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#i’ll post seven times then you won’t hear from me for hours :/ it’s how it be lol
freedomfireflies · 9 months
Text
Lost
Summary: An extra for Mine*
Harry's worst nightmare has finally come true:
You've been taken.
And he plans to do everything in his power to find you.
Word Count: 3.4k
*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞 You are so much more important!*
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It’s been two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since you were kidnapped in the middle of your living room.
Two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since you were placed in this warehouse, strapped to a chair, with nothing but some stale bread and a bit of water.
Two days, six hours, and forty-seven minutes since you’ve last seen him.
Harry.
About the only thing you’ve been able to think about since they threw a bag over your head and bound your hands behind your back. The only name, the only constant.
Harry.
Your one saving grace in this endless abyss of terror and intimidation. The idea of him. The idea that he’s out there, looking for you, and most likely tearing the Earth in two just to find you.
You spend a lot of time alone. Or rather, lonely. You’re constantly surrounded by guards, but they’re posted around the room, and they’re not exactly chatty.
You replay old memories of the two of you. Replay the day you met. Replay how he looks in the morning, curls disheveled, and skin fresh. Replay the sound of his voice. Over and over and over.
You imagine him talking to you now. Imagine him helping you through the problem, whispering delicately into your ear. A conversation meant to save you.
Doing so good, mama. You’re okay. Promise. They’re not gonna fucking touch you. I’m gonna find you.
“I know,” you murmur quietly to yourself. “Really wish you’d hurry.”
I know, sugar. But I’ll be there. You’ll see. And I’ll take you home. Never gonna let you go again.
“What if you can’t find me?”
I will. Rip through every goddamn corner of the Earth to find you.
“I don’t know what they’re gonna do with me.”
They won’t do a fucking thing. I promise. I’ll be there. I’ll find you.
“I miss you.”
I’ll find you.
You choose to believe the voice in your head. Choose to believe that he’s already on his way. That he’ll be here. That he’ll find you.
I’ll find you.
The sound of the large double doors being thrown open forces you to jolt in your chair, eyes flying forward. 
The man who took you—whose name you refuse to learn—strides in, attention on you as though he’s coming to collect a prize.
You’ve imagined this scenario before. The moment you learn Harry was unsuccessful. That he was taken hostage. 
Or worse.
You don’t like this shit-eating grin your captor wears. Don’t like the way he beams with pride or the way he rubs his hands together as if to warm himself up.
You recoil in your seat, attempting to disappear altogether. 
“My dear,” he calls, stopping only a few feet away from where you sit. “I come with excellent news.”
No, no, no, you think, heart sinking to the depths of your stomach. 
“It seems our guest of honor has finally accepted my invitation,” the man proceeds, palms smacking together gleefully. “Lucky for you, as my patience was growing thin.”
He sweeps around the back of your chair, the unsettling and putrid smell of his aftershave assaulting your senses as you grimace.
“So we’re gonna make a deal, my dear,” he continues, dipping down until his mouth can settle near your ear. “I’m gonna let him walk in here. I’m gonna let him think he’s saved you. And I’m gonna give him exactly two minutes to feel like he actually did his job.”
You know what comes next, and the soft trickle of air near your cheek makes your muscles stiffen.
“And then…I’m gonna end him.”
With that, the rival leader snaps his fingers, and leads his guards out through the double doors.
Leaving you truly alone.
About two minutes pass before you hear a bit of commotion on the other side of the warehouse, and through your watery eyes, you manage to make out a familiar shape.
It sneaks through a back door and begins running toward you, the gaussian blurred hair and black attire making your lungs ache.
“Hey, hey. Okay, okay, all right.” Hands cautiously scope your trembling frame, hovering near your shoulders, hips, legs, and cheeks as they search for something. “Honey, I need you to look at me. Look at me, sugar, please.”
You think you already are but can’t see past these tears. Can’t understand anything past what the nasty man said to you. Can’t comprehend what you have to do.
Fingers begin pulling on the ropes around your hands, desperate to undo them and set you free.
“I’ve got you,” the voice says, and it sounds like honey. Sweet and heavy, dripping down your ears and making you feel warm. “I’ve got you, okay? Gonna get you out of here, I promise. Just look at me, okay? Just keep looking at me, baby.”
“Harry?”
The sound of his name cracking from your dry throat seems to gut him, and his entire expression falls as he nods.
“Yeah, mama,” he murmurs, pressing a palm to your jaw. “S’me. I’m here. And I’m gonna take you home, okay? Gonna get you out of here—”
“Harry,” you repeat, but it sounds weak and fragile. Can’t display the urgency you’re trying to convey. “Harry—”
“I know, baby. I know. It’s me, I’m here,” he repeats, returning his focus to undoing your restraints. He works fast, tugging hard and with all his strength as the first one finally loosens. “Breathe, okay? Just breathe—”
“Harry.” The whimper bleeds from your throat, a fresh wave of desperation rolling down your face as you try to capture his attention. “Harry, no—”
“Shh, honey. You’re okay, I promise. Gonna make it better, I swear—”
“Harry, please—”
“I know, mama. I know, it’s okay—”
“No. Go—”
“Yeah, we’re gonna go. We’ll go, sugar—”
“No.”
The hushed but urgent silence is broken by the piercing decibels of your cry. The loudest noise you’ve made in days, and it echoes around the warehouse as he stills.
Blinking, his hands slow. “What? What’s wrong, am I hurting you? Did they hurt you—”
“No.” It seems as though it’s all you can say, chest heaving with anxious breaths. “No. Harry…go. Go, you have to go—”
He looks wounded. Eyes softening as he begins to shake his head. “M’not going,” he whispers, trying to cradle your cheek once more. “I know I left you, but I never meant for this. Baby, I swear. I did everything—”
“Harry,” you try again. “Go—”
“No.” His jaw is clenched but his frown is obvious. “No. I won’t leave you. I know you have every right to make me, but I can’t. I can’t do it—”
“Harry—”
“Please.” It’s loud but so incredibly scared. Mimicking the expression on his face. “Please. I can’t go. Can’t leave you—”
“You have to,” you try again, struggling to speak in the way you want. “You have to, he’s coming back—”
“Let him,” Harry growls, and your stomach wrenches. “Fucking let him come back, and I’ll show him exactly how I fucking feel about him touching what’s mine.”
“No,” you nearly sob, arms tugging on the rope as you desperately attempt to reach for him. “Harry, no—”
The double doors fling open as the unnamed man and his army storm the building. 
They shout, and they raise their weapons, and they encircle where you and Harry are settled in the middle of the warehouse.
Harry is already on his knees from trying to break your ties, but as the guard’s approach, they scream at him to get down. Surrender. Raise his hands and keep them high.
His malice is evident. Lids narrowed, teeth grinding together, and body practically trembling with rage as he slowly lifts his arms above his head. 
“Harry,” you whisper, chest aching in a way you’ve never felt before.
He looks at you. Despite all the noise, the chaos, the fear. He looks at you and he mouths, “I love you.”
You have to resist the urge to scream.
“And there he is,” comes the cruel taunt of the man behind you. “After all this time, this is what it took to break you.”
Harry’s jaw raises defiantly as he shoots daggers toward your captor. He says nothing. Remains perfectly still as the intimidating weapons crawl closer to his head.
“Did you realize how weak you were?” the man goads him. “Is that why you kept her locked away? Is that why you tried to run? Because you knew you had nothing if you didn’t have her? To use as a bargaining chip?”
A hand is suddenly attaching to the roots of your hair and yanking so hard, you see stars.
Your head drops back, following the assault as you gasp, and Harry curses from his place a few feet away.
“Don’t fucking touch—”
“Easy,” the man warns, and you look up to see him shoot Harry a cocked brow of warning. “Move one fucking inch and she’s done.”
Harry stills, settling back onto his knees as the barrel of a gun digs into the side of his skull. 
“Where is it?” comes the next question, sneered, and filled with years’ worth of vengeance as he tugs again on your hair. “Where?”
Harry is quiet, studying your reaction closely as he contemplates his answer. “Jersey.”
An answer given so quickly and without argument that you feel slightly shocked.
“Jersey…” the man repeats slowly. “You think that’s the truth I’ll buy?”
“I don’t fucking care whether you buy it or not,” Harry retorts coldly. “The shipment is in Jersey. You asked, I answered.”
A beat as the warehouse fills with an eerie silence.
“Far too quickly,” is the reply. “Considering how precious those items are to you. And you’d be willing to offer up their location without so much as a conversation?”
“She’s not a bargaining chip,” Harry hisses, yet he’s strangely calm. “Her life is more precious to me than anything in those fucking containers. I don’t care what you take, but you give her back to me.”
A cruel chuckle reverberates around the large, somewhat empty space as the fingers tangled in your roots go slack. “Funny…you think I’m here to make a trade.”
Harry leans back. Takes a breath. Locks eyes on the man towering above him. “Three.”
The man’s smirk widens. “She might not be your bargaining chip, but she is mine. You didn’t think I called you here just to chat, did you?”
Harry’s chest heaves. “Two.”
“I invited you here…because I want you to watch…what it looks like…when you lose…” the man continues, dipping down, “…everything you love.”
Harry’s lip curls up with disdain. “One.”
Suddenly, a small red dot appears on the man’s forehead. Directly in the middle, like a fresh zit ready to be popped. It shines brighter than anything in the room, and before you have a chance to recognize its importance…the sound of a gun goes off.
Everything happens so quickly. Harry lunges at you, pulling you from the chair as the ropes he’d already loosened fall away. He cradles you to his chest, cocooning his body around you as he pulls you to the floor and keeps you hidden.
And it’s so loud. Guns, yelling, anger. So much violence, it makes your stomach feel queasy.
But all you can focus on…is him.
Harry.
He found you, and he’s here, and he smells the way he always does. It’s strong, and safe, and you bury your face in his shirt as you attempt to crawl through his arms as if to live in his ribcage.
“It’s okay,” you vaguely hear him murmur, lips pressed directly to your ear. “It’s okay, mama, I’ve got you. Close your eyes, okay? Gonna be over soon. Gonna take you home.”
Home.
You aren’t helpless, but you feel helpless, and the sound of all this chaos isn’t helping. And almost as if left with no other choice…you disappear.
So tired, and hungry, and scared, and done that your body completely submits to the weight on your chest, and it carries you away.
You revert back to a state of mind that feels the most secure, and everything else…is just a blur.
Time passes. You aren’t sure how much. You keep your eyes closed and your focus on Harry’s voice. On his instructions. His praise. His promise that he’s gonna take you out of here. Never let you go.
“Is she okay? Is she hurt?” Another voice. Familiar. Far away.
You hear Harry huff. “No, she’s not fucking okay. She’s scared, and she’s shaking, and he fucking touched her—”
“Easy. Okay, all right.” You feel a third presence approach, and you warily crack an eye open to see Asher approaching, his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I mean, is she physically okay? Is she hurt, is something broken?”
Harry’s head shakes, his curls tickling your cheek. “She’s fine, I think. But she won’t stop shaking. I don’t think she’s eaten in days, and I don’t think she wants to see me—”
“Don’t do that,” Asher warns darkly, frowning some. “We just need to get her home. We’ll get her home, and it’ll be okay—”
“But it’s not her home anymore,” Harry nearly growls. “I have to completely uproot her. Again. And take her somewhere she doesn’t recognize, and she’s gonna be scared, and sad, and she’s gonna fucking hate me—”
“Boss.” Asher crouches down, palm squeezing the back of Harry’s neck. “Can’t do that. Not right now. Not here. You just need to go. Take her and go. The boys and I will clean this up…just make her feel safe again, okay?”
A long stretch of silence passes between this instruction and when Harry finally concedes and begins to stand up.
Two pairs of hands help bring you to your feet, with Asher’s familiar cologne drifting past your nose as he leans over to whisper, “You’re okay, sweetheart.”
Harry leads you out of the warehouse and toward his car. He keeps your face tucked into his shoulder as if to shield you from the bodies and the harsh light outside.
You don’t complain.
You drive for quite a while. Just you and him. No Paul. You drive until you don’t recognize where you are, and your eyelids grow heavy as the vibrations from the ride lull you to sleep.
When you wake next, you’re in a bed. You don’t know how you got there, what time it is, or where Harry might be. 
But you don’t have the strength to argue.
You wrangle yourself upright, muscles sore, and head pounding. But the moment you push up, a soft lamp is flicking on, and Harry is rushing to your side.
“Easy, easy, okay,” he whispers when you sway a bit from the residual effects of your exhaustion. “You’re okay. M’right here.”
“Harry,” you breathe, cheek pressing into his palm as he cups your face and crawls onto the mattress beside you.
“Yeah, baby,” he says softly, tugging you back into his body. “It’s me.”
You take him into your lungs, inhaling his serenity until it becomes your own. 
Your fingers trail up his shirt, mindlessly playing with the fabric as you work through the plethora of questions accumulating now that you’re beginning to return to yourself.
“Where are we?”
“In a safe house,” he replies quietly, nuzzling into your forehead. “Nobody knows the location but me. Not even Asher.”
You nod once. “How long have we been here?”
“Few hours.”
“How long are we staying?”
A beat.
“As long as we need to.”
You tug a bit harder on the fabric. “Harry?”
“Yeah?”
“…are you okay?”
You feel him go deathly still beneath you as he slowly rolls his head back to meet your eye. “Did you seriously just ask me that?”
You nod again, scooting up to level the playing field. “Of course. I know that must have been hard on you. Especially switching locations so fast. And I’m sure you haven’t eaten anything, which is bad, because you should—”
“Baby.” The loving nickname that he only uses in times he needs you to know how much of his heart you really have is ushered in silent reverie. “How…how can you ask me that?”
You blink. “Because I love you? And I’m worried about you? And I know you don’t take care of yourself when you’re stressed—”
“Baby—” He sounds wounded. Almost aghast by the question as he begins shaking his head and taking your face in his hands. “You don’t…don’t. Don’t worry about me. This isn’t about me, this is about you. This is about what I let happen to you, and you don’t ever have to worry about me, okay? Especially right now—”
“Harry,” you whisper, squeezing his wrists to keep him close. “I’m always gonna worry about you.”
It’s like you’ve slapped him across the face, his features twisting into a pained wince as he curses and squeezes his eyes shut. “It is my job to take care of you. To protect you. Keep you safe. And I fucking failed.”
“No. You didn’t fail. They found the rare window of opportunity and it happened,” you argue. “You’ve always told me that nothing is certain in this field. There’s no way you could have kept me hidden through every second of every day—”
“I should have,” he retorts. “I should have done more. Should have been there—”
“You can’t be with me all the time—”
“Why the fuck not? If I had been, none of this would have happened—”
“But it did, and it’s over. It’s okay. You’re okay—”
“I fucking lost you—”
“But you found me.”
This seems to be the only thing that reaches him. In a moment so vulnerable, it catches you off guard.
He breaks.
His hands fall to your lap, his entire expression crumbles, his body wilts before you. You rush to take hold of him, fingers in his hair, tugging him closer until he can press his nose into your neck and hide.
He shakes with ragged breaths and the tears he’s trying so hard to fight. They’re hot, wet, and they seem to burn him like acid as they slide down his cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, and it’s so very broken. “I’m so fucking sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”
You shush him. Repeat his name like a mantra until he settles. Promise him that he’s okay. You’re okay. Everything…is okay.
It takes almost an hour for him to finally feel brave enough to lean back. But when he does, you kiss all over his forehead, and remind him that you’re here. That all you have to do now…is get better.
You nurse each other back to health. He takes you to the kitchen and cooks you your favorite meal: nachos.
You tease him about the cheese dripping down his chin and he tosses an olive at you. You watch TV just to forget. And eventually, you make your way for the bath.
You both sit in the tub for way longer than you probably should. Until the water has run cold, and the bubbles have dissipated.
But it’s nice. Sitting with him between your legs, his back against your chest as he hesitantly asks you what happened.
You tell him, keeping the details vague. You don’t want to scare him. The important thing is you’re both okay.
You fall asleep in each other’s arms, and you refuse to start the next day until way after noon. 
He tries to argue a bit more about how wrong he was to leave you. How he needs to do better. How you deserve better than what he’s given you, and you spend just as much time arguing that it couldn’t be further from the truth.
He’s the only reason you’re safe at all.
He concedes but you know it’s because he intends to punish himself for the remainder of the day. Maybe week. Month. 
But you’ll fight him on that another time.
You spend some of your day on the couch, flipping through magazines you found and reading an old book. 
Harry spends his time on the phone, yelling with nearly every member of his team. You don’t interfere. You know it won’t do any good.
But then…something changes.
His entire demeanor shifts before he turns to look at you, eyes narrowed and hatred evident. You don’t hear what he says, don’t understand the context. But the look on his face alone is enough to tell you that something is very wrong.
When he finally hangs up the phone and steps closer, your heart drops.
You sit up. “What?”
He takes a deep breath, and says only one thing:
“Asher.”
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Next Part:
~ Found (Lost pt. 2)
Previous Part:
~ Remedy* (A Mine Extra)
~ Full Mine Masterlist
~ Other Harry Blurbs
~ Full Masterlist
Taglist (If you ever need or want to be taken off, or simply excluded from certain fics like this one, please let me know!! 💞) : @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @keepdrivingkisses @swiftmendeshoran @tiredinwinter @straightontilmornin @justlemmeadoreyou @harrysdaydreams @tiaamberxx @peterparker1sgf @myfavfanficsever @vamprry @fdl305 @acesofspadess @stylesfever @narry-heart @virqinvirgo
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seeingivy · 7 months
Text
the met gala
actor!eren x f!reader
**part of my method acting series
content: the end contains some possibly triggering content. toxic man moment/unsafe situation so dni and protect ur peace if you need to.
an: fan service to the highest t. you want laufey? i'l give you laufey. you want sukuna? ill give you sukuna. did you ask for catoru gojo? no but i'll give it to you anyways. and the end is a nice yummy lil eren little fdklsfjdksljfkdlsjfkdsjk. also I changed real life met gala lore idgaf if they don't do real perfomances there bc they do now
songs mentioned: death of a bachelor by panic at the disco, seven by taylor swift, promise by laufey, and dorothea by taylor swift
previous part linked here
--
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Eren waits for it in nervous anticipation. Because despite everything Hyla and Lana say, he knows for a fact that you won’t be staying silent. That Danny and Sareen wouldn’t let this slide and neither would you. 
And it eats at him while he waits for the real response, beyond that video Connie posted of you, Mikasa, Connie, and Jean dancing to Girlfriend and your tweets about how much you loved the song. 
He’s positive that a forty second video can’t be all you’re doing. People loved it and thought it was funny. But surely that can’t be it. 
“I can’t believe all your friends sided with her. I thought you were close with Connie.” Lana mentions. 
“I was. Before you did that.” Eren responds, clenching his jaw. He can feel anger surging through his blood, every minuscule fraction of frustration building even more - like it had been for the past three days since the awards show. 
It's irritating how quick things crumble down. He figures this is what Sukuna was talking about. Because the last time he talked to Connie was when Mikasa called him and it was nothing short of irritating. 
Eren’s phone rings in the middle of the night and he’s nearly scrambling out of his bed because he thinks it’s you. Nine hours after the awards show and you’ve finally gotten the chance to respond.
Except he sees Mikasa’s name flashing across the screen, accompanied with her contact picture which is you and Mikasa sleeping.
“Mika? What’s wrong?” 
“What the fuck is wrong with you Eren?” 
“Mikasa. Okay, I can ex-” 
“You can explain? You can explain why you just humiliated Y/N in public? Are you serious?” 
“I-I know it’s bad and she hasn’t picked up my calls and-” 
“Eren. Is there something wrong with you? Because I don’t even recognize you right now. You would never do something like this, let alone to her of all people.” 
“Did you just call me to yell at me Mikasa? You don’t think I feel bad enough about it already? You don’t think I would have stopped it if I had any idea it was going to happen?” 
He hears the line get quieter and Mikasa murmuring over the phone, only to be met with Connie talking to him now. 
“Hi Eren. It’s Connie.” 
Eren sighs, the fact that Mikasa’s so put off she won’t even talk to him sitting wrong with him all together. 
“Hi Con.” 
“You okay, man?” 
“Yeah. Yeah, is she okay?” 
“Mika? You know her, she gets mad so fast and-” 
“Not her.” Eren whispers. 
“Oh. No, no that’s why we called. She won’t talk to any of us. We called to see if you would know what to do because we’re coming short on ideas.” 
The words die on Eren’s tongue. The first line of defense when you get like this is always him, because he can always get you to talk. 
Could always get you to talk. 
“You tried Levi?” 
“Yes.” 
“Her brothers. You need to fly Falco and Colt out now. I’ll pay for the tickets. Get the shin ramen from the store, it’s her comfort food - put half of the spice packet in because she can’t eat it too spicy, make sure you boil the egg for six minutes because she likes it when it’s still a little runny, and chop ONLY carrots and green onions for the vegetables. And put on Spy Family, it’s her favorite show. Her favorite episode is nine, I think. It’s called Show Off How In Love You Are. ” 
“Okay, that’s all great man. Really. Thanks.” 
“Connie?” 
“Yeah?” 
The thought crosses his mind so fast and suddenly he's asking it.
“Do you hate me?” Eren asks, the whisper in his voice sounding so pitiful that he’s almost embarrassed. 
“No, Eren. I could never. Just, I have to be here because she needs us right now. You get that.” 
“No, no I do. Take care of her, please. Tell me how it goes.” 
“Yeah man. Sure.” 
Connie hangs up and the guilt eats at Eren. 
Eren hears the resounding pounding of footsteps - only to be met with Myka, Hyla, and two other people he’s literally never seen before - standing in his bedroom. 
The first thing he learned quickly about filming with these people? They have no concept of personal space or time. 
“What?” 
“Ricky and Y/N. They made a music video. Put it on.” Myka states, the group of them crawling onto Eren’s bed as he starts pulling up the video. 
The thumbnail already has him sick to his stomach. It’s you kissing Ricky’s cheek. The video starts with you and Ricky’s hands, playing the piano together, and it takes Eren all but three seconds to realize that this is the horrible, gut-wrenching response he was waiting for. 
His first cue? Not only are the two of you playing the piano together, but you and Ricky are wearing matching, beaded bracelets with each other’s names on them. Like the ones you and Eren have, the one he keeps on him at all times. 
The camera pans up to the two of you and Ricky starts singing, which earns him a nice list of profanities from Lana at his side. 
Do I look lonely? I see the shadows on my face People have told me I don't look the same Maybe I lost weight I'm playing hooky with the best of the best Put my heart on my chest so that you can see it, too I'm walking the long road, watching the sky fall The lace in your dress tangles my neck, how do I live?
His second cue? The dress you’re wearing in the video, the one with the lace, is one he knows all too well. 
“Okay so, Eren. I have to find a dress to wear for the album premiere tomorrow. And it's my first album and it's special and I want it to be perfect. Something kind of soft and casual, since it’s just going to be just fans. Can you help me pick?” 
Eren nods as he flops back onto the soft plush of your bed, eyes focused on all the little pictures and knick knacks littered over the walls of your childhood bedroom. Participation awards for sports, signed letters from your teachers, and pictures of you and Colt doing karaoke. 
“Ew, Eren. Don’t look at those.” 
“What do you mean? You were such a cute baby.” 
Eren hopes your kids don’t inherit your messy hair genes as you walk up to his side and look at the picture - of you and Colt with little pink microphones in your hand and the little plastic crown on your head. 
“You know, you still do that.” 
“Do what?” 
“Everyone else holds the microphone at the top, their fingers nearly wrapped around the wire. You’re like the only person I know who holds it at the bottom - like you’re doing in the picture.” 
You roll your eyes as you gesture to the dress, asking for his opinion. Eren stands up, grabbing you by the wrist, to spin you around in the air. And he loves the sound of your laugh and how you berate him immediately after. 
“Eren. Be serious. What do you think?” 
“Perfect. Wear this one.” 
“But it’s black - it doesn’t really fit the vibe that I wanted to go with.” 
“Good point. No one should see you in this but me. Try another one on.” Eren states, placing a kiss on your neck before walking over to your bookshelf. 
"You're no help." you whine.
"I'm biased. You look good in everything, sweetheart."
He’s running his hands against the spines of your books, clearly bent and broken from reading them so much as you try on the next dress. 
“Love?” 
“Hm?” your voice comes out, all muffled from the sound of the closet door. 
“How many times have you read the Goblet of Fire? This spine is demolished.” 
He feels your limbs wrap around his neck and a kiss on his cheek as you lazily murmur into his skin. 
“Lots. Cedric Diggory was my first love.” 
“Oh? Really?” 
Eren turns around and makes it a point to pointedly glare at you, which you return with the sweetest, cheesiest of smiles as you tease him on. 
“Oh, of course. I’ve always had a thing for Hufflepuffs.” 
“Would you look at that? I’m a Hufflepuff too.” 
“No, you’re not. You’re a Ravenclaw, Eren.” 
“I was expecting you to say Slytherin.” 
“No, I feel like that’s a cop-out answer. You’re intelligent, creative, and clever. Ravenclaw.” 
Eren smiles as he brings his hands down to your wrists again, spinning you in the air again. He brings his hands up to your hair to tuck your hair behind your ears before responding. 
“Nope. Very pretty, but too formal for something small like this.” 
“I appreciate the honesty this time, mon chéri. I only have one more, so it better be the one.” 
Eren leans forward, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 
“What was that for?” 
“I love it when you speak French to me.” he whispers. 
Eren watches you roll your eyes as you disappear into your closet again. He settles into the seat at your desk, flipping through the song lyrics in your bound notebook.
And he doesn’t miss the polaroids you have taped into certain pages - the one of the two of you at the vow renewal on your invisible string page and one of him at the piano on the New Year’s Day page. 
“Okay, Eren. Good?” 
Eren turns around to find you shyly smiling at him, hands tucked behind your back. It’s a soft white dress, with a lace neckline. Eren thinks it makes you look like an angel. He makes it a point to stand up just so he can push you onto the bed behind you and lean right over you. 
“Eren.” 
He leans forward and starts peppering kisses all over your cheeks and your face, leaving longer lingering ones in your neck that leave you in a fit of nervous giggles and saying his name so softly it only sets him off more. 
“It should be illegal-” 
Kiss. 
“To look like this.” 
Kiss. 
“You’re doing this on purpose.” 
Kiss. 
“Doing what?” 
“Trying to drive me crazy, love.” 
“Am not, Eren. It’s just a dress.” 
“It’s never just a dress with you. Be serious, Y/N.” 
He watches your eyes go wide, a soft pink dusting your cheeks. Your hands are resting on his face and he swears they’re shaking, your arms trembling along with them. Eren brings his hand to your cheek, softly brushing across the skin once. 
“Hey. What is it?” he whispers. 
“You said my name.” 
“I say your name all the time.” 
“No, no. You always call me love or sweetheart.” 
“Do you like it when I say your name, Y/N?” 
He watches the blush spread across your cheeks again as you nod, the sweetest smile on your face. 
“I like how you say it. Y/N.” 
“I love your name. Though, it’s missing something.” 
He watches you frown, the confused look spreading across your face. 
“What’s that?” 
“My last name at the end.” he responds, pressing a kiss to your lips. 
“Ew, Eren. That was so corny.” 
He brings his hands down to the side of your dress, where the zipper lies and starts pulling down. He watches the shock spread on your face, immediately pulling back. 
“Are you crazy? Falco and Colt are still here even if my parents aren’t.” 
“Falco is sleeping over across the street. And Colt is definitely at a party and pretending not to be. Who takes limes and salt to a study session? He definitely needs those for the drinks, silly girl.” he responds, sliding the dress off your shoulders and burying his face in the crook of your neck, leaving lazy kisses all over your skin. 
“Eren.” 
“Hm?” 
“Chelseaiswatching.” you murmur. 
“Huh?” 
“Chelsea is watching.” you whisper.
“Who the fuck is Chelsea?” he asks, the panic laced in his voice. 
