them sipping coffee as Killian and her dad make waffles. 

“Not such a dumb souvenir after all, huh?” her mom whispers.

Emma shakes her head, too happy to even react to her mom’s shameless gloating. “No. Not so dumb.” 

[amjustagirl]

Chapters:  one. ~ two. ~ three. ~ four. ~ five. ~ six. ~ seven.

Wordcount: 2.3k

Summary:

Akaashi Keiji catches glimpses of another life in his dream.He dreams of fields of endless gold, of constellation of stars that light up the night sky. He hears echoes of the birdsong in her laugher, the songs to the gods in the wind.

(Loosely inspired by Kimi No Nawa)

Masterlist link here 

AO3 link here

Author’s note: This fic is a little different from my usual work, so I’m a little nervous about publishing it. If you do like it, would love if you leave a comment / reblog / anything!

If you’d like to be included in the taglist, do drop me a msg/ask!

‘It’s for my mother’s birthday’, Akaashi says, and the florist tilts her head in thought, a dimple appearing on her right cheek. 

‘What about pink carnations? They’re pretty and well within your budget’.

‘Good choice – plus it means that I’ll never forget her’ he says, nodding in approval and she bustles around to gather her materials, fingers nimbly twining tissue and ribbons around the blooms. 

‘Oh - ’, he begins to say in surprise when he notices she’s included a bunch of baby’s breath in the little bouquet, because a university student’s budget only stretches that much. 

‘Don’t worry, it’s on the house’, she hastily reassures him, her curly hair bouncing as she shakes her head. ‘I just thought it’s sweet you’re buying flowers for your mother.

‘Thanks.’ He smiles at her. She grins back and promptly trips over her own feet as she hands the bouquet over to him. ‘Watch out’, he calls, reaching over the counter to grab her elbow in an attempt to steady her.

‘Sorry! That’s so clumsy of me. Um – I’ve been meaning to ask you for some time, but would you like to grab coffee with me someday?’ she asks, cheeks flushing as pink as the flowers in his arms. 

‘Oh’, he says, dumbstruck. ‘I – uh’ 

She must read the hesitation in his face because she shakes her head self-deprecatingly, saving him from floundering awkwardly. ‘Sorry! I don’t know what came over me – please forget I ever said that!’ Then she bows and ushers him out of the store, waves away his apologies with a laugh and calls after him to ‘please come again!’ 

His mother fusses over him when he presents his bouquet of carnations to her, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek. ‘Why does it look like university is treating you so badly?

‘I’m fine, mum’, he tries to distract her with a hug, but she’s having none of that. 

‘Are you really, Keiji?’, his mother asks, lips pursed. ‘I know my son well enough to know he’s not sleeping well’. 

‘I try’, he offers, but he knows his excuse falls flat when she sniffs. He’s so irredeemably busy with school work and internship that sleep is practically the last item on his list of priorities and things to do and tasks at hand, but he knows if he breathes a word about the amount of work on his plate, his mother would nag him relentlessly until she’s convinced he’s taking care of himself again

So honed by years of dealing with Bokuto-san, he switches tactics to diversion. ‘So mum, tell me how auntie managed to talk Yuji-kun into going on blind dates?’ His mum brightens and immediately turns her mind to her favourite nephew’s dismal love life. 

But his mother insists on him staying over that night, so he finds himself staring at the ceiling of his old bedroom, in a bed that suddenly feels too small for the worries that adulthood is cramming into his head. He’s patient, counting the spaces between his breaths but sleep eludes him and he sits up, determined to sneak in more work at the very least.  

He tucks a pencil behind his ear, ready to get cracking on his thesis when he tilts his seat too far on the back two legs of his chair and loses his balance, falling onto the floor with a thump. ‘Damnit’, he curses quietly, hoping the noise doesn’t startle his mother awake, but from his vantage point on the floor, he can see the omamori he inexplicably refused to throw away on New Year’s Day hanging on the bars of his windowsill. 

‘What are you doing here’, he mutters, untying the charm and running his thumb along its fraying seams. The charm obviously does not respond - it’s an inanimate object after all, but for some reason, he slips it in his pocket when he returns to the dorm when morning comes. 

The frequency of his dreams starts to increase. 

He’s back in her body, curled up under a pine tree on a cool autumn day. 

‘I can’t believe you convinced me to spend an afternoon running around like a forest nymph when we could be studying to ace your exams’.  There is a tinge of disdain in his words because he  knows  her grades are better than decent, though they’d be better if only she’d spend more time on her books instead of flower fields. 

‘Aww, a nymph? Someone’s feeling extra poetic today’, she teases lightly. 

‘Don’t try distracting me from the fact that you really should be studying’, he insists, displeased. 

‘I do study’  she protests, but he hums disbelievingly, the spectre of Waseda’s devilishly difficult entrance exam looming in his mind. 

‘Not enough to get into a decent university at this rate.’

‘I don’t want to go to university, Keiji, I’ve tried telling you this before’, she sighs. 

‘You don’t?’ 

‘Nope’  she responds, popping the word in her mouth. ‘I just want to sell flowers to people someday, is that so bad? It’s simple - they make people happy, and that makes me happy in turn. If we only have a lifetime to spend on this earth, shouldn’t we pursue what truly brings us joy instead of dreams others impose on us?’

‘ I suppose that makes sense’, he says, sounding vaguely convinced.

‘Course it does’, she responds easily, a smile flickering in her voice. ‘I always make sense. Now. Let’s not squabble, it’s my turn to tell you a story today’. 

So he listens, enthralled despite himself, as she spins tales of the Kodama, tree spirits dwelling in the ancient forest, how her mother taught her to always offer a prayer to the gods before chopping down a tree - and if the tree bleeds, to back away because it means it has a Kodama living, breathing within it. 

‘Are they real?’  he asks her, when she finishes a tale of a  Kodama who assumed human form after falling in love with a maiden blessed with cherry blossoms in her cheeks.

‘Of course they are’  she laughs. ‘If you close your eyes and listen carefully, you can hear them sing. ’

He closes his eyes, but the forest remains eerily still. ‘ I don’t hear anything, ’ he says, disbelief colouring his tone. 

‘Maybe it’s because they know you don’t really believe in them yet.’

He wakes up with the scent of pine in his nose, the lingering touch of grass against the soles of his feet. 

‘Electricity is a fickle beast in this household, so the first thing you need to do when you come home is to light the fire in the irori. Even Toya-chan knows how to do that, and he’s eight!’  

He stares balefully at the sunken hearth lined with stone and filled with ash, situated right in the center of the old house.  ‘This is a fire hazard’, he tells her stubbornly. 

‘Fire is life, you spoilt city boy! It only becomes dangerous if you don’t respect it. Now come on, or you’ll end up freezing to death and I won’t be able to save you. I always keep a lighter in my pocket and in the store room there’s coal and if really necessary, some petrol I flinched from the petrol station – ‘

‘You better make sure the teachers don’t find your lighter and think you’ve been smoking – ‘ he interjects and she continues as if she doesn’t hear him. 

‘So you light the fire and hang the kettle from the iron hook, and voila! You can cook porridge or soup if electricity runs out and you can’t rely on the rice cooker or stove. And when the night is too cold to sleep in your room, you can drag your futon out here for warmth. It’s kinda nice, almost like camping. Now, let’s see you try lighting a fire yourself!’ 

Her fingers are thin and nimble, but they’re unfamiliar implements to him, so he fumbles with arranging the coal and scrap paper around damp wood. He has to resort to using a drip of petrol to coax the damp wood to ignite in flames but he counts it as a triumph anyway as fire dances in the sunken hearth.  

He can hear her cheer – ‘Congrats city boy!’ Ignoring the implied insult in her words, he smiles. 

He’s back in her skin again when her voice echoes in his mind. 

‘Y’know you’re not gonna be able to learn how to put on a bra if you don’t open your eyes when doing it right?’  she says, amusement ripe in her voice. ‘Every girl has tits, Keiji . If it makes you feel better, I’ve seen your dick ’. 

‘What?’ he yelps, eyes still stubbornly closed. 

‘How else was I supposed to use the urinals? Goodness, being a guy is so convenient when it comes to peeing, you just point and shoot - ’

‘Right, that’s too much information, thanks’, he huffs. 

‘Well, you’re gonna make me late for school if you don’t open your eyes’’, she sing songs, and he knows she’s banking on his reverence for punctuality and perfect attendance records to get him to look in the mirror, but he’s not sure it outweighs his mother’s lessons of being a gentleman.  

‘Keiji-kun ’, she says again, amused. ‘I do appreciate that you’re trying to protect my modesty, but those rules don’t really apply when we’re in a situation like this, you know? If it makes you feel better, I give you explicit permission to look at my breasts when strictly necessary.’

‘Can you not say it like that’, he grouses before cracking an eye open, somewhat persuaded, and somehow manages to snap the tiny hooks in place. ‘Bras are like torture devices’. 

‘Don’t I know it’, she chuckles.  ‘Be glad you only have to put up with it every once in a while’. 

He snorts, more comfortable once some semblance of her modesty is secured. ‘I’ll count my blessings then’. Twisting at the waist to zip up her skirt, his breath catches at a glimpse of freckles on her back in the mirror. He forgets he’s still standing in front of the mirror as his fingers idly ghost over the constellation, a spray of stardust on bare skin. 

‘Keiji ?’ she asks, confused. 

‘Sorry!’, he startles. ‘It’s just - I never noticed you had freckles on your back before.’

