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bread0nhead · 3 years

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Request: Hi helloo, hope your day/night is going good!

It’s my first time I do a request and I’m nervous lol

I’d like to request a one shot , yandere Dabi x a very naive and innocent female reader who gets manipulated so easily. 👉🏻👈🏻

A/N: hello, love! First- I appreciate you for always giving my blog love. I 💕 U

Secondly, I am not a yandere/non-con writer- so so sorry! I know you said this is your first request and I totes just ruined it for you (sorry 😭) but please don’t ever hesitate to submit a request :) even if a writer isn’t able to do a request, we love just getting them anyways.

But.... I still want to provide something, even though it’s not yandere.

At Odds (18+)

Minors do not interact.

Dom!Dabi x Cinnamon Roll F!Reader

👉 Written from Dabi’s perspective. Pre-LOV 👈

Side note: why can I never just write something short? Even my smut needs a 5k back story before it gets anywhere close to the goods.

Tip Jar | Thank you!!!!

There you fucking go again, strutting twords campus in those short- short - fucking skirts you love to wear so much. Do you even realize when the wind blows just a little more than usual, everyone can see the colors of your underwear? It’s always pastels. Except for that one Wednesday, two months ago, you wore a black lace.

Dabi leaned against a graffiti stained brick wall that is connected to his apartment building. A metal sign plastered in band stickers and gum reading “designated smoking area” hung above his head. The apartment is shit. Terrible area, rented out by terrible people. Every room comes with complimentary suspicious stains, cracked walls, loud pipes and a bitch of a landlord. But it’s cheap, discreet and best of all. You.

Everyday for the last four months at approximately 6:45am, you parade down the side walk right in front of his apartment building on your way to university. No one takes this route, despite cutting 10 minutes off the commute. Surely your friends have begged and pleaded for you to walk with them. The safer, longer route. But your naive to how cruel this world is. You live in this bubble of rainbows and butterflies and some fucking how- the world has yet to jab its cruel blade and pop your world. Maybe it’s safe because criminals are all asleep this early in the morning. Shit- if it wasn’t for that bender four months ago that kept Dabi awake for 36 hours, he would probably never of known you even exist. Now every morning between 6:40 and 6:55 he’s outside with his coffee and morning cigarette, leaning against the alleyway wall labeled the designated smoking area, waiting for his little slice of heaven to walk by.

41...42...43...44...45...

Dabi started counting how long it takes for you to walk past the apartment and to turn down the first street on your left. 55 seconds is your average. The thought of how much time he wastes every morning just for 55 seconds makes his stomach turn.

46...47...48...49...50...

Dabi has a love hate for these last five seconds. Your back is facing him at his point and it’s just a couple more feet until you turn away. But he fucking loves how your ass sways with each step.

51...52...53...54...55...

Dabi closes his eyes each time your about to turn down the next road. These moments air return to his lungs and the stress from outside of the world you provide him come crashing back in. He keeps his eyes closed to picture you in his mind while enjoying the last few drags of nicotine.

“Hi!”

What the fuck....

Dabi’s eyebrows knit together and his muscles tense. Who the fuck in their right mind would come up to a shady guy like his and fucking say hi. Dabi opens his eyes and instantly they squint back at the bright ray of light before him. The smell of cherry bubblegum mixed with the poisonous stench of nicotine. Dabi’s eyes adjusted and could get the view before him in complete clarity. You, just inches away. Big doe eyes looking up at him. Your chest puffed out so slightly but enough to get a peak at your cleavage down your shirt. Both arms wrapped behind your back and your feet rocking up and down. No sense of concern for defense.

“Why are you always watching me?”

...fuck...

“Damn, Doll. Bold. But full of yourself. You’re nothing special.”

It was almost embarrassing how hard he tried to not give away the fact that was a huge lie. You’re very special. And he hates that.

He watches as your twirl next to him so your arm is rubbed up against his as you lean against the same wall.

“Aw, that’s too bad. I always felt safe with you watching over me. Everyone says this street is a bad area.”

“You trust too easily.”

“I suppose. But you didn’t deny it! You do watch over me!”

You stick out your tongue from your plush glossed lips and wink at your victory. Dabi images how your tongue would feel on the underside of his cock and those lips sucking on one of his balls.

“How about, as a thank you for always watching over you...” Dabi smirked “you buy me a drink tonight.”

Dabi wanted to test you. See how far that innocents goes.

“Sure!”

Dabi nearly choked on his cigarette at how easily you accepted. He expected you to be grossed out and walk away. He couldn’t tell if it was stupidity or naivety that lead your to accept.

“I get out of classes around 4:30. How about I swing by here around 6:30? Gives me time to get ready.”

Now he started to feel guilty.

But he wasn’t going to let that stop his fun.

“No, princess. You shouldn’t be walking around here that late. We can meet up at the city square.”

“That’s a great idea! Okay, 6:30- city square. I’ll catch you later then!”

You waved back at him while rushing down the street, frantic to get to class on time.

Dabi laughed as his boot stomped out the butt of his cigarette and finished the last of his coffee before walking back inside.

So fucking cute.

Not being a creature of the morning, Dabi slumps back down on his beaten up couch with his shoes and hoodie still on. His palm drags down his face with a long grown. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every feature he managed to commit to memory comes together in his mind to build a perfect picture of you. He closed his eyes to focus better on his imagination and the things he wanted to do to you.

The rumbling of Dabi’s empty stomach wakes him up. His phone reads 4:45pm under the several layers of cracked glass on his screen. Another reminder of how he has yet to eat finally brings him off the couch and onto his feet.

In the kitchen, Dabi grabs an instant cup of ramen, a beer and his mason jar of marijuana buds. He grinds away at the sticky green while the microwave boils the water to his noodles. He was getting nervous about meeting up with you, something smoking could easy take the edge off.

In just a few hours you would no longer be the eye candy stranger he gets his rocks off too from time to time. A name was going to be put to your face. Tonight could change how each morning goes. You could either walk by with a sweet smile and wave. Maybe even spare a few moments to connect. Or you would start taking the safe route and realize how scary the world truly is.

The thought twisted his gut enough to finish his ramen early and throw the rest away. Opting to choke down smoke rather than substance.

Dabi rolls his joint and cracks the bottle of beer open, switching between a drag and a gulp. The joint leisurely hangs between his lips and the bottle dangles in his fingers as he walks to the bathroom.

In the bathroom he sets the bottle on the sinks ledge while he leans into the mirror looking over his scars. His palm runs against his jaw a few times before his fingers run through his inky black hair. He hated his reflection. The sight made him pull from the rolled joint harder and longer.

What the fuck are you thinking babygirl, wanting to go out with an ugly mugg like this?

He imagined you next to him. How completely different you look and act. He imagines you with the same big doe eyes, radiant smile and blushing cheeks next to his bad attitude and brooding demeanor. Dabi gave a breathy laugh at the thought.

Stripping himself of all his cloths and running his fingers over the staples a few times that littered his chest, before turning on the shower to a lukewarm temperature. Dabi grabbed his beer and stepped into the shower, letting the cool water run against his burns. His left hand splayed on the cold tile while his right holds the bottle to his lips. After there was nothing left to drink he focused on lathering the undamged skin in soap trying his best to avoid the purple patches.

More thoughts of you crawled into his mind. Those black lace panties. Your cleavage teasing his curiosity. Those pink glossed soft lips. Dabi’s hand palmed at his growing erection, and he released a soft grown. He imagines you in your knees in his shower running your tongue across the head of his dick to collect the pre-cum. He wondered how innocent you truly are. He wants your innocence to be pure. He wants to corrupt you, break you down until you know nothing but carnal desires. He wants you to be scared of the world, needing him to watch over you. Protect you.

His hand grips the base of his cock giving it a squeeze before stroking himself off. The silver rings decorating his fingers clinked against each piercing running up his shaft. He cursed under his breath and his pace got faster and his grip got tighter. His other hand gently pulls on one of his pierced nipples, letting out a louder moan. As his load shoots from his cock he imagines it painting your face and you scooping it up with your fingers and placing his cum on your tongue.

Panting and leaning against the tile, he curses you for making him feel this way.

Turning off the water, Dabi wraps a towel around his waste and grabs the join he left in the ashtray and his phone.

5:46.

Dabi grabs a plain loose fitting white shirt, jeans beaten all to hell and a faded navy blue hoodie. With that, a spritz of cologne, teeth brushed and a once over. He is out the door.

6:20.

Ten minutes early. Dabi growned when he sat on the bench at the meet up spot. He felt like a fucking simp, sitting there- early, for some girl he’s been mildly stalking. He considered leaving and coming back in 20. But he felt more pathetic even considering that move. So instead he pulls a cigarette from his pocket and scrolls mindlessly through his phone.

“Sorry I’m late!!”

A familiar voice calls out and directs his attention twords the sound. From across the street he catches sight of you. Running in a tantalizing short loose pastel floral dress with your arm waving to him. Your smile nearly broke him down right there.

Dabi checked his phone, didn’t even realize 30 minutes went by since he started waiting. 20 minutes late, she fucking gets it.

A sudden cling to his arm throws Dabi off his guard. You’re latched to his side, his arm slotted between each breast. No bra and such a low cut sweetheart neckline. Do you even think about your actions?

Dabi lazily wraps his arm around the back of your neck.

“You know, you’re awfully clingy for someone who doesn’t even know my name”

He teased, tone dripping in a slow seduction.

“Ah! Sorry! Sometimes I just do before I think”

The sudden loss of your touch when you pulled away left a pain in his chest.

“So mystery man, what is your name? Mine is Y/N L/N”

“Dabi.”

“Da...bi?” You started giggling at his answer.

He shouldn’t love having you laugh at him, but it was such a light airy sound full of something so pure. Something he rarely gets to experience.

“I know a place we can grab drinks. Let’s go, Y/N L/N”

He played with how your name felt on his tongue.

Dabi walked you, directing you with him arm still on the nape of your neck. The place he was leading you was down a dark alley, dimly lit by only the neon signs. Music could be heard from outside. The bar was down a set of dirty stairs that reeked of urine and stale beer. Dabi wanted to show you the real world. Test your goodness. Make you uncomfortable. Bend your sense of security. See who you truly are when surrounded by people lack the confines of conforming to society.

Inside Dabi ordered a pitcher beer and a couple shots of whiskey. The table you both sat at was sticky, small, with uncomfortable metal stools. The bar was crowded and with the loud music, you were forced to get close just to hear one another.

Dabi analyzed every emotion you made, he studied your reactions to everything. He wanted to see discomfort but instead you laughed so openly, smiled so softly and showed no hesitation. You spoke freely about everything and to anyone.

“You’re so fucking weird.”

Dabi cut you off mid ramble about a dog you saw today in an all-might costume.

“Huh? I’m not the weird one! Pretty sure the owner dressing up their dog is the silly one.”

“Fuck. Why are we here? Why are you just talking to a stranger about dogs in costumes, like we’re friends?”

“So we can become friends.”

It’s right then remorse kicked in. He tested your innocence like none of it was real. Questioned your motives and doubted your naivety. His desire to corrupt you, sully your soul so your forced to see reality. You shined a light that forced him to see his own corruption where the outcome was guilt.

“Doll.... you can’t be friends with a guy like me.”

This was a reaction he did not want to witness, choosing to walk away saying he’s grabbing another pitcher.

Dabi leaned against the crowded bar, waiting for the tender to free up from all the ruthless drunks pulling for her attention. The longer he waited the more impatient he became. He wanted to leave, get you out of here. Return you to your bubble and shun himself out of your life. With a grown, Dabi called over the bartender, telling her to close out your tab and proceeded to through enough cash down to cover the drinks and tip.

Dabi weaved through the cesspool of degenerates trying to get back to you. When he finally caught a glimpse of your smiling face, a rush of relief overcame him. However that relief quickly crumbled as he noticed a familiar face getting too close for comfort to you. He knew this guy as a thug he’s had run-ins with, a scummy low life who pimps out women and sells narcotics on the street. Dabi’s blood boiled as you mindlessly chatted up the stranger, oblivious to his advancements. His filthy hand grabbed your knee and creeped up your thigh. Dabi shoved everyone out of his way and rushed over to you, ready to burn the guy to the ground. Once you were in his reach, Dabi grabbed the thugs wrist and twisted the bones until an audible snap was heard. You screamed and jumped out of your seat. Dabi was quick to grab you before a fight broke out. He dragged you out of the bar and ran heading down two blocks until he knew you were both safe, stopping at a park.

“How fucking ditzy are you?! Are you trying to get gangbanged or some shit? Fuck.”

Dabi stroked his palm down his face, opening his eyes to see you with wide eyes and a slack mouth.

“What...do you mean?”

Not able to fathom the fact you actually don’t understand, Dabi gave a frustrated groan.

“I’m serious, Dabi.” Your expression became serious. “You keep telling me how dangerous everything is. You make everything seem bad- including yourself.”

“Everything is bad! How the fuck do you not see it?!”

“I just... don’t? Up until a few months ago, I have lived a sheltered life. I grew up in a wealthy family, in a nice area. My parents were never home, and my brother had a terminal illness, so I had to watch over him. For years I never went past our gates. When my brother passed away, I hate to say it... but I was free. Now I want to meet all these amazing people, make lots of friends and just enjoy life!”

Dabi’s guilt crept back. You truly are pure from life’s corruption. Naive to how evil people are.

“Y/N. Not everyone is amazing” Dabi air quoted the last part “that shit bag touching you- he has used girls, sold them for drugs. He’s a dealer who is the furthest from someone you should be friends with.”

He watches as your head dropped, fiddling with your foot against the dirt.

“And you?”

Shit.

Another sigh.

“I’m not... not some drug pushing, women selling shit bag. But I am a criminal. An ass hole at that. I didn’t watch you to protect you. You’re hot and you were fun to watch. You always look so... god damn...perfect. Like you lived in your own perfect little bubble with your perfect little life. Oblivious to everything around you. When I invited you for drinks, I wanted to see if you really are as perfect as you act. You fucking are, doll. You’ll never understand. We can’t be—“

“Then show me.” You cut him off him sentence.

“What?”

“Help me understand. Show me who you are. Show me what you want.”

There hung a heavy long moment of silence. You looked fearless, determined. It wasn’t until Dabi realized he wasn’t breathing, that his body rushed in twords you. Both hands wrapped around your jaw and his lips clashed with yours. It was a thoughtless action, bodies moved like magnets. His tongue bathed in your mouth, lapping up every part he could. When you pulled away, he latched his teeth to your throat. You mewled with pleasure and embraced him with both arms around his neck. Once a purple dark spot rose to your skin, Dabi released his teeth from your nape. Dabi grabbed your wrist and started pulling so you followed behind.

The walk was quite the whole way. Dabi thoughts ran chaotic, trying to understand what he wanted from you. Your body, sure. But there was more. He did want to see your innocence destroyed by the truth of this world. But he didn’t want the world to get that glory. Your innocence for him to corrupt, and his to protect from everyone else.

You both arrived at the doorstep to his apartment. He looked at you one last time as the naive innocent girl before unlocking the door and shoving you into the apartment with his body latched to yours. Dabi walked you backwards to his bedroom, kissing you the entire time. He basked in your sweet taste as if your tongue was candy. His foot kicked the door to his bedroom open, only stepping three feet in until he stopped.

“Drop to your knees for me, angel.” Dabi smirked as you slowly dropped to your knees, loving the view from above. “Say ahh”

“Ahh”

He invaded your mouth with his thumb, enthralled with how soft and wet the muscle felt. When his digit dripped in your saliva he dragged it across your bottom lip. His other hand wrapped around your jugular, just barely making it harder to breath. You still have those big doe eyes that twinkled with innocence. Two of his fingers quickly delved deep into your throat. The more you gagged the tighter the grip of your neck. The feeling drove him wild, coating his fingers in your spit. He was not only testing your gag reflexes, but prepping you for what was to come.

“You’re going to regret wanting me to show you who I am and what I want.”

As if his words were your final warning, giving you one last chance to leave. His hand left your mouth and slowly stroked your bottom lip with heavy eyes boring into your features, waiting for you to speak.

A whisper, soft enough where it could barely be heard. “B-break.....me...”

Dabi’s jaw clenched with a smile. Your words were heaven to his ears. He walked to his dresser, opening the bottom shelf, pulling out a large black box. Dabi looked over the various contents, picking his choice of poison. Cyan nylon rope peaked his attention, rubbing the rough yet silky threads between his fingers. He brought the rope to your cheek and dragged it slowly against the flush skin. He expected to see fear, a sudden change in you. But the chaste expression never faulted.

Rough fingers grazed the top of your head until turning into a tight yanking of your hair. His other hand cupped under your jaw and directed you to stand on your feet. His touch moved under your dress, feeling the supple skin. Dabi swore you are the softest thing he has ever touched. He was quick to remove the floral dress and toss it to the floor. Black lace. Dabi wondered if on that Wednesday when he first caught a glimpse at your black lace panties as you ran by in your mini skirt, if you were someone else’s whore that day- just like today. Are you not so innocent as he thinks?

Fingertips trailed down your arms, gripping your wrists to wrap away your security in nylon. Strong knots binding at your arms behind your back, enough excess rope to touch the floor. Dabi latched his fingers in the loop of your underwear to shimmy the lacy fabric down your smooth legs. He released a shaky breath at the sight alone. A sight of dripping sex glistening in liquid strings.

“Get on the bed, back against the mattress. Head at the bottom of the bed.”

Look at you... obeying me so well.

Your legs shake so slightly, trying to balance yourself getting in the position without the support of your arms. He loved how your hair draped down the edge of the bed like a waterfall. How your neck bobbed when you swallowed each lump in your throat. How your legs rubbed against each other for friction.

Dabi’s stands at the end of the bed, staring you dead in your eyes as he removed his belt. His erection grows, making him palm him cock. His pants drop to the floor with the boxers not far behind. Your eyes go wide as a bead of precum crips down on your forehead.

“I didn’t know people got their....their um.... well, pierced down there.”

So cute. Can’t even say it.

“Do you like my pierced cock?”

Your nod was meek but the blushing gave away your sins.

“Move further down the bed.”

Your head dropped further off the edge of the bed. Dabi’s cock hung over your face. One hand pried open your mouth while the other wrapped around your throat. He stroked himself over you, rubbing his tip on your lips. You opened wider for him with your tongue hanging out. His eyes rolled back, loving the look you gave. He pressed harder down on your throat, gripping at it tighter.

Without any warning, his cock was shoved deep in your mouth. He could feel himself deep down your throat with him hand squeezing tight on the jugular. Dabi pulled him cock back until he was removed completely, only to shove himself deeper back down. Each gag from you was returned with being choked harder.

“S-shit D-doll... love this whore mouth of yours.”

Dabi snapped him hips faster, soaking up every moan from you. As his cock rutted into you, he stripped him of his hoodie and shirt. Free of clothing, he smashed into you at inhuman speed. Tears flowed down the sides of your face. Dabi knew they weren’t tears of fear or sadness. Only a natural reaction of the lack of air. He pitched your nose as his cock stalled deep in your throat. You gagged and moaned causing vibrations. You tried to scream, but Dabi continued to test you. After only 30 seconds, he let go and let you breath again. He leaned down and grabbed your chest, using them as leverage to go deeper and faster.

“Do you regret it now? Asking for this?”

You shook your head as much and as fast as you could.

“Good girl.”

Hot thick ropes of cum coated your tongue as you swallowed every last drop. You both panted, trying to regain some energy. You struggled to raise your body up before Dabi flipped you over and shoved your face into the mattress.

“No no, angel.... were not done yet. I can go many rounds.”

The excess rope that danced down your back was pulled down and fastened in tight knots around each ankle. Forcing your legs apart.

Dabi gripped his shaft and rubbed his tip against your wet folds. He groaned at how soft and wet you felt against his dick. You scratched at your own skin , mewling at the touch. You looked back with a hint of concern and tears pebbling in your eyes.

“Dabi...”

Dabi pressed down on your back, rubbing at your tension. He hummed with question.

“Just so you know... I haven’t done this before. You know...s-sex...”

Dabi paused completely, his nails dug into your skin. He moaned at the thought of how tight your going to be for him. A strike of his palm whipped against your ass, turned into his fists grabbing at the fat. He pulled your ass cheeks apart and watched as your sex pulsed around nothing. Dabi spit into his hand and rubbed the saliva around your folds and dipping two fingers in you. You bucked forward at the sudden surprise and yelped at the feeling. Long thick digits dipped and twisted, stretching out your tight walls.

“Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll make sure your nice and ready.”

Dabi worked at your sex, scissoring his fingers and curving his knuckles so it dragged against the gooey walls.

Christ she’s tight...

Your moaning got louder, frantic almost. Legs quivered with excitement. Dabi went knuckles deep, pushing himself as far as his anatomy would allow. He scooped up your essence as he slowly dragged his fingers out- only from them to be forcefully shoved inside your panting mouth. He played with your tongue as you lapped up your juices. The tip of his cock rubbed at your holds and slowly began to push his member inside your weeping cunt. His eyes rolled back and his jaw went slack at the sheer resistance from how tight you are around him. It was slow, painfully slow, and Dabi doesn’t carry the patience to let this go on any longer. His hands grab a fist of your hair into a ponytail, yanking your head back as the fingers in your mouth choke down your throat. At the same time, his cock forces itself balls deep in you, drawing out a scream. Dabi swears he could have came right then.

“Still so fucking tight - shit- I could get addicted to this pussy.”

Continuing to force back your head, Dabi used this as leverage to pull himself deeper and faster. The clapping of skin and the beating of his balls against your clit was like music to his ears. Your erotic moans where the praisel to the band.

Every inch of his thick cock stroked your walls at a brutal speed. The metal balls from each piercing along his shaft added extra pleasure. He could feel you sucking him in as your walls constricted around him. His fingers left your mouth and started to lap tight circles around your clit. Your body shakes as the feeling gets too intense. Drool dribbles down the corner of your lips as you see stars.

“Cum for me.”

A powerful moan rips from your lungs and Dabi speeds up his brutal attacks. His cock twitches inside of you. The way your orgasm squeezes around Dabi takes his breath away and his releases isn’t far behind. He chants your name with breathy curses muddled between. His hand drops from gripping your hair, to gripping the sheet.

“I gonna - fuck - I’m gonna fill you up nice and good. Gonna make you fucking mine.”

You frantically nodded your head as you turned to look at his orgasmic face. Dabi’s second load shoots into your sex, coating your insides completely white. A loud groan erupts as he thrusts his last few strokes in you.

Once his body settled, he sat up on the back of his shins and watched as his seed oozed out of your hole. A prideful grin danced along his face. Dabi kissed your left ass cheek just before removing the rope around each limb. He watched as you slowly rolled over and lifted your body against the headboard.

“You can’t be all that bad, when that was so good”

He was not expecting that. Dabi laughed- a real genuine laugh.

“Hey, I made you laugh! That means we are friends!” You pointed.

His laughed died into a whispy chuckle.

“How about i take you on a real date and become more than just friends.” He rebuttals while kissing up your leg before continuing on.

“This time somewhere with less creeps and less smelling of piss. I promise.”

/END

#dabi #dabi x y/n #dabi x reader #touya x reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki #dabi smut #mha dabi #bnha dabi #submission

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 3 years

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Going Back Home

Summary: Claire never thought she would be back in the town she grew up in. But after her fiancé broke off their engagement, leaving her 5 months pregnant and alone she found herself calling Frankie Morales in the middle of the night, one of her childhood friends who insisted that she booked the next flight out. Trying to fix her life with a little help from her friends she would find out soon that going back would be the best decision she ever made.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Claire Beck

wordcount: 3.1k

Warnings: more or less unplanned pregnancy, break up, mentions of sexual encounters

A/N: I am a weak weak person so here it is, a chaptered fic. I will try to update this weekly, but no promises. Rating will go up later. I'm attempting slow burn. Let's see how slow lol Let me know what you think. Reblogs are, as always, appreciated 💙

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Even Though most of her happiest memories were connected with this town, the town she spent most of her life in, Claire never thought she actually would be back here. And certainly not pregnant and all by herself.

It wasn’t that she had been unhappy here. Claire just always wanted something… bigger. Something more. Something exciting. After her parents died and most of her friends moved away, there was nothing holding her back. Well, that wasn’t true. Frankie and Santiago were there. But only when they weren’t overseas or god knows where, which left her with her dream of being a journalist in a small town where she had no chance to ever make it.

She still remembered Santi’s face when she announced that it was her turn to leave just before they were about to be gone for months again. She had gotten a job in New York and thought for days about what to do until she took the job. That was eight years ago and they hadn’t seen each other in person since then.

Yet when she called Frankie three days ago in tears, it was like no time had passed. She wanted to call Santiago first, but she knew him. If she had told him what happened to her he would have gotten into his car and gotten to her, no matter if it took 3 straight days. No, she had called Frankie. He had listened to her for hours until he made her promise to book the next flight out.

When the fuck did her life become such a shit show?

Only a week ago, she had the dream job, was engaged and 5 months pregnant.

Claire was happy. Until her fiance came back from a work trip and suddenly announced that he wanted nothing to do with the child and moved out within days, leaving her on her own. Not even his phone number was working and she wasn’t gonna show up at his work. She wasn’t that desperate. She should have seen it coming. John never planned to have kids. But when Clarie found out that she was pregnant he had already asked her to marry him and maybe he was too proud to end the engagement back then. Thinking back maybe this was the reason he stayed. Because a part of him wanted to spend his life with her. They didn’t fight. He just moved out, told her that he would take care financially of her and the child, but that he didn’t want to be a father.

The first days she was just numb. Trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the man she thought she would spend the rest of her life with, left her while she was pregnant with a child they didn’t plan but that she loved without a doubt. That was what kept her going. Her little bean. Claire would do anything to protect her little girl.

The guys to this day called her bean. She found herself thinking more of them since John left. Even without seeing them in the last years, they still stayed in contact. Not a week went by where she didn’t receive a letter. They had a group chat that was only used when they were at home and the bachelor was on. Cause fuck did they all hate that show but they watched it anyways.

Claire was okay with the whole suddenly being on her own thing, until she felt her baby move for the first time and turned in her bed to wake her fiance, finding the side empty and cold. For one tiny moment, she had forgotten that she was alone in a city where she had only a couple of friends who were his friends rather than hers. She had always had a hard time finding friends. That probably wouldn’t change.

Sucking her bottom lip in, she rested one hand on her belly as she waited for her luggage to arrive. She slept almost through the entire flight. Claire had gotten rid of the last eight years of her life in the last 48 hours. She wanted to start fresh. She needed a fresh start. Even if she had no idea how to deal with all of this on her own.

A woman next to her helped her get her suitcases on the cart, noticing that Claire was on her own. Pushing the cart through security she saw Frankie as soon as the door opened and next to him Ben, Will and Santiago who all smiled at her, while she felt the first tears escaping her eyes.

She had met Ben and Will only a couple times, they were living an hour away, but they became part of the group immediately. Once upon a time her childhood best friend, Leah, was in that group too. Claire hadn’t thought of Leah in a long time. She had died in a car accident almost 12 years ago.

Arms pulled her in a warm embrace and even after years of not seeing each other for such a long time, she still noticed Frankie’s scent.

“We got you,” he whispered, kissing her hair. She sobbed once before she was pulled into Santi’s arms.

“Look at you,” he smiled before he looked down at her belly.

“And look at you?” he smiled and leaned down.

“Hello, this is your favorite Uncle speaking,” he winked, bending down to speak directly to her belly, making her chuckle.

“Oh please, we all know I’m gonna be the favorite, hey bean,” Will hugged her.

“Don’t listen to them baby girl, we know they're all gonna spoil you rotten,” she grinned, letting Ben kiss her cheek.

“So you’re staying?” Frankie asked and you nodded.

“I already called some realtors. I wanna get this over as quickly as possible. Already sold everything back in New York,” Claire said, looking at the two men who formed most of her teenage years.

“Okay. Let’s get you out of this airport first. You okay to stay with Frankie? He has the biggest house,” Santiago asked, pushing the cart as you slowly walked towards the exit with Ben’s arm around her shoulder.

“Uh… I don’t wanna impose. I could just take a room…”

“Fuck no. Stay at my place. It’s my Pa’s old ranch. I’m renovating it.”

“What? No way!” she said surprised but Frankie only nodded.

“Yeah after Liz and South America I needed something to keep me busy. Also needed more space for Elena,” he explained. A small smile sneaked to Claire’s face.

“I still can’t believe you’re a dad Frankie.”

“Can’t believe you gonna be a mom. Fuck we’re really adults now, huh?” he winked and Claire sighed.

“Certainly didn’t plan it that way. Or planned it at all,” she said sadly before she shook her head as if to get rid of the sad thoughts clouding her mind.

“I meant it, Claire. We got you. We are bored most times anyways.”

“Hey speak for yourself, Fish. I got a business,” Santi said.

“Yeah. Yeah. Me too. But after work you’re either drunk or after some pussy so?” Ben grinned, making her chuckle.

“So still no ladies in your life, boys?” Claire asked as they reached what definitely was Frankie’s truck. It had his company name on it. “Morales gardening”

“Nope. But now that you’re here we could finally….” Will started only for Claire to look away in disgust, making them all laugh.