You point over his shoulder and he immediately rolls his eyes when he sees her, bringing his hands up to pinch your cheeks. 
“Are you being serious? You can’t kiss me back because your stuffed animal is watching?” 
“Eren. It’s weird, I’ve had her since I was a kid. And my dad bought her for me.” you whine. 
“And you think she’s going to narc on you?” 
“No. It’s the principle, Eren! Don’t do inappropriate things when kids or kid-like things are present.” 
Eren stands up, making it a point to pick up your stuffed animal and bury it in the back of your closet before he returns, hands on his hips. 
“Okay. Anything else? Do I need to put tape over your posters of Loid Forger doesn’t watch us doing it?” 
“Now that you say it, it’s actually-” 
“Too bad.” 
And well after being tangled in the sheets together, Eren pretends not to be offended when you pull on a hoodie and immediately get out of bed and reach for your notebook and your pen instead of cuddling with him after. 
You crawl back in the bed next to him, where he immediately rests his head in your lap and starts groaning. You reach forward to push the messy hair out of his face and make a mental note to cover up the purple skin on his neck later so Colt doesn’t hang you at the cross whenever he comes back. 
“Did I get you that inspired that you can’t hold me right now?” 
“Basically. You’re my muse, Eren.” 
“What’s the song called, Y/N?” 
“Dress.” 
“Clever. I wonder what it’s about.” he responds, pressing kisses along your thigh, consecutively going higher with each kiss. 
“Eren. Are you serious? It’s only been like ten minutes.” you respond, the nervous jittery feeling growing in your stomach. 
“It’s like vitamins. Can’t go without it.” 
“Do not refer to it as vitamins. And you can technically go without vitamins, if you’re like really healthy.” 
“Quit being a know-it-all. You know I meant like medicine.” 
“Eren.” you respond, a warning tone in your voice as you keep scribbling your lyrics out. 
“You get two minutes to finish what you’re writing and then I’m throwing that book out the window.” he responds, his breath on the inside of your legs tickling you. 
Eren knows you’re trying to drive him crazy and not in the way he likes. And it’s working. And Ricky’s all too agitating singing voice doesn’t make it any better. 
The death of a bachelor Oh oh Seems so fitting for Happily ever after (woo) How could I ask for more? A lifetime of laughter At the expense of the death of a bachelor
Eren watches you and Ricky dancing through the streets, while Ricky sings on and on about happily ever after, and he can’t help but slam the computer shut and all but push the group of them out of his room. And when he closes the door, all he can do is cry and hope they can’t hear him.
--
You peek out the window and count seven black cars and fourteen different people standing on the block, anxious faces craning up with shining black cameras in their hand. You feel a hand on your shoulder and know the ice cold hands can only be Ricky. 
“Hey.” 
“How many?” 
“Fourteen.” you groan, giving him a frown as you yank your shoulder out from under his hand and walk past him. 
You head to the vanity, where you’re going to place your last finishing touches on your outfit. Ricky’s quick to follow and lean into your space, with a smirk pressed on his face. 
“Ricky.” 
“Yes, babe?” 
“Ew. Do you need something? Or are you all up in my space for fun?” 
“For fun! You smell really good.” 
You make it a point to lightly shove him back, which you both laugh at as you clip on the sparkly necklace, making it a point to not move suddenly at all from this moment forward. 
It would be infinitely embarrassing if you ripped the first designer dress you wore. Especially when you have to return it later. 
Ricky swings his hand around you from the back and holds a cupcake in front of your face, a glimmering blue candle lit in the middle. You give him a questioning look in the mirror. 
“Baby’s first Met Gala!” 
You snort as you blow out the candle, taking it from his hands and pulling the wax out. 
“You’re welcome, by the way.” Ricky says. 
“For?” 
“The cupcake! And getting you invited to the Met Gala.” 
You smack his shoulder, giving him your angriest look, before you both laugh. 
“You’re a prick. I got invited all on my own.” 
“Yeah, yeah. Keep telling yourself that.” he responds, sarcastically. 
“What flavor is the cupcake?” 
“Chocolate.” 
“Eh. I like vanilla.” you respond, swiping the frosting off the top with your finger. But before you can lick it, Ricky reaches for it first and swipes it right off your finger. 
“I mean, I was going to eat that, Ricky.” 
“I only like the frosting of the cupcake.” 
“Well, I only like the frosting too. Especially when it’s not the flavor of cake I like.” 
You hand Ricky the rest of the cupcake and grab your purse as you head out. You press the button on the elevator and both slide in when it opens, the anticipation of the fourteen people waiting outside for you and the hundred more who will be at the event sitting on you. You must be making some weird face because Ricky catches on to it super fast. 
“Just relax. It’s just paparazzi, not flying to the moon.” 
“I know that. I just feel like I’m not entirely here at the moment. And they’re all going to ask me about Girlfriend and you and Eren and I just-” 
You still haven’t encountered the press after the entire thing, despite most of the tabloids writing things in your favor. Because rehashing the worst thing that’s ever happened for you in the two seconds the paparazzi talk to you and have it become a whole convoluted story is not something you’re ready for. 
After the entire thing went down, you retreated to your room for one day. One day. With full intentions to mope for the rest of your life, because you would never live this down. And because the entire ordeal was so overstimulating, so stressful that you need to rest.  
Until Danny and Sareen dragged you out by the legs and forced you to film a music video with Ricky. Then go to his debut of the song and the music video in Times Square. And then they granted you your beauty rest, but then that stupid voice in your head got the best of you and you couldn’t help but watch what everyone said about the entire thing after the event. 
People thought the entire Girlfriend thing was really tasteless. Because it was. Ricky did a bunch of interviews, where he just talked you up and how the entire thing was ridiculous in his opinion. They thought it was sweet of Ricky to come to your defense with Death of a Bachelor and that your official debut as a couple was one for the books. 
You’ll take a win where you can get one. 
Everyone sided with you, which was nice. Fans wise but also from your real friends. Connie, Marco, Mikasa, and Jean were at your side the entire time, which you appreciated. 
Connie was the one that convinced you that “you had the opportunity to do the funniest thing ever” and filmed a video of you, Jean, Mikasa, and him dancing to Girlfriend and posted it. 
Which was your favorite part of the entire thing, not because of the song, but because they were there for you through the entire thing. That Connie could make something mortifying funny for you. A bad memory a good one. A true testament to his support. 
Unlike some people. People’s inquisitive eyes leave no stone untouched and now rumors of a fallout between you and Historia are flying around, when she’s the only one to not publicly come to your defense. And you get it, she doesn’t have to. What you don’t understand is why she won’t return any of your calls. 
Ricky reaches down and grabs your hand, locking his fingers in yours as he gives you a smile, bringing you back down from the thoughts. 
“I won’t leave you, okay? Danny and Sareen said I should handle all those questions anyways.” 
“And if Lana comes up to me?” 
“Spit in her face. She’s really annoying.” 
“And if Eren comes up to me?” 
“I’ll give you a big kiss.” 
“Ew. Don’t do that.” 
“I love it when you act disgusted by me.” 
You snicker as the elevator rings and the door swings open. You’re immediately flooded with a mound of flashing lights as Ricky grabs your hand and drags you through the crowd into the fresh air. And it only gets worse outside because not only are the cameras outside bigger, but the reporters are louder. 
Are you and Ricky official? 
Eren and Hyla are rumored to be dating. Do you have any comments on that, Y/N? 
Can you tell us anything about your upcoming record, Ribbons? 
Ricky ducks your head into the car first before sliding in himself, tapping on the seat ahead of him as the car speeds off. You let go of Ricky’s hand, wiping the sweat against your dress, immediately freezing when you remember you’re supposed to return it at the end of the night. 
“Now was that so bad?” Ricky asks, giving you a winning smile. 
“Literally, yes! I wasn’t expecting them to be in the lobby.” 
“Cmon, you nailed it. I was there, wasn’t I?” 
“Quit trying to flirt, Ricky. You suck at it.” you grumble, which he laughs at. 
The car comes to a screeching halt and you give Ricky a weary smile as he walks out first, making it a point to open the door for you on the other side. You wrap your arm around his as you both walk the carpet, giving glimmering smiles every time you walk a few paces. 
You make mental notes of those standing on the steps behind you and you catch sight of them. Eren and Hyla, in the center of the carpet. Eren’s lifting his hand to twirl her in the middle, with consecutive clicks from the cameras. And you can see Sukuna right behind them, pretending to gag with Maki and probably ruining all the picutres.
You smile, making it a point to sit with Sukuna later because he’s so wildly unserious that it’s probably the only thing you could tolerate on a day like this. And it would really piss off Eren.
Mikasa and Jean are smiling at you from behind the ropes, Mikasa giving you a sweet smile and mouthing that you look great. She points at a spot towards the left and you nod, signaling that you’ll meet her there after. 
Out of the periphery of your eye, you catch sight of it. The giant cat in the middle of the runway. You tap Ricky on the shoulder, pointing it out to him. 
“Oh god.” 
“At the Met Gala? That’s so unserious.” you respond. 
“Ten bucks it’s Gojo.” 
“That’s such a lame bet. I know for a fact that’s Gojo. He’s the only type of dumbass to show up to the Met Gala dressed up as a big white cat with blue eyes.” 
You both lean closer together, making a point to make sure the paparazzi are taking pictures of you two all close to each other. The head of the cat pops off and surely enough, a very excited Satoru Gojo is now running in circles around in the middle of the carpet. And blocking every girl standing on the side.
You don’t miss Geto standing ten paces behind with Shoko, the two of them very loudly declaring that they, in fact, do not know or associate with that man.
“You owe me ten bucks.” 
“I never agreed to that, Ricky.” 
Ricky leans forward and plants a warm kiss on your cheek, earning a nice symphony of cooing from the photographers on the other side. 
“Oh?” 
“We both got it right. So we both get a reward.” he responds, tapping his left cheek. 
You roll your eyes as you stand on your tiptoes to give him a kiss on the cheek and consequently wipe your glittery lip gloss off his face after. You give the cameras a smile and wrap your arm around his again as you walk farther down the carpet towards the interviewers. 
“Y/N. You look gorgeous!” 
“Thank you! So do you.” 
“Is there anything you can tell us about your third upcoming album, Ribbons? What’s your favorite track on the album?” 
“Thank you for asking! I think Ribbons is a mix of a lot of feelings I’ve had lately - specifically good, warm, and positive feelings. I-I think that being negative is something that’s really easy to do, especially when you’re in my position, but I try to keep my music feeling like sunshine on a nice day, because who likes to focus on the bad when you can just be the good. My favorite track on the album is seven, a song that I’ll be performing inside later today with one of my best, best friends who I wrote it with.” 
“That’s sweet. Are any of these positive feelings a consequence of your new beau, Ricky James?” 
And right on cue, Ricky’s on your side, tilted eyes glimmering in the camera. 
“I know for a fact they are. She loves to write songs about me.” 
“That’s a bold statement coming from you, Ricky.” you respond. 
“I’m a bold guy.” Ricky responds, giving you a wink. 
“Speaking of writing songs, Y/N. How do you feel about songs being written about you? Songs like Girlfriend?” 
The reporter looks way too excited at this part now. You look at Ricky before answering, who gives you a subtle nod. The answer you practiced with Sareen and Danny. 
“I think it’s flattering.” 
“Really?” 
Ricky slides his hand around your waist and smiles, finishing off the rest of the answer for you. 
“Oh, it’s totally flattering. I mean, I’d be really intimidated if I was comparing myself to someone like Y/N here too. She’s quite literally at the top of her game, in every sense, and it’s easy to feel less than when you’re comparing yourself to a future triple threat. So we get the thought process behind it.” 
“Ricky.” 
“It’s true, Y/N. Personally, I think they should pick London Boy from her discography as the song selection. But that’s just me.” 
You smile at each other as you give the interviewer a polite nod, giving each other a thumbs up as you walk around the floor. You finally get to stop near Jean and Mikasa, who are very obviously already wine drunk, from the way their cheeks are tinted pink. 
“Wow, Jean. It hasn’t even been two hours yet.” you respond, placing your hand flat against his cheek to see how much his skin is burning. 
“I hate this type of shit.” Jean responds, grumbling. 
“Jean. How drunk are you? Don’t tell me you’re imagining cats walking around are you?” you ask, feigning concern. 
“Huh? That cat isn’t real?” 
“You’re actually seeing cats?!” Mikasa asks, catching on. 
“THERE’S A REAL CAT HERE, MIKA. LOOK.” Jean says, pointing at Satoru who is now lying face down on the red carpet. 
"Jean."
"Y/N. MIKASA. I'M SO SERIOUS I SWEAR THERE'S A REAL CAT. IT TALKED TO ME EARLIER. IT TOLD ME I SHOULD HAVE DRESSED UP AS A HORSE WITH IT."
“Oh, sweetheart. We should go inside, you’ve had too much. You always do this, Jean.” Mikasa says, shaking her head as she leads him in. Mikasa turns her head over her shoulder and gives you a wink, before she walks straight into the venue. 
Geto and Shoko come up to your side after they catch you staring at Gojo - who's now doing the worm in his cat suit on the floor - as they both give you polite hugs. The three of you stand against the wall to watch him take the spotlight away from anyone who was hoping to have it. 
“Can you believe you’re married to that guy?” you ask Geto. 
“Please don’t remind me. It pains me everyday.” 
“He wore the cathead to my house the first day he got it. I was hosting a vigil for one of my neighbors.” Shoko states, placing a cigarette between her teeth. 
You snort at the thought of Gojo, in his fully exuberant energy, trotting into a room of people mourning with the cat head on.
Megumi and Yuuta join the group of you as you now watch Yuuji - whose actually dressed in a nicely styled suit - have a dance off with Cat Gojo on the red carpet. 
You nudge Megumi in the side. 
“Can you believe you’re dating that guy?” 
“We’re breaking up.” Megumi responds, earning a laugh from the group. 
“I can’t tell what’s worse. The fact that they’re dance battling at the Met Gala or that Yuuji is horrendously losing to Gojo wearing a twelve pound cat-suit.” 
“Yuuji losing.” you all respond in unison. 
“I think Cat Gojo is going to haunt me in my dreams.” you respond. 
“Get this, Y/N. It’s not Cat Gojo. It’s Catoru.” Yuuta responds. 
“Don’t tell me he trademarked it already.” 
“He did.” they all respond in unison. 
"Geto. Shoko. When you burn that thing in the flames of hell, I want a video." you state.
"That's a promise, kid." Geto responds, with Shoko giving an affirmative nod.
You turn to your left to find Ricky standing at your side, with his arm wrapped around John. Historia’s ex-boyfriend. You give the group of them a polite nod as you walk away and join Ricky at your side. 
“Y/N. This is my friend, John. He’s been looking forward to meeting you.” 
“Hi. Y/N.” you respond, making every effort to emphasize the flatness in your voice. 
“John. Nice to meet you.” he responds, holding his hand out which you refuse to touch. 
“Play any chess games lately?” you ask, making a pointed reference to Historia’s song. 
He glares and you watch the smile on Ricky’s face drop. You give your best, sickly sweet smile as you wait for a response. 
“That’s right. You acted in Attack on Titan so you must be friends with Historia.” 
“Very good friends.” you respond. 
“Okay John, we’re going to go in. I’ll see you in a sec, yeah?” Ricky responds, hands increasingly hard on your biceps as he drags you a few paces away. 
“Ouch, Ricky. Get off.” 
He’s leaning close to you, whispering in your ear earlier like you two were when Satoru came in, except this is nowhere near as fun as last time. 
“What’s your problem?” 
“What’s yours? He’s not a good guy, Ricky.” 
“I’ve made every effort to be friends with your friends. You could and should be doing the same for me, Y/N.” 
“And I will. For your friends who aren’t groomers, Ricky.” 
Ricky glares at you before giving you a smile and pressing a kiss to your forehead with the paparazzi so close, before dragging you into the venue with him. You settle into your seat next to Ricky, craning your neck to see where the rest of your friends are sitting, all the way on the other side of the room. 
You turn to the girl sitting next to you and whisper in her ear. 
“Hi. I’m Y/N.” 
“I-I know who you are. I’m a big fan.” 
“I’m really sorry to ask you this then. But you see that guy right there, pink hair, those two little scars near his eyes. Could you go and switch seats with him? He’s sitting in between Megumi Fushiguro and Yuuta Okkotsu, so I can at least promise it’s a better seat than this one.” 
She looks over and gives you an affirmative nod. You squeeze her shoulder as you watch her stomp over, Sukuna turn back to give you a questioning look, before letting the girl take his seat and striding over to sit next to you with two cups in his hands. 
He sits on the chair to your left, making it a point to spread his legs as far as he can on his chair, and glare at Ricky as he sits down. 
“What do you want, doll?” 
“Nothing. I got bored.” 
He shrugs as he places the second cup in front of you, which you pick up. And then immediately spit back up, because it’s just straight vodka. 
“Shit. My bad, doll. That’s mine.” 
“You’re drinking straight vodka? No chaser?” you ask. 
“Imagine doing this shit sober. I’d drive myself half insane.” he murmurs. 
You switch the cups and drink yours again, pleasantly surprised by a warm, sweet latte. 
“Sukuna. How’d you know?” you ask. 
“Eren told me.” 
You look over at him, giving him your best glare. 
“As if you’d talk to Eren.” you snort, craning your neck to find him on his phone, next to Hyla’s who is fixing her hair. 
“We talk. It’s just not pleasant.” 
“Yeah. My preferred coffee order is just so horrible to talk about.” 
“You wouldn’t believe it. Poor guy mopes about you so much it even makes me depressed.” 
Ricky taps aggressively on your shoulder, leaning over into your space.
“I’m going to go sit with John.” Ricky states, angrily. 
“Okay?” you respond. 
“Okay? That’s it, Y/N?” 
“Do you need a formal, written invitation? Or does she need to hold your hand and walk you there so you don’t get lost?” Sukuna responds, glaring at him. 
Ricky gets irritated at Sukuna’s response and storms off, which just has Sukuna moving his chair so that you can both prop your legs up on it. You’re both switching off on sharing your drinks - mixing Sukuna’s alcohol with your latte and watching all the performances. 
“Are you performing?” Sukuna asks. 
“Yeah. With Marco, right before Eren.” 
“Real cute. Is it that same fluff shit you always write?” 
You smack him hard on the shoulder. 
“Asshole. That fluff shit is Multi-Platinum, dumbass.” 
“I get that. But I’m saying, you should write something more serious than that. Instead of penting up all that rage in your forehead, you should write it in a song. Quit letting real stupid girls call you stupid in songs.” 
“I can’t. My record doesn’t really like the idea of that.” you respond. 
“So? You’re the artist and it’s your music. Write whatever you want. Don’t be a chickenshit.” 
“It’s not that simple, Sukuna.” 
“No. It literally is. You’re just chicken.” 
“It’s not about chicken, Sukuna. My record was the one who took a chance on me and to some extent, I have to follow that. And they’ve made me Multi-Platinum so far so who am I to not listen to them?” 
“God. You’re pathetic.” 
“And you’re an asshole, Sukuna.” 
“Do you want to kiss now?” 
You reach forward to smack his face, which elicits a laugh from him. 
“You never change, do you Sukuna?” 
“Best thing about me, doll. You should learn to piss people off like I do. It’ll actually relieve some of that tension. And flirting is good for your health.” 
“We can’t all afford to be feather rustlers like you.” 
“You could. I’m sure people would eat it up - the whole sweet girl saying her mind type thing. I’ll give you lessons on how to talk your shit sometime instead of letting idiots like that do it for you.” 
He points over at Ricky, whose glaring bullets at the two of you. You give him a gesture, which he completely ignores as he turns over to whisper in John’s ear. 
“Out of all guys, you had to pick that one? When you tweeted that you were charged with murder, I thought you were being serious and got really excited for a second.” 
“Danny and Sareen picked him. That’s not my fault.” 
You feel a tap on your shoulder and see the usher, signaling that it’s time for you to perform. You nod and turn to Sukuna, who's already getting up from the chair. He presses a kiss to your cheek before you walk off to the other side where Marco’s waiting. 
--
Eren’s sitting towards the end of the bench, hands pressed under his legs, when he watches you take the stage with Marco, a glittering smile on your face.
And in your billowing, white dress, there’s only one thing Eren can focus on. The fish tattoo, right on display. He instinctively reaches for his own, hidden under the fabric of his clothes, and thinks about how your sweet, flowery smell was always overwhelming, even in a disgusting tattoo parlor. 
And when Eren catches sight of Marco at the piano, Eren knows you’re a temptress to everyone and not just him. Exhibit A? You convinced Marco to sing in public with you. 
“Hi everyone. My name is Y/N.” 
Everyone breaks into a loud applause and Eren thinks that the wolf-whistling in the corner is Mikasa, who he’s convinced is shit-faced by the way her cheeks are glowing pink. 
“Thank you. Um, can we just take a minute to give a second round of applause to my sunshine boy, Marco, here? He’s not a big singer and I’ve all but forced him to do this with me, so let’s all give him some love.” 
The crowd claps again and Eren knows for a fact that the wolf-whistling this time is Jean, who is actually plastered. 
“This song is off my new album, called Ribbons, and it’s called seven. The idea of this song kind of came up randomly. I told Marco that it was kind of sad that I don’t have any of the childhood friends I did when I was a kid anymore. And Marco just responded by saying, ‘what do you mean, we’ve been friends since we were seven?’ And long story short, I jumbled out a nice mess of lyrics with Marco and Armin produced it after that and the song was finished. We hope you like it!” 
Marco starts playing a soft piano tune, accompanied by your light strumming on the guitar, and some part of it is so familiar, so you that it makes Eren’s heart ache. Not that Eren’s a big hater of your new, more pop songs like London Boy, but Eren’s always enjoyed your soulful, soft songs like this more.
They remind him of the soft parts of him that you only shared with him, when you used to be next him when he slept at night. 
Y/N:  Please picture me In the trees I hit my peak at seven feet In the swing Over the creek I was too scared to jump in But I, I was high in the sky With Pennsylvania under me Are there still beautiful things?
Eren fights the urge to snort. Of course, there’s still beautiful things. You’re standing right there.
And Eren knows he’s way too sensitive for this because hearing your soft, echoing voice when he’s about to sing a song about the last time he kissed you has him pushing his face into the table. Because there are tears in his eyes. 
Y/N:  Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you
Marco:  Your braids like a pattern Love you to the moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long
When you both finish, Eren watches you give Marco a big hug and a kiss on the cheek as you both walk off together. And then Eren’s trailing up to the stage where Historia’s waiting, the orchestral suite setting up their instruments and he feels his hands shaking at his sides. Historia gives him a smile, which he appreciates as he takes the front stand.
He hates it up here. He knows that flowery scent in the air is you. He manifested it by thinking about it and now it's suffocating him.
You lean against the wall with Marco, hands linked together, as you watch Eren readjust the microphone to his height and Historia sit at the piano. You make a fleeting second of eye contact with her and give her a smile, which she halfheartedly returns.
Eren’s hair is shorter, he’s cut it from the last time you’ve seen him. And he looks kind of tired, though you’re sure you look no better. 
“My name is Eren Jaeger. This is my new song, Promise, that I co-composed and wrote with my friend, Historia.”
You lean your head against Marco’s shoulder, who is giving you a warm squeeze on the shoulder, as you listen. 
I made a promise To distance myself Took a flight, through aurora skies Honestly, I didn't think about How we didn't say goodbye Just see you very soon
You pinch your eyes shut as you feel the breath constrict in your throat and tears warm in your eyes. 
“You okay?” 
“It’s Eren. Of course, I’m not okay.” you whisper. 
No matter how long I resist temptation  I always lose  It hurts to be something  It’s worse to be nothing with you I’ve done the math  There’s no solution  We’ll never last Why can’t I let go of this? 
As Eren goes on and on, that soft voice that’s lulled you to sleep hundreds of time is haunting you. And Marco’s reflexes to wipe your tears away fast are the only reason that people don’t catch on.
When Eren finishes, his green eyes meet yours and he gives you a painstakingly long look, before walking away. 
You don’t see him again that night. Or for a while. You figure it's better that way. Being in the same room but not talking is like nails on a chalkboard.
--
You lean over the counter, scrolling through the set of pictures Ricky just took, as you wait for the timer on your computer to count down.
Ricky circles his arm around your shoulder, as you both watch the seconds on the timer run out and the little display of confetti go around the screen. 
You refresh the tab on your Apple Music and you see it - your name and album cover displayed in bright colors right at the top banner. 
“How does it feel?” Ricky asks, watching you refresh your Spotify on your phone and watch the songs turn from grey to white, meaning they're now able to be played. 
“Good. I hope Historia calls me after she realizes that dorothea is about her.” you murmur, the notifications on your phone buzzing from Reiner, Levi, and Mikasa. You open Levi's first.
levi: We love the record, kid.
you: it's been out for five seconds.
levi: Just shut up and take the compliment, sometimes.
you: I love you, levi. give kisses to hange. i'll call you guys tomorrow.
“She will. Just relax.” Ricky states, as he watches you push up on the counter, legs dangling in the air after putting your phone down.
He reaches for the lowest drawer, pulling out a dark black box and placing it flat in the palm of your hand. 
“What’s this?” 
“A gift, before you go on tour. And I wanted to ask you something.” 
You nod, encouraging him to go on, as you look at the bracelet - a chain-linked, chunky silver bracelet with a heart charm right in the middle. 
“That’s custom made. From Tiffany, because it’s your favorite right?” 
“Yeah. Thank you, I really appreciate it.” 
“Well, I’m really proud of you. Ribbons is a great record and I’m sure you and I will be competing for Record of the Year in a few months.” 
You smile as Ricky leans closer, hands on both of your sides of the counter. 
“I think you’re really great. And-and I know we’ve been pretending but some part of this became really real for me and I think it did for you too. So I think we should quit playing around and do this for real.” 
You feel your throat dry as Ricky smiles at you, so excited and earnest, that you almost feel bad. For how you’re going to shoot him down. 
“Ricky. Oh. Um. Listen. You’re really great. I-I really like you. But I-I don’t know if I can do that right now.” you respond. 
“That’s okay. I don’t expect anything from you and I’m willing to be patient and all that. We’ll figure it out.” he responds, yanking the chain out of the box and reaching forward to secure it around your hand. 
“Listen. I-I don’t know if it’s all that. It’s just, I don’t. I like you Ricky but not like that. I just can’t do that right now.” 
Ricky leans back in confusion, dragging the necklace off your hand as you give him your most sincere smile. And you can’t help but feel bad for not liking him back. When he’s helped you out more times than you can count, with red carpets and defending you when he didn’t have to. 
But you can't help these sort of things.
“Listen. I-I can go home. I’ll take the trash and then leave so you can be alone, yeah?” 
“Okay. I appreciate that. Thank you for being honest.” 
You breathe a sigh of relief.
“Of course. And thank you for taking it well, I still appreciate what you’ve done and have a lot of love for you.” you respond, squeezing his shoulder as you walk past. 
You take the half filled bag of trash and walk out to the garage to swing the door open. There’s a decent amount of rain pouring down and you quickly scamper out admist it. You throw the bag over your shoulder and quickly run over to the chute to throw it down before running down to the door. 
Except when you reach for the handle, it doesn’t pull down. You jam it down, more aggressively this time as the heavy drops start matting your hair to your forehead. Giving up on the door, you run to the other side and rap your knuckles against the window, where Ricky’s back is still turned. 
He turns around and gives you a look, half opening the window. 
“Hey. Sorry, I accidentally locked the door on the way out.” 
“That wasn’t an accident. That was me.” Ricky responds, glaring at you. 
“Huh?” 
“That was me.” he responds, again. 
“Listen, I can’t really hear you and it’s really cold outside. Can you just let me in?” you ask. 
“Sorry, Y/N. I really like you but I just don’t know if I can do that right now.”
"Ricky."
He closes off the window and walks away all together. 