‘Yes - I’m aware I have them, and?’, she replies archly, and the irony that she’s completely fine with him staring at her breasts but not her back does not elude him, but he holds his tongue. 

‘They’re arranged in my favourite constellation’, he tells her honestly and he’s relived to hear her chuckle again. 

‘I’ll show you the real thing next time’, she promises, before switching seamlessly to berate him -  ‘And you can stop staring at my back now, we’re gonna be late for school! ’

The next day is spent wondering if he’s a creep for dreaming about half naked sixteen year old girls – even if there’s nothing remotely sexual about his dream. 

He sees her run through the woods like a fawn discovering spring for the first time, watches her come to a stop at an open clearing framed by trees. There is a shrine in the center of the clearing, cracked and covered in moss, but she approaches it reverently, dropping to her knees. 

‘There is old magic in this shrine’, she whispers, brushing leaves and branches away before laying her omamori down at the altar. ‘ Do you remember the wish you made? ’ 

‘I wished for more time - I got greedy and asked for yesterday to come again ’, he answers, voice hushed. 

‘And I wished for the exact opposite. I got impatient and asked tomorrow to arrive, as fast as it can ’, she replies, tilting her face up to the sun. 

‘I suppose that’s what happened ’, he says. ‘Our wishes got tangled up, and our bodies and souls got thrown through time and space’. 

‘Hm. Do you think we have souls, Keiji? ’ she asks him.

‘Yes  ’, he says, sounding perplexed. ‘What else would we be swapping?’  

‘What colour d’you think your soul is? ’ It’s a strange question, but he’s used to anticipating the unexpected from her. 

‘Blue. It reminds me of the summer sky ’, he replies.

‘Fitting’, she laughs with a cheeky grin on her face. ‘Since the sky is a star’s domain’. 

‘What about you’, he asks, so accustomed to ignoring her teasing about Bokuto-san. ‘What colour do you think your soul is?’

‘Yellow, I hope ’, she says dreamily. ‘It’s warmth and life - like flames lighting up wintry nights, or daffodils on the first day of spring’ .

He wonders if it’s a coincidence that the strange dreams hit him in full force right after he brings back the omamori. 

But Kenma’s right, he’s become strangely addicted to the narrative his dreams are showing him. It’s like the books he snuck under the covers at night, emerging bleary eyed in the morning because he was intent on seeing the story end. And if he’s being completely honest with himself, it makes him feel like that he - quiet, bookish Akaashi Keiji is the protagonist in the Ghibli movies that Bokuto-san makes him watch, so he doesn’t put up a fight against the dreams that re-invade his sleep.

Taglist: 

@1tooru @kageyamakock @animeflower26 @underrated-fruit-tarts-official @bongofrito

[sandalaris]

DVD Commentary A: Lesson in Navigation - The End of Chapter 5? Starting with: "She wakes to the sounds of the shower running and an empty bed across the room." (it may be slightly longer than 500 words, but only by like 60, don't cut off this line: "It reminds her a little of the way he'd case a potential score, half-lost in the calculations and newly revealed details, and she fights a shiver, looking away as she ties her laces and stands." cause it's one of my favorites)

A. Send me any passage of 500 words or less from any fanfic I’ve written, and stick that selection in my ask. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what’s going on in the character’s heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.

She wakes to the sounds of the shower running and an empty bed across the room. There’s a pounding behind her eyes, a physical protest against the late night and too short hours of restless sleep, and an irritation at the world under her skin.

This was a mixture between my personal dislike of developing a crush, because it feels awful in the beginning and I don’t get anyone who says they like feeling that way, and my being convinced that Kate didn’t sleep well after her realization the night before that led to Kate waking up cranky and with a headache from a bad night’s sleep.

Not gonna lie, I’m a little proud of the line “an irritation at the world under her skin.” I made a point not to cut it when my editing almost reworded it in such a way that it didn’t work.

She wants to roll over and escape back into unconsciousness for a few more hours but the digital clock beside her tells her its already well into late morning. Her stomach grumbles in hungry protest as Kate slips from the bed, blinking groggily in the muted light from the curtained window. 

I probably spent way too long trying to figure out exactly what time motels stop serving breakfast, especially when I didn’t even specify what time it actually was that Kate woke up, but that’s a big part of writing, doing a bunch of research you never actually use. I spent a lot of time trying to figure out the timeline so that I could stick as close to canon as I could, and I needed it to be late enough that they wouldn’t arrive at Uncle Eddie’s too soon but also wouldn’t have to skip out eating. Parts of the breakfast scene were already written and I really didn’t want to have to chuck them all and make them eat in the car.

The shower turns off and Seth appears a few minutes later clad in boxers and pulling his undershirt on over his head.

Seth was always going to come out in some kind of clothes, but I did amuse myself with the idea of writing him coming out in a towel and a flustered Kate grumpily dealing with that.

It’s such a small thing, I doubt anyone’s noticed or cares that much, but I try very hard to only call Seth’s white tanks “undershirts.”

Lingering patches of moisture glue the thin material along the lines of his chest and torso and Kate’s eyes catch and stick for a moment, a faint echo of heat pulsing low in her stomach.

Because now that Kate’s realized she’s attracted to him, she's going to notice such things in a way she didn’t quite before. And Seth seems like the kind of guy to not fully dry off before pulling some of his clothes back on (but not all, because pants on damp skin doesn’t work). They’ve also developed quite a bit of casual intimacy with each other by the time season two starts, and coming out in what is essentially his underwear falls under that.

I was also wanted to touch on the idea that Kate finds her feelings/attraction to him a bit inconvenient. Not only does she have to deal with everything else going on in her life, she’s now distracted by Seth in a damp undershirt and runs the risk of being caught staring.

I’m also asexual and do not understand the appeal of visual stimuli in a purely sexual context. I read a lot various slowburn romances dealing with sexual attraction in hopes that I could get Kate’s physical attraction/noticing of Seth across in this and the chapters following. I know this is just a short line, but “a faint echo of heat pulsing low in her stomach” was practically agonized over as I tried to figure out if that was something that was plausible. *shrug* It’s easier to imagine/write about when there’s touching and/or emotions involved.

He pauses when he sees her, gaze flicking down to her bare feet before coming back up to her sleep mussed hair.

“Sleeping Beauty finally wakes,” he greets almost cheerfully and Kate scowls at him.

It’s a cliche and I don’t care, Seth one-hundred percent noticed her wearing his shirt and only his shirt, especially with her just-out-of-bed hair. He’s also more than a little amused by Kate’s sleepy state, because sleepy people are adorable and you can’t convince me otherwise.

The fandom refers to Kate as a Disney princess enough that I just had to put a reference in as well. :P And Seth will take a teasing opportunity when it presents itself, especially after last night and her new awareness of him. And I’m stopping there because I do have his version of this scene written and I don’t want to spoil everything that’s going through his head.

And of course, grumpy!Kate.

Seth, she’d discovered shortly into their life on the road, is a morning person. Even when hungover he’s able wake-up fairly alert and ready to get moving, while Kate has always needed time to shed the lingering effects of sleep. “Get dressed. Breakfast ends in forty-five minutes.” 

“Yeah yeah,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes as she heads towards the now vacant bathroom.

I took most of that from canon and just expanded on it a bit. We only see him wake up the once, but he definitely got up and got moving really quickly. It wasn’t much to decide that he’s a morning person.

She finds her clothes folded haphazardly on the bathroom counter, pausing with a flash of muted embarrassment at the sight of her underwear sitting on top of her jeans.

It amused me to think of Seth catching sight of Kate’s clothes on the shower and then having to pull them down and poorly folding them. Just the domesticity of it, of sharing a living space with another person and all those little things that you end up doing/seeing. But it also takes on a different, more embarrassing context when you like someone and you realize they’ve seen your bra and panties sitting out.

It’s ridiculous, Seth must have seen every article of clothing she owns at some point or another, either when doing laundry or because life in one room motels doesn’t leave a lot of space for modesty, but there’s something about knowing he had to pull her delicates down from the top of the shower curtain that leave her self-conscious and eyeing the simple faded green cotton critically.  

I was thinking of those moments when you run into your crush and suddenly you’re thinking about how your shirt still has that coffee stain from this morning or how messy you’re desk/apartment/workspace/etc looks and just becoming suddenly self-conscious of how they are taking in you and your stuff. And again, the whole he saw her bra and panties thing and then had to move them out of the way.

She shakes it off, brushing her teeth and using the restroom quickly before pulling on her panties and jeans.

I’ll admit, this line was mostly because I didn’t want to forget that these are people and they need to do basic human things like use the restroom.

Her shirt from the day before is full of weird wrinkles and her bra still too damp from where the lightly padded cups absorbed their fair share of water and she hesitates only a moment before shoving them both in the plastic shopping bag.

Part of this was an excuse to get Kate in Seth’s shirt for a bit longer (for reasons), although the bra part was more inspired because I noticed Kate wears bras with slight padding and I know they can take too long to dry.

Folding the sleeves of Seth’s shirt up to her elbows and removing the smudges of make-up from below her eyes go a long way to making her look presentable, but she still morns the loss of her few cosmetics and face wash. Or god, even a hairbrush, running her fingers through her hair only does so much.

I hadn’t entirely realized the implications of Kate and Seth running into Carlos right after their dinner and then having to flee until the conversation Kate had with Sonja in the parking lot. (I’m a pantser, I set write something and then think about the consequences after :P) In the first draft, Seth didn’t come back with anything after getting a room so there was no bag or Tylenol for Kate’s headache or toothbrushes. But he also didn’t get much, and I wanted to show the consequences of running with virtually nothing and how much you miss the little things.