“You ready to become a Daddy, Will?” she asked, her hands both on her belly.

“Uhm… of course?” he answered and she chuckled.

“That’s what I thought,” she patted his cheek.

“Come on. Let’s get you to bed. You must be exhausted,” Frankie said and opened the door for her.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for the BBQ,” they all waved. She waved back, letting Frankie help her inside before he closed the door behind her and hopped into the driver’s seat.

“BBQ?” she asked.

“Can’t blame the folks from wanting to welcome you, bean,” he winked.

“What folks?”

“Ya know. Folks. You gonna see,” he looked at Claire. He felt better now that she was here. Frankie had missed her these last years, the couple of calls throughout hadn’t nearly been enough. And when she called two days ago in tears… He would have gotten the chopper and flown over but he couldn’t risk it. He had to be on good behaviour to be able to keep seeing his daughter.

“I missed you, Francisco,” she whispered.

“Missed you too, Bean.”

The sun was already setting when Frankie drove down a familiar path. Claire had spent countless days on this ranch when she was younger.

“How is your Dad doing?” she asked softly and Frankie sighed as he killed the engine in front of the house.

“I fucking hate that I can’t take care of him on my own, but he’s hanging in there.”

“I’d like to visit him if you’re okay with that,” she reached over squeezing his hand and he looked at her with a small smile.

“I bet he would love that.”

“And I’m sure he would have wanted it this way, Francisco. You know your dad. He wouldn’t have wanted you to drop everything for him. Don’t be too hard on yourself,” she said quietly.

“Damn I really missed you Bean,” he shook his head.

“Missed you too,” she let her head fall against his shoulder.

Claire didn’t really have eyes for the house, all she wanted was to go to sleep.

“I finished the guest room this morning for you,” Frankie said, setting one of her suitcases down as he opened the door.

“Please tell me you didn’t work overnight to finish this,” she sighed looking at him. He was rubbing the back of his head, pulling the cap he was always wearing down and avoiding her eyes.

Knowingly she shook her head, but couldn’t help the smile sneaking to her face.

“I won’t say it. But please don’t touch the walls, they might still be wet,” he said and she chuckled.

“Okay. Bathroom is over there. The shower isn’t working yet but you’re welcome to use mine. Will is coming over to take a look and make this one work. Other than that if you need anything just ask. Until you found a place this is your home.”

“You really didn’t have to do this, Frankie,” she said quietly, feeling overwhelmed by all of this. So many things had changed in such a short amount of time for her and she only now seemed to realize that she was indeed about to be a single mom.

“I wanted to. You’re… You don’t deserve to be treated like this. So let us help you, okay?” he said softly and she nodded but avoided his eyes.

“Okay. Go to sleep. My room is down the hallway if you need anything,” he stepped closer, kissing her forehead and for one tiny moment, she felt like the 15 year old teenager again who was crushing on Frankie Morales.

“Good night, Francisco,” she smiled.

“Good night, bean,” he whispered before he turned around and closed the door behind him.

Claire looked around, in awe of the room, the bed looking so inviting to her. Sighing she walked over to the window, knowing she would be able to see the whole property during the day. Crossing her arms in front of her she closed her eyes, listening to the sounds of nature that she had no idea she had missed living in the city for all these years. She felt a fluttering in her belly, her hand wandering down to feel a kick.

“We’ll be happy here, I promise,” she vowed, rubbing over her belly.

She didn’t want to disturb Frankie, even though she could hear the TV running so she just washed herself at the sink before she put her Pajamas on and sat down on the bed. She would unpack tomorrow. For now she had to sleep.

The sun wasn’t even up when Claire woke up. She turned in bed, propping herself up so she could look out the window and watch the sunrise. She had to make a plan. A plan that included finding a house, a doctor and help. Though help would be her smallest problem. She already looked at houses in the area and it didn’t look good. If she had more time she would buy the house just down this road, but there was no way the house would be ready before her due date. She would ask Santi for help. He had a lot of connections through his business. Though Frankie too. Claire knew that he had a little gardening company since he lost his pilot’s license. He never really talked about it, but then again, they didn’t talk that much. She knew that he had some problems with drugs in the past, but that he has been clean for almost two years and was doing better. She also knew that there was a lot more to this story then he had told her. Maybe they would have time to talk. To really talk. Groaning to herself, her quiet and peaceful morning was interrupted by her bladder. Time to start the day.

For a minute she wondered if she could risk sneaking into Frankie’s room to take a shower when she heard music playing. Grabbing her bathrobe and toiletries she opened the door and walked down. Now being really awake she had time to take in the house. It seemed like there still was a lot to do. The walls were still unpainted, the floors still old, though she could see he already started with the floor the closer she got to the kitchen.

Frankie was sitting at the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in front of him as the radio quietly played in the background. He had a serious case of bed hair and she smiled to herself. He hadn’t noticed her yet and she found herself thinking back to all the times she had thought that maybe there was something more in between them than friendship. And maybe there was at one point a long time ago. But that was before he joined the military. She might be selfish for it, but she couldn’t be in a relationship where her partner was gone all the time. She needed someone to be there. Even Though there had been times in the past she had found herself asking if maybe she should have risked it.

Instead she had slept with Santiago.

Yeah, that was a big fuck up. Well it was also a pretty good fuck but it was just once and they definitely were better off as friends. She still didn’t know if Frankie knew. Not that she had to explain herself. Frankie always knew what effect he had on the women around him, and he sure as hell took advantage of it. And now she felt nothing more than love for him. As a friend, nothing more.

“Good Morning,” she said quietly and Frankie turned his head, yawning at her.

Chuckling she walked over taking in the kitchen, setting her toiletries down.

“You weren’t kidding when you say you were still renovating,” she sat down next to him. He got up from his seat walking over to fix her a mug of tea.

“Still hooked on Strawberry tea, I hope?” he asked and she nodded, surprised that he remembered.

“Yeah. Though the kitchen and living room are supposed to be finished by the end of next week. So sorry for the noise in the next couple days,” he walked over and set down the mug of tea in front of her.

“Hey it’s your house. I’m just thankful you let me stay.”

“Of course. Couldn’t let you stay in the dumpster motel in this town,” he winked. She took a sip of the tea and it was perfect.

“So what are you planning for today?” he asked.

“I probably should start looking into houses. I’m kind of on a timetable here,” she rested one hand on her belly and Frankie followed her movement.

“Yeah. I think Pope already called someone for some houses. It’s not looking good.”

“Yeah I thought so. Everything I found on the internet was in really bad shape,” she sighed.

“It’s gonna work out. And if you don’t find something, you’re welcome to stay. The place is big enough,” he shrugged and Claire laughed quietly.

“Yeah I bet you can’t wait to live with a hormonal pregnant woman and then with a newborn,” she joked.

“I lived with Pope. Nothing can be worse and…”

“And?” she asked.

“I already lived with a hormonal pregnant woman. It’s not that bad,” he shrugged with a small smile. She looked at him with a small smile on her face.

“You say that now. Wait till I’m craving your mug cake at 3am now that I’m living with you,” she joked. Frankie laughed.

“Wow I haven’t had one of those in at least 10 years.”

“Well then it’s about time.”

“Yeah,” he sighed, looking at Claire. She looked more relaxed today, like she had a good night’s sleep and he was thankful he put in an overnight to finish the guest room for her. She deserved to relax. When she told him that she not only was pregnant but dumped by her fiance Frankie was furious, yet at the same time he already decided that he would take care of her and help her with everything she needed. It was the least he could do.

Even though they grew apart in the last years, she still was one of his best friends.

“Okay. I’m gonna go take a shower. I got to drive out to check on a project. You gonna be okay here for a while?” Frankie asked. Claire nodded, grabbing her mug of tea.

“Just tell me when you’re going out so I can take a shower,” she said.

“Thank you, Frankie,” she whispered when she stopped next to him and softly kissed his cheek, before she walked down the hallway. Frankie looked after her with a soft smile before he got up to get ready to head out.

Next chapter

#my writing #going back home #frankie morales #francisco morales #frankie morales x ofc #pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction #fan fic #frankie morales fanfiction

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generallybarzy · 3 years

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i loved you first.

an: I wrote this mostly a couple nights ago when I was listening to my "ouch" playlist and sobbing so hard I got a 48-hour migraine over the fact that I'll never see my crush again and I can't do anything about it because a) I'm moving in less than a month and leaving everything I know behind and b) he has a girlfriend. But that emotion eventually evolved into "i'm never gonna see some of my best friends again after we move away from each other next month" and that just turned me into this big pit of anxiety where I felt like time was just moving too fast but not at all and I'll miss everything if I don't go do something. So. I was fucking sad and this was the result. completely unedited angst. probably sucks ass, but that's how I'm feeling right now. Anyway, I don't know if you've noticed, but I haven't really been around for a few days. I deleted all my asks so if you had something sent, its gone, and i'm just popping in to post this. idk when I'll be back this time, but i'm trying to take care of my irl relationships and moving and college and all that and it hurts a lot more than i can explain and everythings putting my anxiety through the roof lately. anyway........

song inspo: i loved you first- joan

word count: 2.3k

"You keep running away when I need you most

Running away when I get too close

My heart is full but yours is running out

I think I'm afraid of what comes next

Yeah, I'm afraid you've lost your head

Baby, you know that I loved you first

But now, you're in love with somebody else."

Mat was losing you.

You were his best friend. You'd grown together, laughed together, made stupid decisions together in the wake of your last breakup, he always came to to with his troubles, and, as much as he hated hearing the way your ex treated you, he kept his mouth shut and kept being the shoulder you needed to cry on again and again.

And Mat had been in love with you for as long as he could remember.

Ever since the night of your breakup, he'd been waiting for the right moment to tell you how he felt. You were fresh out of a breakup, and he knew that was the worst time to say anything, so he kept quiet. He helped you get yourself out there and smile once again. He brought that beautiful, gleaming smile back to your face. And it warmed his heart to know he had helped bring some of the sunshine back to your life. He waited and waited, comforting you after all your bad first dates and keeping his cool when you came over for movie night. He tried to ignore the way his heart pounded when you circled your arms around his waist and mumbled "At least I'll always have you, Maty." He tried his hardest to calm his heart and keep his eyes on the movie while you cuddled up with him, wearing his clothes, but the light of his TV betrayed him and lit up the way you were smiling against his chest, deep in sleep, safe and comfortable in his hoodie. He didn't tell you how he felt, all those years. He couldn't lose what he had of you in trying to get more. He would be happy with just this for now.

You rested against his chest, unaware of the way Mat was staring at you as if you'd put the stars in the sky all for him. He was so ready to give you his all, to tell you everything he wanted to say, to finally get to call you his, and hear you call him yours. He leaned down to ghost his lips across your cheek, letting the words fall before he even realized his mouth was moving.

"I love you so much, more than you'll ever know."

Maybe he said the words then because he knew you wouldn't hear, maybe he was afraid of actually telling you, afraid of the chance that he would scare you away with how full his heart was. But he didn't mind. He said it, and as long as he knew he loved you, he'd be content with staying like this for a while while you picked yourself back up and regained your confidence. Once you weren't still reeling from your breakup, he'd let it out. He'd tell you for real.

But then, one of your first dates went well.

He'd gotten his usual post-date text from you, the one he always made you promise to send just so he knew you were safe. He expected another letdown, a list of all the things wrong with your date, or ways they were just like your ex. Instead, you were gushing. Mat couldn't stand the hope in your messages, the way you were so excited, rambling on and on about this guy. He wanted to be happy for you, he wanted to be glad you were finding someone you liked, but he couldn't help feeling the pain from the sting that someone was actually taking you away from him again.

Soon, your movie nights together as friends were overtaken by date nights, and Mat was left alone in his apartment, sitting on the couch you used to cuddle him on, wearing the hoodie you loved to steal, and watching the TV show you introduced him to, half heartedly checking your snap story to see you in the middle of a date with him. He tried to hide his jealousy whenever you spoke of your boyfriend, he tried to appear proud and excited for you, but the hard truth he didn't want to face was that he was losing you. He was losing his best friend, the person he loved the most.

He didn't know when this started. He didn't know how to stop it, but you were pulling away from him. And that scared him. Mat couldn’t stand watching you fall more and more in love with this guy, not when he was right there, willing to give you all the love he had in his heart.

You were the one Mat went to on his worst days. The days when he felt like a waste of space, like he'd never amount to anything more than he was. The days it seemed like the weight of everyone's expectations was about to make him crumble to his knees. The days he needed you most. It only took a quick 'you free tonight? I need you.' text, and you knew exactly the state he was in. 'Of course Mat, I'm always free for you.' But ever since you started dating this guy, his texts went unanswered, unseen, and he was left alone on his hardest nights, with harsh reminders that the girl he loved was falling in love with somebody else right in front of his eyes, while he could do nothing but watch.

This guy had no right to come between you two. After all, Mat had loved you first.

He had comforted you for years over your shitty boyfriends, and this newest guy was no exception. Mat would still find himself, on rare nights, holding you in his arms while you sobbed about how your boyfriend made you cry again, whispering to Mat that 'at least I know you would never do this to me'. But the next day you were gone, running away from him as if you'd never snuggled up in his arms for comfort, as if the late-night conversations meant nothing to you.

'You're right, I would never do this to you." He thought to himself, watching you toy with the sleeve of his sweater and snuggle into his chest to dry your eyes with your best friend's warmth. "So why do you keep going back to the man who hurt you, when I'm right here?'

Mat had so much he wanted to say, and though he didn't want you to run away again, he could only hold his tongue for so long.

"I'm so glad you invited me out for lunch, Mat. He's been such an ass lately, so I'm glad to get away. It's been a while since we talked, yeah?"

Mat couldn't bring himself to answer. God, his heart was throbbing in his chest. He loved you so much, but you were falling in love with an asshole who didn't treat you right. You looked so beautiful sitting across the table from him. The sun was gleaming off your hair, but the beauty was made sour by the necklace that sat around your neck, the necklace your boyfriend had given you on your 3 month anniversary. Mat swallowed back his nerves. "(Y/N), I need to be honest with you."

Any trace of happiness on your face was gone, replaced with dread. Part of Mat felt like shit for making you feel like that, but another, more sinister part, felt a little glimmer of revenge. You'd been running away from him for months, abandoning your best friend for some shitty boyfriend who you still cried over to him, and maybe now you were feeling a slimmer of what dread he had felt when he thought of your crumbling friendship, and the love he had for you that he couldn't do anything with. "What's wrong, Mat? It seems really serious."

"It is." Mat took a deep breath. He couldn't meet your eyes. He didn't know when he started to feel uncomfortable around you. You had always been the person he could admit anything to. Now, you were pulling away from him. "We've been friends for so long, but recently, I feel like I'm… losing you."

"Mat, you're not losing me."

"Yeah, I am. I'm losing you to your new boyfriend.”

Finally, Mat met your eyes, and was astonished by the fear there. How could you spend the last few months drawing further and further away, and then be shocked when he confronted you? Hadn't you realized how little time you spent together? Hadn't you noticed how the only time you spent with him was when he was comforting you from something your boyfriend did to upset you? Hadn't your words- 'at least I know you'd never do this to me'- meant nothing?

"Look, I know you're happy with him, and I'm happy for you… no matter how much you complain about how he's an ass... but… we- you don't come over anymore.”

“I’m- I’m sorry, Mat, I’m more busy than I was when I was single-”

“No, it's not just that. You stopped answering my texts. You know… the ones… when I'm vulnerable. When I need you. I get that you’re gonna be busy, but I opened up to you about shit I would never tell to another person, and I can’t even get a response. You're running away when I need you most…"

He let the silence fall between you again. After a few moments, you spoke up, "Mat…" but your voice fell flat when you couldn't think of the right words to fill the air.

"You still come over, but only when you need someone to dry your tears when your boyfriend did something stupid. You come to me. You only come to me when you need my comfort, but you can’t give me the comfort when I need it, and I’m fucking tired of it.” His words weren’t bitter towards you at all. That’s not what he felt. He wasn’t angry at you, he was angry that either of you had let your boyfriend come between you, he was angry at himself for letting you go, for being too fucking insecure to tell you anything. “You- you keep telling me you wish you could find someone like me. But can't you tell how perfect I am for you?"

"Mat, stop." You were picking with your fingers, a habit he knew all too well.

“I know you remember that night.”

“Mat…”

“It was when you were still trying to date, and always came over after your bad first dates. We cuddled, we…. We got way closer than friends should. I thought- I guess I just thought there was something there. I thought we’d end up as more…”

“I-” Your throat was tight. You hadn’t even realized how much Mat’s words were affecting you. “You can't just… drop all this on me right now, it's not fair."

"What do you really see in him?"

"What?"

"What do you see in him? Does he really love you like you know I do?" You sat quietly, your mouth agape, eyes dropping to the table. Mat’s voice dropped quieter. “You know I love you. I know you know. Friends don’t just cuddle and… and fucking open up about every single little insecurity and promise each other they’ll never leave, and say ‘at least I know you’d never do this to me. I loved you. So fucking much. And it’s so hard to watch you fall in love with someone else, when my heart is so fucking full of love for you.” Mat scoffed in spite of himself. He knew he was fucking it all up, your friendship, any chance of a relationship with you, and it was making his words taste even more bitter. "You know what's not fair? How I have to sit here, watching you fall in love with someone who doesn't love you nearly as much as I do."

“Please stop, Mat.” You quieted him, your hands shaking, in fear of what would come of your surely-shattered friendship. “I- I didn’t know. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

“Bullshit.” Mat was well aware of the tears beading in his eyes, but he tried his hardest to ignore the burn of them rolling thickly down his cheeks. “I- I was always there to hold you… to comfort you when your dates didn’t go well or when your boyfriend fucked up. Can’t you see?”

The silence that fell between the two of you was deafening. Neither of you could make eye contact, and instead focused on staring at the table, not caring about the people inevitably walking around you and wondering what was happening.

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mat.”

“Yeah.”

“I didn't… I’m with my boyfriend. I can’t just…” You shook your head. “I don’t know what you want me to do.”

“Nothing.” Mat sat back in his chair. He’d said what he invited you here to say, and that was all he had planned. He didn’t think of anything else past this point. “I just… I had to tell you. I’m not gonna tell you what to do, I’m not gonna say you have to choose me or him, and I’m sure this fucked up our friendship like crazy. I just- I can’t keep watching this, okay? That’s all I had to say. I know you love him, and I… fuck, I still love you. I just hope you don’t forget about me, alright?”

“Mat, you’re my best friend.”

Mat stood up, sliding down some money for the drink he had bought earlier. God, he felt like shit, watching the girl he loved move on, knowing there was no way they could keep going on like this, no way she would want to keep seeing him knowing how he felt. But he couldn’t hide it any longer, and now, it was ruined.

“I gotta go.”

#this is probably shit and doesn't make any sense #i just had.......... emotions #welp

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writingwithacupoftea · 4 years

Text

A family reunited - part 2!

Summary: The time has come for Y/N Shelby to explain her five-year disappearance to her family. Tommy, her beloved elder brother, proves to be less than understanding...

Word Count: 3220

A/N: 300 followers?? I still can’t believe it. I know this part 2 has been a long time coming, so I hope it serves as enough of a thank you 😘 I’ve never written a sequel to a fic before, so I don’t know how this will go down, but I hope you like it!! 💜💜

Part 1

Y/N Shelby had loved seeing her family again, she really did: it had been what she'd dreamed of for so long, just for them to know that she was alive had brought her happiness.

What she didn't love was Tommy's booming wake-up call of "FAMILY MEETING AT THE SHOP IN AN HOUR - DON'T BE LATE," at half past 8 in the morning.

Ah, but she sort of did at the same time.

Thinking back to the night before, Y/N found a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout her body and a smile spread across her face as she snuggled back into her pillow. Her eyes began to close again, tempting a few more minutes sleep – surely she would still make the meeting in time?

At the thought of the meeting, however, Y/N suddenly found herself wide awake as she realised what the meeting would be for: she was going to have to explain herself. Y/N was going to have to tell everyone why she disappeared for so many years and what happened in that time. Her stomach began to churn and her mind started to race, trying to hurriedly plan out what she would say, but unsure where to even begin.

Y/N was proud of her work as a spy during the war, but that didn't mean that she was looking forward to reliving some of the details of her story.

Knowing that there was no point in delaying the inevitable for longer than necessary, she dragged herself out of bed and sent up a little prayer for the strength that she so desperately needed.

***

As Y/N walked into the meeting an hour later, she noticed the change in Tommy immediately. Gone was the loving brother that had spent the entire evening practically glued to her hip, and in his place was the cold leader of the Peaky Blinders that Polly had told her about upon her return to Birmingham.

Whilst in hiding, Y/N had seen the impact that the war had had on the men who fought in France, but that didn't stop her heart from breaking slightly as she properly looked at Tommy in the light of day. He had always been quiet and controlled, but never to this extent.

She sat down at the table, and soon enough the whole family were gathered. Y/N couldn't bear to look at them, even though she hadn't said a thing yet. She feared their judgement, and was petrified that they would kick her out when she'd only just got back.

But Y/N knew that in order for this to go the way that she wanted it to, she couldn't afford to let thoughts like that show. Instead, she needed to make it clear to her brothers that she still stood by her decision to leave. She had been made stronger by her mistakes and experiences during her time away, and refused to let them believe otherwise.

So, as Tommy cleared his throat to begin speaking, Y/N took a deep breath and looked up.

"Right, well, we're all here - "

"That we are!" Arthur's hand came down and rested on her shoulder roughly, causing Y/N to smile in amusement.

"Yes, thank you, Arthur." Tommy's gruff voice cut through the joy. "So, Y/N, would you care to tell us where the fuck you've been for five years?"

Out of instinct, the woman in question met her older brother's blue eyes, hoping to find the comfort and support that they had always shown to her in the days before the war. But there was nothing; not even the slightest bit of love, or encouragement, or anger or anything.

In that moment, Y/N realised that no one could help her – only she could tell the story.

And so, she began...

***

A couple of hours later, it was finally over.

Y/N had told them all about how she had been recruited as a British spy, recounted most of her tales (but not all – some of them were still highly confidential and as much as she loved Arthur and John, Y/N wouldn't trust them with a barge pole when it came to keeping secrets), and eventually about her time in hiding and return to Birmingham.

Miraculously, she hadn't shed a single tear. Not even when she'd recounted the worst trappings and beatings. Before coming down to the meeting, Y/N had debated whether or not to tell her family about those times, but in the end she knew that the full truth would come out in time and that it would be better to get all of the pain out of the way at once. Whether that pain was for Y/N or everyone else, she wasn't sure.

But Y/N also hadn't been able to suppress her laughs and smiles at the happier memories: the friends that she'd made, the clubs that she'd danced at undercover, the boys that she'd seduced whether as part of her mission or just for a bit of fun (Tommy may appear to be an expert at controlling his emotions now, but you bet that Y/N didn't miss his jaw clench in protective anger several times).

Now, silence filled the room. A silence that seemed to last for eternity for Y/N. Unable to cope with it for any longer, she spoke again, this time unable to control the waiver of emotion in her voice: "Please say something, anything. You lot have always got something to say," Y/N finished with a slight laugh. Unknowingly, she had directed her words at Tommy, who was staring at her, his eyes as cold as ice. Y/N hated the fact that she sounded like a little girl again, seeking his approval; Tommy's opinion had always been important to her, no matter how many times she had vehemently denied the fact when she was younger.

Surprisingly to her, it was John who spoke first, looking at her directly as he did so. "We're proud of you, Y/N/N."

"Yeah," Arthur continued, gruffly. "Just a fucking lot to take in, is all."

Silence infiltrated the room once more, only cushioned by Polly reaching over to grasp her niece's hand tightly.

Realising that Tommy wasn't going to speak any time soon, Y/N stood up as if to leave, her chair screeching horribly across the floor. "Well if that's it, I'll go and -"

"Why?" Her second eldest brother cut her off. Even though her back was now turned, Y/N felt his gaze burning into her.

"Why?" She repeated, confused, as she turned around.

"You heard me. Why did you go?"

"Christmas had long gone, Tommy. I needed to do something other than sit around in Small fucking Heath waiting for you lot to come back. I tried to help with the business, you know I have ideas. But I got nowhere because I'm a woman, alright? So, when an opportunity arose to go and do something useful, of course I was going to jump at it."

Tommy scoffed. "Do you realise how fucking selfish you sound?"

Y/N's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Excuse me?"

"Even after you knew that the war wouldn't be ending any time soon, you still went gallivanting off, throwing yourself headfirst into danger. Did you not stop to think that this family could have lost another member? You clearly didn't, because apparently all that matters to you is getting a rush of adrenaline and trying to be the hero."

Crack. The sound of Y/N's open palm meeting Tommy's cheek echoed through the room.

"How dare you, Thomas Shelby." Y/N's voice was deadly quiet, her rage and feelings of betrayal bubbling ferociously inside of her. "How fucking dare you. After everything that I've just told you, you have the nerve to stand there and call me selfish? I knew that when I signed up there was a chance that I might not come back, but I did it anyway, you're right. I did it in the hopes that my work may help to end the bloody war sooner, so that it was more likely that you boys would come home alive. Because if none of you came back, have you thought, Thomas, how wrecked this family would be? Not just emotionally, but financially as well. There would be three women, Finn, and John's kids left and that would be it. We would hardly be able to bring enough money in to keep everyone safe and together forever, at least not until the children had grown up. As much as you might not like it, Tommy, that I knowingly put myself in a situation where I could've been killed, I did it to try and protect this family."

If Y/N had looked around at her family at that moment, she would have witnessed the shock and pain etched onto the face of each person around the table. None of them had realised that she had put so much thought into her decision to leave. Instead her eyes were locked with those of her brother, unwilling to back down.

Breaking the silence, Y/N added bitterly, "Still think I'm selfish, Thomas?"

She didn't know what she'd expected.

Y/N knew that Tommy wouldn't take it all well, and whilst his instinct to protect her and make sure that she was safe typically overrode everything else, she had hoped that he would have at least understood her reasons behind her actions. He had always said that family came before anything else. So, when Tommy barged past her, storming out of the shop and slamming the door behind him, Y/N couldn't help the sob that escaped her.

***

Dusk had settled over the city. Y/N was sat by the Cut, mulling over the events of the last 48 hours.

After Tommy had left, she had broken down completely, letting out all of the emotion that she had kept pent-up for so long. Her siblings, aunt and cousin had told her that Tommy would come around, and that they would do anything that they could for her.

But, as much as she adored her entire family, she needed Tommy; she needed the brother who had stood by her through thick and thin, who had always trusted her judgement and always loved her no matter what. She hadn't realised how much she had needed him until he had turned his back on her completely.

When most of her tears had dried, Y/N left the shop herself, murmuring a quick "I'll be back later" before she did. The family had let her go, knowing that she needed the time and space to process everything and calm down.

A few hours later, she did feel calmer as she took in the familiar surroundings (a hidden spot next to the Cut that her and Tommy had found when they were younger and hiding from their father). That was until she heard footsteps quickly approaching her from behind...

***

Tommy's mind was racing at a mile a minute.

Once again, he'd gone and ruined things with his family. He'd probably destroyed his relationship with Y/N for good, something that he couldn't bear the thought of losing. His little sister meant the world to him; it just hurt him to know that she had been through so much by herself, and that he hadn't been able to stop it. At least in the trenches he'd had his brothers by his side. Y/N had no one.

But he could help her now. He had realised that after hiding himself away in the Garrison with his thoughts. He'd realised that his place was now back by his sister's side once more.

Tommy had made his way back to the shop to try and make amends, and marched straight over to Polly. "Where is she?" His voice may not have shown it to his aunt, but she could see the emotion in his eyes. Polly was glad that her nephew seemed to have got some of his sense back, but she sure as hell wasn't going to make things easy for him. Tommy's behaviour had been despicable, after all.

"She left." Polly said, simply, returning to her work.

"Left?"

"You heard me, Thomas." God, how many times was he going to be full-named today?

"Left where?"

"She didn't say."

Tommy felt a niggle of anxiety stirring in him. "Well, did she say when she'd be back?"

"No." Polly's lips were pursed in irritation.

"You let her wander off alone, I take it, without asking where she was going or what she was doing, eh? Do you know how fucking stupid that is? We've only just got her back, and you're risking losing her again?"

"Perhaps you should listen to your own words. At least I wasn't the one who caused her to have a panic attack." It was harsh, but partly true: the combination of the memories and Tommy's reaction had caused Y/N to spiral.

Tommy froze, worry and guilt consuming him. How could he have let this happen? He had spent half of the night in Y/N's bedroom last night, making sure that she was real and safe, and now she was gone again.

Walking back out of the shop, Tommy found himself hiding in an alleyway, trying to collect his thoughts as his hands shook. Where could Y/N be? Where would she go when she was scared and upset?

Suddenly, he knew.

***

The hurried footsteps drew nearer, and instinct took over Y/N's entire being. She spun around, gun cocked and pointed straight at the source of the noise, her breathing speeding up again as the last ebbs of her panic attack began escalating quickly again.

Any relief that Tommy had felt at finding his sister faded at seeing her distressed state. He raised his hands slowly and spoke softly to her: "It's okay, Y/N/N. It’s just me, it's Tommy. You're home, you're safe." As he continued to offer his reassurances that she wasn't under threat and edged closer to her, he noticed recognition begin to sweep over Y/N.