You can feel the panic setting in your chest - at the fact that you’re standing in the pouring rain in Seattle and you don’t know where to go. And that Ricky, nice and sweet Ricky, just locked you out.
You hunch over on your knees, yanking your phone out of your pocket to call Mikasa. She picks up on the first call and you can hear her and Jean screaming through the speaker. 
“TOP TEN ON THE CHARTS I KNOW THAT’S RIGHT.” they both scream, the sentence going over you’re head. 
“Mika. Mika, wait.” you whisper, the tears starting to fill your eyes. 
You’re thrown off by the screeching of tires and doors closing and you march over to Ricky’s side door. You lightly crack it open and spot seven paparazzi cars, parked straight on Ricky’s porch. 
Meaning. Not only did Ricky lock you out of his house in the pouring rain but he made sure to call the paparazzi so they can catch you the first chance he got. You quickly shut the door and run to the backside of the house, into the back streets by Ricky’s neighborhood. And the panic's starting to make your legs shake.
“Mika. You’re not still in Seattle, are you?” you ask, the panic laced in your voice. 
“No, babe. We’re in Tampa right now for Armin and Annie’s thing. We left a few days ago.” 
“Do you know anyone who is? This is urgent, Mika.” 
You hear Mikasa murmuring over the phone and suddenly Jean’s on the line, his voice more firm and collected than Mikasa’s. You can suddenly hear her panicking in the background, talking to a third voice you can’t identify. 
“Marco says your options are Eren or Historia. They’re both still in Seattle, though I think Eren’s closer to where you are. Call us when you’re safe. Immediately, Y/N.” Jean says. 
“Okay.” 
You can hear the sound of raised voices from the direction you came and you quickly hunch to the side. You try your best to wipe the wetness of your phone as you scroll for Eren’s contact and dial. 
He picks up on the first ring.
“Y/N?” he asks, voice raspy like he was sleeping. 
And at the sound of his voice, months after the fact, when you’re soaked to the bone in the rain, you can’t help but cry. 
“Eren?” you ask, voice breaking. 
“Y/N. What is it?” he asks, voice suddenly louder. 
“I need your help.”
"Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"No. No, I'm not hurt, but I could be? I don't know, Eren I-"  
“Say the word. What-what is it? I-I’m there. Just tell me what you need me to do, love."  
“I need you to come get me, Eren.” 
“I’m coming. Stay exactly where you are and on the line with me.”
--
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--
next part linked here
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maroon-cardigan · 4 months
Text
labyrinth — part VII.
a stancy x bi!fem!reader polyamory series | a cozy 90s autumn-winter au. ‎♡
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labyrinth’s playlist ‎♡
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index | part VI
summary: thanksgiving at the harrington’s is different from what you expected. nancy doesn’t feel too welcomed back at home.
word count: 6k.
warnings: family abuse (steve’s & nancy’s), internalised biphobia, explicit homophobia, this series and my blog are +18, minors do not interact.
author’s note: omg i can’t believe we’re almost half way through this little series ‎♡ thank you to everyone who is enjoying reading it, it really means so much to me. this is probably the longest chapter in the series and where the tension between these three dorks really starts growing. the next chapter will be posted in two weeks and it’s my absolute favourite and the first one i wrote when this idea came to my mind. so for now enjoy this and check the index for the dates of when i’ll be posting next, ily x
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to the moon and to saturn
And I think you should come live
with me and we could be pirates,
then you won’t have to cry or hide in the closet.
November, 1991.
You don’t sleep a lot on Wednesday night. Your apartment is empty as Robin is staying over at her family’s home. Nancy’s green sweater hangs on the knob of your closet, the rest of the outfit is on your desk chair. Yet it feels as if you’re forgetting something, or maybe it’s just the feeling on your chest after you list everything that could go wrong tomorrow.
On Thursday you wake up around 7:00 am after rolling on your bedsheets for half an hour. You drink your coffee while watching the news and open your curtains to enjoy the view of the foggy morning.
A few of hours later you call your parents from the couch to see how they’re doing. Your hair is already done, but you take a break to wrap your body in a cozy bathrobe with another cup of coffee on your hand.
It doesn’t surprise you that your mom is already drunk, and your dad is enjoying his birdwatching in the island. She jokes with a few funny comments that make you roll your eyes after you tell her you’ll be spending the day at Steve’s.
‘She’s worse than Eddie.’ You whisper as you sit down on your vanity.
You spend a fair amount of time doing your make up, trying to get a subtle look. Your fingers shake every time you pick a brush and you let out a sigh to calm your nerves down.
The last step is to put Nancy’s sweater on. You flatten the skirt as her vanilla scent feels sweet on your lungs. She was right, the palette color is warm but discreet, the texture of the garments makes the outfit look expensive but not flashy. You finish your look by adding a little green ribbon on your hair, something that makes you look young but not childish.
You bite your lip as you look at yourself in the mirror. You look good and like yourself, but will that be enough?
Before you can hesitate, you hear the doorbell ringing. You grab your jacket and bag before opening the door. Steve’s on the other side with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face.
‘Hey, pretty girl.’ He’s wearing his glasses again and there are dark circles in his eyes, but he looks happy, nevertheless. The sight of him in his knitted sweater fills you with tenderness, fantasies about what you two could be doing together in your empty apartment while the rain hits the window make you dizzy.
But you just offer him a sweet smile instead. He thinks you look perfect, like he’s almost underdressed next to you. You walk out and close the door behind you.
While you wait for the elevator, Nancy’s door opens. You and Steve look behind your shoulders at the same time.
‘Hey, Nance.’ He says.
You look at her and can’t help but smile shyly. She’s wearing an oversized white sweater dress with tights; it looks pretty on her, accentuating her delicate hands and legs underneath.
‘Hey, guys!’
You and Steve exchange a look. As she walks towards you two, her eyes are filled with a joy you’ve never seen since you met her, and does it make her look radiant. Steve thinks so too, the girl in front of him reminds him so much of the Nancy he used to know.
‘It’s nice to see you so happy.’ He says fondly with his sweet smile and soft brown eyes.
She laughs, and you realise this is the first time you’ve heard that sound. ‘I’m so hungry, I can’t wait to eat.’
Inside the elevator she eyes your outfit as you stand in front of her and next to Steve. You look exactly like she pictured you when she picked it, but the ribbon on your hair is the detail that she loves the most. Nancy suppresses a smile when Steve plays with the end of the green ribbon, while you are completely unaware of the way he holds it between his middle and index finger.
‘My taxi is waiting outside.’ Says Nancy as she steps out on the lobby. ‘Have a nice Thanksgiving, you two.’
Her heart sinks as the elevator’s doors close, you two waving at her from the other side.
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‘Tired?’ You ask Steve as he turns on the engine. He runs his fingers through his hair, the gesture makes you frown in confusion.
‘I, uh…’ He’s about to place his hand on the gearshift but he lets out a bitter laugh instead. Your eyes go soft with worry as he looks back at you. ‘I’m a bit nervous.’
‘What? Why?’
You smile at him and it’s so right. You’re so right in every sense of the word. These two years he has succeeded at showing you the parts of him he’s proud of. His hard work, his hobbies, his goofy personality. He’s not the type to lose his temper easily, but his parents know exactly what buttons to push. What subjects to press on.
He takes your hand and entwines it with his, always loving how small it feels between his fingers. His heart starts beating fast as he doesn’t dare to look at you.
‘I want you to have great day.’ He says, ‘I’m kind of scared my parents might ruin that.’
‘Hey,’ You search for his eyes. Honey brown liquid melting just for you as they meet yours. ‘If you feel uncomfortable, we just walk out and go to the diner.’
He lets out an unsure laugh. The tension in his eyes breaks your heart.
‘I mean it.’ You say sweetly, ‘Don’t worry about me.’
I just want to be with you, you think.
Steve laughs at what you say, this time is honest. He will always worry about you. He lifts your hand to kiss it and keeps it next to his cheek. His eyes close for a second as your hand melts in, fitting so well against his cheek. Your thumb strokes his clean shaved face and God, does he wish you would’ve been in his bed last night, your sunshine presence warm enough to dissipate his anxiety in seconds.
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Nancy walks into her parents’ house to find her mother running around.
‘Oh, thank god.’ Says Karen, still wearing hair rollers and an apron. ‘Nancy, can you help Holly get dressed? Look at the time and I’m still working on the Turkey!’
She leaves her coat on the hat rack and looks behind her back to find her dad watching TV in the living room.
‘So fucking typical.’ She whispers as she walks upstairs to Holly’s room.
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You figured Steve’s house was huge, but the look of it intimidates you to the point you feel the nerves in the pit of your stomach.
He opens the car’s door for you and his hand finds the small of your back as you walk to the entrance.
‘I could just walk in, but my mom has this thing about manners.’ His lips whispers against your hair before leaving a soft kiss on your hairline. Steve rings the doorbell to his right and you try not to be too obvious about fixing your posture.
A short, brown-haired woman opens the door, and you can see the genuine happiness in her eyes when she looks at Steve. She wraps her arms around his neck, and he stumbles at the surprising display of affection. Steve’s face goes from surprised to a smile and you wonder when was the last time he was hugged by his parents.
‘Mom,’ he clears his throat ‘it hasn’t been that long.’
‘We haven’t had a proper Thanksgiving in two years, Steve!’ She says breaking the hug, ‘Let a mother be happy!’
‘She’s usually not this sweet.’ He says jokingly before winking at you.
‘I thought you would cancel!’ She says to him before turning to you, ‘I am so pleased to finally meet you. I’ve heard only good things about you.’
You blink a couple of times as the blush gets to your cheeks. ‘It’s so nice to meet you too.’
‘Come in!’ She says walking back in, ‘Food is almost ready, the cooks have been working non-stop since this morning.’
You try not to act surprised as a lady in a uniform takes your jacket off. In front of you, there’s an elegant double staircase with black bannisters and white marble-like steps. Mrs. Harrington gets lost upstairs and you curse yourself for not thinking about bringing some expensive bottle of liquor for the Harringtons.
A hand strokes from your elbow to your wrist before interlacing your fingers. Steve smiles at you with his tired yet excited eyes, and you’ve never felt so safe before.
The air is filled with the smell of roasted turkey, but you can also sense hints of cinnamon and pumpkin. There’s classical music coming from somewhere and Steve rolls his eyes as soon as he hears it. But though you think the house is huge and spacious, there’s a sense of coziness you guess Mrs. Harrington has put effort into getting today.
‘Dad?’ He asks, but he’s only answered by the echo of his voice. He looks back at you a few seconds after. ‘He’s probably skipping today. Some last minute thing at work.’
He shrugs with indifference,but a part of you sees the hurt in his eyes. Steve walks into the living room without letting go of your hand, thinking it was too good to be true. His father’s stupid speech about wanting him home replaying in his head… All lies.
But as soon as you walk into the spacious living room of the Harrington home, you see a man sitting on an armchair, the newspaper on his hands. Steve lets go of your hand and walks in, not believing his eyes.
The man on the chair looks exactly like your best friend, except for the grey hairs and few more wrinkles, but the similarity is undeniable since both of them are wearing glasses. Mr. Harrington lifts his eyes at the sight of his son, and if you’re not wrong, maybe unconsciously, his mouth lifts in a discreet smile.
‘Hey,’ Steve says standing in front of him with his hands on his pockets. You look around the room, pictures of Steve throughout the years adorning all the walls, vases with flowers and some expensive looking art pieces on the shelves.
‘Steven,’ Mr. Harrington stands up and puts a hand on his arm, squeezing lightly. The man looks beyond his shoulder at you, and you give him a small smile. ‘And you’re…’
‘Cherry, dad.’ You notice the tension on his voice as he says it, but you walk the distance between the living room entrance and his father.
‘It’s very nice to meet you.’ You say offering your hand, he holds it after giving a look to Steve ‘You have a beautiful house, Mr. Harrington.’
‘Thank you.’ He says plainly before making a pause. ‘Do you like wine?’
You nod so enthusiastically it makes you embarrassed. ‘Of course.’
‘Great. Why don’t you show her the wine cellar, Steve? Get a nice Sauvignon so we can make a toast. Food should be served in a few minutes.’
‘Sure.’ He says smiling like a little kid, you can’t help but be moved by how happy he seems.
He puts a hand on the small of your back before leading you to the far end of the living room. The temperature decreases as you walk downstairs until you’re standing in front of a big wooden door.
The cellar is illuminated by warm lightbulbs. You hug yourself as the heels of your boots click on the stone floor. Bottles of red wine that probably cost as much as your rent are piled on the walls in wine racks. In the middle, a tall wooden table sits. You walk along the squared room touching the corks that seal the bottles.
‘M sorry about my parents, they’re quite extravagant.’
You turn back to look at him. He’s reclined on the door, in that usual posture of his that drives you insane. You give him a shy smile as you shake your head. ‘I don’t mind.’
He nods with a bitter smile; his eyes avoid yours when he walks to the wall on his left. You observe him from the other side of the room. Steve takes out a bottle and reads the label to check that is the right one. He walks to you before placing it on the table.
‘Steve,’ you say giving him a serious look. ‘This is nice, really. You’ve got a beautiful house and your parents seem… happy to have you here.’
He looks down before taking a step towards you.
‘You know when I was little, I used to think it was haunted.’ You give him a sad smile, looking at the way resentment is clear on his voice. ‘It’s a big house for an only child.’
You take a step towards him, and he looks at you. He reads you with his honey eyes for a few seconds. You look so perfect yet so out of place here, surrounded by the ghosts of his childhood. Your eyes are full of innocence with the hope that things with his family might get better. And he doubts it, but does he love you for believing in it. Believing in him. One of his hands finds your face and the softness of the gesture catches you off guard. His thumb strokes the apple of your cheek, making sure you’re here. You’re real. His eyes look down to your lips, just this morning he was thinking of them in bed, imagining your body filling the empty space next to him.
‘I’m so glad you’re here, you know?’ He whispers, looking around the room, then back at you. ‘This place feels less lonely with you in it.’
The clicking of a pair of shoes makes you look beyond his shoulder and his hand falls from your face.
‘There you are!’ Says Mrs. Harrington ‘Food is about to be served, I hope you chose something nice, Stevie.’
Mrs. Harrington takes the bottle and smiles at the label before giving you two a look. Steve scratches the back of his neck and puts his hand on your back once again.
‘Let’s go sit.’
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The air is thick with tension at Thanksgiving dinner in the Wheeler’s household. Karen has been fighting with Holly to wear a cloth napkin on the collar of her dress since they sat down. Mike has been silent the whole time, the clicking of his knife and fork is the only sound coming from him, and though Nancy has tried to get him to look at her, he is lost in his turkey leftovers.
‘I’m going to play some music.’ She says standing up.
Nancy walks to the living room, thinking this could lift the mood of the depressing family meal. She picks a Doris Day CD, knowing it might be appropriate to play in the background. The sound of Mike throwing his cutlery against the plate makes her look behind her shoulder.
‘Can I be excused?’ He asks.
‘Of course not.’ Says Ted then, ‘We’re eating, Mike. Finish your turkey.’
Mike fights the need to roll his eyes before he snaps. ‘It’s just not fair that I have to stay here all evening when I had plans with Will.’
Karen gives up on the napkin cloth, ‘Mike we’ve talked about this, I don’t want to hear any of it.’
‘Listen to your mother.’ Says Ted. And something about it makes Nancy furious.
‘What’s going on?’ She says as she walks in.
There are a few seconds of silence as Mike looks down. Nancy looks back at her parents. Karen waits for Ted to speak, but he takes a sip of his whiskey instead.
‘Sweetheart,’ Says Karen ‘Your father and I thought it would be wise to take some distance from the Byers until you figured out your disagreement.’
‘Figure out?’ Nancy blinks repeatedly in shock and sits down again. ‘There’s no figuring out, mom. The papers were signed. I’m not changing my mind.’
‘Nancy, it’s normal to have disagreements during the first year.’ Says her father.
‘As I said, this is not a disagreement. It’s a divorce. It’s final.’ She looks from Ted to Karen, to Mike. ‘And Will and Mike have nothing to do with it.’
Karen lets out a frustrating sigh. ‘Holly, why don’t you go play with your dolls for a while?’
The little girl excuses herself and walks upstairs. Ted stands up too, the glass of liquor in his hand.
‘Let’s go watch the game, Michael. Your mother and sister need to have a conversation.’
Karen shuts her eyes as Nancy follows her dad with her eyes, shocked at his lack of interest. She doesn’t know what she hates the most, the fact that he leaves everything to her mom to deal with or that he doesn’t even care enough to be part of the conversation.
Mike stands up reluctantly and follows Ted into the living room.
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You and Steve sit on opposite sides of the table as his parents sit on each end. You’ve tried your best to be polite and just nod and smile, but Mr. Harrington bombs you with questions about your parents. He seems quite impressed when you tell him they’re professors in two very known colleges, but he loses interest when you tell him your dad is a doctor in Anthropology and your mother read Sociology and Palaeontology.
You try not to smile when he abruptly changes the subject to your own life, suspecting maybe he isn’t sure about what any of your parents’ degrees involve. You explain briefly where you went to college and what you major was but refrain from giving any details about your useless job you don’t even like.
‘This wine’s really good, Steve.’ You say before taking another sip.
Mrs. Harrington tries to exchange a loving look with her husband, but he drops his eyes at your comment. She gives you a smile before speaking, ‘It’s the one we drank at our wedding toast. We got married in the West Coast, in a Californian vineyard.’
‘That sounds like a dream.’ You say with a smile. Steve hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you all afternoon. You’ve been so relaxed so far, dodging his parents’ elitist questions so cleverly that the tension on his shoulders has slowly dissipated. Mrs. Harrington stands up from her chair and takes a little picture frame that stands on the shelf above the fireplace.
Steve is still looking at you when she brings her chair closer and gives you the frame. You look from Mr. Harrington to him, and you don’t want to stay it out loud, but they look so alike. In the picture, Steve’s parents stand outside what looks like a beautiful vineyard villa in the 60s.
‘Your dress is gorgeous,’ you say with a smile stroking Mrs. Harrington’s wedding gown in the picture, ‘it reminds me of Audrey Hepburn’s in Funny Face.’
‘It’s because the design was inspired by hers.’ She says with a fond smile, ‘I still have it upstairs, I loved that dress so much.’
Steve’s mom takes the picture frame. You look up to find Mr. Harrington silent, playing with the leftovers of pumpkin pie in his plate. He clears his throat before turning to Steve.
‘Football?’
Steve looks surprised at his father. He nods, trying to suppress the childish excitement that fills his chest. It’s been years since he has sat down to enjoy a match next to him.
You look at Steve with an encouraging smile before he stands up from the table to follow his dad into the living room. Mrs. Harrington returns the photo frame back to its place before turning to you.
‘Would you like a cup of coffee or tea? I usually spend the day watching movies while the boys enjoy the football.’
‘Coffee would be great, thank you.’
Mrs. Harrington calls for someone and the same lady that took your jacket comes into the living room to start cleaning up the table.
‘Let’s move into my studio.’ She says standing up, you follow her trying to hide how intimidated you are by this house and the Harrington’s manners. ‘I mean, I call it a studio but it’s actually just a little room where I knit and read.’
The room is not little at all. You can see how she has taken the freedom of decorating it in whites and blues, a flower wallpaper adorns all the walls except for the crystal one that shows you a rainy view of the garden and pool. You try to hide your smile at all the romance books for moms she keeps on her bookshelves, a lot of Johanna Lindsey and Nora Roberts.
There are pictures of Steve everywhere. You smile at one of them where he must have been between eight or nine in a basketball uniform that was definitely too big for him. Next to him, a young Mrs. Harrington kneels smiling. There’s just a few where Mr. Harrington appears, but Steve is smiling widely in all of them.
One in particular catches your attention, a polaroid of two silhouettes, a woman and a man, is framed next to one of Mrs. Harrington’s shelves. The picture is blurry, and their faces can’t be seen since it has been taken from a low angle. You can’t help but smile at the clumsy childish calligraphy bellow the picture that reads Taken by Steve, July 1976.
‘When we designed the house, I decided I wanted a space that was all mine.’ She says sitting down in the armchair next to a coffee table. ‘I was always surrounded by boy stuff being the only woman in the house.’
You sit down on the armchair opposite to her, trying to be conscious of your posture as you do. ‘I wouldn’t know. It was just me and my sister at home so dad’s the one that had to get used to it.’
She smiles, ‘That sounds wonderful. I always wanted Stevie to have a sister, but my husband travels too much.’
She says it as if it was an insignificant thing, but by the way her eyes get lost beyond the crystal wall, you get the feeling that the thought troubles her more often than she would admit. It fills you with a bit of sadness. She’s a beautiful woman, younger than her husband by a few years. You see the resemblance to Steve as you look at her, in the way her eyes get softer when her brows relax.
‘Mrs. Harrington,’ The maid comes in with a tray with two cups on them ‘There’s call for you, Mrs. Banks from the country club is on the phone.’
‘Oh, great.’ She says sarcastically standing up, ‘I was bored all morning, but she decides to call just now.’
The maid sets the tray in front of you and Mrs. Harrington takes her cup. ‘I need to take this call, Cherry, but you go ahead and start. Feel free to wander around the house. If you need anything just ask Bernadette.’
You nod and offer a shy smile to the maid before taking a sip from the cup.
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‘Nancy, your father and I are worried about you.’ Says Karen. She reaches on the table and takes Nancy’s hand on hers. Her mother’s tanned skin and hot pink manicure looks like a stranger’s next to her pale hand with short and clean nails. ‘We thought this separation thing was going to be temporary.’
‘Mom, no divorce is temporary. A-And I’m fine. I’m back in Hawkins close to my friends and to you guys, isn’t that a good thing?’
A part of her wants to tell her mother about the therapy. About how it has helped her to see things clearer, about how she doesn’t cry anymore whenever she gets her period, the blood on her underwear reminding her of that morning when she went to ER. She wants to tell her about the month she spent with insomnia, and when that was gone there were nightmares. Now she was able to sleep for six hours straight and that was an achievement. But even though Karen’s eyes are overflowing with worry, she doesn’t feel her mother can understand.
‘Sweetie, you’re living alone in an apartment spending your weekends with your… lesbian friend. Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been since you told us you’d be living with Robin?’
‘Jesus Christ, mom.’ Nancy stands up, her ears start feeling hot with rage, ‘I don’t live with Robin and even if I did, our friendship is not like that. She has helped me so much with everything I’ve been through.’
‘Nancy, sit d–’
‘You’ve no idea what going through a divorce is like and god forbid one day you realise how useless dad really is, because I don’t think you’d have the guts to leave him.’
Nancy storms out of the living room to climb the stairs that lead to her old bedroom. Everything is the same as she left it when she moved with Jonathan, and it kills her because there’s still so much of him in here. But right now, all she does is lay on her bed and pull her knees to her chest as her eyes water. She wants to go back to school and make friendship bracelets and cootie catchers with her friends, she wants to play D&D with Mike, she wants to write hearts next to Steve Harrington’s name on her notebooks.
She’s so scared.
And she knows she is because of what her mother’s words have triggered inside of her. What she has fought so stubbornly to keep cold and hard as stone is melting and running through her fingers.
A truth she had never considered until she came back to Hawkins. Until she met you.
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You do as Mrs. Harrington said and walk around the house. The path you’ve taken has led you to a different entrance of the living room from where you can only see Mr. Harrington and Steve’s heads against the back of their armchairs.
You wonder how long it has been since they did this together, thinking of the kid in the pictures that now sits on the armchair next to his dad, and you decide to give them some space.
You walk back the same way you came and wander around, the sound of your boots clicking on the floor, echoing through the spacious yet empty house. You end up in a TV room browsing through shelves of movie tapes that remind you a lot of Steve’s little collection at his apartment.
‘Excuse me, miss.’ A voice behind you surprises you. You find Bernadette in the room’s door with her hands on her lap and a shy smile. ‘Someone’s on the phone asking for you.’ You furrow your brows in confusion. ‘A Miss Wheeler?’
You blink many times before you nod and follow her into the hallway. She leads you to a small lounge area with an old-fashioned couch next to a little table where the phone sits.
‘Thank you, Bernadette.’ You say with a small smile. You feel her eyes linger on you a second too long before she walks out.
Your heart is about to burst out of your chest before you pick the phone. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, Cherry.’ Her voice is low and a little raspy, you know she has been crying, but don’t think is appropriate to say anything, or ask anything. Not after what happened last time.
Nancy lies on her bed with her lampshade as the only source of light illuminating her profile. She’s picking her nails while she thinks of you in Steve’s big house wearing her green sweater, soaking it with your nice almond scent. She thinks of Steve playing with the little ribbon on your hair this morning.
The sound of your voice makes her feel better.
‘I’m sorry about calling.’ She says, thinking she really didn’t know what else to do. ‘I was wondering if, uh, you guys could maybe give me a ride home this evening after you leave? I was supposed to stay the night, but something came up.’
‘Oh.’
You want to say more, but that’s all that comes out. She misses the way you were so caring two months ago before she screamed at you and ruined everything.
‘Yeah, of course. I’ll let Steve know. I’ll probably be driving anyways; he’s been drinking more than me.’
She lets out a soft laugh, but you don’t hear any joy in it. You bite your lip, and she closes her eyes to the sound of your breath on the line.
‘Did you have a nice meal?’ She asks then, feeling her ears getting hotter with embarrassment. She doesn’t want to hang up just yet.
‘I did.’ She can almost see your lovely smile on the other side of the landline. You lower your voice before speaking again, making sure no one hears you. ‘I spent more time answering questions about my family than eating, though.’
She laughs a bit louder, and you can’t help but laugh too.
‘Sounds like the Harrington’s house, yeah.’
‘What about you?’ You ask her. There’s a long silence in the line before she sighs.
‘I’ve had better years.’
You nod even though she can’t see you.
‘I, uh,’ she starts, her words getting faster as the unusual friendliness makes her feel nervous, ‘I have to go, we’re about to watch a movie.’
‘Cool. Well, we’ll see you later.’ You say, tracing the pattern of your tights with your hand.
‘See you later.’ She whispers before hanging up.
Nancy lets out a deep sigh and covers herself with the flower bedsheets she remembers begging her mom to get for her back in 7th grade. She can feel the dust of her girlhood all around her as she closes her eyes.
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You walk back the same way you came hearing the clicking of you boots echoing through the big house, trying to get Nancy’s sad voice out of your head. The hallways of the house are quite confusing, but you manage to get back to the main entrance where the double staircase is.
‘Hey,’ you say as you walk into the living room. Steve is sipping on his glass of whiskey, he has taken off his sweater, revealing a plain white shirt underneath. Mr. Harrington is not in the room anymore while the big TV shows a commercial.
‘Hey,’ he stands up as soon as he sees you and walks towards you to hold your hands. His are cold from holding the crystal glass and you can feel the alcohol in his breath, but you don’t mind. ‘Were have you been, huh?’
You shrug and smile timidly ‘Had coffee with your mom and then spoke to Nancy on the phone.’
Steve furrows his brows and opens his mouth to say something, but an older voice interrupts him.
‘Nancy Wheeler, huh?’ Mr. Harrington says walking in the room with a new glass in his hand. You drop your hands from Steve’s and hug yourself. He sits on his big armchair, the air of arrogance in his tone makes you feel uncomfortable. ‘How’s she doing, Steve?’
‘She’s okay, dad.’ He replies scratching the back of his neck. Everything has been so good all day, but his father’s tone takes him back to the conversation they had a few weeks ago at the café. He can feel the tension building up on his shoulders.
‘Can’t imagine the Wheelers’ disappointment,’ Mr. Harrington takes a sip of his drink and looks at the TV. You frow your brows at his words. ‘She seemed like such a nice girl when you two were dating. I always wondered what you did that made her leave you for the Byers’ kid, but I guess she was just one of those girls that need to learn a lesson or two before finding a good man.’
Steve rolls his eyes. You can feel the tension in the room as he takes his sweater from the chair, talking under his breath. ‘I knew this wasn’t going to work.’