Seth’s brows knit together when he sees her, but he doesn’t comment.

Seth and seeing her wearing his damn shirt and the statement it implies... yeah...

He watches her though, throwing on his suit jacket and buttoning it closed as Kate pulls on her socks and shoes, something thoughtful and a bit intense behind his eyes. It reminds her a little of the way he'd case a potential score, half-lost in the calculations and newly revealed details, and she fights a shiver, looking away as she ties her laces and stands.

Seth is a strategist guy, and when he’s casing a job he’s figuring out angles and how to best approach. He knows how to work the job, how to study all the pieces and get everything set up to give himself the best possible outcome. Its a rather focused look he has, his attention devoted on gathering as much information as he can and working out the steps he’ll need to take. Not to imply that Kate is something he's going to steal (although he kind of already did that) or that he’s got some grand master plan here, but rather this newly discovered (on her part) possibility between them and the statement she’s subconsciously implying and just this shift in their relationship... there’s a strategy to courtship and Seth knows strategy.

“C’mon,” she mutters, shoving what little possessions they have into the bottom of her bag. “I’m hungry.”

I’ll be entirely honest, I struggled way too much with how to end this scene. I swear that line gave me more trouble than the rest of the scene combined.

[wildshadowtamer]

A Different Path (What If?) Ch 4.5

Summary: Perry celebrates his first christmas as family with the kidsNothing could ruin this day, Perry was sure of it.

Tags (Chapter Specific): Fluff, Family Fluff

Tags (Fic General): Ducky Momo - Freeform, Implied/Referenced Character Death, car crash, burn scars, burn victim, Fluff and Angst, warning: this fic is dark, especially the first chapter, Inspired by Fanfiction, Based on a Tumblr Post, AU, what if au, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mentions of car crashes, Past Child Abuse, mentions of child abuse, mentions of child abandonment, Family Fluff, Fluff

Notes: Credit to woulddieforperrytheplatypus for encouraging me to write this fic! This half-chapter is pure, pure fluff.