Her gun clattered to the ground as she broke down into tears again, relaxing into her brother's embrace as he sat down next to her and pulled the young woman into his arms. In that moment, Tommy realised how broken his sister was, how much the war had affected her, just like him.

Eventually, Y/N's breathing became normal again, the sound of Tommy's heartbeat and the gentle hand stroking her hair grounding her.

After a few moments, Tommy mustered up the courage to say the words that had been on repeat in his head for so long. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." Y/N looked up at him with those big eyes that had him wrapped around her little finger. "I was...overwhelmed and I lashed out, even though you didn't deserve it. Hell, you probably even saved our lives at some point and all I do is call you selfish. I went too far, and I'm sorry."

Y/N smirked slightly at Tommy's obvious discomfort at his confession, but it melted into a gentle smile when she looked up and was met with his loving yet troubled gaze.

"Thank you, Tommy." His entire demeanour relaxed at these words. "Do you understand though? Do you understand why I did it all in the first place? Do you understand why your reaction broke me? All I needed was for my brother to be there, and you just walked out on me. You promised me that you never would. You promised."

Tommy took her hand tightly in his larger one and nodded slightly, a lump forming in his throat. His other hand settled in his coat pocket as he asked: "Are you really back to stay?" The vulnerability that had been uncovered again last night had now returned.

"Yeah, I am." Y/N squeezed his hand. "Doesn't mean you're completely forgiven yet though; speak to me like that again and I'll cut you a smile on that grumpy face."

Tommy breathed out a slight laugh, despite the threat (which he knew was an honest one). "Oh, I missed you, darling." He wrapped his arm around Y/N and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Missed you too, Tom."

***

The siblings sat there, peacefully, for a little while longer. Whilst part of Y/N was still angry at her brother, she couldn’t deny that she felt at home back by his side, in their special childhood hiding place. So, for now, she decided to put her anger behind her.

Soon enough, the chill of the night air began to settle around them. Tommy offered Y/N a hand up and wrapped his long black coat tightly around her, before the pair slowly started walking back towards the streets of Birmingham.

“I promise I’ll try and be better, for you.” Tommy’s voice cut through the silence. I can’t bear the thought of you leaving again because I pushed you out, he added in his head.

Y/N smiled sadly. “Don't make promises you might not be able to keep, Tom. We’re different people compared to who we used to be. All we can do is try, eh?”

Tommy stopped off at the office to call Polly and let her know that Y/N was staying with him for the night. Y/N found herself looking around the big building, in awe of what her family had managed to achieve.

She plunged her hands in the big pockets of Tommy's coat as a shiver wracked her body, frowning when her fingers touched something familiar. Checking that her brother was still on the phone, she pulled the object out and her eyes widened in surprise as she stared at it. It was a small stuffed toy, shaped to resemble a horse (sort of, it was definitely handmade).

Y/N had loved it when she was younger, and barely used to be seen without it. When she grew into a teenager, she had hidden the toy in her old childhood treasure box and retrieved it when she felt low, even as she had entered adulthood. She had been devastated when she couldn't find it to comfort her the day that her brothers had left for France.

The horse was more frayed and tattered than she remembered, and dirtier too. Y/N had always been meticulous for looking after her possessions, not having much of her own.

Then the explanation for its state and whereabouts dawned on Y/N: Tommy had taken it to France and kept it with him ever since, a constant reminder of her.

Placing the toy carefully back where she found it, Y/N looked through the glass to Tommy’s office with tears in her eyes as he hung up the phone. A small smile flickered across his face as he caught sight of his sister and made his way straight to her, not a single piece of work in his hands.

"Come on," Tommy said, softly. "Let's go home."

As her brother subtly offered her his arm, Y/N felt optimistic about the future for the first time in years. As Tommy rested his hand on top of hers, which now sat in the crook of his arm, one thought crossed Y/N's mind:

Maybe Tommy would try. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

But the Shelby family knew that there was hope, because Tommy's guiding light always came in the form of Y/N Shelby...and she wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x sister reader #shelby!reader #shelby sis #shelby sister #shelby!sister #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders sister #peaky blinders x sister!reader #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinder fanfic

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sophlubbwriting · 3 years

Text

Shifting to your arms - 03

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Summary: This is a slice-of-life series where you, the reader successfully shifted realities with the goal to spend time with Loki. Nothing too intense.

A/N: I didn’t have that much time to write this week, but I finally finished editing it (an hour to late, hope you don’t mind).

Feel free to shoot me a request and I'll see what I can do!

Taglist: @gingerspicetalks @adoreyou976

Feedback is always appreciated!

Chapter Summary: A nightly meeting with the god of mischief and an intense discussion after a mission briefing where you finally come clean.

Chapter warnings: slight angst, spiders, Loki being Loki

Word count: 1871

One might think your muscles would get used to the way they are strained by the training with Loki, but your muscles decided to be sore and stay sore. Great way to be woken up.

The sun was nowhere to be seen yet, the dim light entering the window however was alluding to its already anticipated arrival.

Turning around in your bed again, your back felt like it was stabbed – which has woken you up and was almost, what had happened yesterday. The god of mischief figured it would be a great idea to show you, how to defend against an attacker who uses knifes and, of course, he never even considered using dummy-knives.

“I would never do so much as to wound you fatally, mortal.” he had assured you and oddly enough, you had believed him. You had to. Everything the god of lies told you sounded true, albeit might be caused by his velvety voice. Somehow, he had been picking up on the effects it had on you. Ever the observer.

As you struggled to stand up, you let out a heavy groan. For as much as you wanted to just sleep it off, you deemed sleeping as impossible. Not with muscles this stiff and not with how much you usually moved while asleep.

With every step you took your thighs stiffened. Stretching might seem like a good idea, but you already knew it would hurt like hell and quite frankly, you didn't have the energy to try it. You've heard somewhere, magnesium would help with sore muscles and as for now, you were more than eager to test your hypothesis.

Usually stuff like that is kept in the kitchen, right?

The oversized T-shirt you wore instead of a regular pyjama reached just above your knees, concealing not only your body shape but being unbelievably comfortable too. Who in their right mind would be awake in these ungodly early morning hours anyway? Changing clothes now was no use.

While the magnesium tablet was dissolving in a glass of water, you saw a box of cocoa powder just waiting on the top shelf above the stove. It towered there, tauntingly, staring down at you because it knew you weren't able to grab it.

A hot cocoa mix. That's what you needed right now.

Determined, you took a step back and looked at the situation in front of you. There was one rather obvious solution to this:

Climbing.

Your legs were protesting, but you didn't care. You needed that cocoa. Maybe that's the tiredness speaking, but you couldn't live another moment without it. Hot chocolate.

You checked twice that the stove was both turned off and cold, so you wouldn't accidentally burn yourself if you happened to step on it and proceeded to swing a leg on the sideboard. Your shoulders were burning, but you didn't stop as you slowly pushed yourself up. You couldn't let the box win.

Once you managed to balance yourself out and fully straightened up, your eyes were barely below the surface, the box was prominently placed on, but that wasn't an issue. You, unlike the box, had hands, which you would put to use now. Reaching out, you snatched the box and inspected it. After reading all the nifty details from the back of the box, you wondered what the artwork on the front would look like, but you weren't able to look at it.

There was a huge spider, clinging to this side of the box.

Frightened you threw the box away from you and stepped backwards, only to lose your footing on the sideboard. Bracing for impact, you closed your eyes.

But nothing happened.

Confused you slowly opened your eyes back up. There he was, your deus ex machina. His face being mere inches away from your face, the god had hold you in a close embrace to stop you from falling. This in and of itself made it hard enough to keep your composure, but the following conversation only heightened the stakes.

There it was again. That damned voice.

“Oh my, are you falling for me?”

Together with his smirk, this was a deadly combo which short-circuited your brain.

Your thoughts raced faster than you could control them. I have been ever since I first saw you. You wanted to let him know, how you felt.

But you couldn't.

Instead, you opted for a cheeky grin and for the line “you wish”, although in all reality, you were the one wishing. This was torture, being this close to someone you wanted to be even closer with but not being able to be.

What if he would reject you? What if he wouldn't feel comfortable with you being around him any more? What if...

He carefully set you back down on the floor, almost as if he was afraid to break you if he were to drop you too harshly. You were still gazing into each others eyes, lost in the moment and although the spider should have scared you wide awake, this magical moment felt like a dream.

Being lost in his eyes, you stopped taking in anything else but Loki. You didn't notice how soft raindrops were clashing against the windows, you didn't notice how the sun was rising or how bright it had become.

And you most definitely did not notice, how the scary spider was dissolving into green mist.

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

After Tony had laid out your mission, you didn't quite know how to react. You were being sent on a real mission, together with the god of mischief. Just the two of you, only 48 hours left to prepare and your thoughts were racing.

Meanwhile, Loki looked unfazed by the mission, although he shot you a quick look. He knew you were capable of defending yourself and others, but attacking someone else was something different. Whenever you had tried to surprise him with an attack during your training, he had told you how you weren't ready just yet.

You had to think about possible excuses, not to go on this mission. Tell them the truth? You weren't sure how they would handle it. Would they call you an imposter? Imprison you? Besides, a literal god would be fighting right next to you. Everything would be okay.

“You seem rather nervous, my dear. Is everything alright?” The god of chaos averted your attention back to the conversation.

He spoke with the same nonchalant tone he used if someone different than you was within earshot, but if you weren't mistaken, there was a hint of concern hidden behind it this time. Before you could calm him down, the rich kid chimed in.

“Opposed to you, Reindeer Games, our sweet agent here has been on multiple missions similar to this already. It should be smooth sailing, even if you decide to turn on us and abandon both the mission and your partner.”

Oh no.

You saw over to Loki whose smirk was filled with amusement as he was declaring to Tony how he would never betray anyone in his life. He would soon realise something didn't add up. How could you have been on multiple infiltration missions without being able to fight?

At least you didn't have to make an effort and control your thoughts around him any more. Whenever there had been a small thought you weren't able to contain, he didn't seem to notice it, so why try to keep up a facade if no one would even realise it was there?

You left the room while Tony was still trying to threaten Loki out of betraying anyone. Your feet lead you to the gym where you planned on meeting the god of mischief once got bored of talking with Tony and you anticipated it to take five minutes, tops.

After spending some time beating up a punching bag, you heard someone walk in. You didn't have to turn around to know it was him.

“Explain yourself” the voice demanded harshly. He didn't even try to sugar-coat his words, he was disappointed. Probably hurt.

But you couldn't confront him with the truth, could you? You weren't ready, so you feigned innocence.

“What do you mean?”

It was no use. As you turned around and saw him standing there, visibly sad. He knew, although not everything. He knew you lied to him and that was enough to break both his and your hearts.

Loki didn't deserve this.

“You know exactly what I mean.” he looked like he barely kept himself from crying, but his voice was now steady and... cold? Now your heart felt like it was being shattered. “How have you done multiple missions, some of which were solo, despite being barely able to fight? What is the truth, mortal?”

Gone were the pleasantries you were used to, gone were the words 'darling' and 'my dear'. Now you were just called 'mortal', one of many, easily exchangeable to him. You never thought words this small could hurt this bad.

“You wouldn't believe me.”

That was all you could mutter now, the only thought consuming your mind. He wouldn't believe me. The god of lies however insisted he would believe you, provided you told him the truth. This was your last chance to come clear and you both knew that.

“I-” you started insecurely, looking left and right in hopes of finding the right words to use somewhere in the room.

“I am not...”

Your eyes were slowly filling up with tears. This was harder than expected.

“I'm not... from here.”

In a poor attempt to hide your tears you looked down at the floor, but you were sure he saw them since one or two drops managed to fall from your eyes onto the floor.

“Neither do I”

This simple response made you chuckle, what in turn calmed your nerves. You looked up again and your eyes met his. Maybe he would understand.

“I mean... I am not from this reality.”

Silence. Loki didn't ask any questions, but you were sure he had plenty. Who wouldn't?

Fidgeting around with the seams of your shirt, you decided to elaborate a little bit more. “It is... kind of a long story which I feel like I couldn't explain properly, but I managed to shift realities so I can be here.” A heavy weight was dropped from your shoulders as you proceeded to tell him about how life was in your reality and, most importantly, how the Avengers are non-existent.

The last part caught Loki's attention and he thought for a few seconds about it. “So, am I just a mere work of fiction, too?”

You hesitated with your answer and he noticed. Of course he did.

“In... in my reality, yes, but in this reality you are very real.” You gave him an encouraging smile and he nodded understandingly.

“I think therefore I am. So, my dear, why did you... shift realities?”

His prying eyes saw right through you, it was almost as if he already knew the answer. He just wanted to hear you admit it.

“I did it so I could see you, Loki.”

#loki x reader #MCU loki #loki odinson #Loki Laufeyson #loki #x reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #shifting to your arms #sophlubbwriting #tom hiddleston #shifting #loki mcu #mcu #mcu imagine #loki fanfic #fanfiction

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laventae · 3 years

Text

Serendipity

Summary: You accidentally bump into Suna once, then a second time, then a third time.... before it starts seeming like fate has already decided its course for the both of you.

Pairings: Suna Rintaro x F!reader

Genre: Mostly fluff, College/Uni au

Word count: 2.6k words

Part: (1) , 2 , (3) , (TBC)

(A/N: This chapter is shorter than what I had in mind, but I kind of want to leave it with that ending. Maybe I’ll make the next one slightly longer. Anyways..)

Ring Ring

‘I hope I don’t run into him today...’ you think before you jolt up on your bed and reach for your phone.

You dismiss the alarm and sit in bed for a few minutes, thinking about the night before.

Your heart rate quickens when you think about how badly the night could’ve ended, with the creepy old man following you out of the bar, and almost following you home. And how grateful you were when your ‘neighbor’ stepped in to help you out.

You curl yourself up in a ball and hold back a scream when you think about how you lied to him about where you lived, only to see him again in front of your actual apartment, a couple of minutes later.

‘No, you know what, I did nothing wrong’ you assure yourself as you sit up in bed again, ‘I just wanted to play it safe, and after what happened with that creep, nobody can blame me for doing what I did, right?’

You sigh as you get out of bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up.

‘I still hope I don’t run into him today...’ you think to yourself, again, as you leave the bathroom and head for the kitchen to have a quick bite, before getting ready for work.

After about an hour, you’ve already finished having breakfast and you get ready to head out. You look at the time

8:48 A.M

‘Yeah, my shift starts at 9, so I guess I should head out right now’

You grab your bag and keys, then head for the door to put on your shoes.

When you were done, you open the door to your apartment. You stop in your tracks as soon as you notice your neighbor leaving his apartment as well.

‘Are you kidding me?’ you think, as you both stare at each other for a moment.

You clear your throat, leaving your apartment, then close the door behind you. You notice him do the same, turning his back to you to make sure he locks his door.

“Good morning...!” you try to greet him, hoping to dissolve the awkwardness you felt between the both of you.

He turns around to face you when he was done and nods, “Good morning” he replies, the same blank expression from yesterday plastered on his face. He then starts walking to the elevator.

‘I can’t read him at all; does he even remember what happened yesterday?’

“Wait!” you call out to him and he stops and turns around to face you.

‘Wait, what even am I supposed to say right now?’

“Yes?” he asks when you don’t say anything.

You walk up to him, and look at the floor embarrassed, “I just uh... wanted to thank you again... for yesterday,” you look up at him again, “And I'm sorry for lying to you about where I lived, when you were just trying to help”

He looks at you for a few seconds, and you feel yourself become uneasy under his sharp gaze, before he finally nods and speaks up again, “No, it’s understandable. You did good” he pats your head for a second, before looking away, turning to the elevators, “And you don’t have to thank me” he continues as he starts walking to the elevators once again.

You feel yourself slightly flush at the sudden and unexpected action, still frozen in place where he left you, and you curse yourself in your head for thinking he sounded super cool just then.

‘I still can’t read him at all, though...’ you think before turning back to him, and notice him entering the elevator.

“Wait!” you call out again, “Wait for me!”

You rush to elevator and notice him holding the door open, looking at his phone, but looks up at you for a second before you get in. He goes back to scrolling on his phone as the door closes.

“Uhmm...” you hesitantly start, noticing him look up at you from the corner of your eye, “I’d still like to thank you, though. Uh, I work at this café, like five minutes away from here, it’s called The Hub Café,” you pause for a second to look at him, he doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue, “If you, like, ever want to pass by and have some coffee, or anything really, it’s on me”

He still doesn’t say anything, just stares at you. You look away, becoming uneasy under his gaze, once again.

Needing to fill the silence, you speak up again, “I mean, I know it isn’t much, and it definitely doesn’t compare to how you helped me out yesterday, but-”

Your rambling, however, is interrupted when you hear him chuckle lightly, and you look at him feeling embarrassed again.

“I’ll think about it” he tells you casually, and looks back at his phone, but you notice a faint smile on his lips.

‘Wow, so he can smile, huh...?’ you think to yourself but feel yourself slightly flush when you notice yourself staring at him.

“Right...” you mumble as the elevator door opens and he gets off, heading for the apartment building door.

‘Well, I think that went well?’ you sigh as you get off the elevator as well.

-~-~-

You hear the door of the café open and you quickly look up from the register, subconsciously hoping it was him.

‘What am I even thinking right now...’ you sigh, slightly disappointed, when you see a random customer come in instead.

A week has passed by since the last time you saw him.

It kind of starts making you feel bad. I mean was he avoiding you on purpose? Or was he just super busy? Did he even leave his apartment at all? Or has he not even been there this whole time?

You slowly start noticing yourself glance up at the door, at you part-time job, more often. Whenever someone comes in, you somewhat hope it’s him. You subconsciously start leaving your house every day around the same time you left the last time you both bumped into each other, before you left for work. You take your time unlocking the door when you get home, hoping he would also get home around the same time, or maybe leave his apartment by then.

But, nothing.

“Thank you for your hard work! Have a nice weekend!” you hear your boss call out to you as you head for the door at the end of your shift.

“Thank you! You too!” you answer and leave the café.

You sigh, ‘he didn’t come today either...’

Lately, you’ve been trying your best to cut back on taking late night shifts, scared of having another run-in with that old man. And thankfully, it’s only about 3 p.m in the afternoon right now, people still out, bustling around the shops, so you felt comfortable walking back home on your own.

You groan as you start making your way back home.

‘Why am I even still thinking about him? Whatever...' you think as you grab your phone from your bag and call Hina, to try and get your mind off of it.

The line rings a couple of times before she picks up.

“Heyy y/n!” she answers the phone, her usual excited tone never failing to cheer you up when you wanted to.

“Hey Hina, you busy right now?”

“Nope, not all, what's up?” she asks sounding concerned.

“Nothing specific, was hoping you would keep me company as I walk back home”

“OH! Of course! So... what’s on your mind, hm?”

“Huh? Nothing... Like I said, I just wanted the company”

You hear her laugh on the other end of the line, “You pretend like we haven’t been best friends for the last 2 years, you know. So come on, spill. I know you always call me like this when you’re overthinking something, so, what is it?”

“Nothing...” you say pouting, and you hear her laugh again.

“Who’s bothering you? Is it your boss? Or Oh! Is it about that guy? Your neighbor? Did you run into him again?”

You sigh, “Well, yes, it's about him... But no, it’s more like, what’s bothering me is that I haven’t run into him again, how is that even possible? He literally lives right in front of me!”

“There it is,” you hear her giggle before she continues, “Listen, I don’t know what happened with him, but honestly, you need to just forget about him”

Frankly speaking, you haven’t really told her exactly what happened between the both of you. You just told her that he helped you out of an uncomfortable situation a couple of days prior. It’s not that you were hiding something from her, you knew you were eventually going to tell her what happened, but honestly, you yourself still hadn’t wrapped your head around how that night unfolded, so you weren't really ready to talk to her about it just yet.

Besides, the fact that she always hated you insisting on walking everywhere didn’t help, especially at night. She always offered to walk you back home herself, drive you back, or at least call a cab for you. She’s always been protective of you like that. So, you know that all hell would break loose when she hears about what happened, and you weren't ready for her berating you about it. It was all out of love, you knew that, but you just weren’t ready yet.

“I know... I know...” you sigh again, “I’m trying. Anyways, it’s just stupid, like I was just trying to thank him, but whatever” you continue as you notice you were almost close to your apartment building.

“Hey, you know what? I know what would help you get your mind off him. How about that date I was telling you about?” she asks, getting excited again.

‘Cupid Hina is back’ you think as you roll your eyes.

“Really? Right now?” you chuckle.

“Yes! It’s literally the perfect time, come on! It’ll help you get your mind off things”

“You won’t quit even if I say no, will you?”

“You know I won’t” she says and you hear her giggle.

You groan as you get into your building.

“I promise you, he’s super cool, and super nice, I’m literally one hundred percent sure you guys would hit it off” she continues.

You sigh as you wait next to elevator, “How is he any different from all the other people you set me up with?”

“I just know” she answers you, way too confident.

You sigh again, “And you told me he was your cousin or something? Rintaro? That was his name, right?”

“Yes! He just got back from abroad, like, a couple of weeks ago. So, what do you think about it? This weekend maybe? You’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Sure, sure, whatever,” you answer, hoping to just end the call before you get in the elevator, “tomorrow is fine”

“Yaaaay! Alright, I'll text you the details later tonight, alright?”

“Alright.” you both say your goodbyes before you get in the elevator and get to your apartment.

No sign of your neighbor that day either.

-~-~-

You get to the restaurant early, and the host guides you to your table.

“Here are your menus,” they say, placing a menu on the table in front of you, and on the opposite side of the table, where your date is supposed to sit, “If you need anything else, please let me know”

“Alright, thank you” you say. They nod and walk back to welcome the other guests.

You usually prefer going early to places you’ve never been to, especially when going on dates, just so you could check the ambiance of the place and familiarize yourself with the area and menu before your date gets there. Somehow, that makes you feel more comfortable.

However, this time, the place Hina tells you that your date booked was a much fancier restaurant than the usual, which, similarly, makes you even more nervous than usual. You don’t usually opt to go on fancy restaurant dates, you’re much more comfortable in more casual settings.

You wait for about 15 minutes, going through the menu a couple of times and checking your phone occasionally, until you notice it’s past the time when your date was supposed to be there. You look around the restaurant but only see couples sitting around on their tables, probably on dates as well, but nobody else was coming in.

You sigh and decide to go to the toilet and freshen up for a bit.

After doing so, you wash your hands and look at the mirror.

‘What am I even doing here...?’ you sigh to yourself, ‘If he doesn’t get here in 10 minutes, I'm legally allowed to leave, right?’

You chuckle to yourself at how lame that sounded, but you decide to go with it anyway. If he doesn’t get here in ten minutes, you’ll leave.

You nod your head at your reflection before grabbing a paper towel, and drying your hands.

You take one last look in the mirror, fixing your hair, before leaving the toilet.

You look around the restaurant, then to your table, and find nobody there, still.

You take out your phone to text Hina as you walk to your table,

TO ‘Wifeyy <3’: “Queen, he’s nowhere to be seen, I think he’s the one who ditched this ti-”

You accidentally bump into someone before finishing the text and you drop your phone.

“Sorry! I wasn’t looking!” you say, bending down to grab your phone but the person you bumped into reaches it first.

“Oh, thank yo-” you’re cut off, flustered, when you notice your neighbor standing in front of you.

It seems like he was startled for a second as well, before you both straighten up and he hands you your phone.

“Uhm, thank you”

“No problem”

You both stand there awkwardly for a few moments.

‘Who would’ve thought? He looks good, all dressed up...’

You curse that thought before you look at him and speak up again, “Wait, what are you doing here?”

He looks at you for second before looking around the restaurant, looking for something, or someone(?), “Oh, I'm actually supposed to be meeting someone here,” he looks back at you and stares you up and down, not really in an intimidating way, more like he was analyzing the way you looked, “what about you? On a date?”

‘How can he even say, or do, things like that so casually?’

You couldn’t help but flush at the way he was looking at you, so you look away, slightly embarrassed.

“Uhm- Yeah- I guess something like that”

‘Why do we have to keep bumping into each other like this?’

“What about you?” you ask, turning to him again, “On a date as well?”

“I guess?” he answers, as he scratches the back of his head, “I mean, my cousin set me up on this blind date with her friend or something, but I think I might've been a bit late. I'm not sure if she’s still her-”

“Wait” you interrupt him

‘Wait... there’s no way...’

‘No, there’s definitely no way...’ you think as you unconsciously let out a laugh.

“What?” he asks, looking at you, confused, and your eyes snap to him.

“Uh, is your name Rintaro, by any chance?”

“Yes, why?”

‘You’ve gotta be kidding me...’

“And is your cousin’s name Hina, by any chance?”

He looks at you confused and was about to answer, before it clicks with him as well.

“You’re y/n?”

You laugh nervously, “Yeah...”

(HQ Masterlist)

#haikyu #haikyuxreader #Suna Rintaro x reader #haikyuu #suna x reader #Suna Rintaro #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #haikyu fluff #Suna Rintarou #haikyu scenarios #haikyuu fluff #suna #suna scenarios #haikyu suna #haikyuu rintaro suna #fluff #hq bf #mi

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honey-dewey · 3 years

Text

All For The Hunt

Pairing: Din Djarin/Jedi Reader

Word Count: 3,282

When gathering bounties, the Reader wonders how long it would take Mando to catch them. A bet ensues. Will the Reader last all 24 hours, or will Mando hunt them down before the time is up?

You sighed in the comforting silence of the Crest, carefully taking apart your lightsaber to examine the purple kyber crystal. You’d never had problems with your lightsaber, but you liked to be sure everything would continue to be in working order for any future events. Grogu was asleep, and would likely be that way for at least the next 24, if not 48, hours. The final member of your small clan was sitting on a crate, silently sorting through available bounties. He dismissed most of them on the basis of time, considering the three of you could only be in one place for a week or two.

“How long does it take you to catch one?” You asked, breaking the silence as you clicked your saber pieces back together.

Mando looked up, the T of his visor sending a shiver down your spine. “What?”

You shrugged off the feeling of the shiver, putting your saber back on your belt. “How long does it take you to catch a bounty, on average?”

“On average,” Mando repeated slowly, clearly thinking it over. “Two days, depending on the skill set the bounty has.”

Nodding, you stretched. “What about me? How long would it take you to find me?”

Mando was quiet. He’d met you due to a bounty on your head, but had never once tried to turn you in or hunt you down. “Where?”

“Here,” you said, gesturing to an open hatch that overlooked the bustling city.

Again, Mando considered it. “A day.”

“A day?” You laughed, standing and moving to set up your sleeping area. “I bet I could last longer than that.”

“Do you now,” Mando drawled, his voice a tone you’d decided long ago was amused.

You smirked. “Yeah. I do. I think it would take you at least two to catch me and bring me back to the Crest.”

Mando stood, holding a hand out. “Wanna bet?”

Immediately, your chest tightened with excitement. You and Mando made bets a lot, considering it was often the only thing to do in hyperspace. “Fine,” you said, shaking his hand. “Some rules. No going easy on me. I want this to feel legit.”

Mando nodded. On bigger bets, you and him would alternate coming up with rules until you were both satisfied. “Second,” he said. “No intent to hurt or kill.”

An obvious one, but you kept going. “I get a head start of half an hour.”

“Okay. No using your weird power.”

“It’s called the Force, and sometimes I can’t control it.”

“Fine. No excessive intentional Force using.”

“Then you can’t use any weapons beyond your blasters.”

“My built in ones?”

“I’ll make an exception. But no Z-6. It stays here. And don’t use those fancy ass settings on your HUD. That absolutely counts as cheating.”

Eventually, you and Mando reached a nice point of agreement on all fronts, and you began to get ready as Mando took the Child into the cockpit to wait out your half hour head start.

Immediately, you dug up clothes Mando didn’t even know about, dressing quickly. They were your old Jedi robes, altered after you left to help you survive with a bounty on your head. You clipped your saber to your belt and tugged your old boots on, carefully tying away your hair and slipping on your hood.

Walking silently out of the Crest, you checked your wrist, where a small multipurpose watch sat nestled between strips of leather to make makeshift vambraces. You set the watch to alert you when Mando left and raced off into the city.

Even now, as the sun was setting, the city was busy. You slowed, checking your watch. Mando was still on the ship, and would continue to be for another ten minutes.

Taking a minute, you stopped to wander, making a plan. It had been almost 18 months since you’d hid from anyone this way, but as you imagined the Mandalorian hunting you down, it sharpened your instincts back to their razor-fine point.

You smiled to a merchant you bought food off of, heart beating faster when your watch chimed and set a 24 hour timer. Mando was on the hunt.

Scanning the skyline, you noticed a standout structure. A big wheel with baskets to hold people. It was in the more abandoned part of town, where only the desperate dwelled.

But you weren’t desperate yet. Drawing your hood closer around your face, you continued about your way, acting as if you belonged. With your bag and your entirely innocent demeanor, you hoped Mando’s helmet would just glide right over the back of your head.

You fought to keep yourself from tensing when you heard the telltale clinking of beskar behind you. But you managed to keep yourself composed as Mando passed right by you. The merchant you were talking to was relaxed, maybe a bit too relaxed, you realized as you used the Force to speed up the transaction.