‘Steve—’ You start, but you shut up when he turns back, his face has turned red with anger.
‘You always do this.’ He says to his father. Mr. Harrington lifts his eyes, his eyebrows arch with cynicism, ‘When things are good you always find a way to fuck it all up.’
‘What’s going on?’ Mrs. Wheeler’s voice is low when she walks in. She looks with confusion between her son and her husband. You see the fear in her eyes, and the way she flinches at Steve’s loud voice tells you this is not the first time something like this has happened.
‘You want to know why Nancy and I broke up?’ Frustration overflows in his voice as he stands in front of his father. He is so tired of trying, so tired of getting his hopes up with him just so he can crush them again. ‘Because I was an asshole. An asshole who was raised by another asshole, that’s why. I–’ Steve makes a pause, and you swallow as you see his eyes getting glossy. ‘I could’ve protected her, dad. But it’s not like you know anything about that because you were never home to do that for me and mom.’
‘Stevie…’ Mrs. Harrington’s hands lift in the air in hopes of touching him and ask him to stay, but he shakes his head before storming out of the living room.
You hold your breath as Mrs. Harrington looks to the floor. Before the first tear falls from her face she’s already walking towards her studio.
Steve’s father doesn’t move from his chair. He doesn’t bother acknowledging you by grabbing the remote control and turning up the TV’s volume.
Football is on again.
Bernadette stands next to the door with your jacket in her hands. Her face is indifferent, and it freaks you out a little, how used to the Harrington’s fights she must be.
‘Thank you.’ You say is as you put it on, ‘Where…?’
‘Outside, madam.’
You nod before heading out. The autumn’s cold air hits your face as you come out of the house. The sun has almost set, painting the trees in shades of blue and orange. All your eyes focus on is the boy with arms crossed leaning against the maroon BMW, his back is facing you, so you can’t see him until you walk around the car to stand in front of him.
He has to lean in a little to fit in your arms. He’s so tired, but the soft skin of your neck against his forehead, and your almond perfume give him the calm he’s struggling to find. You run your fingers through the brown locks of his hair and the arms on your waist hold you tighter.
You grab his face on your hands, but Steve’s eyes remind closed as your foreheads touch. He’s so pretty, you think. So pretty and sweet and good. It breaks your heart he’s going through this. You lean in, leaving a soft kiss on that little space of skin right next to his mouth.
‘Can you take me home?’ He asks with a soft voice, the alcohol still strong on his breath. His head finds that perfect place on your neck again and you leave another kiss on his ear, you’ll do anything to show him you’re not going anywhere.
‘Yes. Yes, of course, baby.’
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part VIII: maroon
taglist: @ahoyyharrington @mochminnie @luvslogan
I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.
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sleeptowns · 1 year
Text
a year (or so) of fics, in retrospect
once every handful of years i remember to look back at the collection of projects i’ve finished recently and to simulate a critique as if i’m an art school student — and also as if i’m the haunted teacher’s assistant who wants to be gentle on the prof’s behalf but actually hates your work and also i am the other students who have been sitting there for seven hours straight and can’t offer much more except say, “it’s fine.” a one-man critique day, all parts played by me. 
sometimes i do this and the last period of writing has been drier than a pizza slice left in the winter sun, but this time i’m lucky that these last couple of years have been the closest i’ve had to a writing pax romana.
with that said, i’m not entirely sure how valid i am whenever i think these days that my writing has gone through some drastic changes in the last year; i’m not even sure if it’s accurate to call any of it growth, though i’m aware it’s the sort of thing i won’t have a clear perspective on until a few years after the fact. but i do know that i’m lucky to have so many works to act as markers for different periods of my writing, and while it’s far from a sure method of evaluation, there are parts there that i’m able to at least assess, if not outright measure. in the last year or so, my fics have started mutating towards — not really a separate sort of output than my previous ones, but definitely older somehow. older and quite different because of it: stylistic choices i would have steered clear of before, failed and/or lacklustre genre explorations, even relationship dynamics that were previously unfamiliar territory. my most recent fic feels like a culmination of all my attempts at wrestling with my writing in the ring, and now that it’s a few weeks behind me and i get to look at it with fresh(er) eyes and accept that it’s my favourite child (i’m sorry flls... you’re not too far behind), it’s also reminded me that i have a now overdue fic roundup to write. 
tangentially speaking, it’s interesting that you never really hear about self-taught writers. self-taught artists, yes, and self-taught musicians, but never quite self-taught writers. i don’t exactly purport to have taught myself everything i know about writing, and i know you can’t really be self-anything as a writer; what i lack in technique and finesse learned from proper writing classes, teachers, and/or workshops, i owe to the media i’ve consumed, good and bad, as well as to the creators i love and to all the thoughtful readers i’ve had over the years. if i’m self-taught in any way, then the self as a teacher was reared by countless others who have honed in me a limitless capacity to be an observer to stories, mine and all else. 
this post is just a roundup of all my fics from december 2020 to january 2023, including only the ones with enough substantial content to write about, which disqualifies a lot of the fics i left at one or five scenes max but qualifies the ones i abandoned at one chapter. just a little something for me to reference as i figure out where to take my writing next and hopefully move towards some kind of ✨ growth ✨ lol 
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FIRST LOVE, LATE SPRING december 2020 to march 2021, jujutsu kaisen trial element | dual pov romance, multimedia (?)
i covered a bit of the early chapters and conceptualization for flls in a separate post, but as i was reflecting on how to write a continuation, it occurred to me that if there’s a clear before and after to the current state of my writing, then the first portion of flls chapter five is where i’ll find it. 
when i was drafting my 58393th version of that chapter — nothing was working, none of it was the right vibe i needed, most of them too detached or too on-the-nose but never the perfect middle — i happened upon trying second person pov by accident. i’m not the biggest fan of second person (though to be fair, i don’t think anyone is) but by that point i was so sick of writing and rewriting this one section and not getting anywhere that i wondered if i should just lean all the way into that disgust. why not do something i hated entirely? and act of desperation as that was, the moment i started writing in curt, nauseating second person, i knew it was the right choice. 
the thing about writing flls!yuuji is that he felt both alive and unfamiliar. flls!megumi was easier to understand, even if he was trickier to write — but yuuji, i had to really work to get to know. one thing about him that i knew to be careful about from the very beginning of jjk is that it would be too surface level to think this boy is an extrovert. yuuji is usually painted as an energetic, sunny person, and i don’t think he’s not that, but there’s something about yuuji that’s also very internal and almost innately… isolated? i don’t know if that’s necessarily the right word, but there’s a lot about him as a character that’s out of view or grasp, which ironically i find people taking at face value. in flls, he required a lot more balance than megumi, who was a dam waiting to be relieved of its duties. flls!yuuji knows who or what he is — how could he not, when he’s never had a choice but to be this person, this kid who lost his grandpa, this kid who needs love but doesn’t know how to ask for it because he doesn’t even know there are forms of it he can ask for? 
how to write a character like that? how to nudge someone who doesn’t reveal even at his most revealing towards the christmas eve fight i had set up in the beginning of flls chapter one? back before chapter six of flls came out, i saw a lot of people argue that megumi and yuuji just needed to communicate, and yes, of course they do, but i was also very adamant as i started chapter five that the real tragedy about them is that communication will do nothing in the end. even if they magically became master communicators about their needs and wants and insecurities, none of it will change the fact that neither of them are ready to love and be loved by the other person. at least not in any way that constitutes a relationship that feels like love. 
i think that’s the key to writing the relationship in flls. it was never a question that they loved each other, and how much. never. this is probably the first piece of ~growth i appreciated about flls. it would be easy to write a romance where the main conflict is them not knowing the other loved them back, but flls got rid of that quite early. i left no room for doubt — or at least this is the hope — that flls!itfs loved each other in a way no one else would be able to compare to. they’re it for each other. but if it had been as simple as portraying that, then i never would have finished flls at all, and it definitely wouldn’t have been my longest fic at the time. 
instead — what if it was a given that they loved each other, and it still wasn’t enough? what kind of story can we spin about that? what kind of questions and answers can we find?
that’s actually such a pretentious way to frame that, but the fact of the matter is that i needed to not waste space now that we’re five chapters in. this is the beginning of the end. how do we shift gears and take the tone of the entire story along with it? i don’t know if there’s something about second person pov that’s just inherently full of dread, but it did quite a bit of work in chapter five. it felt disembodying for me as a writer, and i could only hope the same for readers. i was really, really worried some people will give up reading altogether thinking all of chapter five will be in second person, but i didn’t want to compromise. it was going to be second person for most of their real relationship or nothing: vaguely dissociative, intensely drained, with no room to actually enjoy being each other’s boyfriend. the main challenge was to not go from zero to a hundred in a snap. i had the room to do so in only one chapter, but i had to find a way to keep a tight rein on the pace or else the whole fic will fail. 
there also had to be love. and longing. and a desperation to make it work. i think that was yuuji in a nutshell — someone desperate to make it work, whatever this thing is. that’s what constitutes his strengths and his weaknesses, in canon and in flls. i wanted to find a way to make that palpable to a reader the way it was palpable to me while writing yuuji in second person. somewhere along making sure to tether myself to him by knowing what pieces of media he’d reference (high school musical and fullmetal alchemist) and his life outside of megumi (work, basketball, tea with nanami, skateboarding), i had to also drown with yuuji in the hope that the reader would follow. chapter three afforded me the luxury of only examining yuuji from the omniscience of a writer writing in third person — i could dismantle him through the therapy scene, could show myself and the reader a way to understand him, but i could not take us there to where he is. 
i don’t know how successful the second person pov was, ultimately, though i’d be lying if i said it wasn’t what i thought was truly best at the time. it probably wasn’t that creative to anyone but me, but it gave me a nudge towards different ways to explore… vibes. atmosphere, maybe, is the more formal word for it. if not for the second person pov choice in flls, i wouldn’t have been nudged towards kamo’s newsletter to act as the midway point of the story, the last palate cleanser i’ll allow myself and the reader, and i never would have written please let me love you forever and days of brutalism and hairpin turns the way i did. i owe a lot to that tiny but crucial choice, as does flls as a whole. everything that followed that section — the fight, the aftermath of the fight, the breakup — relied on it to make themselves work, and it’s funny (and valuable to note) how it’s something as seemingly inconsequential as a pov choice that set the tone. 
especially because there’s nothing special, really, about those following scenes. the christmas eve fight, megumi’s conversation in the car with geto, the break-up itself — all of it followed my standard flow of dialogue. sure, there’s more tension when you’re writing an argument, let alone when writing scenes that will inevitably lead to a break-up, but all scenes, particularly dialogue, have to feel fraught with some kind of energy and inevitable anyway. for the remainder of chapter five and six, i just coasted on the tone set up by the beginning of chapter five, and that’s knowledge that has served me quite well since. atmosphere goes a long, long way, and with my writing style, a healthy balance between dialogue and introspection will take me the rest of the way to the finish line. the part of flls that i’ve heard people find the most heartbreaking were also its simplest. all of chapter six is dedicated to one wedding, and chapter seven to one evening. i wish i could say there was a trick there, that i agonized over how to write such important scenes, but my personal takeaway is that there is no trick. the point is that you get the story to a point where those scenes write themselves; there’s nowhere else for the flow to go, and geto’s gentle unpacking of megumi, the last few scenes before megumi and yuuji break up, and the bittersweet reunion after two necessary years — i can only hope they carried a sense of “this is the only way it could have gone” the way they did for me. geto doesn’t tell megumi anything we don’t already know from earlier chapters, if only just now put into words. megumi and yuuji also don’t tell each other anything, in the breakup scene and the getting back together sections, that we haven’t already gleaned from them. from the moment kamo’s newsletter ended and we headed into act two — everything was just wrapping up what i left for myself.  
it’s worth noting that i did try to complicate the final chapter a bit. i tried a split pov between yuuji and megumi at first, as a way to finally reconcile their two perspectives, but that felt too cheesy. i tried an outing to nagoya for nobara’s birthday, tried to divide the pov amongst the people in their lives (junpei, nanami, nobara, etc), and even to do my usual cyclical structure of starting with the same image we did in chapter two, this time in yuuji’s funabashi apartment — but those all felt too on the nose. i trusted my flls readers. maybe that’s what all it came down to. i trusted them to know these people, and this story, and i didn’t want to do too much and compromise that trust. and in the end, i would argue, returning to simplicity made the story what it was. 
something i love to think about is how to explain my fics to others. i know it’s been said a lot that the ao3 tagging system has convinced a mini generation of writers that tags and names of tropes are all you need to pitch/be pitched a story, and i wholeheartedly agree. or i might just be terrible at advertising my work, with an obnoxious aversion to learning how to do it better to boot, but to be fair, i think my premises are all just as boring as they are ridiculous. flls is a college au with two friends with benefits turned fake boyfriends turned real boyfriends turned exes. that’s it. there’s nothing else in the plot but that. yet it’s a lot more to me than that, and sometimes that’s all you have when you send a story out into the world. the knowledge that it was briefly yours, and now it isn’t, but that doesn’t at all devalue what you’ve taken away from spending time with it. 
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US april 2021, jujutsu kaisen trial element | short form, childhood friends
this is one of a handful of attempts at writing a trope i don’t love all that much, inspired largely by the atmosphere in “horatio” by t.j klune. i was very conflicted about this fic when i first published it, primarily because it was so short and written in a sparse style i didn’t know how to evaluate, and partly because it didn’t feel substantial. in a post i’ve put on private since, i’d written: 
what if i repeat the same themes in another context? that doesn’t make the theme carry any less weight as long as i put heart and sincerity and compassion into how i’m writing about it. there’s something that is equally as much self-deprecation as it is borderline vanity in me placing these rules upon myself. i’ve always known i wrote first and foremost out of love, out of what makes me excited to write — and that still applies here. i was thrilled to be able to experiment with a short, snappy fic. and that’s far more important, isn’t it, than whether i’m writing a different dissertation angle on love or friendship or family or career? it doesn’t feel like it, no, but it should, because i know it is. i know that what matters to me is that writing is fun and compassionate, and i know that as long as one person finds comfort in a world i’ve built, it’s enough.
i don’t sound very convinced there, and i wasn’t. i still don’t know what to make about us. i like that it’s short, and i endeavour to write more short fics with nothing specific or significant about them — but it’s hard to stomach its existence, let alone see it as something to love. it just feels so… not empty, but definitely less than what i’m used to asking from myself. it’s short, it’s sweet, it’s snappy. it’s also formulaic in its own sparse way, and i think it works because of the sweetness, but the truth is that if i hadn’t written it for itafushi week, i would never have greenlit it for publishing. i still wrestle nowadays with wanting to delete it, but it matters so little to me that i can’t even justify that much. it’s a weird limbo of a story, though i still hope to explore this kind of writing more in the future. 
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SOME KIND OF WE june 2021, jujutsu kaisen trial element | sequel to existing complete story
broke my own rules here by revisiting a story past its run, but to be very fair, it was less out of sentiment (though there was also that) so much as me startling at my first proper reread of the latter half of flls and realizing there are still unresolved arcs for megumi because the final chapter set two years later only had yuuji’s pov. not many of them, and none especially urgent, but i thought it would be a good opportunity to reorient the story to something quieter and more mature than what the central conflicts in flls left room for. i’m not convinced the back-and-forth between pieces of their recent few months being together and the present evening worked as seamlessly as i wanted it to, but it was still a nice opportunity to use a non-linear narrative to explore the growth and development of a relationship that i left at quite the bittersweet open-endedness. what was only delicately certain by the end of flls was made concretely certain through some kind of we, even if it did run a bit too sentimental and saccharine. but i think it can be forgiven, considering what yuuji and megumi went through in flls proper. 
the main challenge of this fic was figuring out which portions of their life post-flls were worth including, and the first draft had five potential sections:
tokyo, for megumi’s first visit back after moving to chiba, mostly dedicated to him realizing that home — after being rooted for so long to this city, this one apartment with his dad, the same neighborhood and transit lines, to the gojo-geto household — now finally belongs somewhere else, with someone else. 
funabashi, most of which was preserved in the version that was published. 
sendai, to visit grandpa itadori’s grave, which i decided to streamline into a single scene at the end of the final some kind of we draft to cut away the excess and break it down to the core of why i wanted them to make this visit — which is to hammer home for yuuji that he isn’t alone anymore, that he has someone taking care of him and loving him without fail and with care, and to give megumi the agency to solidify, for his own sake, that he’s someone who means the whole universe to yuuji. enough that what place is his will always and solely be his, and enough that megumi will be allowed to love and take care of another person in a way that’s both eternal and an ever-evolving work in progress. 
okinawa, for a trip that was only referenced as a backdrop in the final version but that i still like to think a lot about even now. a cc anon said once that the gojo-geto household must be so lonely with all the kids grown up, but as i talked about in another reply once (it’s too far back for me to have time to dig out at this point), i do love to imagine yuuji and megumi being uncles to the next generation, even if not outright parents themselves. sometimes you don’t know what you’re capable of giving as someone who was denied so much as a kid until you see someone so young, a stranger to the world, and know what to give them precisely because you didn’t have it once. and between yuuji not having much family and megumi’s life being complicated by the fact that he has too much family, i think they’re well-equipped to be uncles to tsumiki’s kids and beyond. and i was tempted for a bit to show this in the annual okinawa trips i mentioned in the final version of skow, but there just isn’t enough space without becoming superfluous. 
kuantan, to visit nanami, mostly to reconsolidate the rather serious interaction megumi and nanami had in flls into something gentler, considering he’s still family to yuuji and while nanami might say yuuji doesn’t need his blessing, yuuji will want it anyway. i never did end up writing this part, so it’s not exactly canon to the au and i’m hesitant to make it so, but the idea was to end with megumi asking for both nanami’s blessing and help to propose to yuuji on that malaysia trip.
the end result for this fic was a little lesson for me in cutting and cutting and keeping my hand light on the source, until i’m left with what i consider necessary. the final version of some kind of we is more a collection of vignettes than a straightforward account of megumi and yuuji’s life together post-flls, which i found much more strangely fitting. i feel like i spent so much of flls trying to get them to a point where they’re ready to be with each other, and i just wanted to dedicate skow to them not just making it work but building love on top of the foundations they secure. it’s one thing to portray that through a whole fic dedicated to each milestone; it’s another to write ordinary moments that are made extraordinary because they have chosen that for and with each other. neither of them say i love you out loud in the entire fic, but i wanted there to be no doubt that they do say it. that they do love each other, and that this part isn’t the obstacle it used to be. they’re just some kind of them, together, and this time it doesn’t feel bittersweet for me to send them off to the world for good knowing there’s love falling out of the spaces between each vignette i wrote. 
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HAND IN UNLOVABLE HAND october 2021, jujutsu kaisen trial element | fantasy au
yikes. one of two fics in this round-up that i abandoned at chapter one. started this because an idea occurred to me while reading the atlas six, wrote until i had to stop, then didn’t look back once even when it would have served me to. 
i flew too eagerly close to the sun with this one, truly, but as far as intentions go, i think both my mind and heart were in the right place. it’s quite clear where this one went wrong: i had neither time nor the energy to dedicate to it; i started it on the same whim i start most other things but this time didn’t have the passion for it — and i confess i just didn’t have the patience required to work on writing the story i wanted to write.
it was also one of those lessons in how often big ideas — or an attempt at them — cannot sustain a story. i had what i thought were clear ideas and intentions about the themes i wanted to cover in this one (the downfall of religious devotion, reconstruction, academic institutions versus personal/individual responsibility, all of which just look like buzzwords now that i’m typing them out, omg), but it just didn’t leave room for the kind of story i like to write. i guess my main takeaway here is that the pitfall of high(er) concept genre stories is that you have to make space for the world at the cost of room for character writing; it’s just the nature of how much space in the narrative you can allot for each individual aspect of the story, and with stuff like fantasy and sci-fi, the worldbuilding takes up a significant amount more than your run-of-the-mill slice of life story where the only world i have to worry about sketching is where someone lives and works. 
i do like some parts? it’s kind of crude, how i tried to reconcile my writing style with genre-specific bits, but it’s not all terrible. this sequence is alright:
Megumi was seven the first time he restored something. 
Every part of it had been an accident, and he remembers it now only in fragments. The wet rag in his hand as he wiped down the dining hall tables, having to climb the chairs to get to each corner. The horrible echo of something shattering in the kitchen, where Tsumiki had been tasked to do all the dishwashing for the evening. The panic on her face when Megumi got to her, both of them crowding around the shards of ceramic left by what was once a plate. The spill of harsh candlelight from above the sink, the harsher shadows it sent dancing around the broken glass. 
But he does remember the remembering. The knowing of what the plate had looked like once, the image behind his eyes anchoring him in place as he latched onto the curl of the shadows on the floor. It would be more intuitive, more rudimentary, than anything he’d learn to do later in life, propelled by the worry on Tsumiki’s face and the footsteps he swore he could hear coming towards them from the other end of the servants’ quarters they called home back then—but it had taken only a single blink for the shadows to cover the plate, tighten around it into darkness, and then retreat to where they were, leaving a clean, untouched plate in the middle of the kitchen floor. 
it could be better, but it still could be worse. and i do like the overall architectural imagery and how i managed to scrounge up some standard fare coziness somewhere in the cold, almost-medieval setting. 
as far as disastrously failed ventures go, this one could be a lot more embarrassing than it is. i’m not mad at it. it’s far from good enough, and if i didn’t write it in such a frenzy, i probably never would have allowed it to be published. but. it’s a useful failure. 
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PLEASE LET ME LOVE YOU FOREVER march to june 2022, blue period trial element | five-character gen dynamic, multimedia
what a... headache of a project. bit off more than i could chew without choking and decided to take even more bites each new chapter because why the hell not, apparently. i do appreciate how un-edited this fic is, despite it all. it feels the most bleeding-heart of all my fics from this past year or so, and it’s nice to look back at this and know exactly when i shifted my approach to it altogether because, again, why not. it’s such a valuable “why not?” to have. it’s nice when i don’t feel quite as… under surveillance? when writing a story. and i get to just go off the rails a bit. a lot, actually, with this one. it’s nothing crazy because i don’t think i can write anything crazy (though i think hairpin turns had blinks of it), but there’s definitely plenty of choices that i’m surprised i decided on with a sober mind. 
to be fair, they weren’t exactly mindblowingly successful. if i were to rate this fic out of five, despite all my fondness for it, i’d maybe give it a 2.75. it’s a well-earned mark, and i have a special soft spot for people who have read it, but i’m not mentally proud of it. emotionally so, maybe, in whatever way i can be, but if this fic didn’t feel so intimate with a much cozier readership and comment section, i’d be a lot crueler to it than i am, i think. as it is, it makes for wonderful conversation and reflection for me, and it’s always fun to consider how a story about a disbanded idol group became a metaphor for childhoods lost to growing up too fast and also involved alternate universes. 
but cycling through five povs really is too much, i think, and if it was exhausting for me to write then i imagine it was just as exhausting to read. a nicer alternative would have been to stick to one pov for each chapter, but even that was a lot to juggle considering there were also smaller dynamics going on in the background with each character. within the core group of five alone, there were thirty-one variations of scenes to write, including individual introspection and pairs — and that’s not to take into consideration trios, or groups of four or the whole five plus a secondary character, for example. i don’t know how i pulled off my usual character study here. i don’t know if i did. 
another thing about this fic is that i’m still not sure why a time loop didn’t work. i wanted it so badly to work. i thought it would be fun, but i guess time loops aren’t necessarily compatible with prose. there’s something about repetition and looping that’s best visually, but even if i had been able to stick to imagery and vibes, it would have gotten tedious at some point for me and a reader considering the quantity/length i tend to need. just something to keep in mind if i get the urge to keep trying time loops in future works and wonder why it’s not sticking seamlessly. as with a lot of things in life, if you have to force it then maybe it’s not meant to be there. or maybe you have to go shortform, narrow down the playing field?
one thing i’d commend this fic for is how it managed to unpack so much between dynamics that barely exist in canon. that, and how it managed to pack so many formats into one story — song lyrics, album reviews, tweets, a play, nonfiction, a profile, wikipedia pages, messages, i don’t even know how many more — while maintaining a semi-cohesive tone throughout. there was a lot of fun there, in figuring out how to adapt your typical characterizing to a format you haven’t tried before: how would kuwana write a preface to hashida’s book? would this particular character include rhymes in their song lyrics, or are they more of a diaristic stream of consciousness kind of lyricist? what medium best translates this character’s personality? what medium best conveys this dynamic’s under-the-skin knowing of each other? who sees more than the others, and how can i show that without using the same structure of two or three characters talking in a setting that doesn’t change? 
my favourite part is probably the fake album review at the top of chapter four? there’s something giddying about the research-like quality of figuring out how to perfect the tone that music reviewers tend to default to, but also sobering about how easily adapted this fake idol group’s history is from real life. the easiest part of the entire fic was making this group feel real to me, situated in the real life history of j-idols and beyond, even if i admit to shying away from being explicit about the worst things that would still have been grounded in reality. some references to real life idol incidents worked a little too well, but there was also how clean it felt to spin fictional lore for this group in that fake album review. from their individual songwriting styles to tobi’s own background in-story to the kind of themes and concepts a faux pretentious pitchfork reviewer might like to talk about — it was just incredibly fun. i don’t know when else i’d get the chance to write something like that. everything else paled in comparison to it soon after, though i do also tolerate whatever my writing was doing at the end of chapter five, even if some parts of that chapter also feel lacklustre through a hypercritical lens. it doesn’t hold up under extremely rigorous scrutiny, even if i consider the fact that i’d just wanted the fic wrapped up as soon as i could at the time. it could be better, more so than all the other fics in this post could be better. but i don’t mind too much that it isn’t better. i mind it a little. just a little. but its flawedness is also what forced the multimedia format to happen in the first place, and that, i like a lot.
there’s a fair amount that this fic did quite more than alright, i think. if nothing else, it was useful as a playground that i didn’t have to be too finicky about. it will be one of those projects i’ll look back at someday and laugh deliriously over because how did i think that was the only way to make it work, but with the facilities i had at the time, it’s definitely not a shitshow. it has a lot of heart — which doesn’t necessarily redeem awful works, but in passable ones, those parts of the writing meet each other halfway. please let me love you forever holds its own weight, which is plenty more than i can say for most of my other experiments. plus it contains a background relationship that is not at all the focus of the story yet will probably haunt me forever. it’s always the ones you least expect to matter that will ripple further down the line, etc.
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LOSER TAKES ALL july 2022, tomodachi game trial element | soulmates, mystery au
another unpublished little guy left to rot at one complete chapter. i don’t really have any huge problems with this one, just that i tired of its demands very quickly and didn’t have enough attachment to the dynamics in it to muster up any motivation for. but tomodachi game, and especially yuuichi and kei, are so uniquely positioned for a fic like this, and i don’t resent past me for approaching it this way at all. is a soulmate bond that fosters a telepathic link between people who come back from a brush with death kind of an unhinged premise for a mystery au? yes. but so is remodeling a breakfast restaurant with my mom and the guy i didn’t know confessed to me in high school and who is now literally displaced in more ways than one by said remodeling, and even also acting is all i know so here i am trying to find the love of my life by dating anyone for an entire month on a first come first serve basis only to be shocked when that doesn’t work. 
again. boring yet equally ridiculous elevator pitches. if i cemented anything for a fact from this abandoned wip, it’s that my premises have always been questionable, and that time and time again, the only path forward is to lean all the way into it — which i did with hairpin turns, thankfully. hand in unlovable hand and loser takes all are apart by about a year, and there’s palpable change here in my approach to worldbuilding even if i abandoned each for unrelated reasons. granted, i might just be better suited to one side of speculative fiction than the other, but that’s such a copout. when it comes to trying new things in writing, the “if he wanted to, he would” logic applies, even if the he in question ultimately finds that it doesn’t work the way he wants it to (like in hand in unlovable hand). 
loser takes all worked fine for me, and i loved the inherent intimacy in having two incredibly smart and perceptive characters in each other’s minds while trapped in this soulmate bond that isn’t necessarily romantic. not to mention yuuichi is a deeply unwell person, and his ways of showing attachment to kei range from drastically protective, such as offering to fire the receptionist that was rude to kei, to:
Sometimes, watching Kei asleep right against him, Yuuichi wants to press his lips against Kei’s pulse. To feel it warm and alive under his mouth, to hear that little sigh of ticklish laughter Kei does if someone so much as runs a soft cloth against his neck. 