Rating (Fic General): Teen And Up Audiences

Read It On Ao3

or

Read It Here!

~~~~

25th December, 2004

“IT’S CHRISTMAS!” Phineas cheered, throwing himself onto Heinz and hitting 5 organs all at once, Heinz made a pained groan as he stirred awake, looking over at Perry, who was standing in the doorway with a coffee, looking rather smug, a santa hat placed on his head.

“Curse you, Perry the platyp-” He was cut off by Ferb, Candace, and Vanessa landing on all his organs like an overly excited pet. He sighed and gave up trying to curse his nemesis.

“And i thought one kid doing that was bad” Heinz remarked, lightly pushing the kids off him so he could actually get up, the kids swarmed around him like a bunch of playful pups until Perry eventually herded them to the table for breakfast.

Heinz smiled fondly and got ready for the christmas morning. No matter how evil he considers himself, he promised Vanessa he’ll never be evil enough to ruin christmas. And he intends on keeping that promise.

“Alright, i’m here” Heinz waved to the kids tiredly as he glanced into the kitchen, Perry was cooking up some eggs and bacon, like he normally does if Heinz wakes up late.

“Dad! Dad!” Phineas tugged excitedly on Heinz’ arm “Can we open the presents yet?” he asked, Heinz swore he could see stars in Phineas’ eyes.

He chuckled “Not yet, Phineas, breakfast first. Sit back down” Phineas whined and puppy-eyed, but Heinz stood his ground and put the energetic 5 year old back in his seat, sitting down too.

After a few minutes, Perry whistled to get his family’s attention, and brought out the food, Ferb and Candace dug in once grabbing their share, but Phineas and Vanessa went between eating and excitedly talking about how amazing the city looked in the winter. Heinz had to agree, the city was beautiful in the snow, especially once the christmas decorations were put up. 

You could never find anything like this in Drusselstein. While christmas was actually pretty good in that old town, there were never many decorations, a few christmas garden gnomes joined him in the front garden at night, but that was about it. Heinz mentally shuddered at that memory, the horrid cold of the night, freezing his skin even through the thick gnome clothes.

A faint memory of the ocelots flickered through his brain, but he pushed it back. He never wants to remember those days. He never wants to go through that again.

Perry snapped his fingers infront of Heinz’ face, pulling him back into the present. “Oh, Did i space out again? Sorry, you know how i am about winter.” He apologised, quickly focusing on eating, and ignoring the faintly concerned look that crossed Perry’s face for a moment.

“Can we open presents now dad? Please?” Phineas begged Heinz after breakfast, who gave in to the young boy’s puppy-dog eyes “Oh alright, go ahead” He smiled fondly and ruffled the redhead’s hair, the kids cheered and ran over to the giant christmas tree placed in the corner of the living room.

The family took turns opening presents as Perry put a long video of crackling fire on the tv, getting dragged into the present sharing by Phineas, who excitedly handed him a box, messily hand-wrapped

Perry took the box and opened it with some trouble, then softly lifted the gift from its container “Candace helped me make it” Phineas explained as Perry looked, awestruck, at his gift. In his hands was an open locket in the shape of his webbed footprint, separate pictures of him and the boys the first year they met were placed on each section of the locket, Perry’s picture placed in the middle.

“Do you like it?” Phineas asked, looking worried as Perry teared up, and jumping a bit when Perry pulled him into a tearful hug. 

Perry pulled his notepad from his santa hat, and shakily wrote a message, starting to smile through his tears 

I love it. Thank you so much.

His family looked at the note, and smiled, pulling the crying agent into a big family hug. “To Perry’s first christmas as family!” Heinz announced happily, holding his kids close, the kids giggled and repeated their father, making Perry cry even more.

There’s not a single thing in this world that could ruin this day.

[pain-somnia]

Konoha TV Cryptid

Rating: T (for some language) Disclaimer Day’s Notes: I wrote a little one-shot based on a twitter thread started by @thatshipcat and I recommend reading it to see what inspired this one-shot, it’s pretty funny. This fic is Uchiha-centric and it has mentions of SasuSaku, SasoObi, KakaRin, and I guess it implies some ShiItaIzu. I hope this fic makes you laugh.

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.

“Sasuke, turn off the television! Guests will be arriving soon.”

Sasuke did as his mother requested and powered off the television in the living room, but he didn’t move from his spot on the floor by the coffee table. A night of gaming had him forgetting to complete his homework assignment for his Civics class. He had only remembered about fifteen minutes ago when he was supposed to be dusting the living room and plumping the throw pillows as his mother had asked.

Every Sunday his mother hosted brunch and invited all of their relatives that lived in the area. Some of them were tolerable, like Izumi who wasn’t that close of a cousin━her mother, Hazuki, was his father’s like fourth cousin or something, he didn’t care for the details━but was somewhere in the family tree that had her sharing their family name. Then there was an older cousin, Obito, who unfortunately was a direct relation. He was clingy and babied him and just downright weird. Sasuke wished he would spend his Sundays with his friends or boyfriend, but Obito was always the first one to arrive, ready for a free meal.

Usually Sasuke would eat his meal and try to excuse himself as soon as possible, but today he had a reason to stay put in his seat at the dining table.

A cry of “Auntie Mikoto!” followed the loud bang of the front door that signaled Obito’s arrival.

“He’s buying us a new door one of these days, Mikoto,” Fugaku muttered as he helped bring in toast from the kitchen to the table.

“I don’t know how you do it, but you look more and more radiant each week, Auntie.” Obito presented Mikoto with a bouquet of pink carnations. She had a vase at the ready as he always brought her flowers whenever he came over to eat.

Sasuke attempted to sneak away, but he barely had his foot on the first step when Obito wrapped an arm around his neck and brought him in for a hug.

“Sasuke!”

“Too tight, you ape!” The more he struggled to be freed, the tighter Obito held onto him. “Get off of me.”

“You break my child and I’ll break your neck,” Fugaku warned. Obito instantly released Sasuke and backed a foot away from him. “Where’s Itachi? He was just here helping with the food.”

Itachi had made his escape earlier and Sasuke cursed his brother’s knack for saving himself and leaving Sasuke behind to deal with the adults cooing over him.

The doorbell rang, interrupting Sasuke’s thoughts about his traitor older brother. His father nodded his head toward the front door, sending him to answer it.

“Good morning, Uncle Madara.” Sasuke looked at his great uncle impassively and waited for the insult the elderly man was likely to dole out.

“Why is your voice doing that?” He asked, tossing Sasuke his trilby hat.

“It’s puberty, Uncle Madara.” Sasuke turned around to hide the rolling of his eyes. He stowed his uncle’s trilby hat and shoes in the front hall closet. “I can’t help it.”

“You sound like one of those rubber chicken toys.”

Sighing, Sasuke escorted his uncle to his seat at the table. The door opened again and was followed by hurried stomps up the staircase in the foyer. Shisui and Izumi had arrived and just like every Sunday they headed straight up to Itachi’s room.

“Hello, Uncle.” Mikoto wiped her hands on her apron and greeted her uncle with a hug and kisses on both sides of his cheeks. Madara gave his niece the closest thing he could muster to a smile. The corners of his mouth twitched up and then settled into a tight line at the sight of Obito carrying plates into the dining room.

“Are the mimosas ready?” Madara grunted, setting his cane against the table. He snapped his fingers and held a hand out. Obito rushed over to him with a champagne flute and the pitcher.

Mikoto ushered Sasuke up the stairs to get his brother and cousins. He took his time, shuffling his feet, wanting to drag out as much time as possible before he had to rejoin the adults in the dining room.

“Itachi?”

Sasuke rolled his eyes at the picture his brother and cousins made. The three of them were going over their character sheets and getting ready to start a campaign.

“You guys can play Dungeons and Dragons after we eat.”

The older teens organized everything, careful not to knock anything over as they collected themselves. Sasuke scanned the teens, something was off about the group.

Itachi was as he always looked. Silky hair, pin straight and tied in a neat low ponytail. Stress lines still prominent under his eyes behind his black rimmed glasses. Izumi was bright, dressed neatly like she always did for family events.

And then there was Shisui. His curly mop of hair was even more disheveled than usual and he had bags under his eyes. Sasuke looked down at Shisui’s clothes and took in their rumpled state, as if Shisui had slept in his jeans and t-shirt.

“Dork.” Shisi ruffled Sasuke’s hair as he shuffled past him. Sasuke slapped his hand away and narrowed his eyes at the taller of the three teens walking down the stairs.

“Rough night, Shisui?”

Shisui stiffened and slipped on a step. He caught himself on the banister. Sasuke crossed his arms in front of his chest and watched as Itachi and Izumi checked on their older friend.

Huh.

.

.

.

The brat knew.

Shisui took his seat right across from Madara, Sasuke, and Obito. The smallest Uchiha sat nestled between his great uncle and his older cousin and he kept staring at him. There was something about that blank look on his face that was unnerving.

“So how is school, Sasuke?” Obito asked cheerfully, reaching across the table for the pitcher of orange juice.

Shisui had wanted the juice as well, but the minors were stuck drinking water in order to successfully convince Madara that he was drinking a “mimosa.” He wasn’t allowed any alcohol at brunch anymore, but it was easier to pretend than convince him to lay off the sauce during family meals.

“He’s been studying a lot,” Itachi answered before Sasuke could tell their cousin to mind his own business. Under his breath he muttered, “At least he says they’re studying.”

Sasuke shot his brother a glare, his lower lip jutting out in a pout. He looked older than most kids his age, but he was still passably cute. But Shisui wasn’t going to let that fool him.

“Yeah,” Sasuke responded to his brother’s statement. “I was actually doing some homework before everyone came over. Watching the news.”

“It’s ‘I was watching the news’,” Madara hissed, as he cut his omelette. “Speak properly, boy.”

Sasuke rolled his eyes and continued to spread the diced tomatoes on top of his omelette. He couldn’t use ketchup like a normal kid, Auntie Mikoto had to prepare chopped tomatoes for him.

Spoiled brat.

Shisui narrowed his eyes at Sasuke, but tucked into his Eggs Benedict.

“Well, I was watching the news and they were reporting something weird. Something about televisions.”

Shisui coughed, choking on a piece of the English muffin. Itachi thumped lightly on his back, asking him softly he was okay.

“I’m fine,” Shisui coughed out, “it just went down the wrong pipe.”

“What was that about televisions, sweetie?” Auntie Mikoto asked, casting Shisui one last look of concern before shifting her attention to the youngest member of the family.

“Someone wearing a TV on his head dropped off a bunch of old TVs at different houses in the suburb near the college Obito and Shisui attend. It happened last—“

“Isn’t that just an Internet hoax?” Shisui interrupted him, chuckling nervously.

“Don’t interrupt,” Uncle Fugaku reprimanded him. “What were you saying, Sasuke?”

“You know they spoil him,” Itachi muttered under his breath. “Just let him finish his story.”

“Yeah, it happened last night. The person was caught waving at one of the doorbell cameras.”

“I wonder what kind of idiot would do that?” Shisui asked loudly, making a big show of serving himself some bacon and turkey sausage.

“Well I think it’s genius.” Obito munched happily on a poached egg. “You think it’s cool, right Sasuke?”

Obito beamed at Sasuke, desperate for approval. His fondness for his younger cousin was going to give them away and Shisui couldn’t have that.