Stuffing the spare clothes into your bag, you bowed slightly to the merchant and began to walk off, towards the residential district. To anyone, it would look as if you were merely done shopping for the evening and were headed home.

As you walked, you cursed your subconscious instincts. The Force had, upon remembering the feeling of being hunted down, heightened your hearing. You pulled your hood down, sliding a pair of pod racer goggles over your eyes. You couldn’t risk getting anything in your eyes now.

Leaving your hood down, you shivered as a breeze blew through, carrying the sound of beskar. Was he already on your trail?

Wondering if he’d remember if you used Force persuasion on him, or if it would even work at all, you continued to walk without a care in the world. Ducking down a narrower street, towards the abandoned district, you checked your watch once you were in a good enough alcove. An hour had passed since the hunt had begun.

You continued to make your way towards the wheel, climbing up on people’s rooftops and racing across with silent footsteps. You caught sight of Mando at one point, checking his vambrace. Probably checking the time, just as you had been periodically doing.

You walked away, ducking behind a chimney when he turned to look in your direction. But his focus was on the ground. Had he seriously forgotten about the skillset that kept you alive for all those years?

You continued towards the wheel structure, killing another hour with how you were twisting and turning to see if Mando was following you or if he was just looking.

You scaled the wheel with ease upon reaching it, settling down in the highest basket. You could see Mando’s helmet glinting in the low night lights occasionally, but he didn’t seem to be on any kind of trail, so you scooted down, heightened your senses, and closed your eyes to sleep.

You woke to the sun on your face, filtered through the protective lenses of your goggles. You were awake immediately, senses all hitting eleven as you felt someone scaling the wheel.

Looking down, you blood ran cold. With nine hours gone and fifteen left, Mando had found you.

You scooped your stuff up, tossing the cloak you’d purchased on to hide your Jedi clothes. In one smooth movement, you jumped, grabbing the old structural beams of the wheel and thanking the Force you’d picked up a pair of gloves as you swung from beam to beam with practiced ease.

By the time you’d hit the ground, Mando was only halfway down, cursing loudly. So he had forgotten you were a self-taught acrobat.

As soon as your boots made contact with the ground, you took off running, heading through the maze of scrap metal. You gave Mando a generous five minutes to get off the wheel, so you abandoned your cloak down one split at a fork in the road, backed up, and sprinted down the other one.

You were aiming to hide away in the shadows of one of the warehouses, hoping they were filled with junk you could hide behind. Once you had proper shadow cover, no one would be able to find you.

Of course, your entire plan was hinging on Mando not finding you before you reached the warehouse. The Force was active in your veins, reaching out and determining where he’d gone. He had followed the fork with your cloak, which would take him back to the market district.

Slowing to a walk, you caught your breath, noting a pair of eyes on you. “Hello?”

The person squeaked, hiding behind a crate.

You smiled, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible. “Hi. Did I scare you? I’m so sorry, me and my friend are just playing a game.”

The person, who you could now see was a child, peered out. “You’re a Jedi.”

You glanced down at the lightsaber on your belt. “I was,” you murmured. “But now, I’m just a person.”

The child still seemed nervous. “Do you need help?”

Crouching down so we’re the child’s height, you thought. Mando hadn’t said anything about receiving help, but you were fairly certain it was against the rules anyway. “No,” you said. “Like I said, it’s just a game. My friend isn’t actually trying to hurt me.”

Of course, in that moment, a thick rope wrapped around your body, causing the child to cry out, scurrying away down a tunnel as you writhed. Truthfully, this would’ve been easy to escape, but you wanted to put on a show and make this interesting. You stood, hearing Mando’s footsteps clinking slowly as he wound the rope closer.

“I can bring you in warm,” a low voice said from behind you, causing your entire body to shiver with an exhilarating mix of terror and excitement. “Or I can bring you in cold.”

You waited, still and compliant, as Mando drew closer. Might as well use this time to test a previous theory.

You turned, leaving a single coil of rope around your elbows and waist. “Mando. They sent you after me, hm? They’re fools, all of them.”

Mando, to his credit, stayed silent.

Sighing, you lifted your hands, opening your palms in the universal ‘I’m unarmed’ gesture. “I’m not your bounty,” you said firmly, dominant hand making a small arc as you prayed this would work. Mando’s mind was a steel trap, and Force persuasion rarely worked on those who were strong willed. “You need to let me go and head back to the market district. That’s where your bounty went.”

Mando’s body shuddered, muscles tensing. “Shut up,” he growled, actually growled, at you.

Instead, you repeated your phrase, putting as much Force behind it as possible.

Mando didn’t falter, and when you saw that this wasn’t going anywhere, your dominant hand shot down, quick as a flash, and grabbed your lightsaber. Severing the rope in one smooth movement, you raced off while Mando caught his bearings, shaking his head and following after you.

You were fast and you knew it, having been trained as a Jedi meant you were always in peak physical condition. But no amount of exercise or training could help the fact that Mando’s legs were longer than yours.

“Shit!” You yelled, skidding around a corner and seeing a ten foot tall chain link fence between you and the warehouses. At the top of the fence sat coils of highly charged wire, meant to deter those who wanted to enter. But nothing could deter you now.

You began to scale the fence, making it almost all the way up before Mando caught up to you. He called your name out, voice desperate. “Come back here!”

“Like hell I will,” you replied, gripping the top chain and praying this would work.

He called your name again, the fear in his voice making you pause. “You’ll get hurt! Let’s just go.”

You screwed your eyes shut. In one calculated movement, you threw your body over the electric wire, arching your back and falling the ten feet down to the ground on the other side.

Turning, you smiled at Mando, who was in apparent shock that that had actually worked. “Good luck,” you said with a mock salute. “You only have fourteen hours left.”

Just like that, you ran off, heading down the row of warehouses. You picked one about five down, some old storage plant that made an excellent hiding place. Wedging yourself between two crates on the top floor, you settled in with an old book and a dim flashlight.

At the three hour mark, you put your book down, wanting to save the rest for later, just in case you found somewhere else to hide. Instead of reading, you shuffled around until you found a semi-comfortable position and slipped into sleep.

Your nap lasted longer than expected, clocking in at just over five hours. The exhaustion of being hunted wasn’t entirely foreign to you, but it had been a while since you’d experienced it, and you were fairly certain that you’d sleep for years upon reaching the Crest again.

You checked your watch, standing and stretching to work the kinks out of your neck and back. Six hours left. This was shaping up to be the longest twenty four hours of your life. You’d always been cautious when you’d been hunted, but those were average bounty hunters. Being hunted by Mando was a totally different experience.

Speaking of Mando, he wasn’t anywhere close to you, if your senses were accurate. You looked around, spotting a promising place to settle in the shadows.

You carefully scaled thick chains and swung a few times to reach the hanging canvas cloth, held in the air by a length of chain. It took a few tries, but you were eventually cocooned safely in your makeshift hammock. Leaning back and letting the canvas cradle your body, you pulled your book out, entirely determined to finish it.

You did manage to finish the book, killing another five hours. Only one left.

At this point, you were worried about Mando. He hadn’t showed up for thirteen hours, which was concerning. Had he given up? No, he wouldn’t. He had to have a plan.

You wiggled upright, wrapping a leg loosely in chain and sliding down to the ground. If Mando was waiting for you, then you’d give him what he wanted. There was only an hour left anyway.

You found him in the market district square, talking to a merchant. He was waiting for you to come to him.

“Smart bastard,” you grumbled, checking your watch. Half an hour.

Mando turned, spotting you with your saber out but unlit. “You found me.”

“You were baiting me,” you argued. “You’re still treating this like a game.”

Everyone in the square hurried off, as if bounty hunts were normal out here. There was a clear ring for you and Mando.

You lit your lightsaber, moving to a fighting stance. “Come get me, Mandalorian.”

Mando’s hand twitched on his blaster, but before he could get a shot out, you were gone.

You ducked and weaved down abandoned streets, lightsaber unlit in your hand. You were headed back to the Crest, Mando hot on your heels.

You jumped, easily stepping up a stack of crates to the rooftops. Mando remained on the ground, racing beside you. He fired his blaster off a few times, and while his aim was true, you blocked them with ease, saber lit and whirring as you ran.

Eventually, you reached the end of the roofs, jumping down and zig-zagging your way through the smaller houses on the outskirts of the city. The Crest was just up ahead, and you skidded behind it, where no one else could see you fight.

Mando came up behind you with a flurry of dust, his blaster raised. You blocked the shots, hearing the click of the blaster emptying. Mando swore, coming at you with his fists.

It wasn’t a horrible mistake, but his fighting style was entirely focused on physical force, whereas yours was more about the dance and balance of the fight. You matched Mando’s every move, whirling around him and occasionally striking his pauldron or backplate. Your lightsaber did nothing against the beskar, but it was more about the fact that you were slowly wearing him out.

Eventually, you managed a high kick, accidentally aiming wrong. You’d meant to catch his collarbones, but your foot hit the lower lip of his helmet instead, sending it flying off and spiraling into the air.

You stopped, squeezing your eyes shut. “Fuck. Sorry. Go get that, okay? No cheap shots, I promise.”

Mando shuffled, grabbing his helmet. When he softly signaled you, you opened your eyes. He was ready, fists raised. As you lit your saber and slid to a fighting stance, your watch beeped. You stared at it, confusion quickly melting to happiness. “I won!”

Mando stood straight, a low chuckle coming from under his helmet. “So you did.”

You two ended up back in the Crest, the same way you’d been the last time you’d been here. You had bathed, changing back into the soft sleep clothes you wore around the Crest. Mando, still in his armor, recharged his blaster, methodically taking apart his pulse rifle to examine the pieces. You did the same to your lightsaber, sitting opposite Mando in the cargo hold.

“You never told me what you wanted.”

“Hm?” You looked up, a bit confused.

Mando shrugged. “You won. What do you want?”

“I dunno,” you said softly, clicking your saber pieces back together. “Who are you?”

“What?”

“That’s what I want,” you decided. “Who are you Mando? I’ve known you for almost two years, and yet, I know nothing about you.”

Mando was silent, so silent you figured he wouldn’t answer. But then, he looked up.

“My name is Din Djarin.”

You smiled. “It’s nice to meet you, Din Djarin.”

After that, it was silent again. You finished with your saber, putting it with your day clothes and heading to the cockpit to entertain Grogu, who had just woken up.

That night, after you’d laid down in your tiny sleeping area, you heard the door hiss open. Assuming it was just Din, you rolled over, rubbing your eyes against the harsh lights. “What?”

Din looked as ashamed as someone wearing a face-covering helmet could. “I can’t sleep.”

You were still confused. “Pardon?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“I heard you,” you grumbled. “But what does that mean?”

Din took a breath. “Every time I close my eyes, I just see you, leaping that fence like an idiot. You scared me. I thought you were going to die.”

“Huh.” You shuffled in your bed, balling the blanket up. “I guess, well. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Din promised. “But can I?”

He didn’t even need to finish. You scooted over, making as much room as you could. “C’mon. Yours probably has more room, but I know for a fact my mattress is softer than yours, and I’m sore as shit right now.”

Din chucked, climbing into the bunk and lifting Grogu up with him.

It took some finessing, but eventually, you and Din were comfortably snuggling together in your bed, Grogu in his tiny hammock above your feet.

“Do you really sleep with it on?” You asked the pitch blackness in front of you.

“Hm?” Din hummed, and his voice sounded clearer, more human.

You smiled, curving into his chest and wrapping him up closer to you. “I guess not. Good night Din.”

Din let out a soft breath, ruffling your hair and letting his chin rest on top of your head. “Good night.”

If you liked this, I do dialogue prompt requests as well! Go request something if you want!

#the mandalorian #mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x y/n #din djarin x reader #my writing #pedro pascal

136 notes · View notes

notmrskennedy · 3 years

Text

Professor, pt2

A/N - here’s part two to my little prequels - it’s the last one I’ve got written, but just know that they definitely fall in love later in my head. It’s just that the ‘in love’ part turned into Friendliness so there’s that. Thanks for sticking around bc y’all make my days

Summary - A certain professor makes another unexpected appearance and friend?

W/C - 2.6k

Warnings - there’s a brief stint of depression and a bit of swearing i’m sure (but what’s new)

----

Nearly 50 hours of no sleep later and Spencer Reid is sure he’s hallucinating. He knows that the hallucinations come later, that it takes more like seven or eight days to get that bad. But he’s tired and hadn’t slept on the plane and there’s no amount of coffee that’ll convince him he’s awake enough to think the scene in front of him is real.

Because there you are, arguing with an FBI agent. While in handcuffs. He notes the darker hair and the new style and the impossible amount of dirt you’re covered in. What a weird thing to hallucinate after a bone chilling case. He hasn’t seen you in three years—by all accounts, he should’ve forgotten your face already.

“I heard she got caught shipping body parts,” Emily says, appearing next to Spencer. She’s more put together, having passed out for the four hour flight. Her hair’s tied up and she’s got airplane coffee in her hands. He wonders if this is any more real before he hears you shouting from him.

“Thank God,” you call, trying to wiggle out of the man’s hold, “Dr. Reid! Tell them I’m not crazy.”

He hesitantly leans over to Emily. “This is real, right?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not going to sleep tonight, am I?”

“Nope.”

“See you on Monday, Emily.”

“See you then, Reid.”

And he’s trudging forward, waving at the other agent while stifling a yawn. He forces his eyes open and checks his watch. 2:37 AM. Is he going to catch the Metro? Or is he sleeping on Hotch’s couch again?

The pleading in your eyes says Hotch’s couch and he doesn’t argue.

“Hey, Kazinsky,” he yawns, stopping a full two feet from you and your inhumanly large captor. “What’s the—what’s the charge?”

Kazinsky shakes his head, not daring to let you any slack. You’re bouncing on your toes, trying to contain yourself. He gets it. It’s not everyday you get arrested. He hopes. But ever forgetful of the whole being arrested bit, you keep jerking to move the hair out of your face. Kazinsky takes it as trying to escape and jerks back harder.

“We picked this one up for transporting illegal…stuff, Doc,” Kazinsky mutters with half a shiver. “Thought I signed up for white collar, mail fraud type stuff. Not unpacking human remains type stuff.”

Spencer pinches the bridge of his nose. Scrubs his hands over his face. Takes one more long look at you, obviously losing your mind. He knows a lot can change over three years, but you never seemed the ‘illegally transporting dead people’ type. Until he remembers your fun fact from that lecture all those years ago.

“What happened?” he sighs.

All too tired for this bullshit, he wishes he could force the story out faster, but your face just keeps contorting with the story you’re so obviously trying to spin for both of them. You try to pull out of Kazinsky’s gorilla grip again, and Spencer notices the way Kazinsky winces every time you pull. Something wrong with his wrist?

“Dr. Reid,” you finally begin, “I was in Guatemala, studying these mummies we found in a cave. One of the bodies just needed further examining and so I was just shipping it back because it’s not like I can stuff a two thousand year old body in my carryon.”

All Spencer can do is raise half an exhausted eyebrow that prompts you further, red tinting your cheeks.

“Look, I’ve been trying to tell Mr. Man Hands over here that I’ve got the paperwork in my bag, but after our little disagreement, I’ve been arrested.”

“Disagreement?” Kazinsky snorts. “You tried to dislocate my wrist!”

“Well, I can’t help it if you don’t announce yourself before grabbing me.”

Whatever desperation and pleading you’ve had, you’ve thrown out the window to stare down Kazinsky. Spencer has a new appreciation for the fact that he’d been wrong all those years ago. You aren’t fragile. You’re as strong as a femur bone with all of the—probably justified—anger of a bull towards a matador.

But you turn back to Spencer and your gaze softens. Melts into the young professor he met all those years ago. He’s gotten over his crush—he’s definitely in love with Maeve—but you’re objectively beautiful. Despite the self-cut, terribly choppy bangs, or the light dusting of brown dirt that you’ve covered in. You’re pleading for his help, he knows it, but he just wants to go home.

He’s reminded he’s better than walking away and ends up giving Kazinsky a tired sigh. “I’ll take her off your hands for you, Kazinsky.”

He wonders vaguely what Maeve will think of this when he calls her in 24 hours. He wonders if she’ll appreciate the gesture he’s made for an old acquaintance. No matter what though, he knows she’ll gasp and giggle and say something like ‘oh those anthropologists! Such a funny sort. At least it’s a better science than geology!’ and they’ll laugh together like old lovers.

Kazinsky drops you in Spencer’s lap and runs. Human remains could be the BAU’s problem for all he cared. He liked mail fraud.

Once Kazinsky’s out of sight, Spencer pulls the handcuff keys from his pockets and pulls the cuffs off of you. You breathe out a thankful sigh, trying to rub the future bruises away. You turn back to face him, tucking your hair back behind your ear, studying him through your lashes. He can’t be bothered to notice anything much more about you. He’s dead on his feet.

The hand you place on his elbow jolts him away. Your eyebrows scrunch and he swallows at the concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “I’m just—we’ve been working an abduction case. 48 hours non-stop—“

He yawns again and you can’t help but mirror. “Did you know that chimpanzees and dogs are also empathetic yawners?”

He smirks. “I did know that. Seriously though y/n, what’s up with the body?”

“I promise it isn’t illegal,” you rush out, just to receive a raised eyebrow. “The Institute I’m working for made some kind of deal with the Guatemalan government that I’m not really privy to, but I’m the only one qualified to handle the remains. Plus, I’ve got a reputation for being found with body parts so its—it’s not as bad as it sounds.”

He sighs again. He wants to tell you it sounds worse. That it sounds like you’re stealing on behalf of the Institute. That they’re doing what museums always do—pilfer and loot. But you sigh and hang your head and don’t exhibit one sign that you’re trying to trick him. Sure, you might’ve lied a bit about manhandling Kazinsky, but you sure as hell seem like a doctor just trying to do her job.

“Look, call my boss. He’s waiting for me anyway. I’m sure the paperwork just got lost or customs is just as stupid as I think they are.”

Spencer nods. He pulls his phone out and punches in the number you rattle off. In ten seconds he’s speaking with Dr. Russel Bailey, head of the anthropology department at the Institute. There’s a quick relay of ‘yes, she’s authorised to have the body’ and ‘no, please don’t arrest her’ and ‘we’ll sort this out in the morning’.

And once he’s hung up, you’ve already got your car keys out. “Do you need a ride home or anything?” you ask and quickly tack on, “I’m just trying to say thank you. Promise I’m not creepy.”

Spencer laughs and nods and drags his feet after you. He does need a ride home because he knows he’ll fall asleep on the metro. You talk incessantly about your trip to Guatemala on the walk down to your car, and he knows he should be listening. But he can’t. He’s too busy moving one foot in front of the other.

And by the time you’ve punched his address into the GPS, he’s fast asleep, softly snoring.

Maeve was dead. Maeve was dead. Maeve was dead.

Nothing else really matters now, Spencer thinks on repeat. She was the only good thing I had and now she’s gone. Maybe I don’t even matter.

There’s brief moments between this line of thinking where he can listen to the three dozen voicemails he gets left everyday. Telling him that they’re there for him. Telling him it’ll be okay. Telling him it was okay to grieve.

Was it grieving if he just wants to melt into nothingness? To die without actually killing himself?

It’s during one of these brief moments that he gets the voicemail he’s accidentally been craving. He doesn’t want to want it. He doesn’t want to want anything. He wants to melt and starve and wither until no one thinks about him ever again. Because she’s not here and he can’t for the life of him figure out why he wants you.

You’ve been gone. Researching your way through the Sacred Valley in Peru, making nice with the locals and scavenging bones like an angelic vulture. You’ve been there for the last month and can’t possibly know about Maeve’s death—it takes him another hour to get back to thinking about you. It’s still September, he thinks, and you’re supposed to come back around now. At the end of the month, he’s supposed to pick you up from the airport.

Because after saving you from an arrest, you’ve been exchanging noncommittal letters and phone calls. He’s got a thin stack of photos that you’ve sent from your trip. But you aren’t Maeve. You never were. You never will be.

He doesn’t know why he wants you to call him, but he does.

Maybe it’s because you’re new, you aren’t tarnished by the history of Spencer Reid. Maybe it’s because you’re the only one who doesn’t treat him like he’s labelled: fragile, handle with care!

He listens and your voicemail is a sort of sing song. “Hola Spencer! I’m calling from some Peruvian payphone. I should be in the states in a little over 24 hours. I’ll call when I land. Hasta mañana.”

The next voicemail comes with: “Finally got back to the apartment. I didn’t think I’d miss the sound of guinea pigs running around. Weird. Anyway, call me when you can.”

And the third: “Spencer, seriously, why aren’t you picking up? I’m not going to have to break in, am I? Call me back.”

Culminating with: “Reid, I swear to fucking god. If I find you dead in that goddamn apartment, I’ll beat your body so bad you won’t make it the fucking afterlife.”

There’s a knock. One he won’t answer. One he doesn’t want to answer. He doesn’t want the pity or the advice or the dejectedness. He wants to float down a river and drown.

The knock becomes a little more insistent. And now there’s voices attached. He can make out JJ’s voice, “He’s—he’s going to be okay. He’ll come back out when he’s ready.” Following is who he thinks is Penelope, though if it is, she’s far too quiet. One set of feet retreat. He can see the shadow from a pair of shoes and he wonders why Penelope is staying so long. Maybe she’s brought another basket.

There’s one more knock—probably to ensure he’s not coming to the door—before a jiggle to the knob. And swearing. And jostling. And squirming. And pop. There’s a distinct swinging open of the door and a pair of boots tapping over his hardwood.

Maybe this is how he dies. Miserable. Covered in snot and tears. Slippers half on. Depressed on the couch.

“God, you idiot,” a voice breathes, pausing to take in the disarray. He vaguely remembers redecorating—throwing everything everywhere. The feet become more impatient and frantic and heavier. His doors all open and close and he can’t bother to correct the burglar. He’s right here, waiting, patiently waiting, for this intruder to kill him.

A fantastic way to die. He wonders if you’ll want to look at his bones. You’ve mentioned wanting to.

“Sound off, Reid,” you command. He knows its you. No one else could replicate that tremble in your lips, the break rolling off your tongue.

“Y/n,” he croaks and he wonders how long ago was the last time he spoke.

Light streams in as you flick open the curtains, bites into his skin with a hiss. You take in his disheveled state with no apprehension. Like you’ve expected this. Like you have no pity to give him. Maybe this is why he wanted you to call.

“You broke in,” he mumbles and you shake your head.

“I wouldn’t have to,” you begin to yell, just to lower your voice and grit your teeth, “if you would’ve fucking answered the door.”

You always say there’s a time and place for everything. There’s nothing to top the word ‘fuck’ and he knows that you’re beyond angry. Beyond concerned. Beyond terrified for him.

“What happened, Spencer?” you whisper, moving to sit down on the floor in front of him. You’re close enough he can smell your perfume, see the pleading look in your eyes. There’s no pity. If he could find the words, he couldn’t thank you enough.

He could reach out and hold your hand, but that seems too far. Too much. So he swallows down the tears and whispers back, “Maeve died, y/n. She died because I let her.”

“Stop it,” you order. You’ve got a hard set in your eyes, the kind that he last saw when you stared down Kazinsky. “Stop that right now. You can’t stop the world from spinning, Spencer. You can’t stop the sun from coming up. You can’t stop what you don’t know to. I might not know all the details, but I know you. You’re a diligent man and I wouldn’t expect you to do anything less than everything for the woman you love.”

You place a delicate hand on the couch next to his and you sum everything up very gracefully. “Hindsight is a bitch, don’t let it make you hers.”

He can’t stop the twitch of a smile. Can’t stop the crack of happiness that bleeds out because you’ve decided to be so ridiculously you. No one’s ever called him diligent before and seems more fitting than fragile.

“She’s still dead,” he settles on and makes the bold move to slide his fingers under yours. It feels like such a betrayal to Maeve—is he supposed to touch another woman when he couldn’t even touch the love of his life?

You just squeeze his fingers, warm and present and decidedly alive. “Yeah. She is. You’re welcome to wallow for as long as you want, but you need to eat. We’ll see if I can remember how to cook with modern appliances.”

Your smile is contagious enough that a fleeting smile reaches his eyes. You pat his hand and stand. “I’m going to the store, and taking a key this time. I promise I’ll be back. I’m stickier than a public indecency charge.”

You chuckle for the both of them and carefully make your way out of the apartment. He listens as you take a key and tries his best to psych himself into a fit of hunger. It isn’t until you’re singing in Spanish, something sizzling on the stove, that he realises that the pain in his gut is the hunger, and not just misery. That he should probably get up for at least a minute. Just to satisfy the curiosity of what that smell is.

Maeve would’ve liked you, he decides. Maeve would’ve really liked you.

And it’s the first peaceful thought he’s had in weeks.

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #reid x reader #reid x y/n #spencer reid x y/n #Criminal Minds #criminal minds fanfiction

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katnissmellarkkk · 3 years

Note

what about ~ general ~ #48?

Gravity

Heyyyyy, so uh, remember sending this? Well, sorry this took 100,000 years. And uh, sorry, this got so long imma break it up into three separate parts. Because, ya see, the prompt you sent sparked a three chapter growing back together story. And... your prompt, which was general #48 “I won’t hurt you”, actually doesn’t appear until the final chapter 🤦🏼‍♀️... we love an overwriter, right?

Okay so anyways, hopefully part two will be out soon. And forgive this for not being my greatest writing ever.

And thanks, love, for sending me a prompt to start with!

Peeta and I grow back together.

"How long are you going to waste those paints?" I tease wryly, announcing my presence as I lean against the doorframe.

Peeta doesn't even glance back at me, but I can see from my angle his expression turn sardonic. "Until this shade of green is exactly right."

I chuckle, coming further into the room—using extra caution to not startle him as he can be easily triggered when his mind is preoccupied elsewhere—and attempting to peer over his shoulder at the canvas.

It's covered with a cloth though and this time he turns to look at me before laughing softly. "Trying to sneak a peek?"

I glance at him, a little ruffled, before my eyes find my feet. "I didn't know it was supposed to be secret," I defend, for some reason feeling embarrassed by my curiosity.

Our dynamic is still tense some days. We haven't kissed since we were in the Capitol and that was only to fight off his hijacking. We haven't genuinely kissed, kissed because we wanted to, for nothing but our own simple pleasure, since the Quell, on the beach, the last night before we were separated.

Since before Peeta was taken by the Capitol. Since before he was hijacked.

But his memory is better now and the clouded, haunted look is long gone from his eyes. In it's place is the same brightness, the same instinctive kindness, the same gaze I used to see even in the worst of circumstances.

Still though, I don't always know what to say or not say. I don't know what our boundaries are now.

I know that his house and mine are always open to the other one. I don't have to knock or announce myself when I come over, and more times than not I return from hunting to find him situated at my kitchen table, waiting for me before cutting our breakfast bread.

I don't always know where our trauma ends and our friendship begins. I don't honestly know where we even stand anymore. From allies to friends to unconscious lovers to enemies and back, I get whiplash practically trying to decipher it, and I can't even imagine how much more confusing it must be for him, still after all this time.

He is more committed to that stupid over-the-phone therapy we've both had forced upon us though. He is committed like an old dog to a rotten bone to healing himself from the wounds Snow inflicted.

I'm about to find an excuse to leave the room, to more than likely leave his house altogether and go out to the woods, like I too often do when I'm at loss for words or things grow awkward, when his fingers touch under my chin. He gently lifts it up to meet his sky blue irises. "Come help me mix colors," he implores, his eyes enthusiastic and genuine.

I nod tentatively after a moment, following behind him, like a wide-eyed child. Like my sister used to follow behind me when we walked from the Seam to town and back.

He makes room for me at the table he's turned into his painting palette. On it resides papers upon papers, each covered with dozens of green variants.

"Peeta," I gap at him, my eyes getting wide. "How have you made all these shades?"

He scratches the back of his neck, blushing a little, and managing to get a moss color on his neck from the wet paint still situated on his fingertips.

I have the most insane urge to clean his neck off myself, to touch him there, as though a spot that's always displayed in plain sight could suddenly be so intimate.

I squash that desire so fast, I feel my temples pulse.

"I've been working on getting this color right for a few days now," he admits sheepishly.

I raise my eyebrow at him, a little more coy than I was only a minute ago. "A few days?"

"Okay, so it's been a couple of weeks."

I laugh then, really laugh, from the bottom of my stomach. It only last for a few seconds but it's such a rarity still that I ever feel that kind of unadulterated joy, and I choose to bask it for all it's worth.

It doesn't escape my notice though that I only ever have these rare moments in Peeta's vicinity. Not that I plan to openly share this—with anyone, really, but especially with him—but it's something I can't help but clock, even if just to myself.

Apparently I'm not the only one who finds my laugh significant, because when I look up at him again, Peeta is staring at me with a look of awe now shining in his gaze. A look I didn't realize until he was back in Twelve, until he was back mentally, until we had started on the memory book together, that he'd lost in his hijacking. It was a gaze I had seen in thousands of moments before, on the train, in the beds we shared at night, in the arenas, in my living room.