And sometimes—sometimes Yuuichi is also seized by a strong thought, a strong urge, to sink something sharp into that pulse. His teeth, a fork, a shard of broken glass. Sink it in hard, deep enough to leave a bloody bruise, a scar, a puncture. Hard enough to maybe even sever that heartbeat, to tear it, slit it into silence somehow. Hard enough that it feels almost the kinder choice to imagine himself wrapping his hands around Kei’s neck—tightening them without hesitation, itself a mercy of a kind as the blood quickly drains out of Kei’s cheeks. Yuuichi imagines then how Kei will struggle, whether he’ll kick or bite Yuuichi, if he’ll reverse their positions with one twist of a martial arts trained body, or if he’ll just accept it, resign himself to it knowing that not even this, if it’s Yuuichi, could possibly be meaningless.
But it would be. It would be meaningless to kill Kei. Meaningless because Kei is singular in his position within Yuuichi’s life, loyal and intelligent and a force to be reckoned with like no one else is, not even Yuuichi’s sister, not even the only friend he trusts most. Meaningless because every time Yuuichi pictures it, every time he wonders if he’ll have it in him to press two killer’s hands around Kei’s neck, it doesn’t take long for the accompanying sting to come like a splash of boiling water on exposed skin. A kind of scolding, a kind of reminder, that just as much as it would be difficult for anyone to kill Kei—so impervious to physical harm, whose broken bones and bleeding wounds will always heal even if he jumps off a twenty-story building—it would be just as difficult for Yuuichi to do him harm and survive it without any damage done to his own heart at his own hands. 
the temptation to keep writing this is not entirely absent, to be honest. but a mystery takes care and attention, and i just don’t have that in me the way this story deserves. but this fic was delicious to write, and i think it gave me a hunger to write more dynamics that feel just as juicy. dynamics that aren’t necessarily geared towards healthy love, but ones that ooze if poked anyway. 
i definitely want to revisit the telepathy plot device i explored here someday, but for now, this fic, abandoned wip as it is, is kind of the goldilocks midpoint between failed venture (hand in unlovable hand), almost-passable venture (please let me love you forever), and basically there if being there counts taking your literal first baby step into a new frontier (days of brutalism and hairpin turns).
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HONORARY MENTIONS
i don’t mean to ignore the canonverse fics (here and where you are, i’ll give you something so real, detour, and the two manhwa fics, that is) out of favouritism, but i’m afraid there’s nothing much to say…? not that these weren’t lessons in themselves, but canonverse takes a quarter of the energy and brainpower to write, and i’ll be lying if i don’t go about them essentially all no thoughts, head empty. i talked a bit about here and where you are here, while the logic for detour, which i was happy to write for and based on exchanges with a friend, is pretty self-explanatory. i did love getting to write a character like loid (and i’m relieved that the chapters that follow the ones i took into consideration for that fic hold up the characterization i imagined for him) + it was interesting to give sexual content and the philosophy of desire or whatever a shot in i’ll give you something so real. they were effective at what i needed them to do — which is, really, just to check the temperature of the water. i always feel so rusty when any amount of time passes without me writing, and these small, low-maintenance fics work as a burst of ice cold water before jumping in. i don’t value these fics any less for their place in The Process, and i might even be extra happy when someone likes them, but as far as Advancing The Craft 🤢 goes, all of these are simply necessary bridges to get to the next checkpoint. sometimes you gotta scratch the tip of the pen before the ink starts bleeding like it’s supposed to. words are the same. it takes a while each time to get my writing to a place i recognize, and sometimes a while is an entire fic before i can write the next chapter for an ongoing multi-chaptered story.
(that said: shoutout to the particular flavour of introspection in detour, within which my favourite line was written the literal minute before i sent it off, and a big heart emoji for the fact that i’ll give you something so real unfolds in a span of barely half a day. both are very interesting to think about moving forward.)
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DAYS OF BRUTALISM AND HAIRPIN TURNS january 2023, blue lock trial element | a romantic triad, sci-fi, memory loss (finally!) 
my angel. my darling. my love. who is far from being perfect but is the closest i’ve had to at least being sure i won’t just wake up one day loathing the soul out of it. i’ll laugh at it, probably. i’ll think it’s hilarious and cringy someday soon. but it’s a work i can’t not appreciate wholeheartedly. 
my cc tells me that the first time i put it on record that i won’t mind doing a blue lock fic is may 16, 2022, and the fact that i didn’t even make it a year and did so in the most Hard To Pitch If This Was An Actual Novel And Not Just A Fic For Fun way possible is worth at least a salute of disbelief, i think. my journal from my writing hiatus also tells me i’ve been trying to make memory loss work since 2020 and managed to scratch the itch minutely with here and where you are (which is… a pretty janky piece of work, looking back now) — but i’m just really, really content, even proud, of how i managed to weave it into a fic adapted from a story about football battle royale. 
it’s almost kind of unnerving how satisfied i am with the premise of hairpin turns, even if the execution leaves quite a bit to be desired — as it always will, really, and therein is the joy of finding the next writing project. i laughed a lot at myself while writing hairpin turns, and of all the inside jokes that my works started as, this one is by far the fic to feel most like it — a fun little joke that got funnier and funnier the more of it i wrote, and so i wrote more, chasing that laughter until it was time to catch my breath. and i think with how much i require writing to feel urgent and single-minded to be fun, there’s a part of me that’s easily... bored, for lack of a better word, when something doesn’t give me that. without this fast-paced almost-violence, i get bored and restless, the way i was around all the projects i had lined up after please let me love you forever. i’m making a face as i type that but maybe i just mean to say that there were a good few months there where nothing scratched the itch in need of stimulation. i’d write scenes and they wouldn’t be awful, wouldn’t even be bad, but they weren’t exciting to me. they weren’t thrilling. they didn’t feel like i was dissecting anything, just poking at skin with a scalpel and rolling my eyes when i didn’t draw blood from a dead body — you know? 
but projects have an uncanny way of arriving in your life when you most need it, and just when i have peeled and replaced my wallpaper and assembled and reassembled my keyboards and poked at this manuscript i refuse to rewrite until i did a warm-up that felt substantial enough, the blue lock anime started airing. i knew vaguely what dynamics i wanted to write even back when i had only the manga, but i know i could not have tortured this fic out of me then. not before please let me love you forever, not before loser takes all, not even before all my failed attempts at pitching speculative fiction stories to myself at 3 AM and gritting my teeth at my own disgust. the best aus fall into your lap fully formed and fully realized before you even know what you’ll be shaping it into; they’re a little predestined that way, and aus might be why i owe fanfiction my certainty that the author is just as possessed by the narrative if the narrative has its own pace and direction. i think that’s logic that should be applicable to original projects as well. 
i did hesitate in the very beginning of hairpin turns because sci-fi was such a huge deviation from my comfort zone and i have the misfortune of being both a taurus sun and an enneagram type five. i’ve never tried writing proper sci-fi, not even a little, let alone enough to be comfortable with knowing where to start something that wasn’t merely regular slice of life with a slight sprinkling of specfic. i was sure my writing style wouldn’t be a good match for it. i still don’t think it’s a match, necessarily. my prose is a bit too sentimental for some of the demands sci-fi asked of me — and that’s fine. i wouldn’t know the precise nature of that incompatibility if i hadn’t jumped into the pool of sharks and came out of the tank somehow, disbelievingly, friends with them. i began wary of relying too much on technobabble since i’m not exactly the most stem-oriented person around, but even the background of this au wrote itself, half because blue lock was a shockingly perfect match for the world i had in my mind and half because i found that the technology i imagined for the plot was both possible and easy to break down into the narrative. even now i’m still shocked at how scientifically sound the core pitch of the story is, and the fact that it married itself well to both the overarching plot and the character dynamics i wanted to highlight was just icing on a cake i would have tried to politely finish anyway. 
it could very well be that hairpin turns is just a fluke, its parts too seamlessly glued to each other that i’m not sure it could have been anything else except luck doing the work there, but i think there’s also credit to be found in how nothing is sacred in blue lock. these are characters who have done ridiculous things and said ridiculous things, and it was a matter of matching their energy. therein is the same lesson from loser takes all: if i’ve always known that characters decide the pace, tone and atmosphere of the story and everything else in it, then doesn’t it also go to say that in order to write a story far out of my comfort zone, i need only start with characters far outside of my comfort zone?
i think with au fics in particular, a lot of the work begins with justifying why certain things are in character for them in this universe based on what we know from canon. but because those boundaries are expanded by what blue lock innately is, it doesn’t feel as weird to posit something like, what if you and your android bf get tasked with rescuing his older brother’s android bf and find out along the way that you might also both be in love with your childhood best friend? as with most other of my initial ideas, this quickly spiraled into something significantly different — which luckily for me included the memory loss idea that i’ve been wanting to explore for forever now. proper sci-fi was the perfect backdrop for it, and bachira the perfect person to willingly do it, and isagi and rin the perfect people to be left in the aftermath of that loss. stars aligned, truly. i’m incredibly grateful for it. 
whatever challenges i encountered writing this fic had nothing to do with writing it. it was as smooth to write as it was an absolute pain to edit, because the three povs are so vastly different from each other, and with no outline to mentally check each time i add a new scene, i was reliant on going back and forth again and again to make sure the worldbuilding is cohesive and the plot is coherent. at some point i couldn’t look at it anymore, and it might even be a testament to how much i appreciate the fic that i still can’t look at it now yet cannot deny how fond i am of the final result. 
with sci-fi in particular, it really is a case of faking it till you make it, and whatever lies don’t feed into each other, you can always revisit and adjust later. that’s the common sense magic of fiction, i suppose. there’s a degree of patience i held onto writing hairpin turns that i wouldn’t have had with any other previous work, and i think it benefited me more to have all three chapters written in varying increments, out of my usual linear order, than publishing it chapter by chapter. i had all the room to experiment — what does the world look like in 2070? is 2070 even the right year to set this in? is there anything big happening around that time period? how does the lingo change in the time between present and this potential future? when i run into things that feel too out of my depth to write, like isagi’s pov for instance, do i actually have a justification for saying no other than how it will be easier than trying? are there benefits to giving bachira the final chapter that i’m being biased against because i think it would be a challenge? and between all of these choices, how do i adapt existing blue lock canon, from their playstyles to the favourites listed in the egoist bible, to worldbuilding in other forms of media that i’ve always wanted to try a different approach to? 
i used to think it was unnecessary and superfluous to go into writing something while getting bogged down by stray facts about characters, in both fic and original projects, but at the same time, it’s truly the tiny details that will humanize more than knowing a character’s birthday or what traumatic events lie in their backstory. tiny details that breed more tiny details, until it’s about the fact that bachira and isagi are childhood friends in this au yet when we meet bachira again he’s calling isagi by last name, or how rin understandably questions the validity of his own humanness because we can only assume sae had recreated him in grief or defiance against mortality or whatever other emotion that we’ll never know for sure because we only ever see sae in this fic through rin, and that matters a lot more than if i gave sae a pov — and yet rin manages to love through the small things, in how the warehouse is in an eternal sunset waiting for bachira to return to him and isagi. it’s about how first love, late spring was about learning how to love someone else the way they need you to when you weren’t loved the way you needed to be, but hairpin turns is about how spending your whole life never questioning if you were loved can rob you of the facilities to put a name and shape to what you feel for someone who’s always been in your life. the things you don’t take for granted, necessarily, but you do love for granted by not calling it love.
hairpin turns is about the pieces obscured from view and all the more present because of it. it’s about lost memories, the phantom outline of a person like a haunting. it’s about how sae never once appears in a direct scene yet he looms over rin’s existence. it’s about how rin’s chapter represents the past, isagi’s the present and bachira’s the future, but time matters little in the end — how could it weigh any more, in a story about memory? it’s about the uneasy momentary peace that’s the only scene we can count on as a happy ending. it’s about the lengths you’ll go to get the chance to be ordinary about your love, even if all else about it is unconventional. 
and yet above all, what i like best about this fic is that it works towards questions that feel like being given answers. some of my other fics try to provide answers to its characters and the readers they resonate with, to give them a way to be well-equipped to move forward, while a few other fics settle on non-answers because uncertainty is the only ending there is. but hairpin turns moves outward only to ask more questions, questions that are the answers and the thesis, yet in a way that isn’t strictly open-ended. and i have no fucking clue how i managed it, but this feels like the target i’ve been itching to catch sight of this entire time. this is the kind of story and process i would like to aspire to this year, and even though it had taken me 80k to glean what i needed from it, i’m glad i stayed with this fic as a warm-up. 
anyway. this got a bit away from me, and who knows, maybe this level of pretentiousness is only because i’m still riding the high of affection for my most recent brainchild to make it to college — but i’m not totally blind to the flaws in hairpin turns. the execution of the ending itself is clunky, not because it doesn’t resolve anything but because it does, and by then, the post-rescue section has gone on for long enough that even an ending feels like an epilogue. the story overall lacks complete confidence in what it is, with some parts shadowed by a slight hovering hesitation and others weighed down by a heavy hand showing too much kindness to my non-confidence. it’s never too heavy-handed, and definitely not so much that i’ll send it to the bin, but enough that if i want something to pick apart, there are stray choices hiding in places that i’d circle as an editor for feeling too sentimental, or the tone too dissonant with the pacing, or, ironically, not explored enough. in the genre i’m used to writing, the adrenaline rush is in finding the right balance within a new choreography for a dance style i know well, but in my first real foray into speculative fiction, i think i was just trying to find my footing the whole time. i’m still surprised i made it to the other end of the tightrope, honestly. i didn’t expect to applaud myself for the bare minimum, and i still don’t. 
but all of this is a lesson for me, too. what i do know is that it’s interesting to tell a story about what’s missing, about the unsaid and the unseen, and if that’s what it will take for me to rediscover excitement in what i write so that i don’t have to sink back into the ennui of these last couple of months, then that’s a pretty darn fun goal to spend the rest of the year unpacking. 
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chidoroki · 10 months
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Black Clover: Sword of the Wizard King - movie reaction
Don’t normally do these for movies but WHATEVER. I’m too happy to care right now! It took me like..three & a half hours to get through the entire movie because I kept replayed scenes over and over again. I was just so amazed at how beautiful it all was and I was beyond emotional to see & hear everyone.
(full reaction below the cut with obvious spoilers)
Y’all wouldn’t believe how much I’m shaking. I couldn’t stay up late waiting for the movie to drop because I was so exhausted but NOW.. I’m up! I’m awake at seven in the morning (though this is probably gonna post much later) on a day off (yes I took off just for this) and it’s finally happening!
Julius’ time magic is breaking apart? Dunno why exactly but it certainly can’t be a good thing.
So the sneak peak they showed on twitter yesterday was of a flashback of ten years ago. I figured it had to be something like that since Fuegoleon, Yami, and Julius looked so young, but then ya got Nozel who seems the same as ever! Still handsome though, of course.
And is that a younger Theresa with Fuegoleon too? Back when she was an active magic knight?
It’s already in dub? Alright, good. I prefer that honestly, since that’s how I first watched BC, but I’ll pop up the subs on screen as well just in case there’s any slight differences.
Crazy how Conrad’s key/door magic, whichever it is, negated everyone else’s that was holding him down with little effort.
Ooohh everything already looks so beautifully animated, and Mereoleona! Going nuts as usual!
The way my little heart sped up upon seeing and hearing Nozel.. aahh! I still think it hilarious how much this man grew on me once I caught up with the manga. Now I love him IMMENSELY!
Ayyy Yami coming in with a quick save to Julius.
Yeaaaahh Julius! Time bind his crazy ass! (so it was Conrad who was breaking free at the start, huh?)
“My magic is never giving up!” Okay excuse you sir, you can’t steal Asta’s line like that!
The sunrise is gorgeous.. everything is. Ohhh I may cry.
Now we got a full colosseum? Is there a little tournament on the horizon? That should be fun, but hello Mimosa! Please explain this Triumph event!
Now who’s this shady person walking the streets hm?
Aw Fanzell, Dominante, Mariella and Fana cameo!
I love Klaus & Mimosa’s little banter.
Of course Julius is gonna watch all the action from the stands.. and there’s our lovely Black Bulls! Charmy with the snacks and Vanessa with the drinks as usual. These girls got their priorities straight.
Ahahaa Yuno’s little fan club.. and naturally Charmy’s gonna cheer for him too.
Oh, the shady person from the streets was our boy Asta disguised.. and apparently he can’t compete because of that devil trial, but obviously, he doesn’t care. He wouldn’t dare miss out on an opportunity to battle against Yuno.
“The Masked One?” “Surely nobody entered the tournament with such a ridiculous name?..Oh, they did!” Pfftt, the surprise in Klaus’ voice was perfect.
You can stay disguised all you want Asta, but those swords of yours are too recognizable that they’re gonna give your identity away..
Conrad and the other three Wizard Kings are already here..? I guess we’re not gonna see any part of the tournament. Shame, I was kinda excited for the idea.
It’s gonna bother me that I won’t know the other WK’s voice actors til the credits because I don’t recognize any at the moment, but at least we learn that Jester has barrier magic.
Damn, so Conrad’s seal weakened when Patri killed Julius? Eh, makes sense.
Legion magic from Princia (whom I’m also fond of her voice) summons up countless warriors.. nice.
Asta!!! Look at our boy! That smile of his is so bright! And taking these warriors out no problem!
“Ugh, these guys are the worst! They ruined my awesome disguise!” “And here I thought you were a lost child who wandered onto the field.” I love snarky Yuno so much.
Asta and Noelle literally having each other’s backs and supporting each other.. aahh it warms my heart, it’s adorable!
I dunno why, but Jester may be my favorite out of this WK trio. He’s got that sly bastard energy.
Good to see the Bulls joining the fight, but where the hell are the captains? Shouldn’t they be fine with their large supply of mana? Unless they were helping the crowd evacuate. That’s probably the reason.
Speak of the devil, there’s our Yami. And the rest of them.. and Leo?
I was about the question the backstory between Kaiser and Conrad since they seemed familiar with each other, but then remembered Kaiser was there in the beginning flashback. Silly me.
Asta and Finral tasked to go fetch something to help against Conrad and naturally Noelle slides right into the portal with them.
A sword that can store up magic power and can possible destroy a whole country when it releases it? No wonder Julius tried to get rid of it.
Eeehehe, Nozel and Fuegoleon and their dramatic entrances! I love these stylish men.
Yami c’mon, must you always poke fun at my boy? At least Julius found it funny. Nozel, not so much.
“I’m awake for a change, but this feels like a dream. It’s way too crazy!” “This is filling my brush with inspiration. Then again, maybe now’s not the time to be painting.” Ahaha, I love them all so much and happy that they’re getting some screen time too.
The stadium was one of Conrad’s weapons the entire time?
I know Julius said Nero was assisting at Branch Zero but I did not expect the lab coat.
“Key magic. It grants him the ability to create keys that can open or close rifts out of thin air. The magic space behind these doors is able to absorb whatever Conrad wishes. Tools, grimoires.. magic itself.” And he can steal other people’s magic with that too hm? Thank you for the info Nero.
Okay, well damn, Conrad managed to beat them all here and knock out Sally.
Ah geez Finral, always getting hurt. I hope he doesn’t stay knocked out for long.
Shit, I had a feeling he stole some of Marx’s magic to learn all about them.
YEAH NOPE! Despite seeing this scene before in trailers I’m STILL NOT OKAY seeing Nozel knocked out in a pool of blood!! Aaaahhh!!!
“To think that such a coward was allowed to be a captain of the magic knight!” Oh hell no! You can’t speak about my boy like that, Conrad! Go on Noelle, go fuck up this bastard!!
I love how upset/angry she gets on Nozel’s behalf and I’m in awe with how they animated her water in this movie!
Damn it, Conrad stole her magic so easily.. I really hope this doesn’t hinder her the entire movie. I really wanna see her go all out.
But that’s why Asta gets so pissed off? Yeaaah boy! Make Conrad pay!
Wait, hold up.. the fire and lighting magic attributesare common, but a magic that resembles poison? Did Conrad already steal the Bull’s magic too? That would explain those threads Conrad held Asta down with but I pushed aside the thought of it being Vanessa’s since it looked like it also had needles to it.. but who knows. Maybe I’m over thinking.
Sure they both want a world where people respect other but Conrad is just a little, sorta kinda, very much insane.
Oh! Asta broke one of the keys! Does that restore people’s magic maybe? Or just cancel out the attack?
Aw, even when completely worn out, one of Asta’s concerns is for Conrad to return Noelle’s magic.
Oohhh we got a pissed off Yuno as back up, as well as Millie and Sally.
Well, at least for a moment before they decided to retreat.
If they bring the fight to Hage, then you know our two main boys are gonna be angry.
DAAAMMNNN, Noelle always looks SO GOOD with her hair down like that.
Oh Sekke, always with the give up and run away strategy hm?
Asta coming through with that inspirational talk-no-justu! And of course Noelle is the first to offer her strength to him! You go girl! Support your man!
“So! What are we gonna do first?” “I’m gonna figure that out, right now!” “You’re what?” Asta would make for a wonderful WK, but he would still be a fool, and I love him for that.
I was wondering when we were gonna get one of Sekke’s famous laughs and it comes along with Mereoleona busting down doors. I probably should’ve expected that from her by now.
William, Jack and Charlotte were away this whole time? Wait, were their seats really empty at the stadium when they showed all the other captains and I just never noticed? Oops.
They show Yami, Fuegoleon and Nozel trapped within the barrier but what happened to Kaiser then?
Love-struck Charlotte is still as funny as ever.
Charmy…? Were you small in Asta’s hair this whole time or what?
Ah, nevermind, all the Bulls are all here too, thanks to Yami and Rouge.
I’m so terrible.. I didn’t even realize Henry & Gordon were missing til Vanessa pointed it out.
Aahh precious Noelle and Vanessa hug!! I love both these girls so much!
Aww Vanessa making another headband for Asta! I also.. didn’t realize that was missing til now.. damn, I’m really not observant at all today.
Mmmmhmhm, even now, whenever William speaks, all I can hear is Ginoza.
Good lord, Princia can summon up quite an army of these warriors and she’s not even close by.
Half way through the movie and we finally get a Asta-Yuno fist bump!
I was so proud when they all managed to pass Jester but then Princia and Edward joined the fun..but then Finral stepped in to help! Yay!
Zora’s laugh never gets old. He also as the best comments.
“Also, don’t forget I am your superior!” Ya gotta have the typical Finral line too!
Mereoleona holding up the entire Bull’s base.. this woman is a mad lad.
Aw come on, I’m glad Yuno & Asta made it inside but I really wanted to see everyone else join the big brawl too! Hopefully they show up later.
Oh my.. that big, confident grin of Yuno’s made me weak.
So we do get to see the Bulls fight more!! Great! And it’s all of ‘em against Edward!
And Mereoleona fights one vs one against Princia? Hell yeah, let’s goooo! She’s definitely gonna enjoy that fight too.
Yuno used Jester’s attacks against him to free the three captains. Smart move boy!
Luck is gonna love this fight against Edward, no doubt. And thank god for Rouge as always!
Awww Gauche saving Grey! How cute!
Took a damn long while but we finally got a namedrop for Edward’s magic. Ice wedge. And the fact he can freeze magma with it is insane.
Why must captains always get stabbed?? Seems like Mereoleona is cauterizing her wound though so that’s good.. or she can just summon up a huge purgatory mana zone and crush the blade in her hand. That works too.
Oh so Princia is indeed crazy deep down as well. She and Mereoleona are quite the pair.
Nozel, can you stop getting hurt please? My heart can’t take it. No matter the media, you’re always bleeding.
Of course, how foolish of me to not think that Jester also has a phase two. The other two WK pretty much did too.
And during all that, Asta couldn’t catch up to Conrad? The dude wasn’t even moving!
What’s with this Shippuden ending 12 style dream Mereoleona is experiencing right now?
Goddamn, these women are so fucking INTENSE!!
I didn’t know I needed to see a combo spell between Yami, Fuegoleon and Nozel til now and I’m so happy that it happened!
I guess that necklace of Conrad’s once belonged to someone he really cared about huh?
Maannn, I thought Asta really got him good but Conrad didn’t even bother to parry it “out of respect.”
Bitch be looking like an Arceus with that magical ring behind him, hello??
There ya go! The Black Bulls are still standing! Time to counter!
Or Edward can just summon up an ice beast three times the size as the last one, whatever!
Asta getting stabbed too, in a real slow and calm manner might I add.
LIEBE!!? I questioned whether or not we would see him since this all happens before Nacht appears, but here he is! Our little devil!! Huzzah!
Still can’t get over how beautiful this movie is and this new soundtrack absolutely slaps!!
Oh good! Asta managed to connect the sword to Conrad’s grimoire to restore Noelle’s magic! Everyone else is so excited for her too, even Zora.
Aahh Gauche using mirror brigade on her with her valkyrie form! Nice!!
I am getting fucking chills watching our Bulls go off!! Fuck, I love this family!
Welp, there goes the three Wizard Kings, but we still got a couple minutes left of the movie sooo perhaps Conrad isn’t quite done yet.
AAAAHH they actually got “Haruka Mirai” blasting!!! Can I get a big ol’ HELL YEEAAHH!
Pfftt leave it to Zora to still look so calm and/or bored near the end.. but praise our boy Finral for setting up so many portals to bring together everyone’s magic! I love this lad!
NO FUCKING WAY! They actually included Nacht!!! I’m gonna cry!
“A nice long nap doesn’t sound like the worst idea. Especially if it means someone who’s doing a good thing get rewarded.” He may have had only two lines but it fills me with GREAT JOY!!
But hold up, how did Finral know to put a portal there in front of him?? He hasn’t even met Nacht at this point.
Ah, that necklace belonged to some Conrad knew, probably his lover? But aww that shot of the Bulls is so damn precious!
Oohoho they did the whole black & white sketchy style thing with Asta’s final attack!!
This boy deserves so much happiness!! I’m so proud of him!
I am.. so incredibly giddy seeing Nozel in the credits first.
Oh but the ending song! It is beyond beautiful!!! Ah, and it’s by Treasure, no wonder!
This little ending scene with Asta and Yuno is exactly what we needed, to see them start another fight since their encounter in the colosseum got interrupted.
Aaahh, okay.. I really enjoyed that. I wish we got to see the Black Bulls be their chaotic selves a little more, but it definitely filled my heart with many happy feelings to see them and everyone else again. I say that as if it’s been so long when in reality I only caught up with the series last year. It’s crazy to think that I got interested in this series because of the first movie trailer and here I am, finally getting to watch it. But I really hope the anime returns someday too, especially with this kind of quality! It’s real ambitious to release episodes weekly instead of seasonally and I didn’t mind the animation style at all when I binged it, but if it returns with even a fraction of this quality, it’ll be amazing. I’ll love this series regardless, of course. It was a lovely experience and I can definitely see myself watching this several times over.
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saucy-sassy-sparkly · 2 years
Text
I'm a tumblr virgin...
I'm nervously posting here for the first time... I've been posting on AO3 for a while, but I've recently become more of a tumblr girl and thought I'd see what kind of traction I can get here. I included a link to my AO3 story (I think...? help!) but posting the first chapter here.
If this seems like a good new home for me, I'll post the rest and the new things I've been working on.
Seriously... send help and kindness... I don't know how to use this thing...