“Hey can you pass the orange juice, Obito?” Shisui asked before Sasuke could open his mouth to say anything.

“Orange juice? I knew I couldn’t taste any champagne!” Uncle Madara was furious. He started accusing the adults of taking advantage of an old man’s trust while Mikoto tried to assure him that the pitcher held the ingredients for mimosas.

In the midst of the chaos, Uncle Fugaku walked out of the dining room muttering something about needing a stronger drink.

“It’s amazing that it got on the local news,” Obito carried on with the conversation. “I’ve already seen some of it online and there are a lot of people wondering about it, asking where the guy came from and if he━”

“Or she or they, you can’t assume,” Shisui cut him, no longer able to control his nervous laughter. “It’s just a person with a TV head and━”

“And overalls,” Sasuke interrupted him. He was looking straight at him, a blank look on his face. “The kind of overalls mechanics wear. Where do you work part-time again, Obito?”

“My friend Kakashi’s dad has an auto body shop remember?” Obito brightened up at the attention. Shisui cursed him mentally. Obito had no sense of self preservation.

“Interesting.” Sasuke nodded his head and turned his attention back to Shisui. “I have my own theories about the TV incident. There’s no way only one person could have dropped off sixty TVs in one night all by themselves. It had to be a group effort.”

“Sasuke has a girlfriend!” Shisui shouted. Uncle Fugaku who was joining them in the dining room again, choked on the brandy he had been drinking.

“Who is dating?” Uncle Fugaku, cheeks red from his coughing fit. He looked back and forth between Shisui and Sasuke, expecting one of them to answer. Auntie Mikoto was cooing in the background, squealing about her baby growing up.

“Really, asshole?” Sasuke glared at Shisui, ears turning pink in embarrassment.

“Language!” Auntie Mikoto snapped at him, no longer smiling.

Fugaku and Mikoto were scolding Sasuke, words being thrown back and forth on two different subjects. Obito slumped in his seat, pouting, now that they were no longer discussing the theatrics of the TV dumping person. Madara took advantage of the argument and snuck away from the dining room to search for real alcohol.

“You ever wonder why we even bother to show up for brunch?” Izumi asked Itachi. “They don’t even notice we’re here.”

Itachi only shrugged and served himself some orange juice now that they were no longer contributing to the mimosa charade.

.

.

.

After a long lecture and cleaning up the remains of brunch, Sasuke was sent to his room to finish up his homework assignment. He divided his time in looking up articles on what was now being called the Konoha TV Cryptid and messaging his friends.

Naruto kept sending jokes about the TV Cryptid in the groupchat and even though it wasn’t his intention, Naruto was surprisingly helpful.

Sakura: That’s your cousin isn’t it, Sasuke?

Naruto: Wait WHAT??

Sakura had cropped one of the pictures Naruto had sent and zoomed in to a blurry image of a logo on the overalls the person was wearing. It was really fuzzy but it was clear enough to see the important O and U of Obito’s first and last names under a blurry dog logo. It was all the evidence Sasuke needed to know that it was his cousin.

But Obito couldn’t have worked alone. It was a lot of houses and a lot of TVs and he would have had to have carried them all in some way. It had to be a car or a truck. But Obito, while he worked at a shop with his friend, didn’t have a license or a car of his own.

Sasuke narrowed down the possible candidates for Obito’s partner. It couldn’t be his boyfriend, Sasori, because there was no way he would do any of that and he was out of state. Kakashi, Obito’s best friend, would have kicked his ass for even suggesting the prank and Rin, Obito’s other best friend, couldn’t have helped because she would have been home with Kakashi and noticeably absent.

Not even Gai, another one of their friend group, was a likely candidate. There was no way he could keep it a secret, at least not from Kakashi.

Shisui was the one Sasuke suspected the most. He was attending the university near where the TVs were found and he had recently obtained his license after finally taking the driving test. The only issue with Sasuke’s suspicion was that Shisui didn’t own a car. But the outbursts during brunch gave Shisui away.

Knocking on his brother’s bedroom door, Sasuke opened the door and found the three older teens watching a slasher movie.

“Did you want to watch a movie with us, Sasuke?” Itachi asked, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. He was sitting at the foot of his bed between Izumi’s legs while she braided his hair.

“No. I just needed to speak to Shisui. Alone.”

“That’s, uh, unprecedented.” Itachi blinked at his brother in confusion.

Shisui groaned from his spot on the bed next to Izumi but dragged his feet as he followed Sasuke back to his bedroom.

“Alright, what do you want?”

“I know the TV Cryptid is Obito.”

“The TV what?” Shisui gaped at him. “What the hell is that?”

“It’s what they’re calling Obito online.” Sasuke watched the color drain from Shisui’s face. “And I know you helped him.”

“You can’t prove that.”

“You know all I need to do is ask Obito and he’ll tell me everything.”

Sasuke knew he had him trapped there. Obito was annoyingly doting when it came to him. All he needed to do was spend enough time in his older cousin’s presence and Obito would tell him whatever he needed. Hell, if Sasuke brought over Sakura and Naruto, Obito would spill his secret even faster just so he could show off.

Shisui sighed in defeat. The sooner he gave in to Sasuke’s demands the better. “Alright, what do you want?”

“Sakura wants to see that movie that just came out on Friday.”

“Okay, what does━?”

“You’re going to take us and buy our tickets. And our popcorn and drinks. Sakura likes those candy rope things too.”

“Aha, so she is your girlfriend.”

Heat crawled up Sasuke’s neck. Shisui was wrong, Sakura wasn’t his girlfriend. Yes, she was a girl and she was a friend and yeah, she was kind of cute…

“Alright, whatever.” Shisui shrugged. “I wanted to see that movie anyway.”

“You can’t sit with us.”

“Right.” Shisui rolled his eyes. “Is that all of your demands?” He asked sarcastically.

Taking him seriously, Sasuke furrowed his brows and scrunched up his face as he contemplated. He let out a big sigh and said, “You gotta take Naruto out on a ramen date.”

“Ramen date?”

“Yeah, he has a weird crush on you. I don’t get it.”

“Watch it, brat.” Shisui had to hold back the urge to pull Sasuke into a headlock. “He knows I’m not single, right? And he’s a child.”

Sasuke shrugged and replied, “The kid can dream.”

“I’m not doing that.”

“Uncle Madara’s truck is the only vehicle that could have carried all of those TVs and you’re not old enough to rent a truck and Obito who is old enough, doesn’t have a license.” Sasuke crossed his arms in front of his chest and shot Shisui a smug grin. “And Uncle Madara would kill you before letting you near his truck, so I’m sure he doesn’t know that you ‘borrowed’ it.”

“Shit.”

“I’ll text you later with the date and time for the movie and your date with Naruto.” Sasuke opened his bedroom door and jerked his head in the direction of the hallway. “Now leave. I have calls to make.”

Shisui left as asked, completely bemused about what had just happened. He made his way back to Itachi’s room and sat back on his usual spot.

“What did Sasuke want?” Itachi asked, not bothering to look away from the TV.

Shisui groaned and threw himself backward onto Itachi’s bed.

“Your brother is the devil.”

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: Someday

Relationships: Hiei/Mukuro, Hiei/Kurama | Minamino Shuuichi, one-sided Yuusuke + Hiei

Characters: Hiei, Youko Kurama, Mukuro

Additional Tags: One-Sided Attraction, Past Relationship(s), Developing Relationship, Loss of Trust

Summary: An ultimatum, and an impossible choice. The consequences. Hiei/Kurama, Hiei/Mukuro, hinted Yuusuke/Hiei.

Note: Written in 2006. I think the irony here is that this fic, which I started in Summer 2003, has very personal resonances for me. This is ironic because the echo of this fic in my own life didn't come until Spring 2004, when I had set this fic aside because I didn't have time to work on it. The more I think about it, the more I see the presentation of the choice with consequences echoed in my own life. It's a long story, but I decided, just as Hiei did, that someone who gave me a choice so impossible and with such a high threat associated with them wasn't worth my time. This fic was heavily inspired by Morgan D's Eien no Hakusho timeline.

AO3 link

--------

He had made things very clear through his actions, in Hiei's opinion. Things were over between them. Kurama preferred the Ningenkai, and had rejected the Makai. Hiei wondered what the youko would do when his human body died. Would he accept it, or would he do as he had before: escape death. Would he return as the youko? The fire demon quickly decided that he didn't care. It changed nothing.

Hiei scowled in the direction of the portal. It wasn't like he hadn't expected it. He had known that Kurama was going to decide to remain in the Ningenkai. It had been all too obvious. The fox had his mother and family in the Ningenkai. It had hurt that he wasn't going to leave, to come to the Makai, but Hiei had known that he wouldn't, and the knowledge took some of the sting away. But the rest...

He felt dense, because he hadn't seen it coming. He had expected the fox to decide to stay in the Ningenkai, but he hadn't considered that Kurama would also cut him out. He had thought that Kurama's choice would just mean that their relationship would be long distance. Instead, Kurama had essentially delivered an ultimatum.

"Perhaps it would be better if you stayed in the Makai, Hiei," Kurama had said. He hadn't really even broken it off. His message had been that Hiei had to choose between their relationship in the Ningenkai and his place at Mukuro's side in the Makai.

The memory was painful. He had been too shocked to protest, choosing to leave instead. When he had tried to return the next night to ask Kurama what exactly he had meant, he had found the window locked, as it had never been before. It had been a clear message that Kurama had, in fact, meant that it was over unless Hiei did something drastic to negate that. He couldn't help but feel that he had deserved it.

He had been prepared to live completely between the worlds, taking every opportunity to visit. That had changed. He would visit, but his visits would now be infrequent and short, with most of his time devoted to serving Mukuro as best he could. And even on his visits, Kurama would no longer be a priority. Yukina would be the one he visited. He owed it to her for being too much of a coward to tell her who he was. He owed nothing to Kurama; not anymore.

Hiei battled his way to Mukuro's fortress, dealing with the idiots who wished to challenge him harshly and quickly. He would continue to serve Mukuro and only her. There was nothing left for him except that, and he had essentially promised her that he would not strive for death again. Instead he would be her heir, and live only for that purpose.

Hiei entered Mukuro's chambers to find her waiting with tea. He scowled as he realized that she had been expecting him. He sat in the seat across from her and accepted the cup that she poured for him, noting with approval that it had been liberally spiked and pointedly ignoring the implication of that.

"He broke it off," Hiei said after his second cup. His voice was casual, as if he were conversing about the weather.

"I know," Mukuro replied, her voice somber. "He rejected the Makai, Hiei. You are a part of the Makai." There was an uncomfortable silence before Mukuro spoke again. "I'm sorry, Hiei."

Hiei downed another cup of 'tea' before responding. "Actually, he implied a choice..." He looked up, then back down at the empty teacup in his hands. "Stay in the Ningenkai with him, or leave permanently." He set his teacup down and walked to the window, refusing to look at Mukuro, not wanting to see the look on her face. "I suppose I deserved it." He looked out at the landscape, at his decision.

The fire demon didn't realize that Mukuro had moved until her hand was on his shoulder. He risked a glance at her and found her gazing out the window with an inscrutable look on the uncovered half of her face. He looked back out the window, not bothering to shrug her hand off.