That shining look of awe in his eyes is just another thing I didn't realize how much I missed, how much it meant to me, until it returned. Another thing I didn't even realize Snow took away from me.

He breaks the silence between us again, his mouth turning up on one side, his eyes suddenly glazing over. For a moment I brace myself for a flashback, something that I have become accustomed to witnessing on a regular basis. He never loses his mind, he never snaps or thinks I'm a mutt or anything of the sort, but he'll grow quiet for a long moment and he'll clutch the underside of the table or the back of a close by chair, and shut his eyes until it's over.

But he isn't having a flashback now. Instead, his words are wistful and full of longing. "I miss hearing you laugh like that," he quietly says, unashamed. Like he's always said everything. Confidently, even when he wasn't.

I offer him a small smile in return before turning back to the paint covered table, segueing not as subtly as I wish. "Okay, so how am I supposed to help you make your ideal green color?" I turn to him and add in a teasing tone, "I'm not quite as experienced in frosting as you."

It has the desired effect and he comes to show me how to mix the paints properly, how to add in other colors to make a lighter or darker shade of green.

"So this is why the frosting on the cakes were always so intricate?" I ask after a couple of hours of us just blending paints together.

"Because I'm a perfectionist? No. Because I needed to get the cakes to sell quick enough that I wasn't forced to have the stale, crunchy ones for dinner. Over-the-top frosted cakes sells faster."

I shoot him a sad look at that. I always forget that while I had to work hard from a young age to bring food home to my family, Peeta got stuck with the leftovers no one from the entire district claimed.

Hours pass and I get so lost in mixing colors—okay, actually, I'm playing after a while, as Peeta continues to mix paints—that I don't realize until the sky outside turns dark that we skipped lunch and dinner.

"Peeta," I say, tugging at his arm with my now paint covered palm. "We have to eat."

He shakes his head though. "I've almost got the exact right shade."

I huff. "You need to feed yourself. Or else you'll pass out and I'll have to drag you to your bedroom and it'll be rough on us both."

"So it won't be any different than Sunday at Haymitch's?"

I laugh at that again, really laugh, and my stomach aches and cramps from the unused muscles waking back up after their long hibernation. "Come on," I urge.

"Katniss, I swear, I'm almost finished," he insists again, very solemnly. "Go get food from the bakery for both of us and I'll be done by the time you get back."

I let go of his arm, feeling myself deflate as I realize he's truly not budging. "I can't be the only one who goes to town with paint covered hands," I throw out there, as a last resort.

Without even looking away from the table, he adds, "and a paint covered face."

My brow furrows, confused, when he taps my nose with his wet finger. "Peeta!" I try to exclaim but it gets eaten up by my giggle, which is quickly overpowered by his.

"You told me once green was your favorite color!" He defends, holding up his hands.

I swipe my still wet sheets of paper off the table and fling them at him, effectively covering his cheek and the shoulder of his shirt in a soup of green.

"Oh, you aren't getting away with that," he promises and grabs me around the waist when I bolt for the door. "You couldn't even beat a man with one leg," he teases as he hoists me up and propels us both towards the wet paints again.

"Don't you dare," I threaten but my smile, one I can't repress, isn't letting me give the correct authenticity to my tone and in the end, he only smirks at my words.

A half hour later, I exit Peeta's house, having scrubbed my face the best I could in his bathroom sink. I only made the green fade from my cheeks and nose, not completely evaporate, and my neck is still strewed with flicks of the forresty shade.

My stained shirt is covered though as I pull on Peeta's jacket, having for once left mine in my own doorway, three houses down. Instead of going to fetch it, I choose take him up on the offer to borrow his, pretending it's about convenience and not because I like the way his smell of vanilla and cinnamon and something entirely his own lingers on all his clothing.

I use the key he gave me to the freshly rebuilt bakery and let myself in the backdoor, more so because that's where I'm most comfortable entering. Peeta's new bakery is almost identical in structure to the old one, and his mother would have never let me come in through the front, let alone trade my game over the counter instead of in the chilly back alleyway.

So many times I peaked inside the back, peered over the old baker's shoulder while he examined my squirrels. Majority of the times it was only to see the blazing hot oven, to fantasize about how it must feel to work with that kind of heat in the winter, to have heat so easily accessible at your fingertips that you can take it for granted. But sometimes it was also to catch a glimpse of what the inside must look like, my curiosity getting the best of me.

Being from the Seam, you so rarely had reason to enter a Merchant business. Being from the Seam, there was always a part of you that wondered what the other side of the community must live like.

Well, now I know. I have, really, since I became a victor and Peeta took me with him here on a seldom occasion to chat with his dad while he mother was gone.

I can't help but admire the handiwork of Thom and of many others in the community. They rebuilt the bakery—with assistance, both creatively and manually, from Peeta himself—in only a few months time and it looks like it was never decimated. The woodwork of the wall panels, the marble tile of the floor, the cream color of the walls.

It was like the old bakery, but made newer and fresher.

However, as I grab a loaf of bread and pastries—Peeta did say to get whatever I craved—I spot something out of the ordinary.

The walls visible to the customers in the front are reserved for Peeta to paint murals on, whenever he finds himself in the right mood to create whatever idea he has sitting inside his head. But the walls in the back are typically full of notes and lists and customer orders and—Peeta's own idea—thank you notes and cards from members of the community, who adore him even more now than they did before the war.

But all those things have been cleared away from a section of the wall space. There is a noticeably large blank space, right above the oven and counter, where no one else but Peeta will be able to view it.

It's maybe a little thing to be hung up on, but it strikes me as so strange I cannot stop thinking about it.

I choose to stop at the rebuilt Hob after I finish at the butcher's, offering Greasy Sae an extra pastry for her and her granddaughter.

She takes the offer with a sly look, handing me a container of soup to go with the bread.

"What?" I ask, unsettled a little by her glance, like she knows something I don't.

"I see someone's been painting," she just simply notes, gesturing with her chin to my green stained hand and wrist.

"Oh!" I catch on now. "Yeah, I was just helping Peeta."

The excuse doesn't seem to diminish the glint in her eyes. "Helping. Yeah, I'm sure."

I roll my eyes in her direction as I walk towards the door, calling out, "goodnight," evenly over my shoulder.

When I get back to Peeta's though, he isn't in his art studio. Instead he's in the kitchen, grabbing silverware and plates for us to eat. "Grab bowls too," I call as I plop our food down on his countertop. "Traded a pastry for some."

He shoots me a sardonic look now. "You know you don't have to trade for everything, right?"

"I like it more than spending money," I retort easily, slipping off his jacket. "I'm going to go scrub my hands in the bathroom again before we eat," I say, glancing at my still green digits.

"Well, hurry," he urges teasingly. "You have gotten me so used to eating things when they're fresh, I almost can't stand waiting anymore."

His hand playfully pushes on my back, propelling me towards to the stairs, and I have a hard time denying even to myself the thrill that runs through my body when him unexpectedly touches me.

I quickly wash and scrub as much paint off my palms and wrists as I can, drying hastily on the towel Effie definitely sent from the Capitol.

But I find myself with a sudden irrepressible urge, one not even the food downstairs or Peeta waiting can quench. As I pass by the art room, I see the painting he was so meticulously working on now sitting on his drying table, leaving the canvas empty.

I know I shouldn't invade his privacy but, after everything else we've been through, there isn't much he would keep from me.

At least, that's what I tell myself to rationalize my prying away as justifiable.

I walk to the table, as quietly as I do in the woods when hunting prey, as not to tip him off in case he is listening from the kitchen. I'm unprepared to offer my excuses for snooping to his face, despite the fact I can't picture him being too put out with me.

I am also utterly unprepared for the vision that awaits me in the now finished painting.

Laying flat on it's back, the painting stares directly up at me as I approach. The canvas displays a beautiful girl, with black hair and large grey eyes and a very endearing, bashful smile. There's a variety of flowers in her hair and in her hands she's holding a small bouquet of dandelions. There's a warm, glowing sunset behind her and a willow tree in the distance. It takes me a moment to realize, but her sweater is a dark shade of green, more pleasing to the eye than any leaf or shrub I've ever come across, even on the Victory Tour, in the most lovely botanical gardens the country had to offer.

The girl in the portrait is beautiful and shy and happy and you can see, even in a painting, that she doesn't enjoy having her image captured.

I have to blink six separate times before it finally registers that the girl is me. Her skin is a multitude of colors, varying shades from where something ate a part of her flesh away. But instead of that making her less attractive, it only serves in making her all the more stunning. Her skin is a gorgeous vision and I don't know how Peeta managed the impossible. I don't know how he managed to make me beautiful, but he did.

"Katniss?" I hear him call, and I jump at the sound of his voice ripping me out of the moment. His tone is light and playful, and I have to swipe my hand across my eyes to rid myself of the moisture that's leaked out before he sees. "You coming to dinner?" He asks from the bottom of the stairs and I give the lovely work of art one last look before I follow his voice, a rare, uncontrollable smile forming on my mouth as I shut the door behind me.

After everything else that's happened, only Peeta could make me feel like this.

A few weeks later.

I admire the bright yellow primroses, now in full bloom, the lightly blowing wind only complimenting their beauty and elegance instead of disturbing it.

I stare blankly at the flowers planted in my sister's honor. My sister who should be here now, should be stitching bleeding wounds and helping with the reconstruction of the town. My sister who should be admiring Peeta's frosted cakes and convincing me to dance with her in the living room by the fire. My sister who should have never been in the Capitol that day, should have been tucked away in Thirteen with our mother, should have never grown up as quickly as she was forced to or had her life stolen in a split second.

Peeta's fingers sift through my hair, unconsciously sensing the tension building in my body as I feel a rise of anger at all Coin and Snow took from me in the name of power.

I turn my head up to glance at him, craning my neck a little. I'm about to say something, I'm not sure what yet, but something to convey that I'm fine. Something to brush off what I assume are his concerns. But I'm surprised by what I see when I peer up. His face isn't what I expected.

Instead of concerned or curious, he's having his own sort of contemplation. Instead of even looking at me, he's staring up at the clear blue sky, watching the white puffs of clouds floating microscopically slow across the the way.

But his brow is furrowed and his mouth is turned down and he seems uncharacteristically miserable.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up now. We'd been laying beside each other—maybe a little too close but neither of us seemed to mind—on the grass in my backyard, just trying to rest. We'd planned on working on new entries for the memory book today, but I hadn't slept at all last night and when he came over this morning to find me, still home and not in the woods, with my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose, it was him who'd suggested a day off, relaxing in the grass under the sun.

He barely glances at me now, not really acknowledging my inquiry. "Nothing," he states simply and his hand touches mine for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

"No, tell me what's bothering you," I insist defiantly. I don't know if it's the crankiness from lack of sleep or if I'm just fed up with having words left unsaid between us, but I'm not backing down.

"Katniss, come on," he says exasperatedly and his tone irks me further.

Instead of snapping and saying something I may regret later, I just shake my head at him, pushing myself upwards and beginning the walk back to the house, with every intention of abandoning our afternoon plans of relaxation. "Okay, wait!" He calls in retaliation and I feel him stretch to grip my hand in his again, only this time not dropping it after only a moment.

I relent and move backwards, sitting down to face him cautiously. I'm not worried that he's going to snap or harm me, not even in the slightest, but I am worried that both of us in foul moods-with our minds that are already teetering just on the edge of sanity-will lead to a painful, heated argument.

The last thing I want is to fight with Peeta. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, I've come to rely far too heavily on his presence in my daily life. Driving him away is too agonizing to consider right now.

Peeta doesn't let go of my hand for a long beat and when he does, he does so in a slip so awkward it leaves me believing he didn't even realize he was still grasping it. "I was just thinking about Gale," he blurts out, his eyes wide and a little nervous.

I just stare at him though, waiting for him to elaborate. "You were thinking of Gale?" The name burns the inside of my mouth, the face of the person I once called my friend now only bringing the gut-wrenching image of my sister's last moments of life, as the bombs he potentially built floated from the sky down towards her and hundreds of other unexpecting children. "Wh-why were you thinking of Gale?" I press, my voice caught between shocked and angry.

But Peeta seems prepared for my strangled query. "I guess, I was thinking of every which way... I guess, I was really thinking of the possibility of Gale returning," he explains, and my blood turns to ice. My vision swirls at the very thought and I have to force myself to swallow as my throat suddenly feels very dry.

"Did you hear something I haven't? Do you know if he is coming back to Twelve?" I press as evenly as I can. It's fruitless though, as he shoots me a sympathetic—but still somewhat distracted—look.

"No," he promises, shaking his head. "No, I haven't heard anything about him. I'm just assuming that he will at some point-"

"Why?" I can't help but implore, my voice more aggravated than I intend.

Peeta gives me a look like the answer to my words is blatant. "Because this is is his home, Katniss. You're his home," he emphasizes.

"No," I instantly repel. "No, I'm not his home. Don't even say that. I-I'm not..." I can't seem to make the words come out intelligibility. Instead, I find myself choking on the sounds and syllables. "What even brought this on, Peeta? Why would you be thinking about this?"

At that, he shrugs and breaks his conflicted gaze away, leaving me boring deep into the side of his skull as if the answers I craved would be visible there. "I was happy," he offers quietly, after a long stretch of silence. "I was happy here with you and it got me thinking of all the ways this could be taken away from me."

Oh, I realize as his words hit me. Of course. Of course that's where his mind went. Because not so long ago, every single good thing in his life, from his family, to his home, to his freedom, to his sanity itself, were all viciously and mercilessly stolen. Of course Peeta has such little faith that anything good will last for him anymore.

Still though. To think of Gale as the thing to ruin our days together, our growing friendship, would almost be laughable if it wasn't so insane.

"Why him though?" I press, unable to comprehend his line of thinking. "Why did you think about him coming back?"

He shoots me the same look again, like he can't understand why I even have to ask. "Because that is one sure way you'd be done with me."

"What?" I exclaim, like he was speaking in a language I'd never heard before. "Why would that mean I'd be done with you?"

Now his expression turns downright exasperated and I feel like mine must match. "Because, Katniss. He's-he's..." He struggles with finding the proper wording again. Something that is so incredibly rare for Peeta Mellark that I don't even register it. "He's the one for you," he continues softly after a moment, no malice in his voice, just what he believes to be facts. "I knew that—I've always known that. Long before I knew much else about you, I knew that Gale and you were practically-"

"Peeta, stop," I cut off, maybe not soon enough. "Gale and me... no," I insist venomously. "No, he..." And if Peeta is struggling to speak, I'm know I'm obviously doomed right now. I take a breath and just stare into the blue pools in his eyes and force myself to speak, even if it's difficult, even if I'd rather be choking on a rusty nail right now. "I will never have anything to do with Gale again," I declare gently, doing my best to remain calm and steady.

Peeta shoots me a wary look and I suddenly have to question if he knows about Gale and the bombs. The question that can never be answered, the connection I'll never be able to prove or disprove, but know in my gut what the answer likely is.

He can't know, if he thinks there's a chance that I'd ever have any sort of relationship with Gale again.

"Peeta," I struggle to get out, feeling breathless before I've even began to utter any of it. "Gale is the one—or he might be the one, I don't know, I'll probably never know—who built or created or wha-"

But he's shaking his head rapidly, comprehension flickering across his face. "Katniss, I know," he says, and reaches out to squeeze my palm again. The unexpected touch sends a shock wave through my body but I'm too overwhelmed to really notice. "Haymitch told me about Gale's part in Prim's death."

I rip my hand away so fast, acting before thinking, betrayal spreading through my entire being before I have the chance to even process his words. "If you know that, why do you think I'd ever have anything to do with him again?"

Peeta is starting to really grind on my nerves with that incredulous look he keeps giving me. It's as if he cannot follow what I'm saying or thinks that I'm not seeing his side of the argument or something else that is quite obviously wrong.

How on earth could Peeta ever think that I would be able to look Gale in the eye after what he did? After what he might have done? Does the might of even make a difference? If there's any discrepancies between if he did or didn't murder Prim, how could I ever hold a conversation with him while that hangs between us? How could I meet his eyes and always be reminded I can never meet her's again? How could I ever trust someone like that, that made callous decisions in the heat of righteous anger? Someone who had no idea what it was like to be forced to murder and have it labeled a game. Someone who actively ignored the warnings of those who had? Who actively allowed himself to be used as a puppet for a radicalist who was no better than Snow himself?

Peeta's voice yanks me from my thoughts. "Because, Katniss," he starts gently, looking rather mournful, effectively softening my anger against him just a bit. "You forgave me. How am I any better?"

I just stare at him. "You couldn't help what you did, Peeta."

"Wasn't Gale used too? Just by Coin instead of Snow?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Why not?"

"You didn't possibly kill my sister. And God knows how many other kids," I finally say, the fight in my voice still hanging on.

"I almost killed you," he reminds me, as if I have forgotten.

"It's not the same thing, Peeta," I whisper again, my eyes more compelling, more insistent, than my voice now. He sees that, as he's gazing deeply into my steel colored irises.

He takes a deep breath, mulling over his words before speaking them aloud. I realize then he must have been thinking about this for a while. The concept disturbs me for some reason. Like he's been having this debate in his head without me and I'm late to the event. Like he was actively having this argument already and didn't think to even get my side of the story first. "What if Snow had programmed me to kill Prim instead of you? Then would you have forgiven me?"

I have to look away at that moment because I outright don't know what to say. Would I have been able to ever forgive him for it, for trying to murder my little sister while not in his right mind? Would I have been able to look past it, to see that he was used and abused and destroyed to get to me? Or would I have been so stuck on the idea of anything hurting Prim that all his trauma would have become background noise? Would Gale be the one here now, having this conversation with me, while I was denouncing Peeta's name?

I can't give him an answer and we swore not to lie to each other, in light of everything we've been through, so instead I turn my eyes up to look into the forlorn blue skies I've become so accustomed to and say the only thing I know is true. "I honestly don't know, Peeta."

He nods at that, almost immediately accepting my honestly. Almost like he anticipated those words from me. And he offers me a small smile before standing himself up off the grass and walking towards the backdoor to my house. "I'm going to head home for the day," he says quietly, with no resentment in his voice.

My heart sinks at his words, as some long stifled string inside of me wishes to attach onto him and hold him here with me. To refuse to let him leave until that forlorn edge evaporates from his gaze. But something more prevalent, more powerful, is also churning inside of me, something that cannot stand being withheld even for a day, and I find myself calling out his name against my better judgment.

"Peeta!" I exclaim urgently, my voice rocky and scratched.

He turns and looks at me, his eyes curious to what I could have to say. And I don't know what else to utter, but the truth. The misunderstanding I'm irrationally unsettled by, the misconception that I can't continue to let fester inside his head.

"Gale was never the one for me."

Peeta blinks in surprise at the blatant assertion. He opens up his mouth to speak several times, confusion marring his features, but nothing comes out.

And in case he somehow wants to rationalize my statement away, in case somewhere in his head the demon Snow planted is trying to squash any assurance my statement may inspire, I repeat myself again.

"Gale was never the one."

A month later.

"Haymitch, come on," I mutter, pushing my old mentor towards the front door. "Go home. Sleep off the alcohol."

The older man murmurs something equally unintelligible and also somehow still undoubtedly rude at me, shoving my hands away from his back, where I'm trying to aim him in the direction of the exit.

"The boy is much gentler," he snaps, swaying heavily with his vigorous words.

"We have always agreed that Peeta is superior to me. You can go to his house if you want him to tuck you in tonight."

Haymitch guffaws at that, out of his skull. "Now wouldn't that make you jealous?"

"Get out!"

"Night night, Sweetheart."

After he's gone, I lock the door in case he tries to come back, tries to raid my kitchen again or use my couch as a free bed.

Nothing is more freighting than thinking I'm alone in my house and then seeing a man sleeping in my living room, first thing in the morning.

As I head upstairs though, I realize what I just did. Giving Haymitch the idea to go to Peeta's house, to torture him with his inebriation like he does me, and I wonder if Peeta's angry with me now.

Not real, long lasting anger, of course. Just simple irritation. But still, as I change into my pajamas and brush out my braid, I wonder if I've now destroyed Peeta's night.

At first the idea of our mentor giving Peeta a hard time tonight still doesn't seem like a too terrible situation to me. Peeta's definitively the one that will put up with the tiresome antics of the old drunk until he can't any longer. He's the one who will be more likely to have mercy on a sloshed Haymitch and let himself lose sleep, too kind for his own good.

But then it hits me that when Peeta loses too much sleep, when his insomnia kicks in, or when commotion keeps him awake, he surely has a flashback the following day. Resting later into the day doesn't help either, as any disruption to his sleep schedule can really mess with him good.

I feel myself rush to the window across from my bed, peering out to look three houses down, to see if I can spot the paunchy old man heading in that direction.

I see nothing and no one. It's the black of night, in the middle of winter. No one else lives in what used to be Victor's Village, aside from us three. The road between our houses is cold and wet and entirely void.

Still, I try to squint, to see if I can make anything out over at Peeta's.

His light is off. That much I can tell. The light in his bedroom is turned off, the room is too dark to see into, porchlight is turned off, and all this indicates he's fast asleep, Haymitch went home to his own house and I have nothing to worry about.

However, something else catches me attention then. Peeta's window. It's open. Just like it used to be. Just like before the Quarter Quell. Even in the middle of winter, in the darkest part of the night, he's always kept his bedroom window open.

I tell myself it's paranoia, or it's neighborly kindness. But I decide to open my window as well, in case I hear Haymitch pounding on Peeta's door and disturbing him at an ungodly hour. In case I hear Haymitch causing a ruckus outside Peeta's house and I have to go get him before he causes any massive disturbance.

I tell myself it's because I feel guilt and not because I miss Peeta, even in my sleep.

Especially in my sleep.

I doze off, desperately forcing myself to believe that lie.

When I wake up three hours later, it's not because Haymitch is making noise. No, he hasn't made a peep that I could hear since I kicked him out.

No, I wake up because of a wholly unexpected cacophonous sound.

I wake up because Peeta is screaming.

Peeta is screaming loud, on top of his lungs, like someone is holding a knife or a gun to his throat at this very moment.

It's a sound I recognize instinctively. And not because it resembles the version of him that was rescued and brought to Thirteen.

No, I recognize the sound because it sounds eerily similar to the noises I make from nightmares of the same events, because of flashbacks of the same memories.

Most victors understand each other to varying degrees. We've all lived through literal hells, we've all had our trauma projected across the country, we've all been through horrible ordeals that almost no one else could ever empathize with.

However, most victors didn't win their games together. Most victors don't know what anyone else's personal nightmares are about. Most victors can't even imagine what any of the others are seeing, in any shadow of a dark room. In a the cobwebs of our minds that not even the most proficient doctor can clear. Most victors can't see the haunting reflection in the dark smeared glass that remains unique to each individual victor.

Except me and Peeta. Except us, the once Star-Crossed Lovers, the girl on fire and the baker's boy, the two mouthpieces of opposing sides of war.

The two of us understand each other on a level deeper than anyone else on the planet can even begin to imagine, and it's this fact that draws me thoughtlessly out of my bed at the sound of his cries, and over the threshold and down the street before I even realize what I'm doing. Before I can contemplate it and think my way out of doing it.

I pound on his door, turning my palm pink with the applied force. "Peeta?" I exclaim but all I hear in response is a gut-wrenching howl in pain. I worry for a moment that he's managed to injury himself somehow. That he's lost his prosthetic in his own frenzy and now is lying helpless on the ground.

I take a chance, pleading silently for the door to be unlocked as I turn the knob.

I'm not sure if I should be grateful that Peeta doesn't lock his doors before going to sleep—he doesn't even close his windows though, so how can I be surprised?—but for the moment I bask in the one lucky instance and make a mental note to yell at him tomorrow for it.

My tired, cold legs shoot up the stairs, racing towards his bedroom blindly through the darkness. "Peeta?" I call out again, quieter now than before, not wanting to give him a heart attack.

After all, an intruder, just about any intruder-even my own mother-appearing in my house in the dead of night, would probably knock me unconscious from the adrenaline overload that would surely overtake me.

Because unlike Peeta, I do lock my door—every single door in my house—at night, the image of anyone coming to hurt me while I'm asleep and at my most vulnerable too powerful for me to rationalize away.

But Peeta doesn't hear my voice now and even without any light, I easily locate his bedroom. Despite the fact I've never been in it before. That revelation occurs to me as I'm about to open the door.

Even in our closest and most sacred moments together, I never once set foot inside his bedroom. I'd barely even walked into his house prior to coming back to Twelve after the war. And when I did come here now, we typically stayed in the kitchen or art room for some reason.

All this races through the back of my mind as I push the door open and reveal Peeta, tangled up in his bed sheets, bare-chested and sleeping in only his pajama pants. His fingers clawing at the wall ferociously, his eyes wild as the deer I hunt, when they realize I'm there at the very last second before the arrow pierces their hearts.

"Peeta," I whisper now, my concern for what must have set him off overtaking any qualms I may still have. I try to tell myself to be careful and keep a safe distance, as I don't know if he's himself right now or if he's once again the loaded weapon Snow broke him down and turned him into.

But when he looks at me, his blue eyes wide and wet and terrified and awed, like he thinks I'm nothing but a dream, I can't make myself believe he's anyone but the boy who saved my life years ago. So many years ago now, it seems.

And when he whispers my name and blindly, instinctively, desperately, reaches for me, I just can't make myself stay away. Without hesitating, I lunge forward and for the first time since the Quarter Quell, I throw myself straight into his arms, like I belong there.

My arms wrap around his neck and I feel him pull my body to his, pulling me down against him, molding our two shaky forms together as one. He pulls my legs around his waist and wraps me in a hug so tight my ribs physically hurt and I can't even breathe.

I burrow my face into the skin of his throat, inhaling his scent in an unabashed, reckless act, and turn my cold cheek to lay against his rapid beating heart.

"I thought you were dead," is the first thing he whispers, as the tears still running down his face hit my forehead.

"I'm not," I promise, trying to make my voice convincing, even as I'm reeling by this sudden turn of events.

I never, in a million years, thought I'd ever end up in his arms like this again. This embrace, this comfort, is something else I truly believed Snow had stolen away from me.

"I dreamed you died," he whimpers again, like he didn't hear me.

"I'm here, Peeta. I heard you having a nightmare and I came. As fast as I could." I don't know why I feel the need to tell him this information, but when his trembling starts to lessen I feel slightly validated.

"I lost you," he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken.

"You couldn't lose me if you tried." The words come out without warning, and I'm glad somehow. I'm so tired of words being held back or dropped between us, of neither of us knowing what to say to the other. Of shoving down what we're both really feeling.

Even if right now may be the worst time for declarations, with Peeta exhausted and upset and visibly traumatized, I still feel relief spread all over my body, for having the guts to say what I'm thinking for once.

I see the wheels beginning to turn now, in his bloodshot, puffy eyes as he slowly begins to process the last couple of minutes that's brought us back into the position we held nightly only one year ago.

Has it really only been a year?

I expect then for him to recoil away from me, or apologize even, citing that he doesn't know what possibly came over him. But, to my surprise, he does none of that. Instead Peeta hugs me tighter to him, pulling up the covers he'd kicked away, effectively sheltering us beneath their protective warmth.

"Stay," he whispers into my hair, his arms shaking as they become a soothing balm around me, leaving me feeling safe in a way I refuse to ask for. Giving me back a refuge I considered all but gone. "Please, Katniss, stay with me?"

Without thinking twice, without giving myself a chance to second-guess the words, I whisper into his chest, exactly where I can feel his beating heart, "Always."

#everlark #thg #everlark fic #the hunger games #prompt #play with me 🥰#ask #fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #gravity ♥️ 🌅 🥖#cate 🦋🧸💗💐

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yslkook · 3 years

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#by the books (5)

#corporate masterlist

summary: seokjin helps you come to several epiphanies. you wrestle with your growing fondness with jungkook, while determining how to talk to him. word count: 5570 warnings: cursing, parental death, discussion of mental health, some alc a/n: this is part 2/3 of being in tokyo!

SUNDAY

Seokjin knows something is wrong when you don’t respond to his texts for over fourteen hours. It’s well into Sunday morning, closer to the afternoon, when he makes the executive decision to camp out outside your hotel room until you let him in. He knows you’ve been on your phone- you’ve been on Instagram. You’re just avoiding him, and probably the rest of the world. As you usually tend to do, when you’re upset.

You don’t know what to do. You’ve never yelled at someone the way you yelled at Jungkook last night, much less literally ran away from someone like that. Embarrassment colors your memories, internally cringing when you replay the night’s events in your mind. It plays like a movie, the same moment mocking you incessantly. Jungkook’s heartbroken, doe eyes haunt you- you’ve barely been able to sleep because you’ve struggled coming to terms with the fact that you put that look on his face.

The reflection in your mirror disgusts you. And yet, you still do nothing about it, burying yourself under the duvet and ignoring anything that wasn’t sleep. It’s easier that way.

Your phone rings again- it’s Jin. You ignore his call. That’s your first mistake. He nearly screeches your name outside the door to your hotel room, menacingly knocking on your door. He’s clearly on a mission to piss off everyone who had the bad luck to be staying in the hotel rooms adjacent to you.

“I’m sleeping,” You shout easily, your voice muffled from the comforter.