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FLIGHT 1311
Chris Evans x OFC
Part 1
“Attention passengers of Flight 1311: unfortunately, the mechanics are still working on the aircraft and anticipate another hour before we can safely board. We apologize for the inconvenience. Please see the ticketing counter if you wish to try to reschedule your flight.”
Harriet slumped in her seat, not bothering to glance at her phone. It was already past midnight in Boston; she didn’t bother to call or text an update. Everyone who needed to know was already asleep. She pulled her hoodie up over her head and held her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees. It wasn’t long before tears were rolling down her face; trying to cry quietly in a crowded airport gate was no small feat. She’d been lucky to find a seat in the corner, away from the loud talkers and groups of drunk passengers getting more drunk with each delay. She heard the tell-tale squeak of the chair next to her as someone sat beside her. Instinctively, she pulled her tote closer to her, trying to make more space.
When she finally felt like she’d gathered herself, she sat up and rummaged through her bag for her book, hoping to lose herself and stay distracted. While shuffling through her bag, her phone vibrated off the armrest and into the lap of the man next to her. She glanced at him, avoiding eye contact with her swollen, tear-stained eyes, and muttered “thanks” when he handed her the phone. Harriet’s favorite picture of Danny and Emily covers the screen.
“Danny, it’s late. Is everything okay?”
“Just checking on you. I saw the delay again.”
Harriet sniffled; hearing his tired voice made her feel worse, “I should never have taken this weekend away; I’m so sorry to leave you both right now.”
“We’re okay, Har, I promise,” his voice was so exhausted. She could picture the five o’clock shadow on his face and the bags under his eyes. “She’ll be okay.”
Her eyes filled with tears, “I’m so worried about her.”
Dan gave a humorless chuckle, “you and me both. But you deserved this weekend away. You do nothing but spend your time at work or hovering around Em’s hospital bed. You needed a weekend for yourself. I’m glad you took it.”
Harriet shook her head, “No, I should’ve stayed home when the new surgery popped up. I’m coming straight to the hospital from the airport. I want to see her before she goes in.”
“You won’t make it in time,” he sighed heavily, “it’s almost one here right now. If you boarded right now you still wouldn’t make it through the flight, baggage claim, and morning traffic before they took her back. Just go home, take a shower, maybe eat something, and you can wait with me after you’ve had some rest.”
Harriet sighed, “you’re probably right.”
Dan’s smile was palpable through the phone, “I’m not sure you’ve ever told me that.” He paused, and she could hear him whispering to someone before he came back on the line, “call you right back,” and he hung up.
Harriet only had a minute to panic before a Facetime call was coming through. She threw in her AirPods and hastily whipped the tears off her face, “Emmy!” Harriet cooed warmly, “how’s my best girl?”
A sleepy-looking seven year old grinned back at her, “Daddy says to tell you to relax.”
Harriet grinned, “You both know me better than that.”
“I’m nervous for tomorrow,” Emily told her, glancing up at Dan who sat beside her on the bed. Suppressing tears, Harriet kept her face calm, “You’re going to be great, babe. I’ll be there the second you wake up.”
“Do you promise?” Her timid little voice was breaking Harriet’s heart. She couldn’t form words; she knew they’d come out in a sob, so she nodded vigorously. Emily continued, “I love you.”
Harriet pulled it together long enough to say, “I’m glad I got to see your sweet face, Em. I love you so so much, and I’ll hug you tomorrow.”
Dan’s picture filled the screen and the lighting changed when he stepped into the hallway, “I woke her up when I called you and she insisted on seeing you before she went back to sleep.”
“Go back in and hug her for me, then get some sleep. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Love you.”
“Love you too. Hope you board soon.” As soon as the call disconnected, Harriet dissolved into sobs, willing herself to stay quiet and not draw attention to herself. She tucked her legs up under her and pulled her hoodie over her eyes. It took her several minutes of using every calming strategy she had to unfurl her legs and sit up straight. She was about to use the arm of her sweatshirt to wipe her eyes when the man next to her offered her a napkin.
“Thank you,” she sniffled, “sorry about this.” She forced herself to look at him, and he smiled back warmly.
“Don’t worry about it. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” Harriet nodded, “I appreciate that.”
“I just hope everything is okay,” He continued to smile, and she stared at him longer than she meant to. Realization crept through her, and she pulled her eyes away.
“It’ll be okay when we get on this stupid plane,” She forced a smile, trying not to think about how much Emily would freak out if she knew Harriet was sitting next to Captain America. “Hey,” she turned back to him, “would you mind watching my bag for a minute?”
“Yeah, take your time.” Harriet headed towards the bathroom, splashing water on her face and taking several deep breaths. Captain America had just sat next to her while she wept. Chris fucking Evans was next to her in the airport. Emily would absolutely die if she knew; Harriet debated asking him to sign something or take a picture, but she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and thought better of it. Early on in Emily’s cancer diagnosis, there had been many extended hospital stays and a desperate need for entertainment. Dan had introduced her to superhero movies, and the rest was history. At the time, she’d probably been too young to watch some of them, but now they were Emily’s go-to’s when she needed a distraction. But above all, Captain America was her absolute favorite. Harriet had spent many nights tucked into the hospital bed beside Emily watching Marvel movies.
When she got back to the seat, she whispered a “thanks” to Chris, who was reading, and settled back into her chair, still trying to decide how to approach him before he said, “my turn.” He stood up and stretched briefly, his white tee-shirt sliding up just enough to expose his firm stomach and Harriet to avert her eyes. “I’m going to check on the flight status and then get some tea; you want anything?”
She hesitated, “yeah, actually, something herbal would be great. Thank you.” He spent several minutes at the ticketing counter talking with the agent before disappearing into the Starbucks. He handed her a cup and refused her money, sitting back down beside her.
She was about to start a conversation when the gate agent came over the intercom, “We are pleased to start boarding Flight 1311 with nonstop service to Logan International. At this time, all First Class passengers are welcome to board. We also invite Miss Harriet Kelly to visit the ticketing agent at this time.”
“Me?” She asked no one in particular.
“Excuse me?” Chris asked.
“I’m Harriet Kelly,” She told him, a little dumbfounded and very exhausted.
He laughed, “I’m Chris,” he held out his hand, and she shook it, smiling, before redirecting the conversation, “Hi, but that was my name they just called. I have to go to the desk, I guess.”
Chris nodded, gathering his trash, “It was a pleasure sitting with you, Harriet. I hope everything works out in Boston,” he touched her arm lightly before walking away to throw out his trash and disappear among the other passengers.
At the ticket counter, the agent was pleasant and asked for Harriet’s ticket. Several moments of typing on her computer passed before she handed Harriet a different ticket, “You’re all set, Miss Kelly.”
“I’m sorry,” Harriet started, “I’m really tired. What is all set?”
“Your upgrade,” the agent smiled.
Harriet stared at her, “My what?”
“Your seat was upgraded to First Class. Lucky you,” she grinned at Harriet.
“Are you sure? Mine? How? Why?”
The agent shook her head, her smile faltering, and Harriet regrouped, “I’m sorry, that’s not your problem,” Harriet picked up the ticket and her tea, “I bet you don’t get this reaction about a first-class upgrade very often.”
She laughed and shook her head, “Not usually. Have a good flight, Miss Kelly.” Harriet stepped away from the counter and looked at the ticket: Seat 2A FIRST CLASS in large letters. She hesitantly slid into line behind the rest of the first-class passengers, waiting for someone to jump out and yell, “JUST KIDDING!”
As she approached the gate agent, she noticed Chris standing against the windows, sipping his tea and scanning his phone. She stared at him, waiting for him to feel her eyes.
When he looked up, he grinned and raised his cup to salute her, “enjoy the comforts of First Class, Harriet.”
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erodasfishtacos · 3 years
Text
Not Your Charity Case
prompt: Harry is a frat boy - who doesn’t need sympathy from anyone. He makes Y/N feel a sense of home when they’re together. But is Harry just like every stereotypical frat boy?
word count: 6.2k 
warnings: minor violence, language, deaf!harry, smutttt
other: when Harry is talking to Y/N or any other characters - it is to be noted that he is signing. When Y/N talks to Harry - she is also always signing
Let me know if you’d want to see anything else from this verse:)
+++
You were rushed - you really shouldn’t stop at the local coffee shop for a sugary, delicious mocha chip frappuccino.
Despite what people say, professors are much more lax and carefree in college.
It was about two weeks into the new semester, - your third here- and the seasons were changing - becoming autumn.
Chilled breezes, falling leaves, and vivid colors of nature made you happy.
When you arrive in line, there are two people ahead of you. A girl currently in front of the cashier and a tall male with a red and black flannel on behind her- typing away on his phone.
When she moves to the left, the broad man steps forward. His snapback facing backwards, brown curls dancing around his neck. You can’t help but notice how tall and lean he is, shoulders broad and straight.
You definitely haven’t seen him before on campus. You’d remember.
From what you can see, he shows the young girl behind the counter the screen of his phone without saying anything at all.
The raven-haired girl’s face pinches in annoyance. “We don’t accept orders like that. You need to tell me what you want.”
You’re a little surprised by both the rude cashier but also the man who doesn’t respond right away.
He attempts to show her his phone again but she shakes her head - annoyed.
You become interested in the situation when I watch him sign, a few gestures before pointing to his ears. In the most obvious form of saying “I can’t hear.”
The clueless girl gives him a blank look, “Listen, there’s a line. I don’t have time for this.”
You hoped you weren’t overstepping your boundaries when you slide up next to him, tapping him on his shoulder to get his attention.
It is a bit startling how gorgeous the boy is. He was tanned with bright green-eyes and a defined jawline that was currently clenched in frustration.
You sign, “What are you trying to order?”
He studies you for a second with hesitance before his long slim fingers begin to move, slowly as if he thinks you may be inexperienced in the form of language.
He replies, “Large coffee with a little cream and two sugars.”
You squeeze in front of him, “It is not only rude but illegal to not serve based on disabilities. Refusing an order from a deaf person isn’t moral or acceptable.”
The girl has enough decency to mumble an apology and turned bright pink, “Sorry, he doesn’t look deaf. “You roll your eyes - how can you tell that someone is deaf based on solely appearance? This girls a fucking idiot, you think.
You repeat his order to her, along with yours - sliding your debit card towards her and give her your name for the order.
The man trails behind you to the small waiting area. “Thank you,” he signs simply. You nod and return the pleasantry. The. hand him his steaming hot coffee.
“Thank you again. I’m going to be late to class, so I have to go,” he tells me, seeming a little out of place signing with a stranger.
“Go ahead, I’ll see you around.” It was the first time in a long time you’ve signed to anyone outside your family.
+++
Sipping your drink as you are only five minutes late and the class hasn’t even started yet. The man you just helped was sat in the back of the classroom, unloading his laptop.
With a little bravery, you wriggle your way through and plop into the wooden chair easily. Letting your backpack fall to the ground. Curly looks over at you with a frown, he signs, “Why are you sitting next to me?”
You blush, “I don’t know? Thought it’d be good to have someone to talk to.”
His hands are tense as he replies, “I’m not a charity case, so you can leave me alone.”
“Never said you were,” you huff when you tell him. Not appreciating how rude he was being. Signing had its own tones and expressions so to speak. For example, when someone is happy their signs and movements are different than when they’re sad or frustrated.
Harry seems to be the latter. You wrestle out your laptop to the PowerPoint that was going to be discussed today in class. You noticed Harry stared very intently at the professor to read his lips and expression.
You was surprised he didn’t have an interpreter with him but you’re sure he got special accommodations elsewhere. Even though that was absolutely none of your business.
His shoulders are tensed and he makes sure your arms don’t brush like you have cooties for the entire two hours. The nameless boy is up and out of his seat as soon as the professor shuts off the projector and turns on the lights - signaling class to be over.
Well fuck him then.
***
You don’t make the mistake to sit next him again. But that doesn’t mean you could ogle his strong muscular back and big hands.
It wasn’t your place to care but you felt twinges in your tummy when you noticed him struggling to keep up with the fast-speed class on certain days.
You were in the large, rustic library that smelled of old books and damp wallpaper. It was dead silent as people furiously studied or worked on papers due.
As you paced the shelves, you could not find the book you needed for your American Literature class. Fuck the Dewey Decimal System.
Part-time uni students probably just stuffed returned books in any open space they saw fit. But you need this book in particular, a discussion board post due by midnight and it was currently eight-thirty. They had ran out of copies at the on-campus bookstore.
After a valiant effort, you trudge up to the checkout counter. A little sign reads, “ring me if no ones here!”
You impatiently ring the silver bell. But no one comes. You give whoever is working a minute or two but nothing. Another ring it is.
Silence. No one. Of fucking course, luck is not on your side tonight.
You dramatically clunk your head onto the high counter top in front of you - groaning at the fact you may fail the assignment.
A tentative pat on your shoulder makes you snap your head up. To see the boy you’ve been constantly avoiding standing behind the checkout desk.
“Are you okay?” He asks. He had a name-tag on - Harry. He honestly looked a bit out of place. Harry appeared to be a frat boy. He was still had a boyish air about him but an intensity that was unmatchable.
He didn’t look like he would work in the library. He looked like...well he looked like he would be a beer pong referee or something.
You couldn’t see below his torso but he had a plain black snapback on and a vintage Elton John concert tee. A cross necklace dangling over the worn shirt.
You smile, embarrassed, but reply, “Just being dramatic. I can’t find a book and I was waiting here.”
There’s mirth in his eyes when he points to the bell,”Did you ring the bell?”
Your brows furrow, “I did.”
“Well I can’t hear it, I’m deaf,” he deadpans with a straight face and a dry sense of humor.
You roll your eyes, laughing nervously, “I didn’t know you were working!”
“What do you need?”
He helps you locate the book in two minutes flat before checking you out and you rushing home to finish the homework.
You felt bad ignoring your little sister’s FaceTime calls but you promised to call her back tomorrow. 
***
Though once again, you hadn’t interacted with Harry since last week - you constantly found yourself studying his stoic profile or fast moving fingers.
You would never befriend Harry because you feel bad for him - like he presumed. You enjoyed American Sign Language and it actually made you feel back at home.
You’re little sister was born completely deaf. She was much younger than you - eight years old. Fifteen years apart to be exact. You learned the language along with her and your parents.
When you were at home and your sister was there - you guys tried to only sign so she didn’t feel left out. So Harry felt like home - a little despite his completely off-putting demeanor. It made you a little bit more persistent than with any other frat boy.
***
The bulletin board in your advisor’s office caught your eyes. None of the little tabs ripped off in interest.
‘Student with ASL experience and above a 3.5 GPA needed for tutoring sessions - twice weekly. $16 dollars an hour.’
After your meeting, you tugged the little scrap of paper off and tuck it into your pocket. You couldn’t know for sure if it was Harry but you didn’t know of any other deaf students in the program.
You say ‘fuck it’ and type out an email to the advisor of academic affairs and accommodations to throw your hat in the ring.
***
You don’t hear back for three days - nearly forgetting about it in the mean time. Your eyes scan quickly over the email to grant you the position. They include contact information for no other than Harry Styles.
After psyching yourself out a little and a few paces across your kitchen tiles - you text him.
Hey! I’m your new assigned tutor. Would you like to set up a time and place? As well as what kind of help you’re looking for.
The reply text comes shortly after
Hello, thank you very much. I am just in need of hearing ears. I am deaf and have a hard time keeping up with the my professor. I have begun recording the lectures in hope that you can sign then to me.
Sure thing. That won’t be a problem!
I live in Alpha Sigma on 3rd street. I have my own room. I’d rather not have the tutoring session in public. However, if that makes you uncomfortable - we can figure something out.
You take a minute to debate. You understand why this would be a task too loud for the library and why he’d want privacy. You didn’t feel like I’d be uncomfortable with him.
I saw twice a week so does Tuesday and Thursday at seven work?
Sounds great. Thank you again x
Did he know it was me? Was he expecting it to me?
***
He was definitely not expecting you. You automatically knew that by the way his friendly smile dissipated into a frown when he opened the door for you.
You attempted to look nice today without trying too hard. A loose crop top with the university’s name, a pair of tight black leggings, bulky white socks bunched at your ankles, and white sneakers. Very 80’s.
You try to keep your composure, “Hi Harry, I’m going to be your tutor.”
He slowly nods at you, huffing out a breathe of irritation before inviting you into the frat house.
You’d only been here once or twice for a party so you had no idea what the house actually looked like when there weren’t bodies and booze everywhere.
He’s walking you past a group of boys playing FIFA on the flatscreen in the living room, white claws open everywhere.
“Y/N! Hey babe!” You look over to see Niall - one of your good friends from your part-time job at the bookstore - trotting over to you guys.
The blonde pulls you into an overexcited hug. He reminded you of a cuddly, soft puppy dog most of the time.
“Are you Harry’s little tutor?” Niall coos, leaning over to pinch Harry’s cheek. 
Harry- who was observing the conversation, focusing in on our lips, immediately bats his friend away. A small scowl forming on his face.
It automatically turns into a playful brawl where Niall tugs Harry into headlock. But he has no strength on the brunette.
Harry turns out of it quickly and pushes Niall to the ground. He straddles his stomach and begins to jokingly pinch and slap at him.
Niall hisses, “Ouch! You motherfucker! Big oaf!”
Then you don’t know why you find this endearing but Niall signs the word, “uncle” a few times to signal he’s accepted his lost.
The fact that they wrestle so much that Niall learned to sign how to give up made you giggle more than it should.
Harry crawls off of him, running a hand through his messy curls, his face a little flushed.
“I’ll talk to you later!” You tell Niall as your trailing behind Harry up a flight of stairs.
His room is extremely neat. A fluffy navy comfort decorated his bed with a few photos of flowers and nature on his wall. A tidy desk tucked away in the corner that had all of his school work loaded on top of it.
He chooses to sit in his desk chair, motioning for you to perch on his bed. You look at him expectantly when he pulls out the tape recorder and sets it on the surface.
He pulls his laptop into his lap and begins signing, “I need you to transcribe the lecture for me so I can follow it. We can skip through the bits where he is rambling or off topic.”
You nod, letting him know to begin whenever he’s ready. He presses the side button and the recording starts but it super unclear and garbled.
“Did you record this from your seat?” You ask, the professors words nearly inaudible and fuzzy.
“Yes.”
“You need to bring it to the front of the room. Ask Dr. Morrison  to lay it on his desk before class. I can’t hear anything but static and mumbles,” You tell him.
He laughs and shakes his head. His movements rough and angry, “Of course its fucked up. I get you as my tutor and then the recorder is shit.”
You glare at him, offended as you haven’t done anything to this boy. “Excuse me? I’ve literally been trying to help since I’ve meet you. What is your fucking issue?”
“I’m not a charity case! I don’t need you to feel bad for me. I’m not helpless! You’re probably just a silly little girl who took ASL in high school because it was cool and trendy. Go back to focusing on psych.”
“Fuck you, Harry,” Your gestures getting sharper and your face sour, “You know nothing about me so don’t act like you do. I don’t feel bad for you or think that you’re helpless.” You put up a hand and tell him to not talk.
“I was just being nice because I thought you were handsome and at first, seemed friendly. It turns out you’re just like every douchebag frat boy I’ve met. What a disappointment,” You chuckle, swinging your bag on your shoulder and storm out of the room without another look.
***
The cafe was jammed packed - it was Waffle Wednesday. You had said waffles in your tray and were about to plop down on a stool when you hear your name being called.
“C’mere, come sit with us!” He hollers over the commotion of the crowd. Niall.
You’re about to decline when some dude slips behind you and snags the stool. Shit.
A bit unwillingly you slide into the booth next to Niall, cracking open your sparkling water. “Mates, this is Y/N, we work at the store together and she’s Harry’s tutor,” he tells them. “Y/N, this is Liam and Louis.”
“Hello,” you try your best to come off as friendly even though you can feel Harry’s glare on the side of your face. You ended up falling to easy conversation with the boys. Niall has a very limited ASL vocabulary but tries.
The boys are also trying to talk slower and more pronounced so Harry can watch and understand. A couple of times he taps Niall on the wrist to repeat what was going on.
Your phone begins buzzing and you apologize for the interruption. It’s your little sister, Mazie, FaceTiming.
You answer the phone with a frown, signing “Aren’t you suppose to be in school?”
Mazie looks upset, eyes a little watery. She gestures back, “I left early. I’m sick.”
“Are you really sick or where you getting bullied again?” You asks her.
Your sister hesitates before sniffling, “You already know. I hate my school.” 
Mazie has had other children bully her for her disability since she started preschool and it as still happening in fourth grade.
“What can I do to help?” You frown, never wanting to see your baby sister cry.
You chat for a few minutes to help her calm down. When the phone call ends, you don’t realize that all the boys were watching you in interest. Harry in particular, keeps his focus on you with a wrinkled forehead.
“My sister’s deaf,” You tell them. The whole time you’ve been sitting with them you’ve been signing and verbally speaking to help everyone be able to be included in the conversation.
“That’s sick!” Louis says, smacking Harry’s arm. “Just like our lad Harry.” 
Harry grumbles when Louis shakes him a little. It seems like the boys loved to physically interact with Harry which was endearing.
Harry allows him to for a moment before he flicks his cheek hard and laughs when Louis flinches. The conversation goes back to normal.
***
Harry jogs up to you after your group shares farewells and a few punches. You pointedly ignore him as you trek to the class you two have together so it’s not like he can’t walk this way too.
“Please, wait,” Harry asks. He walks in front of you.
“What do you want?” You huff, keeping my glare firm and directed alley at him.
“I’m sorry. I made the wrong assumption.”
“You made a lot of wrong assumptions. The fact that you think of me so lowly is sad. I’ve been nothing but nice,” You try not to focus on his large palms that curve over the caps of your shoulders.
“I’m not very trusting of people.”
You snort rather unattractively, ��No kidding”
“Can we please start over?” He asks, stepping back to give you space. He didn’t realize how close he’d been standing to you until your hair wisps across his nose.
“One more chance, Styles.”
Harry lays a hand on your upper arm and squeeze lightly before signing the simple gesture of ‘thank you.’
***
It turns out Harry is very handsy and physically affectionate. It wasn’t creepy though or something that ever made you feel uncomfortable.
You were still tutoring him but you hung around the frat with Harry nearly everyday. The days you just wanted to lay in bed resulted in a grumpy FaceTime from Harry.
Harry once stated during a tutoring session, “It is easier for me to show how I’m feeling with touch than words. If I ever make you uncomfortable - please tell me and I will stop.”
You smile slyly at his words that sounded more like a question, asking if he can touch you. “I guess I’ll let you feel me up every now in again.”
He giggles and looks down wolfishly - like an entertaining thought is dancing around in his mind.
You tuck your finger under his chin to gaze at you. “In all seriousness, I give you my consent to show your feelings with physical touch. I trust you and know you won’t do anything to make me uncomfortable.”
The curly-haired brunette smiles happily, his hand cupping the side of your neck and brushing over your pulse point.
He hadn’t touched you here before and it seems like it was his first goal to do so once he got permission. You can’t help but take in a deep gasp of air. You prayed he didn’t notice but by the small lift of his lips he did.
The simple touch made a flame of arousal swirl in your lower stomach. You felt like you were about to start sweating.
“Anyways,” You clear your throat and snatch back up the recorder. It now had better quality after Harry listened to you about placement.
***
The frat house was ridiculously full of drunk college students. Everybody on the dance floor was sweaty and sticky with a variety of different substances.
Niall had invited you - so you were searching about for him. Pushing through the crowd and nobody was able to hear you say ‘excuse me.’
You finally found fresh air in the backyard where beer pong and cornhole were set up. Niall was tossing his ball across the table, trying to splash in Liam’s red solo cups.
Harry was sitting on a cushioned patio chair, watching the game commence. Maybe he was a beer pong referee after all. 
He looked so fucking good tonight. He had a yellow snapback taming his curls - backwards of course. A black Rage Against the Machine shirt and his signature black skinny jeans. **
You made eye contact and were about to wave when a girl plopped down in the seat across from him.
Awkwardly you turn away, greeting the other boys and taking a seat in a lawn chair to watch them start their third round of the game.
Your eyes keep darting over to Harry who is staring blankly at the girl. She starts stroking his biceps and tracing across the tattoos like they belong to her.
Harry is attempting to let her know he’s not interested. His signs uselessly as she’s staring at his lips and not hands.
You’re moving before you know it, without another thought, you squeeze in between the two - separating them. You dramatically slide into his lap, funnily enough one strong arm wrapping happily around your middle.
The pretty blonde pouts out her lips, “Is he your boyfriend?”
Before you’re able to reply, Harry signs the obvious signal for ‘yes’ to the girl. Then rudely makes the shooing gesture. She’s up with a huff and stomping back towards the house.
Harry turns you sideways on his lap so that you two can see each other’s hands, “You saved me.”
“You’re just such a stud, have to protect you,” You joke - but not really.
He raising his eyebrows and smiles, “You were jealous.” It was a statement not a question.
You blush wildly, avoiding eye contact which you know he hates. He hates anytime you cut off ways of communication.
Harry taps your lips until you look up at him, “it’s really fucking sexy when you are.” A perk of sign language. He could dirty talk just about anywhere and mostly no one would ever know.
His thumb drags on your full bottom lip, signing clumsily with one hand so you had to use context clues to piece it together “Don’t think I forgot when you called me handsome a few months ago.”
“I don’t remember, doesn’t sound like me,” You boldly lie, snickering and nipping at the top of his thumb
His eyes become a shade darker when your teeth meet his skin. He presses his thumb further in until it’s in-between your teeth. The moment is broken when Niall screams, “Styles! You’re up next!”
**
You and Harry become separated after you spent nearly two hours watching all these drunk boys play beer pong. Harry was ridiculously good at the game and only had to drink two cups from the table.
You had wandered back into the house where the party had died down. There were only a handful of stragglers left but mostly just the fraternity brothers and their close friends.
With a fresh alcoholic seltzer in your hand - you didn’t trust open bottles at parties like this - you gaze at Harry through the back window.
Harry was being jumped by Liam and Niall. He was snarling playfully as Liam toppled them all over into the grass. Niall tries to stand up but Harry’s hand wraps around his ankle and makes him fall right back on his bum with a girlish squeal.
Niall leans over to give Harry a wet-willy but Liam manages to throw a plastic cup directly at Niall’s forehead. Harry and the other boys dissolve in childish giggles. Faces red from laughter and liquor. You feel a smile painted fondly on your lips from watching them.
“Hey, Y/N right?” A voice interrupts from behind.
You spin to face a guy you barely recognize from a previous class you shared. You smile nonetheless, “Hi...”
“Jake, Jake from Social Constructs and Society last semester.”
“Oh yeah, that’s right,” You smile and allow him to talk your ear off because you struggle to say ‘no.’ He was fine, nothing special, typical business major who thought he was hot shit because his daddy owned a golf course he wanted to take you to.
It was a normal conversation until his voice gets lower as if he’s trying to be more seductive, “Want to head to a room with me?” He nods towards the staircase.
You chuckle in disbelief at his bold and forward question. “No thank you, I’m good.” You really had eyes for one person right now and he was currently cussing out Niall in sign language in the backyard before tackling him once again to the ground.
“C’mon, I can really show you a good time,” He persuades persistently, stepping into your space - causing your nervousness to spike.
“I said - no thank you,”You bite out, starting to feel scared when he blocks your way out of the kitchen and presses himself against you and the counter.
“You’re really something gorgeous, you know?” He asks, ignoring my struggles to get away from him.
“Stop touching me!” You scream, hoping Niall or one of the boys would hear your wail. He puts a hand up to your mouth to muffle you but that only results in you biting him.
“Fucking bitch!” He cries out, pulling his hand back and winding up to either punch or slap you right in the face. You prepare for the impact.
Then in a blink off an eye, it becomes a blur, a muscular figure is crashing into Jake with full force and knocking him straight into the linoleum floor with a loud crash.
It’s Harry. Broad shoulders and thick but lean tattooed biceps. He’s standing over the harasser and drops on top of him. It shouldn’t look as graceful and tactful as it does.