"Hiei, there is no excuse for what he did." Her thumb moved, massaging his shoulder lightly in a comforting fashion. "I'm angry partially because he issued you that choice, and it could have meant that I would lose you. But I'm mostly mad because you deserve better than that." Hiei didn't respond. "You were willing to take the hard road. Instead, he gave you the short end of the stick." She turned him around and looked at him closely. "That wasn't fair to you. You don't deserve to be abandoned like that."

Hiei's eyes widened at her words. The word 'abandoned' echoed in his mind, calling up unwelcome memories. He stood there for a while, his face expressionless, his eyes faraway and pained. Then he shook himself out of his stupor and shoved past her, breaking her grip on his shoulders. He was out of the room before she could call his name.

She sighed and leaned against the wall near the window. He was grieving, at least, which meant that he could get over it. She hadn't wanted to say it, but it had been necessary to gauge his state of mind. He had reacted, but his expressionlessness worried her. She wanted to follow him, but she knew he needed time alone to think. If he hadn't returned in a few days, she would go find him. She would just have to deal and ignore her worry until then.

Hiei found himself sitting on a tree branch, looking at the sunset without seeing it. He fingered the gem hanging from the leather thong on his neck, his mind lost in turmoil that belied the tranquil surroundings.

Mukuro had been right, though he didn't want to admit it. He had hated her for saying it at first, but he realized now that she had only been speaking the truth, as much as it had hurt. It had taken him a day and a half to understand. Kurama had abandoned him. He'd done worse than that, really. He had tricked Hiei into opening his heart, and then he had shattered the illusion that he finally had somewhere to call home. All that was left of what the Jaganshi had thought they'd had was broken promises.

It was the Koorime all over again.

The thought made him clutch the tear gem in his fist as he fought the emotions that came with it. It cut deeply into his soul. He had thought Kurama loved him. Hiei stood, finally seeing the sunset as the sky turned a familiar shade of red. He wondered if he would always be reminded of the fox by mundane things. He answered his own question as he noticed that the leaves of the tree he was in were the same color as Kurama's eyes.

He ran from his feelings.

--

Hiei returned three days later, bloodied from battle and exhausted from using the kokoryuha. He had been at the border, routing out trouble, Mukuro knew. Her scouts had reported his whereabouts, along with the not-so-mysterious disappearance of a gang of ne'er-do-wells that had been terrorizing border villages. She had been meaning to deal with them, and was glad that her heir had taken the initiative.

Hiei slept for nearly twenty-four hours after he returned, and afterward maintained a silent, impassive façade that cracked at nothing less than complete exhaustion, when vulnerability took over his features as he slept. Mukuro didn't worry at first, and in fact relished their training battles, in which they fought until Hiei had exhausted his youki. But after several months of this with no change, she was starting to feel irritated.

Hiei had withdrawn from the world, throwing himself into training and his duties. He was barely alive, with no fire in his eyes, as he had been when he had come seeking death in the battle against Shigure, before he had believed he found a home. He spent the entire day moving, fighting, anything to exhaust himself and keep himself from thinking. When he was idle, the fire demon stared blankly into space, removing himself from the world, to a place where he didn't have to think and simply existed.

Mukuro was, frankly, sick of it. Nothing she had tried worked. She'd been hard on him, completely dominating him in battle and giving him no room to move. She had once left him on the training field, unconscious, in pouring rain, and he had woken six hours later completely soaked and filthy. Even giving him mundane duties did nothing. He never complained or even looked at her reproachfully. It was like he wasn't even there.

Finally, she tried one last tactic. During training she didn't lift a finger against him. She barely defended herself, deflecting his attacks just enough to leave her without injury. She let him wear himself down, expending all of his youki while she did nothing. When he collapsed to his knees, panting and sweating, he still didn't look at her.

"How much longer are you going to go on like this, Hiei?"

The fire demon finally looked up, exhausted and confused. "Like what?"

"Like you've already died."

Hiei flinched. "Does it matter?"

Mukuro stepped forward and knelt beside him. "Yes. It does."

"Why?"

She frowned at him. "Because you're not dead, and cutting yourself off from the world isn't going to make it stop hurting."

"Maybe I should be dead."

Mukuro hit him across the face, none too softly, watching as his head snapped back at the force. He stared at her, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "You're alive, Hiei. I'd prefer that you stay alive."

She pulled him to his feet, but he pushed away, sprawling on the ground, unable to stand up again. "What does it matter, Mukuro? What's the point?"

"Why doesn't it matter?" she countered.

He stared at her silently for a moment. "Because I'm tired of it mattering. I'm tired of the disappointment. I'm fucking tired of being unwelcome."

They stared at each other for several minutes, Hiei's breathing short and exhausted, Mukuro's quick and angry. Finally, she responded. "You're welcome here, Hiei."

"For how long?" the sanjiyan demanded. "How long until you get tired of me? How long until you're finished with me?"

Mukuro bit off the angry response that was on the tip of her tongue and resisted the urge to hit him. It hit her suddenly: that was the reason for his behavior the past several months; he assumed that she would abandon him as well. He was distancing himself. She regarded him silently and chose her words carefully. "As long as you need a place to rest and call home, you're welcome here."

He looked at her suddenly, and she could see the tumult of emotions in his eyes: relief, confusion, pain, exhaustion, sorrow, grief, love. Then he averted his eyes, breaking contact. "Thank you," he whispered.

When she pulled him to his feet this time, he slumped against her, unconscious, and she tenderly picked him up and carried him to the fortress. She brought him to her quarters and set him on the bed, leaving him there to sleep as long as he wanted.

--

The Makai had been, for the most part, a peaceful place since Yuusuke had returned ten years prior, when Keiko had been killed by a vengeful demon. She had been nearly fifty, but Yuusuke had barely aged a day. He had approached Hiei, but the fire demon had refused his advances, happy by Mukuro's side and in her bed. Instead, they had trained Yuusuke, and he had, three years later, gone on to win the Makai tournament. He had been in power of Raizen's old kingdom since, winning a second tournament. He would, unless a suitable challenger appeared, win a third time in another two years.

Despite the peace, the three kingdoms continued their border patrols, which was what Hiei was doing today, separated by a bird call from the rest of the squad. He didn't expect the vines that attempted to trap him, but easily destroyed them nonetheless. Having seen the vines, he wasn't surprised by the voice that called out from the foliage.

"You've grown." The voice was playful, amused, and filled with lust.

"What do you want, Kurama?"

The youko stepped from the ferns. He approached Hiei, his gait slow and provocative. He finally stopped less than a foot from Hiei. "You."

Hiei snorted. "You had me, and you told me to leave."

"That was fifty years ago." The fox moved to hold him, kiss him, and Hiei sidestepped him.

Kurama smelled of musky roses and something more indistinguishable, a strange mixture of human and animal. It was fitting, given that the creature before him was no true youko. But where the scent had once evoked lust, Hiei felt nothing. "Did you really expect me to wait, Kurama?"

The youko seemed taken aback, and Hiei continued. "You rejected the Makai, fifty years ago. How ironic that you changed your mind. Didn't want to adhere to the short human lifespan?"

The youko lips thinned. "My mother died a month ago."

Hiei turned away. "My condolences."

"I'm free to be with you, Hiei."

"But I'm not free to be with you."

Kurama's eyes narrowed. "Mukuro. That bit-"

"Mukuro, Yuusuke, Bui, Shigure. It doesn't matter who." The Jaganshi cut him off, glaring. "You were free fifty years ago. We were together fifty years ago, but you sent me away. Now your mother's out of the way, so I'm supposed to throw myself into your arms and let you fuck me until you get bored again?"

Kurama moved to slap him, but touched only air. "Fuck you."

"I don't think so. Those days are over, Kurama." The youko stared at him. "You can't just abandon me and expect me to wait around for five decades. You made a decision, and now you have to live with it."

They stared at each other for several moments. Finally, Kurama spoke. "I missed you, Hiei."

"And I missed you. I missed what we used to have. But we can't go back to it, Kurama. It's too late." He closed his eyes, warding off regret. He had nothing to regret. "It was too late when you gave me that ultimatum."

The youko was silent again for a few seconds. "I'm sorry, Hiei."

Hiei smiled sadly. "I'm not." He left Kurama then, continuing his patrol. The past was behind him, and there it would stay.

[stillebesat]

The Butterfly Effect -A Blast from the Past (2/26)

Sanders Sides: Roman, Patton Inspiration: from @writing-prompt-s  “My domain is time,” said the Genie. “Instead of three wishes, you get three decisions. Go back and choose again.” Blurb: Roman has three chances to change his life for the better. Three chances to fix past mistakes. Three chances to totally screw it all up. But who said life is worth living unless one takes a little risk? Fic Type: Hurt/Comfort Overall Fic Warnings: Major Character Death (mentioned), Suicide (mentioned), Suicide Attempt, Partial Paralysis, Injuries, Blood, Punching/Fighting, Knives, Medicinal Misuse, Toxic Roommates (implied/mentioned), Acrophobia (fear of heights), Falling, Nausea, Bullying (implied/mentioned), Car Accident (mentioned), Prison (mentioned), Negative Self Talk, Panic Attack, Bomb (mention), Surgery (mentioned)

To Catch Up: Chapter 1

The Phantom reached out to the retreating figures of Christine and Raoul as they vanished in the distance. “You alone can make my soul take flight.” He sang softly, his chest tight with wistful longing. He slumped as he turned to the shadowy figures of the audience arrayed before him, searching the darkness while the music swelled. His hand clenched. “It’s over now the Music of the Night!”  His voice rang out, echoing through the room, strong, mournful and clear.

Bowing his head, the Phantom turned away from the darkness and shuffled over to the large throne that overlooked his ‘kingdom’ below the opera house. He sank into it with a defeated sigh and reached up, pulling a large drape hanging from the back of the chair over him, hiding himself from the world.

 With quick practiced movements of having done this a thousand times, Roman slid open the secret compartment in the seat of the throne and slipped inside. He pulled out the mask hidden there, his heart rate picking up as it always did as he ensured the Phantom’s mask was securely placed on the seat. The timing had to be perfect. Move too slowly and Meg would reveal him halfway through the chair instead of the mask when she pulled away the drapery hiding him from the audience.

Satisfied that the mask wouldn’t fall, Roman dropped through the open trap door hidden underneath the chair and landed lightly on the mat below. Brushing off his slacks, Roman took a step closer to the orchestra placed on the other side of the wooden boards, listening as the last refrain of the violins rang through the air.

A heartbeat of silence. And then. Roman grinned, lifting his head, his eyes closing as the wave of thunderous applause washed over him. No matter what anyone said. Nothing would ever beat that sound. Nothing.