“Open the damn door,” Jin demands and you groan. He won’t stop until you let him in, much to your chagrin. You just want to wallow in your self-pity for a bit, is that too much to ask for?

So you finally force yourself out of the bed and drag your feet to the door. “You look like fuckin’ shit,” Jin remarks, taking in your bleary eyes and the permanent frown on your face.

“Thanks, Seokjin. Just what every girl wants to hear,” You mutter and burrow yourself in bed once more. Without a moment’s hesitation, he gets under the covers next to you, curling into your side. Like he’s done a million times before.

“Leave me alone, Jin,” You mumble, without any real heat in your voice, “Yuna wouldn’t like this. Your girlfriend wouldn’t like you to be in bed with another girl-”

“Shut up, stupid. You’re not just another girl,” Jin dismisses you, only tightening his hold around your waist.

“Go away,” You try again, rather weakly. Instead, you let your hand sit on top of his. You both lay together in silence like that for a while. His presence always calms you down, brings you back up a few notches.

“I did something awful last night,” You finally say, voice hoarse from disuse.

“What did you do?”

You take a deep, shuddering breath. “I yelled at Jungkook in front of my favorite ice cream shop… and then ran away from him.”

“What did you yell at him for?”

You tell him- you tell him how he told you he couldn’t keep up with you, how he called you his dream girl, how you screamed at him that your dad died and that you dropped out of school because you couldn’t handle it, how just seeing Jungkook reminded you of when you were happier.

“I’m such a fuckin’ idiot, Jin,” You mutter, pressing your face further into your pillow, “A-and how can he say I was his dream girl, I’m just such an-”

“Shh,” Jin says, muffling your mouth with his hand. Once you stop your self-deprecating train of thought, he pulls his hand away. Jin lays with you in silence once more, only running a hand over your upper arm to soothe you.

“Let’s go get lunch,” Jin suggests and he already hears the protest about to erupt from your lips, “You look like shit and I know you haven’t eaten. Go shower and wear something new. I’ll wait.”

You groan before forcing yourself out of the bed and dragging your feet into the bathroom. Jin rolls his eyes when you shoot a death glare in his direction. Jin was right- the hot water against your skin was soothing. You welcomed the stinging of the water as it pelted your skin with open arms. Feeling a little better coming out of the shower than you did going into the shower, you change into day clothes.

“Lookin’ better already,” Jin says, pulling you into a side hug.

Why is Jin friends with you, when you can’t stand yourself some days? You don’t know what he sees in you. Not when you seem to hurt everyone around you, so selfishly, as if it’s second nature.

But he keeps you close to him, his arm tight around your shoulder and those thoughts don’t throb in your mind as much as they usually do.

Jin sits across from you in a small, quiet ramen shop. You’re in a corner, away from most of the other patrons. There’s only four other people here, including the waitress. Jin says nothing about your outburst at Jungkook from the night before, only noisily slurping his ramen and then screeching with he bites his lip accidentally.

“You eat too fast,” You admonish, shaking your head when he rubs his bottom lip gingerly. Jin immediately takes his phone out to take a selfie and sends it to Yuna, claiming that he needs a kiss to make it better. You roll your eyes fondly and smile at him.

Puppy love is cute on him.

“So,” Jin finally says and your heart races. His tone has instantly shifted to a little more quiet, a little more serious.

“What do I do, Jin?” You whisper, shoulders slumping and avoiding his eyes, “He didn’t know. The kid didn’t know why I left, that Appa died- a-and I don’t know why he’s so hung up over it either. ‘Snot like we were friends like that back then anyway… God, Jin, you should’ve seen the look on his face before I ran away, like a fuckin’ coward.”

You hold your head in your hands above your half finished bowl of ramen and groan. “What a mess. I’m a fuckin’ mess.”

“Jungkook considered you friends back then,” Jin says slowly, “As far as I know, at least. I mean, I remember him being excited to see you every week for those mentor mentee sessions. And how grateful he was when you pulled him away from mean girls. He’s sensitive, you remember at least that much, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” You laugh despite your misery, “Used to call him Bambi back in the day. He’d get so flustered. But… I just- like, I told him it hurt too much to even look at him. Because he reminded me of when I was happy. Who fuckin’ does that?”

“But are you happy now?” Jin asks bluntly, slurping another mouthful of noodles.

“I don’t… know,” You murmur, “I think I can be.”

“Happy isn’t a constant thing. You won’t be happy all the time, the same way you won’t be sad all the time. But the last few years have been so hard. Let yourself be happy, sweetheart,” Jin says, reaching over to squeeze your hand, “Happy back then doesn’t have to be the same as happy now.”

“How do I just be happy?” You wonder out loud, making a mental note to talk to your therapist about this.

“I don’t know, but for starters, talk to Jungkook. He considered you both friends. You hurt his feelings when you left without a word. And he’s hurt now. And… I know you spent a long time blocking out the last few years, blocking out all of the bad. But there was some good, too.”

“Can’t believe he called me his dream girl. What does he know?” You grumble, crossing your arms over your chest but you feel a little lighter.

“You gonna tell me you didn’t like that?” Jin asks smugly.

“I didn’t!” You protest unconvincingly. Jin says nothing, only eyeing you with a knowing smile.

“You’re fooling no one. Eat your ramen, stupid.”

And so you do, the spicy broth curling in your belly as if it’s your home.

It feels like it’s been too long since you had spoken to Grandma, so you call her the minute you and Jin part ways. You tell her about the events of the past few days- how you had met up with friends you hadn’t seen in years. And how you had screamed at Jungkook undeservedly-

“I miss Appa,” You mumble, eyes watering, “He would be so upset with me. For the way I’ve been acting. Like he never existed, never talking about him…”

“He’d just want you to be happy, honey,” Grandma says kindly, “And to forgive yourself. To allow yourself to love and be loved.”

And then you cry some more. Grandma does, too.

Later, when you drive Jin, Jimin and Hoseok to the airport, all three of them wrap you up in tight hugs. As if you wouldn’t be in the same city as them in less than 48 hours. You promise to keep in touch with Jimin and Hoseok. Maybe they believe you, because they both hug you again with bright smiles.

MONDAY

Today’s the day. It’s the day that the Seoul team meets the Tokyo team face to face for the first time. Excitement brims in your blood- you’re certain that you have a lot to learn from this team. They’ve been a part of more submissions than your smaller team had been, and it had been a big surprise that Namjoon was named as the main lead of the project. But he was more than capable, as he had shown in the last few months.

The Tokyo team consists of Lisa, Irene, Minhyuk and they’re led by Mark. Mark, who you’ve known for about as long as you’ve been with the company. He had started with you in Seoul, in the same position and had quickly moved up in the ladder. Which seems to be the case for a lot of people, namely men, around you. He had actually beat you out for the job that he currently had. It had left a sour taste in your mouth for a long time- what did he have that you didn’t? But slowly, with time, you had gotten over it. After all, the job was in Tokyo, and you don’t think you were ready for that kind of move at the time. Everything happens for a reason, or so they say.

The company office in Tokyo is a little older than the one in Seoul- after all, the Seoul office had been recently renovated. If there was a word to describe the Seoul office, it was sleek and modern. You quite liked it.

Minhyuk had picked you, Jungkook, Sana and Namjoon up in the lobby to take you to the conference room that you would be working in. He’s a chatterbox, telling you about the history of the building, how long he’s been with the company and how grateful he is to be part of this team.

Jungkook tunes him out, nodding when needed and asking questions when appropriate. He casts his eyes over to you despite himself. You had put on a little more makeup today than usual, trying to conceal the puffiness of your eyes. Not that Jungkook could tell. He thinks you’re pretty. And the way you chew on your glossy bottom lip as you listen to Minhyuk- he thinks you’re cute, too.

You’re hyper aware of Jungkook’s presence next to you as you walk through the hallways and finally reach the conference room. He sits across from you, and for the first time since Saturday night, you allow yourself the luxury of looking at him. Despite a room full of new faces, the only person you want to look at is him. His dark hair is softly tousled over his forehead, barely there dimples dotted in his cheeks when he smiles at his new team members.

His gaze is transfixed on Mark and Namjoon, as they introduce themselves formally to each other and the rest of the team respectively. Mark’s eyes brighten when he sees you, but he keeps it professional, only shaking your hand with a smile that borders on a smirk.

Irene and Lisa eye you almost warily, until you introduce yourself to them with a warm handshake and a warm smile. You’ve been told you have an intimidating persona when people first meet you- in fact, your boss is the one who always tells you to smile more. What a jerk.

Mark and Namjoon both present on the mission and the objectives of the submission, and then what each individual team will be responsible for. You take a sip of your coffee, and cast your eyes around the room. Irene, Lisa, Sana and Minhyuk are intently listening to Mark and Namjoon and taking notes. While you’re staring at Jungkook.

And he’s staring back at you.

You pull your eyes away first, heart doing almost painful somersaults in your chest. You don’t mind being caught at staring at him, but you just feel like there is so much you need to say to him.

Like apologize. You need to apologize for unloading and dumping on him when he didn’t ask for it. But then, his smile fades and his doe eyes are sad. Because of you. It’s all because of you.

You and Namjoon present your slides for your team’s plan going forward, with details on the timelines and deliverables. Jungkook and Sana will be working on the logistics piece to organize another face-to-face workshop, and for the next one, the Tokyo team will come to Seoul.

Despite the heat of Jungkook’s gaze on you, you speak clearly and confidently. Jungkook loves the sound of your voice, the way it floats out into the room and wraps itself around him comfortingly.

Even when you had yelled at him outside of the ice cream shop, about how your Appa had died, about dropping out of school, and about how seeing him reminded you of when you were happy… Even then, he could never wince at the sound of your voice.

Jungkook was pissed that nobody had told him- that he had gone this long thinking so selfishly about you. He could have never have fathomed the gravity of your circumstance. He had yelled at Jimin the next day, but Jimin had only yelled back at him-

“She dropped off the face of the earth! She wanted nothing to do with us and it was her thing to tell!”

“So she was all alone that whole time? Because you all thought it was her thing to tell?”

“Don’t act like you’re better than all of us just because you didn’t know! You and I didn’t reconnect until recently, how was I supposed to tell you? And we tried to reach out to her. She shut us out, literally. What could we do if she ignored us for five fuckin’ years?”

You were alone. With your Grandma and with Seokjin. But still, alone, and possibly thinking that nobody was checking on you. Even if there is truth to Jimin’s words, Jungkook can’t help but feel like he’s too late. If he had known…. Well, what would he have done?

This crush of his feels more and more childish as days go by. And yet, when you look at him, the way you’re looking at him now. With softness lined in your irises, he can’t help it.

He can’t help but look back at you. Maybe you can see his apology in his face.

“Hi,” A voice comes from your left side. You’re at the coffee bar, refilling your second cup of coffee before noon. His voice is reserved, almost shy. Your heart seizes up immediately at the sound of it.

“Morning, Jungkook,” You say breathlessly, grateful for the coffee cup in your hand for something to hold on to. To channel your nervous energy into.

“Morning,” Jungkook says softly, “Can I talk to you later? Maybe after the happy hour?” He asks, hope shining in his voice and sparkling in his eyes.

No- it was supposed to be you who would reach out to apologize. After all, you were the one who had screamed in his face and ran away. He’s probably only reaching out out of pity, you think cynically. Nevertheless, it throws you off.

And apparently, since you’re the keeper of bad decisions, your response to him is predictable. Despite every synapse in your heart screaming at you to say something else.

“Uh. I don’t think I’m going to the happy hour. I’m not really feeling great,” The lie blooms from your painted lips easily. His face falls and you pretend like your heart doesn’t ache over his doe eyes.

“Oh, okay. Feel better,” Jungkook says and you give him a barely there smile, passing him to head back in the conference room.

A headache is beginning to brew in the back of your head. It’s the last thing you need.

Why does it bother you that Jungkook had been the one to reach out to you first, rather than the other way around? After all, you were the one who caused a scene. What reason does he have to want to talk to you? If anything, you’re the one who needs to apologize, right?

You stare at the shifting trees in front of you, hoping that if you stare hard enough, the leaves will whisper an answer to you.

Maybe you’re just overthinking it. Maybe he just is that good, to want to speak to you just because.

You’ve been sitting here, at Appa’s park, for the better part of an hour. You’re hoping for an epiphany, or some type of sign. It feels strange that Jungkook is weighing so heavily on your mind. You’re not used to this feeling.

A whistle of wind rustles through the collar of your thin jacket, curling around you in comfort. With a loud exhale, you stand up from your bench.

“Oh, fine. I’ll go to the stupid happy hour,” You scoff into the sky. As if the sky can hear your complaining. And so you turn on your heel and leave the park, begrudgingly making your way to the happy hour venue.

Usually, showing up to work events like this alone was a breeze. It was easy for you to think about these things as just being something to check off in your list of things to do for the day. You stayed to say your hellos and made some small talk before leaving, all within an hour.

But today feels different. Your carefully put together nerves are beginning to fray at the seams. You take a deep breath before swinging the door open to enter the bar. Namjoon and Mark had rented out a corner of the bar for your teams to have your own space. High tables of appetizers and drinks surrounded the bustling voices of your teammates.

Your hands are inadvertently balled into tense fists. This place is littered with people and still, you feel so alone. You wish Jin was here. You wish Jin was here.

Jungkook sees the crown of your head the minute you walk into the bar, even with the dimmed lighting. He had been sulking before, barely interested in the conversation that he had forced himself into under the pretense of ‘networking’. Not that anyone would be able to tell- Jungkook has mastered the art of making it seem like he was present. He would never jeopardize an invaluable opportunity like this, and he’s never been one to allow others to surpass him in settings like this. He knows what the stakes are. But he’s become adept in the art of multitasking.

Your lips are pursed, eyes darting across each side of the room. It feels overwhelming, like too much. Maybe you shouldn’t have come…

You cross your arms and dig your nails into your cloth covered bicep nervously. Before you can calm the thudding of your heart in your ears, you turn your head and see Jungkook walking towards you with a smile.

You can’t help but smile back.

“Jungkook,” You exhale, “Hi.”

“You came,” Jungkook says, eyes crinkling at the sight of you. Has he always had those deep laugh lines around his eyes when he smiled? For a second, you’re breathless but you break his gaze, not wanting to let your eyes linger over the rest of him for too long. At the risk that you’ll be sucked into his warm, brown whirlpools.

“Yeah,” You say faintly. Jungkook can sense your nervousness- you can’t help your eyes darting around you at the number of people surrounding you.

“Wanna get a drink with me?” Jungkook asks, gesturing towards the bar with a flick of his fingers.

“Really? You wanna get a drink with me?” You ask incredulously, with a raise of your eyebrow. How could he possibly want to spend time with you, when you had treated him the way you had?

“It’s on Namjoon and Mark’s company card,” Jungkook shrugs and you laugh. He leads you towards the bar. There are a few people seated at the navy blue leather bar stools surrounding the bar, a few of them eyeing Jungkook curiously. It doesn’t surprise you- he looks good in a form fitting black turtleneck and black slacks. Rings adorn his fingers and small hoops sit in his earlobes, a soft smile peeling across his face when he looks at you.

Yeah. You’d stare at him, too. If you didn’t have the fortune to know him.

“What can I get you?” Jungkook asks, relaxing with his elbow on the bar top.

“You mean what can Namjoon and Mark get us?” You say, pulling a laugh from him. Your heart sings at the sweet sound. “Hmm… I’ll have wine, I guess.”

“Red or white?”

“White?”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” Jungkook teases and your cheeks heat up.

“Telling you! I’ll have a… chardonnay,” You reply, turning your head towards the bar so he can’t see how flustered you are. But he does, and he pockets the information for later.

Once Jungkook orders two glasses of chardonnay for both of you and you’re both holding the wine glasses in your hands, you gently clink your glass with him. It makes you a little nervous, how easily you find yourself talking to him. How comfortable you feel around him, as if you were old friends. As if you hadn’t been so mean to him only the night before.

You don’t know him well. But you remember that he’s always had a big heart, offering his forgiveness to those who didn’t deserve it. Would you ruin him? But maybe a little selfishly, you want to chase this feeling.

“I went to this park earlier,” You murmur, swirling your wine in your glass, “It’s really pretty and quiet. I used to go there all the time when I was younger.”

“You’ve been to Tokyo before?” Jungkook asks.

“Yeah,” You nod, “I used to come here a lot when I was a kid and spend summers here with Appa. Sometimes Grandma, too. Appa taught me Japanese from when I was really young, it’s probably why I’m even on this team…”

“That’s not true, you’re on this team because you’re really smart and good at what you do! And I know Namjoon values your opinion a lot-” Jungkook protests, an annoyed furrow in his brow. Is that really what you think of yourself?

You laugh and give him a grateful smile. With a breath of seemingly transient courage, you part your lips- “Jungkook,” Your voice is soft and small and nothing like what he’s used to, “I want to-”

And then you’re both interrupted by both Sana and Namjoon slinging their arms around your shoulders. Jungkook gives you a reassuring smile, a promise that you’ll talk later. You wonder if you’ll lose your courage by then.

Namjoon pulls you away from Jungkook and Sana, introducing you to some people that you’ve never met. You recognize them as higher ups, Hyo-Jin, the head of submissions for all of Asia and Hae-ri, the head of business development. The realization makes you take a few generous sips of your wine and straighten your back.

You can hear Jin’s voice in your head, telling you to make a good impression. Namjoon easily pulls you into the conversation, giving you plenty of opportunity to insert yourself in-

“She’s my right hand woman, though I don’t think even that is a good enough term to tell you what she is to me,” Namjoon says. Compliments like that always fluster you, and this time is no different.

“Namjoon speaks too highly of me,” You brush him off, “I’m just glad I have this opportunity, I mean being on the submissions team has always been one of my favorite parts of the job.”

“Oh? Do you see a future for yourself in submissions?” Hyo-Jin asks curiously, with a quirk of an elegant eyebrow. She’s a no nonsense woman, you can tell just from the five minutes you’ve had with her.

“I definitely want to lead submissions teams one day. I mean, Namjoon is a great teacher,” You grin, elbowing him, “But even more than that… I’d like to oversee an entire product line end to end later down the line. And I think it’s important to invest in our young talent, too-”

“Young talent? As in people development?” Hyo-Jin asks.

“Yeah, I mean they’re our future leaders, aren’t they? It’s important that they have the tools to succeed now and beyond,” You say vehemently.

Hyo-Jin says nothing, only nodding and taking a sip of her drink. “And you? Do you have the tools to succeed now and beyond as a future leader?”

The question makes you stumble. Do you throw your boss under the bus? But you’ve never been a liar, and you sure as hell won’t start now.

“No,” You say bluntly, “I’ve learned so much with Namjoon and being part of this team. And in general being part of regulatory and submissions projects. But I don’t think my skill set is being effectively used in my current role. If you want an honest answer.”

You can practically hear Jin scolding you from far away. But you won’t build a professional relationship on a fallacy. To your surprise, Hyo-Jin smiles.

“That’s refreshing,” She says, her painted lips splitting into a smile.

“What is?” You ask, feeling rather stupid.

“Your honesty,” Hae-ri chimes in, “People aren’t always honest with us, because of our titles. Like they have something to prove.”

“Yeah, well, maybe people are rightfully more concerned about making a good first impression than I am,” You joke, gripping the handle of your wine glass tighter. Hyo-Jin and Hae-ri both laugh with you, telling you to put time on their calendars to meet with them virtually when you go back to South Korea after the trip. With that, they both slip away from you, making sure you know that they appreciated your presence. And then you let out a breath.

“Holy shit. I fucked that up,” You mutter, “My boss is going to kill me, Joon. What the hell is wrong with me-”

“Relax,” Namjoon says easily, his dimples on display, “They loved you. Trust me, they loved you. They already knew who you were, you know.”

“What? How could they possibly know who I was?” You gasp incredulously, “I’m a nobody!”

“Seokjin’s right. For someone so smart, you’re dumb-”

“Hey! That’s unprofessional of you,” You say, but a smile threatens your lips.

“They never tell anyone to put time on their calendars unless they like them. So just trust me. And this submission has the eyes of all of the higher ups. Our good work doesn’t go unnoticed.”

“I just,” You sigh, “I’m used to it going unnoticed. So I guess… Thank you. For your leadership, your guidance… and your friendship.”

He smiles at you brightly and clinks his glass with you. “C’mon, let’s go find Mark.”

Jungkook can’t help but cast his eyes in your direction every so often. He knew, he knew you were about to say something poignant at the bar. All of the signs were there- your serious eyes, the way you forced yourself to look him in the face, the barely there nervousness that he could taste.

It seems that everyone suddenly wants a piece of you- you flit around with Namjoon, taking it all in as he introduces you to people. Jungkook is beyond happy for you, that you’re finally getting the recognition you deserve from the company.

But still, he can’t help but crave just a minute alone with you. Especially when he sees Mark’s face light up at the sight of you, pulling you into a too-friendly hug. And you don’t even realize it, it seems. Only offering him a smile in return, surprise coloring your face when he hugs you so tightly.

Jungkook tries his best to stay present in the conversation he’s in, with Sana and a few other members of the Tokyo team. But he has such a nice view of you that he can’t help his eyes drifting every so often. He can’t help noticing the way your pink pants sit on your hips, and the way your black blouse is tucked into them. More than that though, he can’t help noticing Mark noticing.

Do you know? That Mark sees you in that light? He’s so obvious about it, and yet. It seems like you’re oblivious.

Namjoon eventually excuses himself from both of you, claiming that he can hear Sana calling for him. You think nothing of it, shrugging and continuing your conversation with Mark.

“Hey, you did great today,” Mark compliments, stepping just a hair closer to you.

“Oh! Thanks, I know,” You wink at him, “I have a great team, I mean it.”

“Well,” Mark says, taking a sip of his soju, “You’re pretty great, too.”

“Oh, stop,” You wave him off with a roll of your eyes, “You don’t need to butter me up, Mark. Save it.”

“C’mon, you know I mean it. We’ve been through a lot, you and I,” Mark says with a crooked sort of grin. You understand why people fawn over him, that smile could get anyone to do anything but you roll your eyes.

“Have we, Mark?” You ask dryly.

“We go way back,” He says self-assuredly, almost cockily.

“No, we don’t,” You mumble under your breath, and he hears you. You subtly take a step back from him, turning on your side. Only to find Jungkook already looking at you.

“You wound me,” Mark murmurs, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. You roll your eyes, but still give him the same grin. It’s polite, nothing more, nothing less.

The way Mark looks at you teeters on the edge of something more than friendly professionalism. It’s clear that you both have known each other for a while. Maybe through work? Maybe something else? It bothers Jungkook, and he knows it shouldn’t. Especially when Mark leaves you for a minute, only to return with a refill of your wine.

An irritating ember settles in the pit of Jungkook’s stomach. Perhaps he has an ulcer, he thinks dryly.

Mark has your phone number, from other projects you’ve worked with him on. He does text you every so often, maybe once every few months. You’ve never thought much of it, only responding to him out of obligation since he is your colleague and technically your superior. You don’t think it’s malicious- he’s always been a charmer. Even when you first met him when you first started at the company.

By the time you manage to shake yourself of Mark, Jungkook has disappeared. How long has it been since you’ve been here? You look outside of the windows quickly, taking in the darkness of the sky and the moon hanging from it.

“Hey, you ready to head back to the hotel?” Namjoon asks, Sana already in her coat next to him.

“Yeah, where’s Jungkook?” You ask, craning your neck to see the top of his fluffy hair.

“He left a bit ago. Said he wasn’t feeling well,” Sana says, fastening the buttons on her coat. The bitter pill of regret settles in your belly. How ironic that he had left happy hour saying he wasn’t feeling well, when that had been your excuse to not attend.

So still, even when you are in your hotel room after the happy hour, changed in your pajamas and about to watch a show to end your night, you think nothing of it when Mark texts you later that night:

Mark: it was good to see you tn :)

Despite Mark’s name lighting up your phone, you feel an ache in your heart. Over the fact that you hadn’t had the chance to speak to Jungkook. He’s somewhere in this hotel, and you could, you really could just ask Namjoon his room number and talk to him. But the bolt of courage from earlier seems to have fizzled out long ago.

So you text Mark back instead. Thinking nothing of it.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x you #jungkook fluff

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sup-hoes-its-me · 4 years

Text

Before You Go (All Might x Reader)

Part One/Part Two

A/N: okay, so this is gonna be pretty sad all around. Ultimately, Young!All Might x reader, but with Aizawa Shota undertones. Aizawa was giving me some mad professor snape vibes in this, and I sincerely apologize for that. I love him too but this isnt his story.

word count:4000

“Y/N, you seriously need to sign up with that energy quirk hero’s agency...shit what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue,” Yamada remarked, tapping his chin as if that might help him remember. He sat at the lunch table with the rest of his friends, Shota and Oboro. Y/N was right beside him, but it seemed his words, despite being loud as usual, went through one ear and out the other.

“Don’t bother. She’s a lost cause.” Aizawa replied tiredly.

They all followed her gaze, only for their eyes to land on Toshinori Yagi. The blond walked by, carrying his food to his lunch table with his friends, people Y/N didn’t know, nor could she ever even hope to know. To be honest, Y/N was kinda sorta a loser. She was lucky that she even had friends considering she was awkward beyond belief.

“He’s too full of himself to notice you, Y/N. I’d just give up on that one,” the dark haired boy added, bumping his shoulder with the girl’s. She frowned, shaking her head to get back to reality. Aizawa was right. Not even once had the blond glanced at her or said hello. He was too cool for her. He was going to be one of the best heroes to ever exist and she was just average at best. None of her teachers ever saw potential in her, just saying that her strength was great, just that the side effects of her quirk were far too destructive.

She took a hefty scoop of rice and shoved it into her mouth, chewing grumpily.

“Come on, Y/N! It’s alright. You could just date me or Yamada!” Oboro laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder from where he sat across from the girl.

“You don’t have to ruin my fantasies, Aizawa-kun. I know I don’t have a chance, but it’s nice to think about,” she snapped, sending a sideways glance at her friend who shrugged. He tried to tell himself it didn’t matter if Y/N obsessed over that muscle-head, but it bothered him. She was their friend: she should pay attention to them, no ogle over some narcissist. “He’s going to be the greatest hero this world has ever seen, I just know it. There’s something special about him, his quirk-”

“We get it. Toshinori this, Toshinori that. You know, if you like him so much, why don’t you go talk to him?” Yamada suggested. He wasn’t upset with her talking on and on about her crush, but he just knew Aizawa was about to burst with a couple more remarks. When she didn’t make an effort to move, he smiled knowingly. “You’re such a scaredy cat, Y/N. What’s he gonna do, bite you? If he’s a nice guy, it wouldn’t be a problem-”

“If it’s so easy, Yamada, why don’t you go find Nemuri and tell her how you feel?”

That shut him up very fast, as expected. Their cloud quirk friend broke through the tension swiftly, “Well, instead of talking about stupid crushes, why don’t we talk about our plans for this weekend? Karaoke and Barbeque, dudes! It’s gonna be awesome.”

“Oh my God, I totally forgot about that!” Y/N exclaimed, shoving more rice in her mouth so it bulged in her cheek like a squirrel. She probably should take smaller bites, but it was more fun to see how many grains she could fit in her mouth at one time. “Hizashi, I swear if you eat all the spicy pork again...”

“That only happened once-”

“Twice, actually!” she corrected, poking him on the forehead with the end of her chopstick. They laughed and all was well again, if not for her lowering self-esteem. If only Aizawa believed in her. He was her best friend, the only one who’d been there since the beginning. If he pushed her to talk to Toshinori maybe she would have the courage to actually do it.

But that wasn’t important. She had friends who actually enjoyed her company, and that’s what mattered.

The weekend was two days away, and a lot could happen in those 48 hours, she found.

_____________________________________

“Fucking useless. So weak,” Y/N cursed, staring down at her burning hands. Blisters had yet to form, but she could feel the pain of her training. She could accumulate heat from her surroundings and expel that from any part of her body. Yet, it seemed that there were more downsides than perks with this quirk she inherited from her parents. Firstly, she could not consciously choose to concentrate the heat in any one area. Usually, it did come from her hands, but often she would find other parts of her body scalding to the touch when she was using her power. Secondly, using her power at high heat would leave her with terrible burns.

Thankfully, her mother gave her bits of a regeneration quirk, meaning the burns only lasted for a couple days, most of the time less than that. Hopefully, with time, she could control the quirk so the damage wouldn’t be so bad.

She hated her quirk. It sucked. She couldn’t do anything much with it or else she would hurt herself and have to stop. Once she was burned so badly that the hospital almost had to amputate one of her limbs just from that.

Sadly, she fell to her knees on the sandy training grounds, just staring down at her hands hopelessly. How could she ever become a pro hero like this? She’d never be able to compete with the other UA students, especially people like Toshinori or Todoroki or even Aizawa.

“Shit,” she shouted angrily, shutting her eyes and slamming her hands against the sand. Her hands lit up a bright red for a quick moment as heat ran through them into the ground. Sand blew up all around her face and rocks were sent flying in all directions. As the dust cleared, she could see a small crater in the ground where she channeled her energy, it wasn’t huge, maybe enough for a person to lay in, but not much bigger.