You’d never seen anything like this from Harry before. Once you really got to know him - he was a gentle giant who liked romantic comedies, soft blankets, and vanilla cupcakes with rainbow sprinkles.
Harry’s fist is repeatedly connecting with the dark-haired boy’s jaw with full force. The only noise is from Jake as Harry is dead silent but his eyes zeroed in on the target.
When blood begins gushing from the man’s nose - Niall and Liam decide it times to physically pull Harry up. Harry had a slight red mark on his jaw when Jake had managed one punch before being defeated quickly.
Harry signs to Niall, “Tell him.”
Niall places his foot on the dude’s chest to keep him down, “My mate wants to let you know if you touch her again we’re not going to pull him off and he’ll gladly beat you to a fucking pulp.”
Jake groans, clutching his nose to stop the bleeding, “Fuckin’ asshole.” 
You were still blown away as you watch Harry’s heaving chest as he glares down at the boy. His fist clenched and knuckle bloody and swollen. Harry’s attention turns towards you. His furious expression melts into worry. You can read his face so clearly. He’s afraid he’s scared you off.
It was hard to believe you had this drop dead gorgeous frat boy defending you past midnight on a Friday night. A boy who didn’t need to hear but just to see you needed help to step in.
All your desires and lusts after the man in front of you burst like a rubber-band and the urge to have him felt uncontrollable. “Take me upstairs,” you demand quickly, arousal creeping up your spine.
He doesn’t understand you’re extremely turned on. Instead he looks like a kicked dog who’s about to get in trouble again.
Nevertheless, he takes your hand and maneuvers out of the kitchen and up the stairs until his bedroom door is closed.
Harry lips are turned down unhappily as he begins, “I’m sorry, love. I...” he pauses a moment before continuing. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. I hope you don’t think less of me.”
You look him dead in the eye and sign, “Kiss me.”
He blinks slowly at you like he just hallucinate the gestures.
So you repeat your motions, slow and with intent, “Kiss me, touch me, do something.” No more time is wasted as he is stepping in front of you and cupping your face in his hands.
Without any hesitation now, he pressing a bruising kiss to your lips - taking your bottom one between his and sucking.
Your hands are immediately tugging at the hem of his vintage shirt, pulling apart to bring it over his head. Dark ink decorates his torso, for some reason something you weren’t expecting. A butterfly on his abdomen, two fern branches, tattoos on his side.
Harry chuckles, “This is new to me.”
Your eyes go wide and you sign, “You’re a virgin?”
Harry snorts and rolls his eyes before telling you, “God no. I mean I’ve never been able to really communicate during sex.”
Then before You can speak, he cuts in a bit frantically, “I’ve always gotten consent - not like that. I mean-“ You cut him off with a kiss - knowing he would never do anything you didn’t want.
You wanted everything from him.
“If you’d believe it, I like a bit of dirty talk when I fuck - but no one understands what I’m saying,” He tries to crack a joke but for some reason seems insecure and nervous.
“Hey,” You take his chin so he shyly meets your eye, “I can’t wait to hear it - you’ve already made me so wet.” His eyes light up like a kid on Christmas.
“You’re such a good girl,” he signs before tugging off your shirt and instantly finding your lips again. His hands are skillful as they unclasp your bra without any struggle and tosses it.
You tugs a bit as his hair to show your enjoyment as his tongue finds your nipple - lapping before taking it between his teeth. As good as it feels, you want him to feel even better.
You push him back until he’s sitting in the edge of the bed, legs spread and hands behind him on either side holding him up. Jaw clenched with arousal and restraint.
He’s pressed against the zipper of his jeans. And all you wanted to do was see him in all of his glory. You’re quick to undo the button and determined to get the finicky zipper down as well.
His fingers come beneath your chin until you’re looking at his sparkling eyes, a look of lust made his lids a little droopier and his mouth slack from heavy-breathing.
“Are you sure you want to? You don’t have to - I want to eat your pussy either way, pet,” He signs, leaning in for a slow, wet kiss.
You sign back with a pout, “Shut the fuck up.” He huffs out a laugh, letting go of your chin and wrapping a hand in your hair to keep it out of your face.
As soon as he’s helping you wriggle his briefs and jeans down his narrow hips, you’re met with the prettiest cock you’ve ever seen.
When you make eye contact with Harry, he raises a eyebrow and grins cockily, “Is it nice enough for your liking, love?”
You nod breathlessly - wasting no more time before ducking down to take him to your mouth, a slight burning in your throat from how big he is.
His hands keep ahold of your hair, thumbs pressed against your temples as you bob down his length with sloppy, warm licks.
Harry’s moaning as you pop off to kiss and suck at the underside of him, hands coming to cup and roll his balls. It is a few moments later when he taps your cheek to get your attention, one hand leaving his hair to sign that he’s close.
Your mouth speeds up, wanting to give him all the pleasure you could. Your hand coming to stroke at what couldn’t fit in your mouth, pumping quickly.
Before you know it, Harry’s rutting his hips upwards and coming with a long, deep moan from the rumbles of his chest. He’s pulling you up into his lap, pressing appreciative kisses to your cheeks and jawline.
Big hands palming at your breasts before slipping down into your leggings, brushing softly over your mound. 
You whine and hitch forward to grind against his palm as soon as he cups you. He smiles widely at your desperation, pressing the heel of his palm harder against you to create more pressure.
You were already so wet and turned on that it wasn’t going to take much. The ball of your climax was burning low in your tummy. However, you wanted him to taste you like he said he would.
You sign, “I’m close. Please, I want your mouth on me.”
With that, he’s flipping you until you’re laid out on the bed. His hands tugging off your leggings and underwear with no further ado. “Holy shit,” He gestures, gazing all over your body and not stopping on one spot for too long.
“What?” You ask, fishing for the compliments you know he’s about to shower you in.
“You’ve got such a pretty pussy,” he signs, dimples popping in his cheeks and a curious finger traces your entrance before dipping in.
You lightly kick at his stomach, “Get on me.” He pouts, crooking his finger against your spot before pulling it out. Fucking tease.
Then his face is disappearing between your spread thighs and a strong lick is delivered from your clit all the way down to your bum.
Since he can’t hear you, you grabs handfuls off his hair. Tugging at the roots, scratching your nails into his scalp to let him know how good he is. So fucking good.
When you accidentally buck your hips hard against his mouth, you curse and run a apologetic hand through the locks. He doesn’t look up at you but lift a hand and signs, “Again.”
You absolutely whine, begging to ride him with determination - climax on the brink. He hums causing vibrations on the sensitive nerves. With that, your hips are meeting his tongue and you’re coming. His face dampening with your release - happy as a clam when he pops back up.
You can’t remember the sign for condom, so you sign, “Protection?” Harry understands right away, rustling through the drawer until he finds a stray packets, “It’s been awhile.”
“Same,” You gestures - watching as he slides it down his length and crawls overtop of you. He was pink and swollen - having to be a bit sensitive from just coming a little while ago.
“Ready, love?” He asks, pressing soft kisses to your jawline. You nod, reaching down to guide him in.
And you weren’t lying, it had been a while and he was big. The stretch wasn’t uncomfortable, just a lot. But his wet, open-mouth kisses made you stay grounded.
Harry’s moans were absolutely obscene as he slide all the way in before stopping to give you a moment. His arms strong, holding himself over you. The cold metal of his necklaces brushing against your tight nipples.
When you have him the okay, he begin giving you deep, hard strokes on each thrust. His noises so loud they had to be able to hear them downstairs. They were deep and low - rumbling in his chest with pleasure.
Then his hand is coming to your throat. For a wild moment you thought he was going to choke you but instead he rest it lightly, palm flat.
It takes you a moment - then it hits you.
Holy fuck. He is feeling the vibrations of your moans - erupting from your vocal cords. Feeling out the movement from your throat so he can feel how much you’re enjoying it.
You should be embarrassed but you can’t find it in you when you come again right on the spot. His fingertips nudging into the skin to feel the intensity as it wracks through you.
When you’re done riding out your orgasm, he reaches for the headboard behind you with his other hand, gripping it tightly as he begins to pound in with all his strength.
The bedframe is hitting the wall so loud that the whole house must be able to hear it. Hitting with every directed thrust until his mouth is dropping down into a long, timbred moan and he’s coming.
---
Later, when the two are you have settled for the night in the warmth of his bed. Harry seems a little nervous, once again. It takes him a moment to meet your eyes and brushes a strand of hair off your forehead.
“What is it?” You ask, tucked into his side. His body so solid and comforting.
“It’s corny,” Harry frowns, eyebrows furrowing as his eyes flash across your face.
“Tell me,” You insist, bringing his hand to your lips to kiss his fingertips.
“I feel like you were made for me. Like...we were meant to be together,” Harry signs, hesitant to share his thoughts. But it doesn’t scare you away. You can’t help but agree.
“I think so too,” You reply before pressing another kiss to his puffy pink lips.
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cjsinkythoughts · 3 years
Text
In Need of a Breath
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader
Word Count: 4007
Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Zemo, Feelings, Another PTSD Flashback
A/N: So…Part 4 is going to have a couple parts to it. Maybe even three. I didn’t even make it half way through the episode on this one, mainly because I really wanted to fit in the Reader’s backstory and I wanted her and Sam to have a heart-to-heart again. I’m suuuuper tired, so I probably won’t be posting the next part for another few hours (it’s 5 am right now and I haven’t slept), BUT it’s my day off work and I won’t be doing anything I planned because my grandmother had a stroke a couple days ago so plans have changed and I’m staying in to help her, meaning I’ll mostly be writing all day. 
This Part is kind of a mix between off-screen and shot-by-shots, but it’s mostly off screen/what’s going on inside Reader’s head.
I’m really excited about future parts and the characters that are being introduced! I will say that after these parts, I will be doing one shots of previous MCU movies with the Reader, due to the information that is being given about the Reader now. You kind of see more of how she was affected/how she affected the previous MCU movies and what she was doing during that time.
Like always, this hasn’t been beta’d, again it’s SUPER early in the morning, and I’m really tired, so please excuse any mistakes! I hope you guys enjoy this part! Stay tuned for more to come later today!
FATWS MASTERLIST
cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST
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!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!
“You know…I’m really starting to regret saying yes to this.” You huffed out, craning your neck and squinting your eyes against the sun as you stare at the facility in front of you, hating the skin-crawling feeling of being back.
“Would you relax? Whenever you’re nervous, I get nervous, and I don’t wanna be nervous about this.” Sam shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“Do either of you have a better plan?” Bucky grumbled, crossing his arms.
Gnawing on your lips, you finally take the lead and breathe out, “alright. Let’s go then.” You could feel the hesitance from your - what were they? Partners? Coworkers? Teammates? - the fellas before they started after you.
There was a sick twist in your gut as you entered the building, going through the lobby and security.
You had been there.
You had been there when Zemo impersonated Bucky. You had been there when Zemo unleashed the Winter Soldier at the Joint Counter Terrorist Centre Building in Berlin. You had been there during the battle at the airport. You had been there when Zemo turned Tony and Steve against each other in Siberia. You had been there when Zemo tore the Avengers from the inside out. Your family. The only family you’d ever known.
But you’d always been good about pushing your personal feelings aside for the sake of the mission. It’s what you’d been born to do. All you ever knew.
“Hey. Doll. You hear me?”
“Hmm. What?” You looked up from the ground to look into those enchanting blue oceans Bucky had for eyes, staring worriedly down at you, eyebrows pinched and forehead creased.
“I’m going in alone.” You frowned, opening your mouth to argue, but he shook his head. “Sam already agreed-”
“I didn’t necessarily agree-”
“You’re an Avenger, sweetheart.” Bucky tilted his head, speaking softly, those eyes of his worried. Worried for you. It made your stomach flip. “And you were there in Siberia, and that almost makes it worse. Especially considering you went after him. Just…just let me do this, okay?”
You cracked your knuckles nervously as you thought. It was a terrible idea. But it was an idea. And it was all they had. “Okay.” You finally relented, shrugging as your hands hit your thighs and slid up to your hips. “But don’t do anything stupid.”
“Steve took all that with him.”
Knowing about their little inside joke, you scoffed. “Sure he did. Go before I change my mind.”
You watched him walk down the hallway, hands fidgeting with excess nerves. “I think you’re the only one he actually seeks approval from.”
“Good thing I’m so lenient then, huh?” You joked, turning to Sam with a strained smile. Your smile slipped at the curious expression on Sam’s face, his eyes darting to each of your features. “What?”
“Are you doing okay?”
You groaned, throwing your head back. You thought you got out of talking about your feelings back in Baltimore. “Oh my God, Sam-”
“I’m serious. You…you just don’t seem like yourself.”
You shook your head, looking down the hall to where Bucky disappeared before turning back to him. It was weird to have a self that people recognized. Your whole life you’d been searching for it and when you finally found it…everything went to shit. “Honestly, Sammy, the only time I’ve ever felt like myself was with the team. Zemo took that away from me and now we’re here, practically begging him for help.”
Sam hummed, leaning against the wall. “Have you thought of taking a break?”
“What?”
“A break.” At your bewildered look, he rolled his eyes. “Cher, this time last year most of us were dead. This time a few months ago you found out about Wanda. This time last week you were out looking for her. Maybe you should just stop and take a breather.”
Shoving your hands in your pocket and looking at the floor, you couldn’t help but snort at his advice. “I haven’t taken a breather since I was eighteen.”
He clicked his tongue. “That’s my point. FBI academy as soon as you graduated. SHIELD recruit by 21, undercover operations leader by 24? Slow down. You’re in your thirties. Next thing you know, you’re gonna be ninety something, lying on your deathbed, wishing you had stopped to smell the roses.”
“If I live to be ninety, shoot me.” He chuckled in amusement. “I’m so fucking serious, Sam. I will not be put in an old folks home to play Bingo and be pushed around in a wheelchair. It ain’t happening.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” There was that infectious smile, which you unconsciously grinned back at. “Y/N…I’m serious. You’ve been in and out of missions since you were a teenager. What’s the shortest undercover operation you’ve done?”
“I dunno.”
He gave you an unimpressed look. “Yeah you do.”
Licking your lips, you turned away and shrugged. “A couple months. Seven weeks and three days, to be precise. September to October in 2012.”
“And the longest?”
“August 2007 to May 2009. Twenty one months.” 
Letting out a puff of air through his nose, Sam pushed himself off the wall and caught your chin between his fingers to make you look at him. “That’s nearly two years under cover. And I’m sure you went right back under after-”
“I was sitting at a desk for four months doing paperwork on it.” You defended yourself.
He shook his head, brows knitting together, lips drawn down. “You say that as if four months is enough time.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, Sammy. I’m out. I’ve been out since Ultron and Sokovia. I haven’t been under in almost a decade-”
“A decade half the world was dead for half of-”
“I wasn’t!”
“I never said you were.” Sam sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. You were always amazed at his ability to keep his emotions in check. To stay cool under pressure. Sometimes you forgot how experienced he was with dealing with other people’s trauma. It was no wonder why Steve thought he’d be good for Bucky. “Listen. All I’m saying is once this is done…don’t go diving back into searching for Wanda. Don’t go running to the kid every time he calls - and I know you’ve been doing that-”
“It’s just been homework and stuff-”
“Y/N.” You stopped, biting your lip at the stern look he gave you. “Go home. Order take out. Binge watch TV. Go for a jog through the park. Actually meet your neighbors. Go grocery shopping. Just…live. If only for a couple weeks. Don’t worry about anyone else. Don’t pick up the phone, don’t drop everything because someone needs you. You need you.”
“I-I…” You shook your head, looking at him, sincerely apologetic. “I can’t. I wish I could. But I can’t. I’ve never had one normal day in my life. I’ve never had someone to care for, never had someone to care for me. I can’t let people I’ve come to…I can’t let them think I don’t care. I don’t even know where I’d go.”
“Whaddya mean?”
You winced, not thrilled for his reaction to your next statement. “I, uh, I sold my apartment in D.C.”
He gaped at you in complete disbelief. “You got it in December!”
“I know, I know. I liked it. I really did, but…I dunno. Nomadic life has always suited me better. It’s what I grew up with.”
He took a breath, making you cringe again. You don’t think you’ve ever legitimately gotten on his nerves like this before. “Have you ever thought that, instead of going with the flow and jumping place to place, putting down roots might actually help?” He cut you off before you could say anything, holding up a finger to stop you from talking. “I can’t imagine going from foster home to foster home like you did. I can’t imagine not having a home for as long as you can remember. Louisiana’s my home. Always has, always will be. But I understand your life has been anything but stable. And maybe, just maybe, that’s why you need some stability.”
You clenched your jaw, crossing your arms. “The Avengers were my stability. Steve was my stability.”
“Because you loved him.”
“I’m not doing this with you again.” You turned to walk down to the lobby to wait for Bucky there, but Sam caught your arm.
“You were in love with him! It’s okay! You two were super close! No one would blame you! Why won’t you just admit it? I’m trying to understand! Why won’t you-”
You tugged your arm away, finally snapping at him. “Because he could never be mine, Wilson! Is that what you wanna hear?!” Sam took a step back at your exclamation. You closed your eyes, swallowing the lump in your throat and pushing down the tears. “He could preach all he wanted about moving forwards, Sammy, but we all knew he was stuck in the past. He visited the museum every Thursday because her interview showed in his exhibit on Thursdays. He carried around that broken compass because her picture was in it.” You looked back up at him sadly, shrugging. “And I get it; it’s hard to move past your first love. I get it because…that’s what he was to me.”
There was a silence that blanketed the hallway, before he spoke up hesitantly. “What about Bucky?”
“I thought - I thought I was projecting my feelings for Steve onto him because I knew Steve couldn’t ever…”
Sam raised an eyebrow. “You thought? What do you think now?”
You cleared your throat. “I’m still figuring that one out.”
“If you ever need to talk, I’ll be here.”
You chuckled, nodding slightly towards him. “Back atcha. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you not being yourself lately, either.”
“It’s…a tough topic.”
You nodded in understanding. “Just know that I’ll support every decision you make as long as you think it’s the right one. Because I trust you. Steve trusted you. It’s all we can do to try to do what’s right. That’s what makes you a good man, Sammy. He gave you that shield for a reason, and if you think what you did was right…I’ll stand by it.”
The two of you stared at each other for a moment, calming down in each other’s presences and taking comfort knowing you’d be there for each other through thick and thin. “Thank you, cher.”
“Of course, Sammy. Now let’s go see what’s taking the old grump so long.”
He laughed at that, nodding in agreement, taking your offered hand and squeezing it as you made your way down the hall.
****************
“What?”
Bucky eyed you as you spluttered, coughing on the water you were drinking. “Please don’t choke, doll.”
“Break him out of jail?!” You repeated his words and blinked at him, absolutely baffled by his plan. “Oh my God.” You groaned as Bucky and Sam started arguing, moving your flashlight around the room. “Where the hell are we?” There was no response as they kept going back and forth.
“Zemo’s gonna mess with our minds! Especially yours! No offense.”
“Heelllloooo!” You tried again. “Where the hell are we?!”
Bucky turned on the lights, giving Sam a look. “Offense.” Glancing at you he quirked an eyebrow. “Stop worrying your pretty lil’ head, sweetheart. You trust me, dontcha?” Your breath hitched at his words. You quickly recovered, huffing and pouting - although you’d deny ever pouting - and crossing your arms. You stood between the guys like that, eyes darting to whoever was speaking, waiting for them to stop so you could actually think.
“Look. Let me just walk you through a hypothetical. Can I walk you through a hypothetical?”
You and Sam exchanged glances. “What did you do?”
“I…didn’t do…anything.” Bucky shrugged.
“How is it that you, one of the most deadliest assassins basically ever, are one of the worst liars I know.” You tilted your head at him, an eyebrow quirking up in confusion.
“Shush it you. Just, okay. The weakest point in any system isn’t the software, the hardware, it’s the meatware. The human element.”
The more you listened to Bucky’s “hypothetical”, the stronger the gut feeling telling you this was a terrible terrible idea got. You brought your hands up to your head, eyes wide as he spoke.
“I don’t like how casual you’re bein’ about this. This is unnatural.”
You couldn’t help but agree with Sam’s words, your head falling back and your eyes closing. “Sweet Jesus. Listen, God, I know we don’t talk much these days, but please, please don’t let this not be a hypothetical. I’m fucking begging you.”
A noise to your right made your head snap over. “Oh hell to the fucking no!” You shook your head as Zemo himself walked in, wearing a prison guards uniform. “Uh-uh! No way! Bucky, this was not part of the plan!”
“What did you do?!”
“We need him!”
“You’re going back to prison.”
“If I may-”
All three of you faced him, simultaneously shouting, “no!”
You held your face in your hands as your head dropped, shaking back and forth, your eyes squeezing shut, tuning them out for just a minute to think. Bucky had a point. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and all that, and the Avengers were technically disbanded, which was Zemo’s whole objective in the first place, but…God. You were good at compartmentalizing, but not that much. You were willing to put your feelings aside for the mission so Bucky could talk to him. Not for you to work with him. But he had connections, you knew he did, and he had information…
“Doll?” You looked up, Bucky anxiously licking his lips as he met your gaze. “I need you to say something.”
You looked to Sam, who shrugged, gesturing to Zemo. “What do you think?”
What did you think? What did you think?! You thought that it was the worst idea in the history of ideas and you should turn back and find another way! But…you knew this was the fastest, probably most reliable way to get information that you needed.
Dammit, since when were you the deciding factor?
You sucked in a breath, looking over Sam’s shoulder at Zemo, who lifted his hand in greeting. You raised your eyes to the ceiling, pointing your finger accusingly. “This is why we stopped talking.” Gaze dropping to the still waiting fellas, you gnawed on your lip, before hissing out, “ffffine…” Running a hand through your hair, you threw your hands up as you shrugged. “Fine. Okay. Fine.”
“Okay.” Sam nodded, taking charge again.
You couldn’t believe this was happening. Except, that was a lie. You could. You’d seen weirder. You’d experienced the impossible. Lived through the unbelievable. This…this was completely imaginable.
Which is why, with a lot of hesitation and very little confidence in this plan, you followed Zemo through the auto shop you were in until you reached a large room with a ton of different old cars.
Bucky’s hand found yours as Zemo explained what the plan was, rather vaguely, in your opinion, but at least he was explaining. Point for him. Not that it would make up for the level of distrust you held for him, but it was something.
You looked up at him, giving him a puzzling frown. He usually only grabbed your hand in front of other people when he was feeling anxious. Which, yeah, he had a right to be anxious right now, but it wasn’t the right kind. The type of anxiety caused by large crowds and loud noises, ones that startled him and threw him into a defensive mode.
But the look on his face made you squeeze his hand in reassurance. He was pouting, staring at you although he did something wrong - a puppy that tore up a pillow - and all you wanted to do was give him a hug.
“You’re mad at me.” He mumbled as the four of you headed out with Zemo in the lead.
“No I’m not.”
“Yeah you are. 
“Bucky, I’m not mad.”
“Listen, if I had a better idea I wouldn’t-”
You brought your linked hands up to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to his gloved knuckles. “I’m not mad.” You repeated more firmly. “It’s just…a lot for me, right now.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on, Buck, I-I just…” You thought about your and Sam’s earlier conversation and suddenly understood what he meant. “I need to breathe for a second.”
His features twisted into ones of uncertainty, eyes squinting as you stepped outside. “Do you…do you wanna leave?”
You shook your head, tugging his arm to stop him and grabbing the sunglasses on his collar, slipping them over his eyes. “No. I just need some time to think. Hopefully the plane ride to wherever the hell we’re going will give me that.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, James. I’m sure.”
He lowered the glasses on his nose to scan you over the frames, before nodding and sliding them back up. “Okay. You ready for this, then?”
“No.” You breathed, turning back to where Zemo and Sam were still walking. “Let’s do this.”
*****************
Climbing onto the private jet, you raised an eyebrow at Sam, who shrugged, giving you a bemused expression. A Baron…huh…who knew? You feel like you should’ve, yet there you were.
You sat besides Bucky, across from Zemo, crossing your legs and leaning back while staring at him through narrowed eyes.
His butler seemed nice, which made you even more suspicious. You obviously didn’t know as much about Zemo as you wanted to. It was a habit you picked up after years of undercover work; once the mission was complete, that was that. There was no looking back on it. No sitting on it. It was over and you moved onto the next one. It was a bad habit in cases like this.
The moment you spotted the notebook over Zemo’s book you knew something was going to happen, yet you still flinched when Bucky lunged at him, grabbing his throat. You leaned back in your seat again, steadying your now racing heartbeat. You decided you were too tense, trying to relax your muscles as Bucky sat back down in his seat.
“I’ve seen that book. It was Steve’s when he came out of the ice. I told him about Trouble Man. He wrote it in that book.” Sam seemed so proud of himself that something he recommended was written in Steve’s little book and it made you smile.
You remembered that; Steve and you were supposed to meet up for coffee after his run, but Fury called him in so you rescheduled it for when he got back. He asked you about Marvin Gaye. For your opinion. You told him to check it out and make his own.
You remembered asking him about that little notebook of his, and he just shrugged you off telling you about his list. He would read items off to you, but he never let you read the book yourself. You never found out why, and you supposed you never would now. The thought made an ache behind your ribs that you’d come to familiarize yourself with appear.
You smiled a little more as Zemo and Sam told Bucky how awesome Marvin Gaye was. “C’mon, baby. Back me up.”
Chuckling, you looked at Bucky. “They’re not wrong. But,” you quickly added before Bucky could whine at you, facing Sam again. “Neither is Buck. I mean, c’mon. You can’t find music like the 40’s anymore. Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, Fred Astaire. Ol’ Blue Eyes himself.”
“Thank you.” Bucky grinned at Sam, who rolled his eyes.
“Okay, okay. But, I mean, c’mon! Everybody loves Marvin Gaye.”
“I like Marvin Gaye.”
“Steve adored Marvin Gaye.”
Your face fell as Zemo started talking about Steve and icons and Red Skull, your mind once again slipping away from reality.
~
“Kids love you.” You giggled as you finally made it out of his exhibit. You’d wanted to show it to him since he moved to D.C., and you’d finally got an opportunity after coming back from being undercover for ten weeks. “You’re their hero, you know.”
“Yeah, well, I’m just trying to do what’s right.”
You nudged him, scoffing at his answer. “You’re too humble. You’re a national icon, you know.”
Steve shrugged, looking around the museum at the planes surrounding them. “I never wanted to be.”
“Why not? Everyone loves you.”
“I’m sure not everyone loves me.” He rolled his eyes. “And…I just wanted to help. To fight. Protect my country and the people I cared about. I-I didn’t ask for…all that.” He waved behind his shoulder where his exhibit was getting smaller with each step they took away. “People were dying. Bullies were winning.”
You shook your head, spinning and walking backwards besides him to face him. “Sure, but you did that. And you became someone people could look up to in the process.”
He narrowed his eyes at you before asking, “why do you do what you do?”
“...because I’m good at it?”
“Honey.” He gave you a look. “Answer the question.”
You hummed in thought. “Because I couldn’t stand by, knowing there would be orphaned kids if I didn’t help any way I could.”
“Alright. Why do you do it in the dark?”
“Whaddya mean?”
He shrugged. “Why don’t you come out and take credit for all the lives you’ve saved?”
“Because that’s not why I do it. I don’t want that attention. I just want to know I’ve helped people. I’ve kept them safe.”
He gave you a soft smile. “I just wanted to beat the bully. I never wanted to be a dancing monkey, too.” You looked at him in a new light then, understanding where he was coming from. “Watch out, honey!” He grabbed you and pulled you aside before you could crash into a wall, arms wrapped firmly around your waist. He gave you that charming smile of his. “Wouldn’t want you hurting that pretty lil’ head of yours, now would we?”
~
“Y/N!”
You snapped back into the conversation, moving your eyes from the window to Bucky, who tilted his head, eyebrows pinched and eyes narrowed. “Sorry. So, Madripoor. That’s a fun place.”