Eyes flashing open, he darted through the underbelly of the stage and up the stairs to join the rest of the cast as they lined up to take their final bows.

Roman couldn’t help but grin widely when his turn came. The applause only swelling as he stepped out to join his castmates, raising his hands to the audience who were all now standing on their feet as he took his final solo bow.

It was the gap between heads in the front row that caught his attention as he bent himself in half. Of course, there were always people in the audience who didn’t stand at the end of the performance, but the front row? Unheard of. What sort of person would choose front seats and then not sta--

That’s when he focused in on them. The sunglasses. Roman’s breath caught as familiar yellow smiley faces painted on the lenses flashed under the house lights. The man seated in the wheelchair wearing them clapped like there was no tomorrow, a huge hundred watt grin on his face.

Patton.

Roman straightened from his bow, feeling like the wind had been knocked out of him. Only his skills as a master actor kept the smile on his face as he numbly took a step back, Christine and Raoul slipping their hands into his as they and the rest of the cast took their final group bow.

Roman’s eyes never left the figure as he again bowed. Patton. It had to be him. Even though the man in the wheelchair, with his short hair and subdued plain black tux, hardly looked like his High School Best Friend, Roman would know that brilliant smile underneath those sunglasses anywhere.

His heart jumped into his throat, pounding in a frantic drumbeat as Raoul and Christine pulled him back so that the curtain could fall across the stage, cutting off his view of the man in the wheelchair. Patton. He hardly heard the applause of the audience petering out a minute later as he stared at the red fabric.

Normally Roman would have mourned that moment. Especially on nights like tonight when it was his final performance in a role.

But that was currently the furthest thing from his mind.

Patton. A million questions rushed through his mind. What was he doing here?! He hadn’t seen his best friend since graduation when Roman had flown straight to New York to attend college...and barely ever returned home to Florida to visit. Was Pat going to stick around and try to see him? Was he going to just leave without saying a word?

His chest went tight. No way. Roman wouldn’t let that happen. He whirled away from the curtain, only to be caught off guard as the rest of the cast mobbed him in a giant group hug, their laughter and sobs intermingled with congratulations.

    “We’re going to miss you.”                           “Can’t believe this is it.”               “You ended it on such a fantastic note.”                                            “I haven’t heard the audience so loud.”                                 “You nailed it, Roman!”

Roman gave a laugh, trying to edge himself out of the mass hug. “Come on guys. You know it’s a group effort here.” Just because he was the Lead didn’t mean that the others weren’t just as important and he would continue to tell them so. Later. After he found Patton. But no matter how he moved, the cast continued to surround him.

    “You know we won’t find another Phantom like you.”                           “I still can’t believe you’re leaving us for the big screen.”               ‘It won’t be the same at all here.”

“Really guys.” He shook his head as he shuffled through the never ending merry-go-round of people swirling around him, his heart sinking with every second of delay.

Patton had probably already left. He was probably in the foyer, heading out the front doors. He was missing his chance!  

Roman kept the smile on his face with effort. “You know this isn’t goodbye forever.” He reassured them. “I’ll be back with you all on stage before you know it.” But if he missed out on seeing Patton then it would be forever before he’d again get the chance to---

The voices of his cast members faded from Roman’s hearing as the side door opened, allowing two figures to slip inside. Roman froze, breath catching in his throat as the lights backstage caught those familiar yellow smiley faces on the sunglasses. They flashed in time with the large golden metal stars hooked onto the wheels of the man’s wheelchair as they spun, nearly blinding him.

If Roman hadn’t recognized the sunglasses before now, there was definitely no mistaking those stars. How could he when he’d been the one who’d made them back in high school as a present?

The woman who pushed Patton backstage looked up, bangs falling into her eyes as she flashed Roman a smile when she noticed him staring. She bent down to whisper into Pat’s ear, squeezing his shoulder.

Patton straightened, his own smile only at fifty watts now as he lifted his hand in quick wave in Roman’s direction.

“Excuse me.” Roman said, interrupting his castmates. “One sec.” He pushed through them, ignoring the questions of what was happening as he broke free of the mob. His heart again took up its hammering within his chest. “Patton!” He called out breathlessly. It was him! He was here! He hadn’t left!

The tension in the man’s shoulders faded and his hundred watt smile once more lit up the entire room. “Hey there, Princey.” He greeted, adjusting his sunglasses, briefly showing the partial scar over his nose that Roman knew all too well extended over his eyes. “Long time no see.”

Of course Patton would greet him with a blind joke. Roman snorted, dropping to his knees to grab Patton’s hands. “I haven’t been called Princey in years.”

Patton laughed too, leaning forward in his chair as he tugged Roman into a hug. “Come on, Big Star. You know I prefer hugging to handshakes.”

He knew that, but it had been forever since they’d seen each other. A lot could have changed. A lot had changed after the accident that had left Patton blind and partially paralyzed. “And you know I’m sweaty from the performance, Pat, I hardly smell the best at the moment.” That didn’t stop Roman from hugging him back. He’d missed these. Patton’s hugs couldn’t compare.

He grunted as Patton squeezed him tighter.

“That’s never stopped me before.” He whispered before he pulled back, wrinkling his nose. “But you are right, Ro. You reek.”

“Hey!” Roman ran a hand through his damp hair as he straightened. “I did warn you.”

“Mmm,” Patton rubbed his nose. “But memory doesn’t do the smell justice.” He held out his hand, a slight tremble to it. “Umm...mind if I--” A faint pink tinge came to his cheeks.

“You want to see how I changed?” Roman asked with a fond smile, remembering the first time his friend had asked and how awkward it had felt to guide Patton’s hand to his cheek. It was more natural now. Now that Roman had matured a bit more.

Patton ducked his head, blushing harder. “I--yes.”

Roman chuckled, holding still as his best friend carefully moved both hands over his face. “I’m not the only one who’s changed, you know.” He commented.

His best friend paused before giving a half smile. “You meaning the hair or the suit?”

“Both. Though the suit was more surprising.” While he missed Patton’s wavy hair, the short haircut was probably easier for him to maintain. The suit though, Patton had always favored a multitude of colors. Now it looked like he was attending a funeral.

Patton bit his lip. “Ha, I honestly thought you wouldn’t recognize me. Let alone see me among all those people, but Ellyn tells me that your eyes never left me during the final bow--” He frowned as his fingers ran over the ridges on the right side of Roman’s face.

“Stage makeup, Pat, for the Phantom’s scars.” Roman reassured him. “And I…” He exhaled. “I wouldn’t have known it was you were it not for your glasses.” He tapped the frames. “Still rocking the smiley faces even after all this time.”

“Ah.” Patton relaxed, giving a quiet chuckle as he adjusted the frames with one hand, the other still resting on Roman’s fake scars. “You know I love rocking the happy, but I am glad to hear that you haven’t been attacked by a Dragonwitch, Princey.”

Another term he hadn’t heard in years. “Please, she could never harm me.” Roman scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “A manticore-chimera on the other hand….mmmm possibly.”

Patton tilted his head. “Is that the villain in your movie?”

“No--” Roman blinked. “Wait, how did you--”

Pat dropped his hands, shrugging sheepishly. “We,” he gestured behind him to the woman. “Ellyn and I, ran into your parents a couple of weeks back. They mentioned you’d landed a part in a movie and I--I wanted to hear you sing on Broadway before you left to film in London.”

“So I bought tickets, and here we are.” The woman, Ellyn, said with a shy smile. “I’m glad you saw him, Roman. Pat here was convinced you wouldn’t remember him. Practically had to disable his brakes to drag him back here to see you when I realized you’d recognized him.”

“El!” Patton hissed, flushing scarlet.

She smirked, eyes twinkling. “But it’s about time I got my big brother out here for a visit, he’s such a homebody nowadays, so thanks for the opportunity to get him out of the house.”

A homebody? That didn’t sound like Pat. He’d always been such the adventurer before the accid---Roman blinked staring at the woman as the pieces came together. He shook his head, not quite believing what he was seeing. This was Pat’s baby sister? No way. She’d been like twelve last time he’d seen her.“Uhh...you’re welc--” he frowned. “Wait! Are you serious, Pat?” Roman grabbed his best friend’s hands. “Me? Not want to see you? Give me a break!”

“I did.” Patton mumbled, lowering his head further.

Roman tensed, letting out a slow breath before running his thumbs over the back of Patton’s hands. Alright. He deserved that. He hadn’t exactly tried to reach out since graduation and he regretted it even more now. Did he even have the right to consider Patton his best friend anymore? “Just because I’m living the life acting on Broadway, doesn’t mean I’m too busy to see you.” He said, quietly. He should have made the effort sooner to come back home to Florida and visit a little more often, to not let their friendship fade away to nothing.  “We could even go do something right now--”

“Are you going to dilly dally here all night, Sanders?” A woman’s voice demanded from behind him. “Or are you going to let me and my crew reset the stage?”

Roman grimaced. Of course. Interrupted again. “One sec.” He said to Patton, squeezing his hand once more before letting go. He stood, turning to face his Technical Director with the brightest smile he could manage. “And here I thought you were looking for a bit of rest tonight, Reese, my darling.” He said giving her a bow. “It is my last night after all.”   

She rolled her eyes, somehow managing to give the impression that she was towering over him despite being a head shorter. “Dude, it may be your last day, but it’s not mine. MOVE.” She lightly shoved him, mouth quirking in an almost smile. “I’ve got a job to do, and you got clothes to change out of and an after party to get to.” Her eyes darted Pat and Ellyn as she added in an undertone. “Break it up, Romeo. Your demon coffee boy is destroying your dressing room as we speak.” 

To Be Continued Chapter 3  Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7  Chapter 8  Chapter 9  Chapter 10  Chapter 11  Chapter 12  Chapter 13  Chapter 14  Chapter 15  Chapter 16  Chapter 17  Chapter 18  Chapter 19  Chapter 20  Chapter 21  Chapter 22  Chapter 23  Chapter 24  Chapter 25  Chapter 26

[breakmyreddieheart]

(Please Don’t) Say Anything - Ch1

Ok so get ready for a Reddie AU fic based on this post by @starstruck-stargazing

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven

++ Accompanying Playlist ++

Summary: It’s the last days of high school and the Losers are soon to be leaving for university, moving to different parts of the country. Richie is trying to figure out how to tell Eddie how he feels about him, but only ends up making things worse and needs to figure out how to apologize. Bev has a cunning plan, and Richie Tozier gets extra...

Setting: Derry, ME - the summer of 1995

Pairings: Reddie (main), Stenborough (on the side) also Bev is dating a girl and Ben and Mike are just wholesome individuals right now

Words: 2k

Warnings: implied psychological abuse, sexual innuendo’s (guess who), so much fluff

A/N: There is definitely some inspiration from the themes in this post by @elfiekaspbrak which I definitely recommend reading because it destroyed my emotions for a solid few days (in the best way) // Also if you didn’t get it, the title is a reference to the John Kusak film from which the stereo trope originated from // Also I’m British and know the bare-minimum about the US education system so forgive me if I make any errors!