Her hands stung terribly, and blisters started to bubble up on her skin. She was so full of adrenaline and hate for herself that the pain hadn’t entered her mind. She was just so fucking angry. She would never be good enough. Why even go to UA if she was just gonna get a job outside of the quirk realm? If anything, she’d probably get left behind to be a civilian while everyone she knew got rich and famous from quirk work.

“Hey, are you okay?” a familiar voice asked from somewhere behind her. She turned her head, tears stuck in the corners of her eyes as she drifted out of her reality into the real world. If it didn’t sting so badly, maybe she would have been more excited to see Toshinori Yagi walking in her direction. She hissed, turning back around and shaking her hands to get some cool air on them.

He jogged to her side, kneeling beside her. His eyes widened at the sight of her hands, but also at the hole she left in the ground. “That looks really, really bad. We should get you to Recovery Girl-”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He looked up to her face, his brows raised in surprise. Why would she deny going to the infirmary for an injury like this? She had to be insane, he thought. “What? Why?”

“It’ll heal soon.”

“Do you have a regeneration quirk?” he asked, but as he did so, he gently took her hands in his, which were in comparison, freezing cold. He felt like he was touching fire, but he knew his body was strong enough to handle a little heat. Her skin was already blood red, but him touching her so delicately left her feeling faint. The school’s star pupil was holding her hands. She couldn’t believe it. Even through the pain, she felt bashful.

She nodded. “Yeah, but it will take a day or two.”

“Well then, we’re going now.” He didn’t even wait for her to say anything in reply before picking her up in his arms, one behind her shoulders and the other under her knees. In shock, she could only lay there limp, her burnt hands face up in her lap. “How’d you do that anyway? You have a heat quirk, right?”

“Yeah. I just put too much energy into my hands. I have to use my quirk in moderation,” she explained. “Also, I can walk. It’s fine, you don’t need to-”

“No! You need to save as much of your strength so you can heal your wounds. Recovery Girl can’t heal you completely, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He walked inside the school building and started talking again. She didn’t know for sure why he was giving her so much of his time and effort. She could have taken herself to the nurse or easily gone home. It was after class. He might have been coming out to train himself, actually. Either way, he was being extremely kind.

“I’m Toshinori Yagi. I’ve seen you around school before, you always hang with the boy with that erasing quirk.”

“Yep. He’s one of my best friends.”

“If I remember right, you’re L/N Y/N? Heat manipulation quirk? You were 4th in this year’s sport’s festival,” he smiled down at her, and she felt herself light on fire once again. How did he remember her? She was such a background character, and even if she did mildly well, her quirk and face weren’t much to remember. “You were super impressive out there, I was surprised. You seem so shy, but really you’re a powerhouse.”

“Not really. I have to hurt myself to do anything good.”

“If you could learn to control your quirk, imagine what you could do with your power?! You made that giant hole in the ground out there in a matter of seconds.” That made her feel good. People normally brought her down, telling her that she would just have to deal with it, that it was a condition of her power. For some reason, this boy believed in her. It made a bit of a smile come to her lips.

His grin felt contagious, and it only grew brighter seeing her lips curl up.

“I guess so.”

“You should let me help you out. I know a lot about control from my own quirk. We’d be a good pair, I think.”

That was when her heart officially stopped beating. He wanted to spend even more time together? He wanted to take time out his day to help her improve? She began to rethink what her friends said about the boy. He didn’t seem full of himself at all. He was generous and kind from the looks of it.

And to think she had a crush on him before. Now she felt her heart swelling up in her chest so much it might explode.

“Really?”

“Yeah, of course.”

That’s how Y/N met the famous All Might, and the moment she started her downward spiral in love with him.

_________________________________

Y/N sat at the lunch table once again with her normal squad of friends, Aizawa to her right as usual. She had one of her books sitting out on the table, a textbook Toshinori gave to her. He said that his own mentor had given that to him to help learn control and moderation of his quirk. She studied it religiously, and surprisingly, it was beginning to work. She had less and less incidents where she had to go to the infirmary or have to extensively heal herself. The training still hurt like hell, but it was less serious.

“Y/N, you’ve been studying a lot lately. Something up?”

“Just trying to get over my weaknesses. Figured I wasn’t working hard enough.”

Just as Aizawa was about to say something else, a loud, excitable voice yelled from a few meters away. “Y/N!”

It was The Toshinori Yagi, the best student at UA. To think two weeks ago, they were telling her he would never know her name. Turns out he already knew, and apparently they were friendly with each other. Oboro’s eyes widened and he elbowed Hizashi beside him, who was jamming on his headphones. Aizawa’s eyes only narrowed.

Her eyes lit up at the sight of the blond boy. He walked over to her seat and leaned his hip on the table, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “You’re really studying that book I gave you, huh? Even at lunch?”

“Of course! I have to do all I can before training.”

“You’ll be fine. You’ve been improving like crazy these past few weeks.”

These past few weeks? Just how long had they been talking?

He smiled kindly at her, and she blushed, hiding her face toward the table. It was weird for the boys to see their little Y/N talking with a boy other than them. And while two of them were ecstatic she seemed to have bagged the hottest boy in the school, one was particularly stormy about it.

“Well, I just stopped by to tell you, you look really beautiful today! You’ve been practically glowing with confidence lately; it’s a really good look on you.”

“O-Oh, thanks, Toshi-kun.”

“I just call it like I see it, Y/N,” he winked, and that sent her heart into overdrive. “Well, I’ve got to go eat, but I’ll meet you outside class later?”

“Yep.”

He left for his table with his super cool friends, leaving her sitting there a flustered, awkward mess. She shoved some rice into her mouth and chewed, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Sooo, you gonna explain what that was?!” Yamada cried out, clutching at his chest. “Your vibes were too intense, I almost couldn’t handle it.”

She waved the boy off with her hand, trying to downplay it all. ‘It’s really nothing. He’s just helping me train. He has a really good handle on damage control, since we both have stockpile type quirks. I’ve actually gotten somewhat better since then.”

“Seemed like more than that, L/N-chan,”

“I’m telling you, he's just a really, really friendly guy. That compliment was just a friendly one.”

Aizawa sighed, leaning back in his chair. “You’re so dumb, Y/N. He seems like he’s playing with you.” He said it so matter-of-factly, and she glared at him.

“I’ll have you know he’s been helping me a lot with my training but also my healing. He’s very kind and always helps me with anything. He’s never once shown signs he’s not genuine.”

“That’s what a narcissist does to get you comfortable with them, stupid.”

“Can’t you just believe that my crush actually wants to be friends with me and help me? That he’s not just some malicious monster?” When he rolled his eyes, she stood up abruptly, grabbing her book and shoving it into her bag. He sat up quickly and went to grab her wrist, but she moved out of the way swiftly.

“Aw, come on, L/N. Dudette-” Yamada whined, but he knew that Aizawa’s jealousy was getting to the tipping point for the girl. Years went by of him just pushing her away from other guys who liked her and were genuinely kind. Whatever Toshinori was doing with her seemed to give her enough strength to reject the boy’s malice words.

A little bit of him was even proud, the loudmouth admitted to himself.

She kept her head held high, eyes glaring down at the long-haired scruffy boy. He’d never seen her like this: standing up for herself. If she were angry at anyone else, he would be cheering her on, but now he just felt furious. How could she be angry with him? He’d been there since they were children and she just leaves because of some blond himbo.

Her words cut clear in the bustling lunchroom. “I don’t need any negativity right now, Aizawa. If all you want to do is bring me down, then so be it.” After slinging her bag over her shoulder and grabbing her tray, she waved and walked away. As they watched her, she approached the table of her new friend, who greeted her happily. She sat next to Toshinori with a smile on her face, one that Aizawa hadn’t seen directed at him in weeks.

Maybe he was wrong to be bitter, but he just couldn’t believe there wasn’t some conspiracy to all this. How is it that the coolest guy in school goes for Y/N? He thought she was amazing, he had for years, but no one else ever thought that.

Whatever, it didn’t matter anyway. She could do whatever she wanted, and if she got her feelings hurt, so be it.

_________________________________

The pair sat outside the school as always. She munched on an icecream bar from the cafeteria while he leaned back, arm across her shoulders and his eyes drawn to the sky, fading from dimmed orange into deep violet. He had guilt hanging over his head the past few weeks, and it was finally time for him to explain himself.

“I can’t believe we’re done. School went by too quick.”

“I think it goes by faster when you’re fighting evil a couple days a week.”

She nodded, humming in agreement. Her senior year was full of battles, emotional and physical. She was broken to bits when her friend Oboro died or when Toshinori was left to mourn his mentor and they only had each other. Being a hero comes with a cost, but no one expects to be 17 and watch the people they love die all around them. It’s worse when you’re strong enough that you know you could have saved them but you just didn’t. “It was worse than I imagined. I know we’re going to do this for our whole lives, but I don’t want it to hurt as much.”

“That’s why you have to always be better than the villains, Y/N. I know I’m going to be.”

She tucked the clean popsicle stick into her bookbag when she was done with it, not wanting to throw it on the ground. Her hand found its way to his, curling her smaller fingers gently around his. Her smile was all too bright, a trait of his that seemed to grow on her the longer they spent together. “We’ll do it together, right? You and me on top of the charts, just like we dreamed of?”.

He relished in the warmth of her hand pressed to his, even if it was just a friendly. He was going to miss moments like this, dreams of the two of them...All that planning for nothing. He sighed, his eyes going from the sky to the dirt beneath their feet. “Y/N, I have something to tell you.”

With a furrowed brow, she asked, “What’s up?” It couldn’t be bad...

“Tomorrow I’m leaving for America. I don’t know how long.”

“What do you mean you’re leaving for America tomorrow?” Y/N asked her best friend, eyes wide with fear. He knew he should have told her earlier, but he couldn’t explain why he was leaving, and he knew the more time she knew the greater chance he would reveal the reason. She couldn’t know about All For One. It would only put her in danger.

He sighed, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. “I have to go to America. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you before-”

“I can’t believe this. You waited until the day before to tell me I’ll basically never see you again. You expect me to be satisfied with a two minute goodbye today and just forget about you- about everything?” she asked, a stone sinking to the pit of her stomach. She felt like she was going to cry or get sick. How could he do this to her?

“I know. I know. I should have told you sooner but I couldn’t.”

“Why?”

“Y/N, I’m sorry, I just can’t tell you.”

That answer wasn’t good enough. It was wrong to pry, but the betrayal was too much for her to handle rationally.

She turned her head away from him, staring bitterly at the wall beside her. She refused to meet his eyes. “I thought I could trust you.You’re one of my closest friends, Toshi, but now I know you don’t care. If you cared you would have at least given me a heads up, maybe spent more time with me before you just decide to abandon me,” she sneered, the anger building up in her chest. “You’re too good for someone like me. Shota-kun was right this whole time. Everytime he told me you were just playing with me, that you didn’t actually care about me; he was right, wasn’t he?”

All Might shook his head, trying to reach out to grab her, bring her back to his side. He didn’t want her to turn against him now. He didn’t want to say goodbye with her hating him, her last memory of him being so terrible. Still, she jumped away from her seat, stumbling over her feet to get away from him. “Don’t touch me.”

“Y/N, please. I just want this goodbye to be happy.”

“Goodbyes are never fucking happy, Yagi. You’re so stupid.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“How could you not?” Y/N bit back her sadness, letting anger take over. “Just forget it. It’s not worth fighting over. You’re leaving, so goodbye. Maybe we’ll see each other again, maybe not. But just know, I would have done anything to stay by your side if you really cared about me.” With those words lingering in the air, she turned on her heel and started to walk away.

“Y/N, please don’t go yet,” he paused, trying to gather himself. She was walking away, her back turned and her head hung. “I love you.”

But she didn’t turn around. What was the point now? She’d lost him already, no use in saying anything back or confessing her love as well. He would still be leaving tomorrow, and they would probably never see each other again. It would break her heart to run back there and hug him, confess her long time feelings to the boy. They were never an item. Maybe if he stayed, they could have been something more.

If he really loved her, he wouldn’t leave her behind. If he really loved her, he would have shut his mouth before those three little words, and saved her the broken heart.

Part Two is up!

#all might x reader #all might #toshinori yagi x you #toshinori yagi x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #boku no hero academia #x reader #fanfic #one shot #toshinori one shot #all might one shot #imagine #all might imagine #boku no hero imagine #my hero academia imagine #mha #bnha #bnha oneshot

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eunsthings · 3 years

Text

Museums

Part 3 I Questions?

Part 2 II Series masterlist II Part 4

Back in your class. the professor in front of you was talking about parasites. The last lecture for the day had passed with a series of slides filled with “fascinating” illustrations. With your back hurting, you subtly stretch your body; careful not to draw unnecessary attention. It was a long day, yet it was only two in the afternoon.

“Thank goodness I have time to relax,” your lazy self has emerged once again.

The click of your dorm door and the welcoming presence of your bed was the greatest feeling ever. Painfully switching your attention, you prepare for a quick shower. You took your phone to put on your bed, took some clothes to change into afterwards, then proceeded to head to your floor’s communal bathroom.

As the water was pouring down on you, thoughts invaded your head. It had been the other day that you were hired for a huge job. They still haven’t reached back out yet and you aren’t able to do anything regarding the job since you had no idea what to do. They… or Tsukishima rather, hadn’t contacted you despite saying he will—within a day or two. It had almost been 48 hours.

“Why am I such an over-thinker?”

You recover and assure yourself that it was all fine. It’s out of your control anyway. They can message you anytime. After all, you had given him your number.

Finished, you dry yourself up and change into your fresh clothes before heading out and back to your room.

You're greeted by the presence of your roommate sitting on your bed—the bottom bunk.

“Hey,” you called out to her.

“Hello,” she replied, eyes not meeting yours, still occupied with her phone.

Holding your used clothes, you proceeded to fold them and put them away to be washed along with your week-old towel. Now your self-relaxation can begin… but where was your phone?

Lazing around would not be complete without it, you needed to scroll through YouTube comments while watching a video.

“Wait just a minute-,” you face your roomie. “Isabella…”

Whilst sitting on your bed, she gave you a cheeky expression; caught scrolling through your phone. “Sorry. Couldn’t help it. It was just sitting there.”

“How did you even know the password?” A kind of annoyed amazement washed over you. You had nothing to hide anyway so there was no major problem.

“In case you forgot, I live up–” she gestured to the top bunk, “–there.”

“Dumb. Dumb as hell,” You had been careless. She could peek from above.

“Anyway… Who is this guy?” Her tone was teasing with a mischievous face to go along with it. It made you worried.

“What guy–” Oh no. It can’t be. Can it? You grabbed your phone from her and saw why the idiot was smirking. It was a message from Tsukishima.

The message was straight to the point and yet your blockhead roommate still kept giving you knowing looks. She didn’t even know the reason for the message. She was jumping leaps and bounds to conclusions. This, you felt, was not going to go away anytime soon.

“I was hired for another job”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure~” She got up from your bed and languidly went for her desk. “Just don’t mind me, I’ll be studying here...” She dramatically gestures to her small workspace. Facing her, you couldn’t help but feel embarrassed yet wanting to take that grin off her face.

On your bed, you go back to the message. “On Wednesday.” It is a few days from now.

Checking your schedule, you were free on that day and the morning after. The timing though. Well, it wasn’t as if you were complaining, in fact, it was very good news. One less problem for you.

You replied to Tsukishima then. The anxiety was eating you. A simple reply yet so many ways to screw up.

“WHAT. DID I SEND?! Did he really leave me on ‘read’? Anyway~” So that is done. Now to relax. No need for self-criticism.

On Wednesday, nine on the dot, you arrived in front of the museum.

Draped around your neck, you show your loaned ID to the guard and pass through on to the building. Inside, some big boxes and various pieces have been placed on the hallway’s floor.

That must be for the event... wow they are already starting this early on. It again dawned on you how big of an event it is; starting to make preparations this early on. The pressure was beginning to feel real.

“Hello.”

“Oh, that voice again” you turn around to greet him but you didn’t get the chance to.

“(L/N), this is Kazumi Keiko, my fellow intern,” he gestured to the lady beside him. Looking up at her, she seemed friendly, motherly almost; her long hair tied back and with freckles on her face. Although you take it, she was older than you and Tsukishima.

“Hello, nice to meet you Kazumi,” you reply although softly. She smiles a warm smile at you.

“So now we're just waiting for Kazumi’s partner, Ike--- never mind she’s here”

“Hey guyssss!” A female about your age was waving behind the glass doors. Kazumi was gesturing with her hand beckoning the girl to enter. “How come she gets to be partners with Kazumi and I’m with the boy Tsukishima? This will just be utter awkwardness from me I bet,” you try to see the reasoning why it couldn’t have been you partnered with Kazumi.

“Hey, I’m Ikeda, Satsuki,” she was very direct, it caught you off-guard.

“Hi. I’m (L/N), (F/N).”

“Wow, nice name! It’s foreign, I like it. Do you want a Snickers?” Glancing down, she had in her hand a Snickers bar being handed out to you. “Uh, no, no, I’m fine. You--” you got caught off by Kazumi. “(L/N), you better just take that or we’ll be stuck here a long time.”

“Oh ok, sure. Thank you, Ikeda,” you take the Snickers bar from her hand giving her a tight but genuine smile. She returned the gesture. From what you observed, she has a pretty happy-go-lucky character and you realize why Ikeda might be partnered with Kazumi; it was to manage Ikeda, Satsuki.

Tsukishima continued, “So for today Mr. Yasuhiro instructed us all to divide the work and just find a plan around it...”

That meeting ended about 15 minutes ago. Now, you’re walking the streets of Sendai, side-by-side, with the tall man of partner for work. How did it come to this...?

The central matter you discussed was how the work was going to be divided. You and Tsukishima were to handle the main big projection for the event while Team Kazumi will handle multiple small displays around the museum. You didn’t get into too much detail but for now that was it. The details were to be discussed by the pair. Great... By the time your gathering finished it was past noon; late lunch.

“There’s still the rest of the day so I’m bringing Ikeda with me to lunch. We’ll be talking about ‘this’ after.” Kazumi was definitely wasting no time. “How about you guys?” She faced Tsukishima.

Oh no...

“Uh...” he glanced at you. Oh no. No, no. “You don’t have anything to do this afternoon right?”

I have no escape from this. “Yeah, my whole day is free”

“Well, I guess we could all get lunch.” He asked Kazumi now, “Where are you guys going?”

“A Western inspired cafe just a walking distance from here, it just opened so I wanna try it out”

Tsukishima took his coat and bag then went for the door. “Let’s go then.”

“Wait... I still have to buy some things along the way, I want Kazumi to come with me. Can you two go ahead and reserve seats for us?” Ikeda protested, as childish as ever.

Kei halted, “Uh, yeah sure. I don’t see how that’s a problem.”

Not a problem... right.

“(L/N), are you fine with this?” The ever-motherly Kazumi made sure to check up on you.

Without any excuse whatsoever, “Yes, I’m ok with anything guys.” Darn it. Social Interaction.

“Ehem...” After a rather long walk of silence. Tsukishima cleared his throat. “Are you fine there?”

“Hmm...” You glance up at him; not expecting any talk. “Oh yeah, I’m fine here. You?”

“Uh-huh. Same here”

Awkward...but still you continue to walk side-by-side.

“You know, I’m not really a talkative person,” Tsukishima started again, “but Mr. Yasuhiro told me to ‘make an effort’ because you ‘tend to be shy,’” oh, is that how this guy sees me too? Ouch.

“I get what he means but...” he side-glanced to see you, it made your eyes meet his for a small while, “…some people prefer not talking at all and some are uncomfortable doing so. In short... I’m asking you if you would be comfortable with me trying to talk to you...”

Ohhhh... man, this guy is considerate. What a nice person.

“Yes, yeah. I’m really fine with people talking to me first. I just don’t really like to initiate a conversation plus I don’t want to be a nuisance to them... and like you said, I ‘tend to be shy.’”

“So, are you fine if I ask you questions?”

“Yeah, sure. Of course.” You really felt delighted; a person actually respected that not all people are the same in terms of talkativeness. It’s not every day you meet someone like that.

Unbeknownst to you, it was Tsukishima’s goal in earnest to make you comfortable around him; to the best of his ability. You do have to work on a project together after all.

A few moments of walking and you both arrived in the café. True to her word, what Kazumi said by “western inspired” actually really means an absolutely western café.

Tsukishima, the unexpected gentleman, opened the door for you as you both entered. You give him a smile in thanks; he returned a small smile too.

Looking around, it seems like rush-hour has passed and the café is almost empty. That means you don’t have to worry about reserving seats for Kazumi and Ikeda, then.

“Would you prefer seats by, or away from the window?”

You imagined eating by the window as others pass by... “I think away from the window”

“Same here.” He then led you to a table for 4 by the wall. He breezily pulled a chair and motioned for you to sit on it as if it were no big deal.

Oh my. This is kind of flustering.

Tsukishima received a text from Kazumi saying that they’ll be late and to order and eat ahead of them; and so, you both did. A waitress handed you menus then left the both of you to choose your orders. He ordered smoked salmon while you went with lasagna. For dessert he asked you what you wanted but you’d told him you’ll have bobba instead; he got a strawberry shortcake.

“So, while waiting for our food, and Kuzumi, I do have to bring back the fact that we're going to be working together on this project and we barely know each other. So...” across from you, he gives you a “you get where I’m headed with this” look on his face.

You nodded. “Mhmm”

“Right, should we ask each other questions?”

“Yeah, I think that’s the easiest way.”

“Ok, I’ll go first. You’re in university, right? What are you studying?”

“Oh, I’m a veterinary student”

“Oh, wow. That’s very impressive.” You responded with a smile and small chuckle, “Oh, no... not really.”

It was your turn. “If I recall correctly, you are in the museum as an intern. What are you doing if you’re not there?”

“Well, aside from attending school, I also have volleyball to face but that’s all.”

Confused with his vague answer, “Volleyball?”

“Hm... uh,” for the first time ever since you met him, the usually stoic guy looked... bashful. “I play for V.League Division 2,” he looks unsure if you knew what it was and made an attempt to explain it. But when he saw your eyes wide with amazement, he stopped fidgeting with his hands. “I’m taking it that you know what that is...”

You didn’t really dabble too much in sports, volleyball was no exception. Sure, you watched an anime about volleyball; got addicted, and friends mention volleyball from time-to-time too, all that was enough to know what V.League meant. “Now that’s impressive.”

He grinned. “Heh. Well, I don’t really know about that…but now it’s my turn to ask. How did you get into animating?”

“Oh,” you let out a heartfelt laugh, caught unaware of the question.

Hearing it, Kei couldn't help but suppress his blissful smile.

“I always liked animating but it was a friend who forced me to actually do something about it,” remembering your laziness and your pestering friend was a goofy memory but a treasured one.

“Is this the same friend that left you in the museum?”

Joy came over you and you chuckled again, “how did you even remember that?”

“I mean, that was just a few days ago and who can forget someone who got left behind by a friend?”

“She isn’t bad, she just had to hurry out. I swear, she’s a reliable person most times.”

You haven’t noticed it but Tsukishima's goal was slowly realized as the air of awkwardness and tension gave out. You were too giddy to realize anything; you felt weirdly safe and became chattier.

In front of you, Tsukishima looked to be amused; a rare smile plastered on his face. “I had a somewhat same experience back in high school,” again, he sported a surprisingly charming smile on his face.

Curiosity overtook as you continued to prod, “what happened in high school?”

“Well, simply put, I wasn’t overly fond of volleyball then. A lot of people paved the way to make me love it. In a way, I relate."

“Wow, your friends were really good for doing that.”

“Hahaha.. yeah. I was kind of forced the first time around,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s your turn to question.”

“Oh, right.” Attention span of a goldfish. “What position do you play?”

“I... Am a middle blocker”

“Well, that’s fitting to say the least. Is it fun playing your position?"

“Yes. I find it fun especially seeing anguished faces across the net after a good block.” You cracked a smile at that, he didn’t seem to be the type to find fun in that manner.

“My turn to ask. Are you comfortable talking to me now?” Upon asking that, he faced you with genuine concern, you didn’t even realize you were talking to him casually and without uneasiness.

“Yeah, I think so.” You finish it with a smile.

He flashed a quick smirk in response. For he, after a lengthy while, has finally made progress with the person in front of him.

Part 2 II Series masterlist II Part 4

Notes:

Y/N doesn’t really use Tsukki’s name in her head’s dialogue cause she’s still uneasy🤕

and yes we use messenger... pls don’t mind 🥺

guys this is a veryyy slow burn i hope you guys stickkkk around☺️

it’s been a very long time since the last. but better late right??😅😅

𝑨𝒍𝒔𝒐𝒐𝒐. 𝑷𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈!!! ^-^

𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈♡

=tags below=

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cinaja · 3 years

Text

Before the Wall part 48

Masterlist

A/N: This chapter took ages, I'm really sorry. Last week week was kind of bad for me, so I didn't really feel like writing much.

----

Mor sits on a fence in Jurian’s camp and silently glares at Jurian, who is talking with one of his captains. Andromache’s army has been stationed here for over two days now, which means that Mor spends more time than she wants to in Jurian’s company.

As if sensing her attention, Jurian turns around to look at her. Mor quickly averts her eyes, but Jurian is already walking towards her. He leans against the fence next to her. Mor turns her head away and pointedly ignores him. Unfortunately, he seems intent to ignore the hint.

“You got a problem, Mor?”

She presses her lips together and makes herself turn around to him. “Yes,” she says, voice sharp, “I actually do have a problem.”

He is the problem. Him and his stupid nonchalance. He doesn’t even pretend to feel bad about what he did.

Jurian gives her a small smile, sharp as a knife. “If my presence is so unbearable to you, you are free to leave. No one forces you to sit around in my camp and glare at me as if my presence personally offends you.”

Mor bristles. How dare he act like she is the one in the wrong? When he is the one who did such terrible things to Clythia and doesn’t even feel bad about it. She jumps off the fence and turns her back to Jurian. She is about to walk away, but she can’t do so without further comment, can’t let him have this victory.

Over her shoulder, she snaps, “And you wonder why Miryam left you.”

She stalks off, but before she makes it more than a few steps, Jurian grabs her by the arm and spins her around to face him. His eyes are dark with anger. Mor rips her arm out of his grip and glares right back.

“You think this is why Miryam left?” Jurian asks and lets out a sharp laugh. “You don’t know her at all, do you?”

Mor presses her lips together. “She would never stand for torture.”

“Miryam,” Jurian says, each word clipped, “understands what is necessary.”

And if she gets tortured and killed because of you, will she understand that as well? Mor thinks. She longs to throw the words into his face, but both Andromache and Drakon told her to never, under any circumstances tell Jurian the true reason why Miryam got captured. So she swallows the words and merely turns around, walking off towards Andromache’s tent.

The guards waiting at the entrance are proof enough that Andromache is inside. Mor walks past them into the tent. She firmly closes the door behind herself, then turns around to the queen who is sitting in her desk.

“Why are we coddling him?” She asks, each word biting.

Andromache puts down the letter she was looking through. She looks tired – as far as Mor knows, she hasn’t slept since Miryam vanished. “Jurian?” She asks.

“Yes, Jurian,” Mor snaps. “He is the reason Miryam might be getting tortured and killed, yet you and Drakon have nothing better to do than coddle him like he’s some innocent child.”

It’s infuriating. Who cares about Jurian’s feelings? He caused the trouble they are in right now, yet all everyone seems to care about how he might suffer under the truth. Even more infuriating is that Andromache simply shakes her head like she is being unreasonable.

“Jurian,” she says, “is suffering and you know it. And making him suffer further won’t save Miryam.” She frowns at her. “It’s unlike you to want to make him unhappy just to punish him.”

Mor taps her foot against the ground in annoyance. Now, the problem is her? Jurian tortures and slaughters a woman, and somehow, she is the one to blame for being angry with him for it? Has everyone lost their mind?

“Maybe I simply do not like men who nail women to things,” she snaps.

Andromache taps her quill against the table, wincing slightly. “Sorry,” she says. “I get that this situation might be… difficult for you.”

“I simply don’t understand why you treat him the way you do!” She says. “It’s bad enough that Jurian is terrible now, but I don’t understand why everyone insists on acting like he’s the victim in this!”

It’s driving her crazy. All the lines are getting blurred, and nothing makes sense anymore. Even Drakon seems to be mostly concerned with making sure Jurian is well, and Mor just doesn’t understand.

“But you must realize that this is not the same thing,” Andromache says. “It’s not like Jurian went and murdered some poor, innocent girl. Clythia was a Loyalist commander. She killed and tortured thousands of humans!”

“This isn’t about her actions, it’s about Jurian’s.” Mor glares at her. “That she was horrible doesn’t make what Jurian did acceptable.”

How does Andromache not understand this? It doesn’t matter that Clythia was terrible, Jurian shouldn’t have done what he did. He is meant to be the good guy, a member of the Alliance, her friend. One of them. Yet what he did to Clythia wasn’t good at all, it was terrible, and he doesn’t even have an explanation for why he did it.

So that must mean Jurian is an enemy now. He did a terrible, unforgivable thing, after all. Yet she seems to be the only one who sees it that way.