----

As the bell rang, signifying the end of the academic year, students gleefully poured from the classrooms eager to start their summer break.

The excitement throughout the corridors of the Derry Regional High School was palpable. Students whooped, ran and jumped around as teachers tried in vain to keep the peace. Lockers emptied, workbooks were trashed, and students poured from the main doors like ants from a nest into the bright summer sun.

Somewhat less enthusiastically, Eddie Kaspbrak emerged from the last exam of his Senior year and pushed his way through the stampede to clear out his locker. He’d spent the last week meticulously studying for this Biology exam, and despite being familiar with all the questions he still worried that he’d messed up somehow. He needed to ace this to get into the University of California.

He’d heard great things about UC; it was one of the best places to study medicine, something he’d wanted to learn more about since finding out how his mother had spent most of his life lying to him about his health. He felt that if he could understand the science behind immunology, he could break her hold over him. Better still, it was in the heart of San Francisco which was about as Liberally removed from Derry as Earth is from Pluto; he could be himself without fear of the likes of Henry Bowers and the rest of the homophobes that Derry seemed to attract like flies to shit.

Of course, best of all, California is the direct opposite end of the country to Derry and the controlling grasp of his mother. 

She had cried when he told her that he’d applied to UC, “You can’t leave me, Eddie, you need me to look after you” she kept insisting, trying to work her insidious words into his mind; but Eddie had spent years pushing that door shut and he wouldn’t let her talk him out of this. “I raised you, fed you, clothed you and now you’re just going to abandon me like this? You won’t last you know, you’ve always been a fragile boy. You’ll be back here before the end of the first semester and I’ll be left to clean up the mess.”

He did love his mother, in a way, but he didn’t trust her. Having learned more about his father’s death he could see why she was so protective of him, but he could never forgive her for her manipulative behaviour. He hoped that putting 4000 kilometres between them might improve their relationship.

However, the real reason for choosing UC - the reason Eddie didn’t dare admit, even to himself - was because Richie Tozier had been talking about moving to California for years. Eddie had his reasons for hating Derry, but for Richie escape was a necessity. He rarely talked about it openly, but Eddie suspected that Richie’s biggest fear was being stuck here forever.

But that would be stupid, right? Moving to the other end of the country just to be near his friend? His best friend, admittedly... but all of the Losers Club were his best friends, why should Richie take precedence? But that was the question that nagged in the back of Eddie’s mind late at night. The question he didn’t dare answer for fear of the implications...

No. He kept himself convinced with thoughts of his career and his freedom. These were things he could explain to people without feeling an asthma attack coming on. Not that he really suffered from asthma anymore - if he ever had - but sometimes when he thought of Richie moving to California without him, he would feel the familiar old tightening in his chest.

His mind was brought jarringly back to the present when he heard a crash beside him as Richie himself came bounding up from behind and slammed his hand on the next locker over.

“Eddie m’boy!” he declared in a mock British accent, “Chin up old chap, it might never happen!”

Eddie realised he’d been staring blankly at the contents of his locker for the last few minutes. His books were neatly stacked and organized alphabetically, and a half-empty bottle of hand sanitizer sat carefully on top of the personal toilet roll he kept in case the toilets were in a particularly bad state. Some of the habits instilled in him by his mother were hard to shake.

“Sorry Rich...it just feels surreal, you know? This is the last time I’ll come to this locker. There’s a lot of ‘lasts’ today and it’s hard to keep up.”

Richie nodded in agreement, “Yeah I’ll be sorry to see that last of Miss Kowalski’s ass. Such a sad day!” He mocked rubbing tears from his eyes, and Eddie punched him lightly on the arm while shaking his head in judgement.

“She’s old enough to be your mother, Richie” Eddie scoffed, packing the last of his things into his backpack.

“Top milf material though, amirite??” he raised his hand for a high five. Eddie rolled his eyes and pushed his locker shut for the last time, leaving Richie hanging as he walked towards the exit.

Richie high fived himself and chuckled as he bounced along after Eddie.

“So how’d it go?” Richie asked, drawing level and ruffling Eddie’s hair, “Can we expect Dr Kaspbrak to be showing his face anytime soon?”

“I don’t know Richie, it was tough...” Eddie replied honestly, fiddling with the loops on his shorts where his fanny pack used to sit; a habit he seemed to do when he was nervous.

Richie swung his arm around Eddie’s shoulder and pulled him into a playful side-hug. “I’m sure you aced it, Spaghetti. My boy genius is gonna go far!” He waved his free hand in front of them in a rainbow motion, looking proudly into the distance.

Eddie blushed at Richie’s confidence in him, leaning into the hug before instinctively replying “Don’t call me that, Richie. It’s silly.” He loved it really, and Richie knew it. “How about you?”

“I dunno man, I think I overperformed. Old Gladhart can’t handle all of this talent in one sitting.” Mr Gladhart was a classical theatre lecturer, and while he often berated Richie for his crass attitude towards the scripted material, he couldn’t deny Richie’s ability to engage an audience.

“I’m sorry I missed that!” Eddie chuckled, imagining Gladhart begrudgingly marking Richie’s work with the A-grade he undoubtedly deserved.

As the pair walked out of the main doors, the crowd dissipating now, they were greeted by the rest of their motley crew. Mike rushed over and bumped fists with Richie. “Dude! I hear you destroyed that Hamlet monologue, people are talking about it already!”

“Michael, one does not ‘destroy’ the classic works of Sir William Shakespeare” Richie began in a mockery of Gladstone’s poetic mannerism, “one simply adds some spice so that the audience doesn’t take their own lives after hearing fifteen renditions of the same tedious monologue.”

While Mike and Richie laughed about Shakespeare, Eddie joined Bill and Stan who were interrogating Bev over the contents of the envelope she was clutching to her chest.

“Come on, just give us a hint, I saw the college insignia on the front you might as well just spill the beans” Stan teased, knowing that Beverly wasn’t giving anything away.

“Stan, no! I want to wait until we’re all together, this is important to me.” She slipped the envelope carefully into her bag so that they couldn’t see the front again.

“Fine, but this had better be worth the wait” Stan replied, turning to greet Eddie. “Eddie! How did it go?”

“Great, I think.” He didn’t want to think about tests anymore, the sun was beating down and summer felt like it was finally getting started.

“Did Richie’s r-r-revision cards help?” Bill asked, unaware of the can of worms he’d just opened.

“Richie was helping you study Biology!?” Bev and Stan both exclaimed.

“But Richie hates Biology...” Bev pondered.

“Well I’m sure studying anatomy with Eddie has been on his to-do list for a while now” Stan sniggered. Bev backhanded him across the arm shushing him, and Eddie blushed a deep shade of red.

“It’s not like that!” Eddie exclaimed, glaring at Bill for exposing him. “He was just showing me some techniques he uses to memorize his lines, and yes it did help me remember a lot more than I usually do” he responded snarkily.

Richie had been climbing through Eddie’s bedroom window most nights for the last few years, mostly to study - avoiding bumping into Mrs Kaspbrak who didn’t like the influence Richie had on her son. But some nights Richie would come in and just sit on the bed without talking much. Eddie suspected these were the nights his father was particularly harsh, but Richie didn’t like to talk about his family. Mostly Richie just wanted to be around Eddie, but Eddie suspected he was just the closest of the group to Richie’s house. He didn’t dare think that Richie could actually care about him...

He would make tea and bring it up in Richie’s favourite mug - the one with Eddie’s baby pictures printed on it. His mother had always insisted on having one made for each of his birthdays when he was younger, something she seemed to be less concerned with after his father’s death. Richie liked to joke about what a chubby baby Eddie was, and Eddie just liked that he could make Richie smile again.

But he didn’t want the losers to tease him about Richie, so he kept their nighttime visits a secret - except for Bill. When he began to realise he might care about Richie as more than a friend he needed to talk to someone. Bill and Stan had started dating last year - the Losers weren’t surprised, but Eddie admired their bravery in being so open with their feelings, so he felt Bill might have some good advice. Stan might have as well, but he’d be way too sassy with it, so Eddie confided in Bill alone.

Stan smirked as Richie came over and picked Eddie up from behind, spinning him around before popping him down and leaning on his shoulder. Eddie glared at Stan, imploring him not to say anything.

“Speak of the Trashmouth and he shall appear” Stan quipped. Eddie clenched his fists while Stan gave him a wry wink.

“Eddie Spaghetti just can’t stop talking about me, can he?” Richie teased with a smirk on his face. Stan laughed, maybe a little too hard, and Eddie worried he might die of embarrassment right then and there.

Ben was the last to leave the building and join the group, providing the distraction Eddie needed. Stan looked pointedly at Bev, “Is this ‘everyone’ enough now?”

“Ok, ok,” Bev said, rummaging in her bag before pulling out the envelope and proudly flashing the New York Fashion Institute insignia. “I got an unconditional offer, they loved my portfolio!”

Everyone cheered in unison, embracing Bev in a group hug. She was the second to receive a firm offer, Ben already having arranged to study abroad at the School of Architecture in Stockholm. The rest of them would have to wait for their exam results.

Bill was hoping for a place at Boston University to study English Literature. Stan would be joining him to study Accounting, but they had both made sure that they had backup options in close proximity. The group had joked that their place would be the de-facto destination for group reunions.

Mike, meanwhile wanted to stay close-by to help his family with the farm. He would be travelling to the University of New England each week to study Modern History. 

The subject of Richie’s college of choice, however, was still up in the air. Eddie hadn’t managed to get a straight answer out of him, Richie always joking about going to “study Mrs K’s gigantic ass in order to discover new and fantastical species unknown to man.”

Richie had transferred his arm over to Bev now, who he was sharing a cigarette with. “Great job Marsh, got room on your floor for one more?”

Eddie felt his chest tighten. It suddenly dawned on him that he had just assumed Richie would be applying somewhere in California. He’d talked about moving there for years! What if he had been wrong? What if Richie was moving to New York? What if I’m moving 4000 miles away from Richie??

The group laughed and joked about the crappy accommodations they would probably end up living in, but Eddie was distracted by the rock that had just landed in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to ask Richie what he meant by that, but something inside him was paralyzed in fear of the answer.

They left to grab a celebratory pizza on the way home, but Eddie trailed behind, fiddling with the loops on his shorts.

- End of Chapter One - 

Taglist: @richietoaster | @vimra  | @wildcardtrip-blog

A/N: Ok so this may end up being longer than three chapters actually... at least 6 maybe. Thoughts? Feedback appreciated! Hope you enjoyed :3