“It doesn’t make it right,” Andromache replies, “but it certainly means I don’t feel a lick of sympathy for what happened to Clythia. I’m never in favour of needless cruelty, but that doesn’t mean I don’t also think that Clythia got what she deserved.”

Mor shakes her head. She can’t believe this. Clythia was the one who got murdered. She cannot, by definition, be the one who was in the wrong in that situation. Andromache shouldn’t be saying this, she shouldn’t be defending what Jurian did.

This entire situation blurs the lines. It blurs the lines in all the wrong ways.

“No one deserves that!” Mor snaps. “Just because she owns slaves – “

“Just?” Andromache cuts her off. Now, any hint of understanding, of sympathy, is gone from her voice. “Just slavery? That is how you see it?”

“No!” Mor wildly shakes her head. Dread shoots through her body, turning her blood to ice. “No, I didn’t mean that. It came out all wrong, I was just trying to –“

“And anyways,” Andromache cuts her off, “it wasn’t just owning slaves, either. She actively fought us to keep owning slaves. She spent centuries torturing humans with delight. And don’t get me started on how absolutely fucked her interest in Jurian was.”

Mor lifts her hands. Her heart is pounding. She has seen Andromache this angry before, but not with her. Never with her. She shouldn’t have said it like that. Cauldron, why did she say it like that?

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…” She doesn’t know how to finish the sentence.

Andromache shakes her head. “I think I’d rather be alone right now,” she says. “I’ll talk to you later.”

----

Drakon can’t sleep.

In fact, he hasn’t been able to sleep much ever since Miryam got kidnapped. He keeps jolting awake, drenched in sweat, unable to shake off the images of Miryam tied to the ceiling in a torture chamber, Miryam bleeding and screaming in pain as a faceless man approached with a knife.

According to Sinna’s sources, Miryam isn’t being tortured, but that knowledge barely manages to ease his worry. So he keeps tossing and turning in his bed, shifting from one position to another. The images keep rising, and no matter how hard he tries, he doesn’t manage to chase them away.

A few hours past midnight, he gives up. If he can’t sleep anyways, he’ll go for a walk around the battlements. There will surely be some night guards around and they usually appreciate having company.

But when he opens the door to his rooms, the guards waiting outside step into his way. They exchange nervous glances. Lisi, one of the newest captains in his guard, seems to be in charge of the team tonight, and she looks entirely uncomfortable in her skin.

Drakon arches an eyebrow at her. “Am I grounded?” He asks jokingly.

“No, of course not, Your Highness,” Lisi says, stepping from one foot to the other. She seems distinctly uncomfortable in her skin.

Drakon looks between her and the other guards for a moment. This behaviour has only one possible explanation. And it means that Drakon needs to have a conversation with Sinna about which orders she can and cannot give his guards. Right now.

“I’ll go visit Sinna,” he says and shoulders past his guards. At least they don’t try to stop him, although Lisi looks more than a little uncomfortable in her skin.

The room Sinna and Nephelle share is just a few doors down the hall. Drakon only remembers that they are likely sleeping after he already knocked sharply at the door. To his surprise, it flies open almost immediately. Nephelle stands in the doorway, already fully dressed.

“Drakon,” she says. Surprise colours her voice and the smile she gives him is half-hearted at best.

“I wanted to talk to Sinna,” Drakon says.

“Oh.” Nephelle winces slightly, eyes drifting over to Lisi. “Uhm.”

“Nephelle.” Drakon looks between her and the guards, who suddenly seem to find huge interest in their shoes. “Where is Sinna?”

----

Lying flat on his stomach, Rhys stares down at the fort below. His army is waiting behind him in a ridge, safely hidden from the eyes of the guards standing along the walls of the fort. But Rhys wanted to get a good view of the terrain before the battle begins, so he climbed up the side of the ridge and found a viewpoint behind a small boulder.

From up here, the fort doesn’t look like much. It’s carved into the mountain, sure, but it doesn’t seem to be much better protected than the average castle. At least the mountain is nowhere near as massive as the one the Hewn City is built under. Really, Rhys doesn’t know what all the fuss is about. Even the wards aren’t that great, at least as far as he can tell from up here.

The Heseia Fort, he decides, is far less impressive than its reputation.

Carefully, Rhys slides down the slope, wings flared to keep his balance. Little stones loosen under his feet and roll down the mountain. His soldiers stare at him as he walks past. He can feel the anger boiling under the surface, but the Illyirans under his command have learned not to question his orders by now. Strength and brutality are the only languages they care to understand, and Rhys spent the past years teaching them in that exact language that he doesn’t care to be questioned. (Sometimes, Rhys feels a stab of embarrassment at it, but it is necessary. Even if most of his current friends probably wouldn’t understand, but that’s just how they are – too soft.)

His captains are standing together by the edge of the makeshift camp. They are mid-conversation, but fall silent when Rhys approaches. They even incline their heads, although he can see the anger in their eyes.

“Is the army ready?” Rhys asks.

“We are Illyrians,” one of his captains says gruffly. “We are always ready for battle. But you had the army flying for ten hours straight to get here. Giving them rest before battle would improve their performances.”

“And any moment we wait increases the risk of being discovered,” Rhys counters. “The moment of surprise is our biggest advantage.”

Amarantha likely knows by now that the Alliance chose not to save Miryam, so she won’t expect any action from them. She’ll likely keep tabs on both Jurian and Drakon, but with both of their armies still firmly at their intended positions, she’ll have no reason to suspect an attack. And that is exactly why Rhys will succeed where no one else would.

“We attack now,” he says firmly.

His captains exchange looks. “And you are truly asking us to risk our lives to save that…” His lips curl in disgust. “…that witch?”

That is perhaps the one detail of the plan that angers his soldiers the most. They don’t fear death, but apparently, dying for a witch is a dishonour. Rhys couldn’t care less for their stupid superstitions. There’s really no difference if they die in this battle or in another.

“I’m not asking,” he says in a voice he copied from his father and that usually gets people to do what he wants. Just to top it off, he also flares his power. “I’m ordering.”

“You, or the council?” A second captain challenges. “Because so far, you’ve never been put in charge of a battle on your own. Why now?”

Rhys doesn’t have a convincing lie ready to explain why the council suddenly gave up its absurd dedication to keeping Rhys condemned to the side lines, so he simply stretches out a hand. Dark power shoots from his fingertips and wraps itself around the captain who spoke up. The man grits his teeth, a vein bulges at his temple, but he bears the pain in silence.

“Last I checked,” Rhys says coolly, “I did not need to explain myself to you.”

He might need to explain himself to the council when they find out, though. And to his father. He doubts any of them will be pleased to find out about what he did.

But it won’t matter. Once this battle is over and he freed Miryam, no one will care that he went against orders. He will be a hero. After more than six years of war spent as a grunt, following orders and never being allowed to do anything on his own, this will be his moment. After that, everyone will know him as the one who freed the leader of the Alliance, who managed to do so against all odds and when even the most brilliant generals like Jurian and Sinna did not dare.

This is his chance. And he won’t let anyone keep him from it. Not his captains or his father, not the council, and not Sinna and Drakon with their exaggerated caution.

Even if he really doesn’t understand why Sinna refused to act. For Drakon, it makes sense – although Rhys would have thought his mate getting captured would be enough to get him to give up his usual caution. But apparently, Drakon entirely lacks the edge it takes to lead an army, or a country for that matter. One of the biggest mysteries in Rhys’s life remains how someone like Drakon ever managed to get this popular amongst the young Fae (if not amongst the older ones). It’s not that Rhys doesn’t like him, but he’s… well, not quite sharp enough for his taste. But Rhys was sure Sinna would press for action.

Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s not like he needs their approval.

He releases his hold on his magic, allowing the captain to sag to the ground. “We attack,” he says. “Now.”

----

“I don’t believe this,” Drakon mutters. He stops his pacing and turns around to Nephelle, who sat down on the couch. They are alone in her quarters, the guards happily remaining outside. “You didn’t.”

Nephelle shakes her head. “Sinna left four hours ago, together with ten of her best soldiers.”

A part of Drakon is still waiting for her to laugh and tell him that this is a joke. Unfortunately, she doesn’t.

“You mean to tell me,” he says softly, “that my High General takes a group of my soldiers on a mission to save my wife, and no one thought to tell me?”

Nephelle winces slightly. “Sinna didn’t want you to worry,” she says.

She didn’t want him to worry. Well, that’s just great, isn’t it? Slowly, he lets himself drop to the couch next to Nephelle and presses his hands against his face.

“How does she even plan to get Miryam out?” He asks, face still pressed in his hands. “Not even Sinna will be able to take the Heseia Fort with only ten soldiers.”

“There will be a diversion,” Nephelle says. She shifts around in her seat. “I wanted to go with them, but Sinna wouldn’t let me.”

On another day, Drakon would have tried to comfort her. He is about to do just that, but then, he remembers that Nephelle helped Sinna and his guards and everyone else with lying to him and remains silent.

“What kind of diversion?” He asks instead.

If Sinna took part of his army… But no, she couldn’t have. The ability to winnow is rare amongst Seraphim – it is actually not a Seraphim ability at all, but people with distant High Fae heritage sometimes get it – and Sinna would never have been able to get more than a hundred soldiers to the Heseia Fort this quickly. Which means that somehow, she got her hands on another army.

Nephelle winces slightly, looking more than a little guilty. “Rhysand and his army,” she says.

----

It takes exactly thirteen minutes from the first arrow being fired for Rhys to lose control of his army completely. It all happens so quickly that he barely understands what is going on, let alone give orders to avoid it.

The first five minutes went well. Rhys ordered the attack, and from there, everything worked flawlessly. He did everything just right. And really, he couldn’t have known that there was a trap woven into one of the wards around the fort. How could he have known? Breaking the ward was the logical choice, and what happened afterwards was not his fault.

Still, the blast of pure energy it set off killed a good fourth of his soldiers in one go and sent the rest into complete panic.

“Reform the lines!” Rhys roars at them, but now, arrows are raining down on them from the fort. Their tips are made from a blueish stone, and they pierce Rhysand’s shields easily. “Get back into formation!”

No one listens. Rhys isn’t even sure if his captains are still alive. They were likely at the front lines and got hit by the blast, while Rhys himself hung back to provide magical cover. Not that it did them any good so far.

He raises his hands and sends a wave of dark power crashing for the fort walls. It sizzles out uselessly against the first layer of wards. Their enemies don’t even bother with open combat, they just keep raining arrows, boulders and cans of burning oil down on them.

“Commander!” Someone yells far too close to Rhys’s ear. He spins around and comes face to face with one of his captains. Seems like at least one of them survived this far. “We need to retreat,” the man pants.

“No!” Rhys shouts back.

He can’t retreat. He can’t. Not after everything he risked to get here. If he returns with half his soldiers – maybe more by now – dead and nothing to show for, he will be done. They will put him on trial for disregarding a direct order, and his father will make sure he gets the highest possible punishment.

Another volley of arrow comes shooting down from the fort. One of them hits Rhys, slipping through a slit in his armour and burying itself in his arm. He hisses in pain.

“We need to retreat!” His captain repeats. “Or we will all die.”

No. No, he can’t do this. “There’s no honour in retreat!” He doesn’t care about honour, just about the consequences this might have for him, but this might convince his soldiers to keep fighting.

“There is no honour in stupidity!” The captain shouts back at him. “If you don’t order a retreat right now, we’ll all be dead within minutes!”

Rhys looks around the battlefield, then. All around him, his soldiers are dying. They aren’t even attacking, can’t manage to get through the wards, but they can’t run, either, not without his permission.

There are so many dead soldiers on the ground. Half his army. More.

The realization hits Rhys like a punch to the stomach. They aren’t getting into that fort. It is completely and utterly impossible. This entire mission is doomed, has been from the beginning. And if they stay her for a moment longer, they will all die.

“Retreat!” Rhys shouts. His voice barely manages to rise over the general noise, but his soldiers pick up the call soon enough. “Retreat!”

There’s nothing orderly about the retreat. They simply turn and run.

They don’t even make it a hundred feet before the first soldiers slam into an invisible barrier. A ward – one that surely wasn’t here before. Rhys sends his power barrelling into it. The air shimmers for a moment, but the ward doesn’t shatter.

And still, the arrows keep flying. Rhys looks around wildly, searching for a way out, but there is none. He is trapped and now, he and his soldiers will die.

Suddenly, the onslaught of arrows stops. Rhys looks up, startles, just as a woman steps onto the battlements of the fort. She is wearing black armour and a helmet, but her red hair is unbound underneath and it flies in the wind like a flag. General Amarantha, if Rhys’s guess is correct.

“Look at what we got there,” she says, voice carrying easily over the crowd. “Not quite the quarry I hoped for. But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Silence is her only answer. The Illyrians that are still alive – a bare third of the soldiers Rhys arrived with – seem to relish the pause.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Amarantha calls down at them. “Whichever idiot is in charge of this army should probably announce their surrender now, before I decide to let my soldiers use you sorry lot for target practice.”

----

“Your Highness,” a muffled voice says through the door. “General Sinna is back.”

Drakon tries to sit up too quickly, gets tangled up in his wings and nearly falls off the couch. He manages to flare his wings and regain his balance just in time. By the time he manages to get his feet back under himself, Nephelle is already on her feet and halfway to the door.

She rips the door open so hard it slams against the wall with a bang. “Where?” She asks the servant who brought the news.

Drakon is glad she asked, he doesn’t think he would have been able to get a word out. Sinna is back. That must mean she’s alive. But Miryam… She has to be alive as well. It must have worked – Sinna’s plans always work. She is simply too stubborn to fail.

“In the medical wing, My Lady,” the servant replies.

Nephelle nods and sets off at a full sprint. Drakon follows, easily keeping up with his longer legs. His heart is racing. In running, he catches a glimpse of a pink sky and the rising sun through one of the windows. Sunrise. Him and Nephelle spent the last six hours trying and failing to control their rising panic as they desperately waited for a sign from Sinna.

They round a corner and Drakon narrowly avoids colliding with a guard. “Sorry!” He calls over his shoulder, but he doesn’t stop running.

The medical wing is five stories down on the other side of the castle. By the time Nephelle and Drakon arrive, they are both out of breath and Nephelle’s wings tremble.

There is a small commotion in front of one of the treatment rooms. At first, Drakon can’t make out individual people in the chaos. Him and Nephelle just stand frozen in the hallways, desperately scanning the small crowd.

Then, Nephelle surges forward. “Sinna!” She shouts, voice rising over the noise.

A figure breaks apart from the group. Drakon barely catches more than a glance at Sinna before Nephelle crashes into her arms. Sinna catches her, stumbling back a step under the impact.

“It’s alright,” she whispers to Nephelle. She says something else after that, but it is too quiet for Drakon to hear.

Nephelle keeps clinging to Sinna, as if she’s scared that she will vanish if she lets go. Sinna runs a hand through her hair, then kisses her on the spot between her eyebrows.

Drakon remains rooted to the spot. He wants to walk over, wants to see if Sinna is alright, wants to ask after Miryam, but his body won’t obey. He is completely frozen, unable to move or speak. Even when Sinna gently frees herself from Nephelle’s grip and turns to Drakon, he doesn’t manage to get the question out. Did you succeed?

Sinna simply looks at him for a moment. Then, she inclines her head towards the room to her right. “She’s in there,” she says.

And just like that, Drakon snaps out of his stupor. He is at the door before he truly realized he is moving. He rips the door open and comes face to face with three startled healers.

Miryam lies in the bed behind them. She looks scarily frail under her white blanket, frail and far younger than she usually does. There is a fading bruise on the left side of her face. And other injuries are hidden by the blanket someone draped over her.

Slowly, Drakon steps forward, but one of the healers steps into his way. “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” they say. “But you can’t be in here.”

Drakon slowly shakes his head. “But I need to…” He needs to be there for her, he can’t just go and leave her on her own. Not while she is hurt and he doesn’t know if she…

“You can wait outside, Your Highness,”

“No.” Drakon tries to step past them, but the healer gently takes him by the arm. “No, I need to… I need to see…”

“She isn’t going to die,” the healer says firmly. With a start, he realizes that he’s trembling. “None of her injuries are lethal, Your Highness, she will be fine. But I generally do not permit family to be in the room while I work unless explicitly demanded by the patient. So you will have to go wait outside while I do my job, and I will come talk to you after I am done.” They smile at Drakon. “Is that alright with you, Your Highness?”

Drakon nods numbly and allows the healer to gently push him out of the room. Sinna and Nephelle are both gone from the corridor. Somehow, Drakon ends up sitting on a chair somewhere on the hallway, staring down at his feet.

Miryam looked injured. Their spies might have reported that she didn’t get tortured, but maybe they were wrong. They might have been wrong. And then…

A pair of leather boots appears in his line of vision, making Drakon look up at the owner.

“You alright?” Sinna asks. She is still dressed in her armour, the grey leather splattered with dried blood. There is a bandage around her left arm and a shallow slice marring her cheek.

Drakon nods slowly. He isn’t sure if he can speak right now.

“We should probably talk,” Sinna says. “But not here. Come on.”

Drakon wants to object that he can’t go, that he needs to wait for the healers to finish, but he has been waiting for at least an hour now and no one came to talk to him. For all he knows, it might be several more hours before he gets any news, and he assumes that should the healers finish their work while he is gone, they will simply send someone to fetch him.

They don’t go far, anyways. Sinna pulls open the next best door and steps into a supply closet. Neatly stacked boxes line the walls, each with a label marking its contents. Bandages of varying sizes, alcohol to disinfect the wounds and dried mushrooms against the pain.

“We used our contact to get inside,” Sinna says. “It was rather easy, with everyone so focused on the attacking army that they didn’t even notice us. We had to kill a couple of guards, but that was it. In and out within just over an hour.”

Drakon just stares at her. He has no idea what to say. How is he supposed to react? What kind of reaction does she want?

“Rhysand’s army has been defeated,” Sinna announces. “Half of his soldiers are dead, the rest captured – him included, if my sources are correct.”

Drakon slowly shakes his head. “Seven hundred soldiers,” he says. He can’t manage to keep the shock out of his voice. “You sent seven hundred soldiers to their deaths?”

“I did no such thing,” Sinna says. She sounds far too detached. How can she talk about this so neutrally? “I did not tell Rhysand to take his army on some suicide mission trying to take a fort with less than half the soldiers that would be required to actually pull it off. I told him not to. I told him they would all die, and Miryam with them. But it was painfully obvious that the idiot boy wouldn’t listen. And if he was already going to get himself and his soldiers killed, why shouldn’t I at least make sure they don’t die in vain?”

Drakon can’t stop shaking his head. “You could have stopped him,” he points out, even though he doesn’t know if he would have wanted her to.

All of his morals tell him that it is wrong, completely and utterly wrong, to let hundreds of people die to save one. And Rhys might have chosen to risk his life, but those soldiers certainly didn’t. Sacrificing them was wrong. But at the same time, selfishly, Drakon is glad Sinna acted the way she did. Sacrificing hundreds of lives for one seems far less wrong when the one live belongs to the person you love and the hundreds are mostly strangers.

Only those strangers will have families and friends, too. People who care about them, people who lost their loved ones tonight.

“You’re right,” Sinna says. “I could have. But I didn’t. I chose to save Miryam, because she is important to this war and important to you.”

Drakon just stares at Sinna. He doesn’t know what to do, whether to hug her or yell. He is torn between gratitude and anger, both feelings so intense that he is nearly choking on them.

“Would it help if I apologized?” Sinna asks.

“Are you sorry?” Drakon asks.

Sinna seems to consider it for a moment. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings,” she says. “But as for the rest? I would do it again.”

“Then no, an apology wouldn’t help,” Drakon says drily. Now, anger is winning over gratitude, if narrowly. “You should have told me.”

“Possibly,” Sinna agrees.

“Certainly. You can’t just…” He shakes his head. “You can’t just go behind my back like this. On purpose. It’s not like I require you to discuss every little detail with me – we both know you’re better at this than I’ll ever be – but this, you should have told me about. And you knew, since you conspired with my guards to keep me from finding out.”

Sinna crosses her arms. “I didn’t conspire,” she says pointedly. “I merely asked them to keep you in your room for the night, if at all possible.”

This is decidedly the wrong detail to focus on. “You should have told me,” Drakon repeats.

“But I didn’t,” Sinna says. “And because I didn’t, you will be able to look Miryam and Morrigan and anyone else who might ask in the eye and tell them that you had no part in sending Rhysand and his soldiers to their deaths and it will be the truth.”

“Well, I’d rather be able to tell people that I’m in charge of my own country and have it be the truth.”

Doesn’t she understand this? Drakon might not care much about his reputation and what the other royals think of him, but so far, he could always safely say that the things they said about him were lies. But if Sinna is ready to go behind his back so easily…

Sinna presses her lips together. “But would you have wanted to make that choice?” She asks. “I did not send the soldiers working for Rhysand to their deaths, but I willingly accepted it. I traded hundreds of lives for one. Is this the type of choice you would have liked?” She puts a hand on his shoulder. “Trading lives like this is never easy, and these choices always stay with you. Forever.”

Drakon’s stomach twists, but he shakes his head. “But making those choices is my duty.” It’s not about choice, not about what he wants. And maybe it’s stupid that he has the final say on military matters when Sinna is so much more experienced – maybe he will change it one day – but for the moment, this is his duty. “You do not help me if you try to shield me from it.”

“You are too young,” Sinna says. “You shouldn’t be forced to make these choices.”

Drakon doesn’t say that Miryam and Jurian are also young, and Andromache, Mor and Rhys aren’t that much older than the three of them. “But you can’t change that,” he says softly. “I am Prince, whether you like it or not. These choices are mine to make. Just as any guilt they might bring is mine to bear.”

----

Andromache knows she has been too sharp. She knows that what her father did to her still haunts Mor, knows that it sometimes makes her snap. When that happens, her emotions run wild with her, making her say things she doesn’t mean. Maybe a better person than Andromache would have taken it with grace, would have let the comment slide.

But Andromache also has her sore points, and one of them is Fae – especially High Fae, and especially High Fae nobles – so clearly favouring Fae over humans. And for all she knows that Mor didn’t mean what she said, she also can’t shake the thought that no one says anything like this without meaning it at least a little bit.

“What did the two of you argue about, anyways?” Yanis asks. He is lying sprawled on Andromache’s bed, which is probably his unique interpretation of being on guard.

Andromache shrugs. “Jurian,” she says. “Mor doesn’t like what he did.”

“You don’t like what he did, either,” Yanis counters.

Andromache crosses her arms and turns around to him in her chair. She doesn’t have a reply to that, at least not one she can properly articulate, and she hates not having a reply. The thing is, she doesn’t have a problem with the fact that Mor dislikes Jurian’s actions, she has a problem with the how.

“She can just…” She shakes her head. “Sometimes, she’s so…” She gestures around in the air, searching for words. “Fae,” she finishes, hoping that Yanis will know what she means.

She doesn’t fault Mor for being Fae, not at all. But sometimes, she does things that make it painfully clear that she isn’t quite like her. Which, again, Andromache wouldn’t mind, if she wasn’t so…

Yanis sighs. “Anny.” It’s her childhood nickname, and one he hasn’t used in years. At least since she became queen. "Do you really think that Mor's problem with what Jurian did is that he's human?"

Andromache makes a face. She doesn't think that, not really. Probably. At least not consciously. Mor certainly isn't like Shey and these other bastards on the council, but still, the way she judges Jurian doesn't sit well with Andromache.

"She doesn't have a problem with torture when Azriel does it," she says. "Or when Rhysand beats his soldiers because he's too incompetent a commander to get them in line through other methods."

And that's probably the core of the problem. (Well, that and the "just slavery" comment.) She would have no problem at all with Mor judging Jurian if she was consequent about it. But she is completely fine with torture when her Fae friends do it, even though their actions are arguably worse since they keep doing it and don't have the excuse of not being entirely in control of their own actions.

"Why is she fine with it then, but has a problem when Jurian does it?" Andromache asks.

"Because she can pretend that they only act that way because they don't have a choice and that they aren't actually like this," Yanis says. He has always been the more perceptive one of the two of them, the one who managed to look at things from all angles. "Rhysand has this entire thing going about how him being an asshole is only a mask, and Azriel can claim he's made to do it by his High Lord."

Andromache snorts. Of all the excuses she heard, 'I was just pretending to be an asshole' always seemed like the most idiotic one. If you torture someone, saying that you were just pretending certainly doesn’t make it right. You can’t just pretend to hurt people, you actually hurt them, and your reasons will never be able to ease the pain you caused.

“Mor,” Yanis says, “likes clear lines. Good and bad and little in between. And stupid as her friends’ reasonings might be, they allow her to still place them in the Good category. What Jurian did blurs the lines, and she doesn’t like that.”

Now, Andromache feels really stupid. Yanis is right, of course, and she can’t believe she had to let him explain her own partner to her. She knows that Mor generally sees people as either good or bad, no in-between. Anything that blurs those lines tends to make her upset, so of course she wouldn’t be fond of what Jurian did.

“Talk to her,” Yanis says. “Unless you are so upset that you want to end things, that is.”

Andromache flinches at the notion. “No!” Of course she doesn’t want to end things. It was one argument – one she already feels stupid about, if she’s being honest. She certainly isn’t fine with what Mor said, but she should have just dropped the topic instead of allowing it to escalate.

“Can you winnow me to Telique?” She asks. She originally hadn’t meant to leave the camp, but Jurian has been remarkably civil in the days since Miryam got kidnapped. He seems content to wait around for Amarantha to arrive, and he shows no sign of wanting to change his strategy, so she can probably risk leaving him alone for an hour.

Yanis slowly climbs out of her bed, yawning. “Sure,” he mutters.

Mor is in her suite in Telique, as some of the palace guards inform Andromache when she arrives. Yanis leaves her behind to go visit his sister who works in the stables, and so Andromache is alone when she stands in front of Mor’s door. She allows herself a moment’s hesitation before she knocks.

Mor opens after only a moment. She freezes in the door when she sees Andromache, then gives her an awkward smile. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Andromache echoes. “Can I come in?”

It occurs to her that this is their first real argument. They had smaller disagreements, like the one about Mor’s interest in her powers, but they never really argued until yesterday.

“Sure.” Mor steps aside.

Andromache enters the spacious receiving room that belongs to the emissary’s suite. Mor closes the door, and then, they both stand around awkwardly, staring at each other. Andromache opens her mouth to apologize, but after the just slavery comment, she actually feels like it’s up to Mor to make the first step. Which she fortunately does.

“I’m sorry,” Mor says. “That comment I made… I didn’t mean to say it like that, it came out all wrong.” She shakes her head. “I was trying to say that torture is never okay, no matter against whom.”

Andromache sighs. “I know.” Even if that comment still echoes through her mind, and will likely remain with her for a while yet. “And I’m sorry, too. It’s just… I spent the past few days trying to get the council in line, which really isn’t easy without Miryam. And all the Fae who went on and on about how horrible Jurian’s actions were only seemed to have a problem with it because he’s human.” She offers Mor a half-hearted smile. “So you kind of hit a sore spot there.”

“Oh.” Mor winces. “I didn’t know that. Sorry.” She gives Andromache a tentative smile. “So we are still fine?” She asks in a small voice.

Andromache takes her hands and squeezes them. “Of course we are,” she says softly.

Mor smiles, eyes glittering wetly. Then, she throws her arms around Andromache and hugs her. Andromache absentmindedly trails her fingers through her light hair.

Perhaps Jurian isn’t the only one who’s slowly falling apart. They are all struggling, all desperately grasping for any ways to make this world of theirs more bearable. And if Mor likes to divide things into neat categories, if she doesn’t like to see that order interrupted, maybe that is fine.

A knock sounds on the door. Mor quickly lets go of her and steps back, putting some distance between them. She discreetly wipes her eyes.

Andromache waits until she composed herself, then calls, “Come in!”

To her surprise, Yanis steps inside. “Sorry to interrupt,” he says, glancing between them. “But I thought you might want to hear this.”

“What?” Andromache asks. Her throat suddenly feels tight. If there’s one thing over six years of war taught her, it’s that urgent news are usually bad. Mor silently takes her hand, as if she, too, is bracing herself.

“I just got a letter from Drakon,” Yanis says. “He didn’t give any details, but apparently, they somehow got Miryam out of the Heseia fort. She’s alive and safe.”

Andromache is silent for a moment. Slowly, she turns to look at Mor, who seems equally shocked. Then, she slowly begins to smile. Andromache begins grinning herself, and then, they are hugging, holding each other tight.

Some good news. Finally some good news.

“There’s something else,” Yanis says. Now, he is looking at Mor only. “I’m sorry, Mor,” he says, “but your cousin got captured by Amarantha.”

----

A/N: I don't like Rhys, and I hope the veiled criticism came across in this chapter lol. (I also wasn't very enthusiastic about the entire storyline of Miryam getting kidnapped, so I'm glad that's done now.) And I DO like Mor, but I still felt like I needed to hint at her having some characteristics (a certain tendency to divide into “good” and “bad” and ignore the nuances) that allow her to be a part of a government like the Inner Circle later on.

Tags: @croissantcitysucks @femtopulsed

#i'm still very proud i came up with a way to make rhys an ass in this entire kidnapping situation lol #it was generally set up to make him look great but I managed to turn it into the opposite #before the wall #miryam #jurian #drakon

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