You ignored the side eyed glances Bucky and Sam exchanged, Sam turning to you curiously. “You’ve been?”
“Once. Back in 2010 for a few months”
Zemo raised his eyebrows. “You’re lucky to have gotten out.”
You shrugged nonchalantly. “Lucky, maybe. Skills were a part of it, too, though.”
“Good.” Zemo nodded. “Because we’re going undercover…and if we blow it. We’re dead.”
You breathed out, shaking your memory away and getting your head back into the game. Because like the man you were severely wary of in front of you said, if you blew this, you were dead. And, sure, you didn’t want to live until ninety, but you weren’t even half way there yet. So dammit if you were going to die soon.
“Hey.” You looked over at Bucky’s murmur, his head tilting as he grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat closer to him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Are you okay? You know you’re going to have to be-”
“I know.” He nodded. You watched his Adam’s Apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “I’ll be fine. Just…tell me right now if you need to step out for this one.”
You gave him a smile that you knew he didn’t buy, just by the slight narrowing of his eye, his lips pressing together. “No. No, I’m good for this. If you think I’m gonna let you two idiots go into Madripoor with him - alone - oil that cyborg brain of yours, because there’s no way.”
He squeezed your hand, eyes still filled with uncertainty. “Are you sure?”
“If there’s even a slight possibility that I can protect you, then yeah. I’m sure, Buckaroo.”
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doctorstethoscope · 3 years
Text
The Right Chapter 23 || Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader
hello my loves! Some of you may have already seen this, but I have news! This fic is officially complete. There are thirty chapters, so you still have seven left after today’s update. I’ll be keeping the usual Tuesday/Saturday posting schedule, so you have a month left of updates.
Now that I am done drafting this fic, my requests will be open while I begin to bank up new chapters of the Hotch x Reader Scandal!AU that I plan to write next. Please send in requests here. I would also LOVE if you could fill out this survey about the Scandal!AU so I can get a sense of what you all would like. I will make sure to write it in a way that makes sense, even if you haven’t seen Scandal! 
As always, thanks so much for reading, y’all are just the best. 
Read previous chapters of this fic here!
contains: canon-typical descriptions of violence, cursing, hospital mention
wordcount: 2.3k 
A little while later, Hotch sends JJ and Emily to the school to interview the classmates of the students who had been murdered, and you and Morgan head off to the medical examiner’s office. 
“Find anything interesting in the calls from the tip line?” Morgan asks you as he pulls out of the parking lot, and you shrug. 
“I need to go back through my notes. There were a couple kids' names that came up, but I want to go back and cross check for the names that came up more than once-- i figure if the name only comes up once, it’s kids pranking each other and I don’t want to waste our time on dead ends. Garcia’s looking into a teacher for me, though.” 
“We just need a couple more puzzle pieces, and then it’ll all come together,” Derek says, more to himself than to you, and you murmur out your agreement as he pulls into the examiner’s office.
“Cause of death for Mrs. Mack and Mrs. Sutton was a gunshot wound to the neck. The daughters, to the abdomen,” the doctor says, passing over her report. “The men were all strangled. The boys by hand, the men with a garrote.”
“Any idea what order they were killed in?” You asked. 
“My guess is the women first, one right after the other. Then the sons, and the husbands.” 
“How did he stop the husbands from taking him down while he killed the sons?” Morgan asks skeptically. 
The medical examiner points out a bruise on Mr. Sutton’s skull. “Looks like he was knocked unconscious, maybe by the butt of the gun or something in the home.” She explains.
“Thank you,” you said to the medical examiner, who smiled and left you both to your work.
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Morgan asks you.
“White man in his twenties or thirties, snubbed by a woman he desired for another man, taking out the families he’s convinced he’ll never have?” 
“Call Hotch,” he said, taking off at a brisk pace back towards the car and trusting you to follow. You pulled your phone out of your pocket and discovered that Garcia was already calling you. 
“Hi Garcia, can you patch Hotch in?” You asked. 
“Already here bug, and trust me, you’re gonna want to hear this.” She told you, and you put the phone on speaker so Morgan could listen in while he drove. 
“What did you find, Garcia?” Hotch asked. 
“So, I looked into Marc Vexper, and it turns out this long-term English sub has something to hide-- he didn’t make a single card purchase on either day that he was out, and his phone was completely off from the moment he stepped off the school’s campus to the time he returned.” 
“Morgan and I are just leaving the medical examiner’s office now-- Marc fits the profile to a tee.” You interject. 
“Oh but wait, the high school of horrors doesn’t end there,” Garcia warns you. “I took a peek at Marc’s texts looking for clues about his whereabouts, and I noticed some too-friendly chats with Victoria Sullivan, a student in his AP Literature class. Her phone was on both days, and I’ll give you one guess as to where she was both days-- and it wasn’t school.” 
“You’re kidding,” Morgan sighs out. 
“So did he groom Victoria into doing it herself, or was she an accomplice?” Hotch asked. 
“The men were strangled, Aaron. There’s no way she could have done that herself.” You tell him. 
“We need an address, Penelope.” Hotch demands. 
“Already on your phone. The station’s closest.” She tells you. 
“We’ll meet you there.” Hotch says, and the line clicks. 
In a routine you’ve performed too many times to count, Morgan flicks on the lights and sirens as you mount your phone with the GPS sending you in the right direction. It’s all the same as it usually is, so why are you so nervous? 
**********************
Hotch elects not to put on his lights and sirens as he approaches Mr. Vexper’s house, not wanting to alert him that anyone had found him out. There are two cars in the driveway-- a modest sedan with a few dings in it, and a shitbox of an old jeep with a parking permit for the local high school on the back bumper. 
“The girl is here-- she might be a hostage.” Hotch tells Spencer, who nods. “We need to be careful. There’s no need for any other kids to lose their lives,” he says, quietly opening up his car door and gesturing for Spencer to take a back entrance while he takes the front. He climbs the worn wooden steps and peeks into the window, seeing nothing before he takes one hand off of his gun to swing open the front door of the home, where he’s met face to face with the Victoria Sullivan, standing on the main stairway of the home, gun leveled square at the middle of his forehead. 
“Victoria, put the gun down,” Hotch says slowly, raising his own hands as a sign of good faith. “I’m here to help you. Where’s Marc?”
Before Victoria can answer, Hotch hears the woosh of metal in the air and feels an overwhelming crack in his legs, falling to the ground as he yelps in pain. 
“Run, Vicky! You know where to go!” Marc yells, and the girl disappears from Hotch’s blurring line of vision as March continues to beat on Hotch with a crowbar, stomping on his legs. 
Hotch vaguely hears Spencer's running footsteps, and Marc takes off, running in the same direction as Victoria. 
Spencer falls to the ground next to Hotch, attempting to gently tend to his injuries, but Hotch weakly waves him off. 
“Go, go, save the girl, he’ll kill her next. I’m okay. Go,” he coughs out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Spencer goes. 
Hotch groans as he gropes around in his pants pocket, pulling out his cell phone and calling Garcia. 
“I need help,” he says once the line clicks.
****************
If Aaron lived through this, you were going to kill him yourself. You knew you were being irrational, you knew it wasn’t his fault, and worst of all you know that he hadn’t even done something you could be mad at him for, like going in without backup. This was just the job. This just happened sometimes. And you were absolutely fucking livid that it was happening to him. Not to mention scared shitless. 
Morgan had pumped the gas as soon as Garcia called, but it still wasn’t fast enough. Your leg bounced anxiously in the passenger seat. 
“He’s gonna be fine,” Morgan attempted to placate you, but you wouldn’t have it. 
“You don’t know that,” you spat out. 
“He’s tough. He’s got a lot to stick around for. He’s gonna be okay,” He tells you, and this time you don’t argue.
When you finally pull up to the house, Aaron is on a stretcher being loaded onto an ambulance. You throw yourself out of the SUV before it’s even fully stopped, calling out for Aaron. 
“I’m okay,” he sputters out as you climb into the back of the ambulance. 
“No you aren’t, you asshole,” you scoffed at him, your voice a little watery. “Tell the paramedics what happened so they can help you,” you said, stroking at the hair at the top of his head as your chin quivered. 
“Don’t cry,” he says, reaching up for you and you see that his hands are bloody. 
“Shh, shhh. Don’t worry about me. Let them help you,” you calmed him down, trying not to let your tears interrupt the medics when his eyes roll into the back of his head and he loses consciousness.
 Aaron will live, and you suppose you won’t follow through on your threats to kill him. Once he’s in the hospital, they wheel him back to a restricted area, leaving you alone in a waiting room while the rest of the team finds the unsub. You call Jess, let her know what’s going on, but ask that she keep it from Jack until you’re back in the room with him and Hotch is able to talk to Jack himself. You didn’t want Jack to worry, and you knew that Aaron’s assurance that he was fine was the only comfort Jack would accept.
After a while-- it could have been thirty minutes or three hours, Emily appears in the waiting room..
“I was appointed to come check on you,” she says by way of greeting. “Have you seen him yet?”
“Not since they took him out of the ambulance. He looked… bad,” you struggle to find a word that explains the magnitude of it. 
“He’s gonna be fine. No gunshot wounds, just some nasty bruises. I’m sure it looked worse than it actually was.” She consoles you gently.
“I hope you’re right.”
At that moment, a doctor appears in the doorway. “For Agent Hotchner?” He asks, and you walk over to him. 
“I’m Aaron’s partner,” you explain, the word “girlfriend” feeling entirely too childish for the scenario. 
“Agent Hotchner is going to be just fine. His left leg is fractured slightly at the femur and the kneecap, but we’ve put him in a brace to stabilize the knee, and he should recover over the next eight to twelve weeks. He’ll need some physical therapy, and field work is out of the question until he is cleared, but he’ll make a full recovery.  He has a mild concussion and a few bruised ribs, but we’ve given him some meds for the pain and the concussion shouldn’t present any further complications.” 
No field work. Aaron was going to be pissed. “Thank you, doctor.” You said gratefully. 
“He’s been asking for you, if you’d like to follow me,” The doctor responds, and you allow him to lead you down a maze of hallways, leaving you just outside Aaron’s room, where his eyes are shut and his chest rises and falls slowly. Figures, you were sure he’d been up all night running through profiles in his head.
You sat on his right side, away from his injured leg, and rested your head against his mattress, near his hip bone. He looked so fragile like this, wrapped up in a thin blanket and a johnny, bandaged from his collar bone to his toes. You wondered, briefly, if he felt this helpless and frustrated the night that he picked you up from your old apartment. The tears well up against your will, but you allow them to fall, for a few moments. You had earned the right to care for him, to worry about him, to fret. You had earned the right to sit vigil at his hospital bed and try to force images of a lifetime lived without him to stop passing through your head. 
Aaron stirred, and you sucked in a quick breath, not wanting to wake him. He settled, again, and you rested your head back against the mattress, letting the gentle rhythm of his breath lull you to sleep. 
He twitches a little while later, and the sudden movement jolts you awake. His return to the waking world is slower, and you let him come at it at his own pace, not wanting to overwhelm him when he was probably already going to be in pain and disoriented. You hear him mumble out your name and you stand, placing one hand on his cheek and the other in his uninjured palm. 
“I’m right here, baby,” you whispered to him. 
“Are you okay?” He asks, trying to look you up and down without moving his neck. 
“Am I--” you chided gently. “Honey, I’m fine. Are you okay? Does anything hurt?” 
“My leg,” he tells you, trying to sit up, but you push back on his shoulders. 
“Absolutely not,” you tell him. “You broke your leg. You are staying in this bed until a doctor tells you otherwise.” 
“Fuck,” Aaron muttered out. Suddenly, a thought occurs to him. “Is Spencer okay? And the girl, Victoria Sullivan?” 
“The team took them both alive. Spencer is fine, just a little breathless from his run.” You tell him. 
“When is it gonna heal?” He switches topics back to his injury. 
“You mean, when are you going to be allowed into the field again?” You asked skeptically, and he at least has the good grace to look sheepish. “Not for at least six weeks, more than likely closer to ten, plus physical therapy.” 
“God damnit,” Aaron sighs. 
“It could have been a lot worse, Aaron,” you point out softly, and he looks up at you. 
“You’ve been crying.” He says softly. 
“No, I haven’t.” 
“Don’t lie to a profiler,” He chides you gently.
“Well, I’m the woman who loves you and I’ve earned the right to cry when you’re hurt.” You said defensively, but not unkindly.
“Hey, I’m okay. Really, I swear. Come up here,” he urges you, and you roll your watery eyes. 
“I’ll hurt you,” you tell him. 
“You’ll hurt me worse if you don’t come cuddle,” he pouts. 
“Corny bastard,” you chuckle, tenderly sliding into bed next to him. 
Unable to shift and cuddle, Aaron settles for reaching out for your hand, which you allow him to take in his own. He strokes his thumb over the back of your palm tenderly. 
“I’m sorry I scared you,” he whispers, and you might start crying again right there.
“Don’t do it again. I was ready to kill you myself,” you warned him. 
“Noted.” 
“We should call Jack. I didn’t tell him what was going on, I didn’t want to scare him. Jess knows.” 
“I just… want to hold your hand for a couple more minutes.” 
“Okay, love. A few more minutes.”
tagging:  @romanogersendgame @wanniiieeee      @zheezs14      @greeneyedblondie44 @angelic-kisses13  @baumarvel @ssamorganhotchner  @ijustwannaread2k19    @rexit-mo @shmaptainhotchnersmain @qtip-blog @averyhotchner  @the-modernmary @itsmytimetoodream @choppa-style @hotforhotchner11 @infinite-tides @isthatme-thatsme @g-l-pierce @bakugouswh0r3 @ssahotchie @sleepyreaderreads
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sxnnimoon · 3 years
Text
Little One pt. 6
Part 6 is here babies! I hope you all love it and I hope you all have a great weekend! (also if anyone knows to do those text and social media posts of artists and celebs please let me know!)
----------------------------------------------
“Park seo joon… WHY?!” you glared at him.
“Oh come on princess,” he smirked. “You should know me better than anyone else.”
You tried to move away from his hand that came to your face.
“You were mine before theirs.” he grabbed your face.
“You’re crazy.” you said, barely above a whisper.
“It was only a matter of time before I could have you all for myself.” he smirked leaning in.
You whispered out a no before he let go of your face. He took a few steps away from you before he turned around and hit you, instantly apologizing.
You spit out a bit of blood, you wanted nothing more than to cry out but tried keeping yourself together.
“What will you gain from this?” you looked up at him with disgust.
“What aren’t you getting?” he tilted his head. “I finally have what's mine. You would be mine if they didn’t come into the picture. They always took away what was mine.”
You were confused on what he meant but you could see the sadness in his eyes for a split second, but it soon switched to anger.
He rushed towards you. Fear setting in, not knowing what he was going to do. He untied you from the chair leaving your feet and hands bound. He picked you up, carrying you out of the empty room. You tried looking at where you were, all you could see was a carpeted floor and paintings scattered on the wall. It felt familiar, like you had been here before but you couldn’t think of where. Before you knew it you were thrown on to a bed. You clutched the shirt that covered your body tight feeling the sleeves slip down your shoulders. Looking around the room you could finally piece together where you were.
“The villa…” you whispered.
He chuckled darkly, he knew you figured it out.
“Why bring me here?” you looked at him confused. “They will find me. It’s only a matter of ti-“
He slapped you.
“ENOUGH!” he yelled, making you jump back. “Let them come. It won’t end well for them.”
He left the room soon after. You couldn’t believe he would bring you to the one place they would find you, the villa your family owned, it was where you met Seo Joon in your high school days, it also had been a place you would bring the boys when you wanted a few days away in the woods for peace and quiet. You both were best friends up until you married. His behavior changed once you started seeing any of the boys, it had become clingy and possessive. You never knew him like that, he was always the sweet, shy and smart Park Seo Joon. you couldn’t grasp where it all went wrong. It saddened you but you had to remain strong, you couldn’t let your guard down.
A few hours passed and he finally returned, this time with food and water. He walked towards you, making you tense up and move away. He pulled you by your ankles. You tried fighting back.
“I’m untying you, chill the fuck out.” he hissed. “Now don’t try anything.” he pointed at you before sitting in the chair across from where you were.
“Now eat,” he grumbled.
You stared at the food, not having the strength to move.
“I may have taken you but i can assure you it’s not poisoned.” he said rolling his eyes.
You ate slowly.
“Now that you have me, what will you do to me?” you ask him.
He liked that you wanted to ‘talk’ to him, you knew he wouldn’t shut up once you got him going. As he went on listing all the things he was gonna do you were getting uncomfortable and disgusted. You also could sense and hear commotion from outside. He obviously didn’t notice. It wasn’t until you could see movement under the door that you changed up your plan.
“You are insane.” you said with disgust. “You really think I would have been with you back then let alone now? We made out once, ONE time seo joon. You really think I would fuck someone like you?” you decided to get him riled up which would get him off guard.
You could see the fiery expression in his eyes at your words.
“Honestly, you aren’t even man enough for this. You are nothing but a scared little boy who is just pissed that the one thing he wants isn’t his and doesn’t want him back.” you fake pouted.
“Keep it up,” he said lowly pointing a finger at you.
“Or what? You are nothing compared to my men. Unlike you, they know the difference between protectiveness and borderline crazy.” you knew it was working, you could see the feet stop in front of the door.
“THAT'S IT!” he yelled before charging at you.
He was stopped in his tracks when the door was bussed down.
“WHAT TH-” he was cut off by a gunshot.
You screamed. You looked up seeing Yeonjun. He was one of Hoseok’s best men.
“IS HE DEAD.” you shouted, looking at him passed out on the floor.
“He’s still alive, just wounded.” Beomgyu said, checking his pulse.
“Death would be too easy.” Yoongi said walking in.
“YOU'RE HERE!” you jumped into his arms.
He held you tight against him.
“ARE YOU REAL?!” You said, frantically running your hands all over his face.
“Yes we’re real little one.” Jin said coming into the room.
“Get him out of here. I’ll deal with him later.” Hoseok said, coming into view, The others, not too far behind.
“Why would he do this?” You looked down pouting.
“We found files he kept hidden with nothing but pictures of you Miss.” Beomgyu said.
“And a few of the bosses with holes through their heads.” Taehyun said. “Not to mention the nude ones…”
He looked at you with sympathy.
You shook your head.
“I want to see them.” You said, wiping tears off your face.
“..baby..” Joon said, coming towards you.
You put a hand up for him to stop.
“I want to see EVERYTHING. No arguments” You said sternly.
They nodded.
You all began walking out to the SUV’s ready to head home.
“Everything you need is already at the hotel.” Yeonjun said.
“Thank you.” You gave a small smile.
“We’re staying at one of the hotels while everything gets moved into the new house.” Taehyung said.
You nodded.
A new place meant new beginnings, but also much more hidden and higher security.
Arriving at the hotel you walked ahead of them instantly going to your room not wanting to be bothered.
Once in your room you noticed two huge boxes filled with files. You were an hour and a half into the first box barely making a dent. You cried here and there, You couldn’t believe how much he had stalked you. All the trips you went on, all the meetings, you in your restaurant, club. He was everywhere. It wasn’t until you got to the second box that you felt disgusted. The entire second box was nothing but you nude. You cried harder. This man was supposed to be like a brother to you, but he was too good to be true. He was at your wedding for god sake. You all let him in and this is how things ended up. You were sitting there with your head in your hands when your phone went off.
It was Taehyung.
Tae Baby🐾✨
T- are you okay?
T- I can hear you through the walls :(
Y- that doesn’t begin to cover it….
Y- cuddles?
T- omw
You soon heard a knock. You walked over to the door and opened it seeing him made you smile. You hugged him, his scent instantly making you forget everything. You get safe. Though the line of work he does he was definitely one of the softer ones out of the seven but also one the most feared along with Jimin. You stood there for a while before going to lay down.
Tae went to clear the bed taking notice of the photos left out. He covered his mouth, he was hurt and disgusted.
“Let’s just lay down.” You say taking the boxes away.
“How could we let him do this to you?” He whispered.
“We won’t be seeing him anytime soon, he’s done for baby.” You reassured him.
“We could have prevented this.” He said, trying not to cry.
“We didn’t know love,” you rested a hand on his cheek. “No one knew he could do this. Now let’s go to bed.” You kissed him.
He pulled you tight, he didn’t want you out of his sight. He thought he lost you.
As much as any of them didn’t want to admit it, you were their weakness. And it hit them hard thinking you were gone.
As you lay there in the dark, Tae wrapped in your arms you couldn’t help being wide awake. The images of the previous events running through your mind on repeat. The glow of your phone lit up the room. You were curious about who would be texting you at 3am. Eyes squinting you read the name.
Jiminie😚❤️
JM- are you awake?
Y- i am
JM- can I come in?
Y- you can :)
You locked your phone before trying your best to slip out of Taehyung's grasp. You put a pillow between you so he could still have something to hold on to for the time being. You walked to the door just before he knocked.
He smiled as you opened the door. He went to talk but you put a finger to your lips and pointed in the direction of a sleepy Taehyung.
He nodded and closed the door behind him.
He pulled you in close.
“Let’s just lay down.” You whispered, a yawn following.
Laying down in the middle of the two, your back facing Tae who immediately wrapped his body around you making you and Jimin giggle.
You played with eachothers hands neither one speaking. You could feel your eyes getting heavy.
“Sleep my love.” He said. “We’ll be here to protect you.”
He kissed your head and you were soon deep in sleep. You woke up to the sun in your face and tangled in arms and legs. You tried your best to wiggle out but Jimin’s hold on you tightened. You tapped his cheek earning a groan from him.
“I need to pee.” You said struggling to sit up.
“Don’t leave.” Taehyung whined.
“Do you really wanna sleep in a wet bed?” You smirked down at him.
“I am up.” He shot up.
Jimin slowly got up at the sudden movement.
You giggled and shook your head before going to the bathroom.
Walking out you hear the boys on the phone.
“Alright, we’ll pack everything up and head on out.” Tae said into the phone. “Okay bye.”
“What was that about?” You asked.
“Everything is moved into the house.” He smiled.
“We can head over once you are ready.” Jimin said.
It didn’t take long to gather everything. Down at the lobby you only saw one vehicle.
“Where are the others?” You raised a brow.
“They are already there making sure the security is set right.” Jimin said.
Upon arrival they put in a code to open the gates which wasn’t new but the long driveway was. It definitely had its similarities and differences. Walking into the house you could hear Hoseok and Joon giving demands about bodyguards for each of you. You walked in and all eyes were on you.
“Come meet your guard's love.” Joon said.
“I want to choose my own.” You demanded.
They both gave you a look. After the last two you wanted to make sure you were protected at all costs.
“I want Yeonjun and Soobin.” You said. “Don’t fight me on this Hoseok. Them plus Beomgyu have gone above and beyond for our family and I trust them with my life.”
“Okay.” He said.
“I can assure you all will do your absolute best to protect me and my family.” Joon said. “You’re dismissed.”
They stood there just looking at you.
“What?” you said, raising your brows.
“You…” Hoseok said, “amaze me.”
He smiled, running a hand through his hair.
“And here I thought you were too sweet to give out demands.” Jungkook said, smirking.
You stuck your tongue out at him.
“You guys must be rubbing off on me.” you shrugged walking away.
You walked around the house and property, making yourself acquainted with it all. Yeonjun and Soobin not too far behind keeping watch.
You walked to the balcony overlooking the trees, it was beautiful and the sunset added a nice touch.
“We could live here.” you said to yourself. “We could start a family here.”
You were too in thought to realize Soobin was calling you.
“Miss. The bosses need you back at the house, they say it’s time for dinner.” he said.
You nodded leading the way.
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machine-gun-casie · 3 years
Text
tavern music
synopsis: corpse hears tavern music coming from your room (gn!reader)
warnings: rpf, reader gets cheated on, kind of unrequited feelings, mostly hurt/comfort and physical affection tho (what im trying to say is that this is mostly self indulgent)
wc: 1.7k
a/n: havent written in a while but i found this in my arsenal, fixed it up a bit and viola. original plans for this was definitely something longer that would end with them being together but im not up for writing rn. been feeling really shitty lately and ive been needing something like this in my life. hope u guys like it ♡
He couldn’t hear it at first. His headset was on and everyone was being so loud on the discord call. When he started the stream, he really thought it was gonna be a long one. But he’s only two hours in and he’s ready to get the hell off because something was definitely wrong.
“Corpse?” His name being spoken finally broke him out of his trance, he only hummed in response. “You’ve been really quiet. Are you sure you’re up for another game?”
“Actually,” he starts as he closes a few tabs, “I think I’ve gotta go. Today was fun, though. Thanks for having me guys.”
After a chorus of ‘goodbye’s and ‘see you later’s, Corpse disconnected from the discord call. “Thank you guys for being here,” he addressed the chat, “sorry I’m ending so early today. I promise I’ll make it up to you next time. Take care of yourselves. Later.”
After hanging up his headset and getting out of the chair he’s been sitting in for far too long, Corpse made the short trek to your room. 
You had only been roommates for less than four months, but Corpse could confidently say that you have become one of his closest friends. Getting a roommate was the last resort that he never wanted to actually resort to. But alas, medical bills were piling up and youtube and music don’t make half as much money as people think they do. So cutting rent in half was the best plan he could come up with. He did have an extra guest room that no one ever stayed in. Of course having someone move into his personal space was terrifying to him. He didn’t just want to post an ad on craigslist or something. So he asked a couple trusted friends to ask a couple trusted friends… And that’s when you came in.
You were the trusted friend of a trusted friend of a trusted friend. When you met, you didn’t make a comment about his voice. Your face sure as hell showed your surprise but you didn’t say anything. To Corpse, this meant one of two things. You either knew who he was but didn’t want to freak him out, or you didn’t know about his online persona and were just genuinely shocked by his voice. It only took a few minutes of knowing you to know that it was the latter. Thank god. You were like anyone your age with social media. You had a few accounts, followed a few people, but mostly used it to stay in contact with friends. 
It only took you guys a week to realize you had way too much in common. After many a late night when he wasn’t streaming, and many an early morning when he was just done streaming, you two became inseparable. Nothing could keep you apart.
Except for one thing.
You had a boyfriend.
There was nothing wrong with your boyfriend, per se. Just the fact that he was your boyfriend and Corpse was not. 
Yeah, Corpse definitely had feelings for you. 
But right now, feelings didn’t matter when he could hear tavern music coming from your room.
He knocked lightly and pushed the door open slowly. “y/n? Can I come in?”
No response came, just sniffles and sobs. The lack of refusal on your part gave him the courage he needed to open the door wider and step into your room. He had only been in your room a couple of times since you had moved in. But he had never been in a room that gave off the feeling of a person so well.
You were curled up on your bed, facing your open laptop screen and the tavern music coming from its speakers. With every sob shaking your chest, Corpse felt his heart break. “y/n,” he murmured softly, “what’s wrong?”
“It’s not working.” Came your reply, heavy with tears. “You said it would make you feel like you're going on an adventure but I still feel like crap.”
“What happened?” Corpse asked as he sat down on your bed, facing you. You slowly sat up and crossed your legs at your ankles in front of you.
“He-” You sighed heavily. “He cheated on me.”
“What?”
“He cheated on me -has been cheating on me- with my best friend. My little brother found out.” You groaned and dramatically dropped your head onto Corpse’s thigh. His hand immediately came in contact with your cheek as he brushed a few stray tears away.
There was rarely any physical contact between you and Corpse. Sometimes you’d give him a high five, sometimes he’d give you fist bump. And there was that one time you came up behind him at the grocery store and hugged his arm to your chest. You immediately whispered something along the lines of ‘creep won’t leave me alone’ followed by a loud ‘hey babe!’
Corpse could barely admit to himself how much he liked that.
But this? This felt good. Corpse’s large warm hand on your face somehow made you want to cry more but in a good way. The tenderness with which he held your face made your heart squeeze as it remembered moments like this with your boyf- ex boyfriend. But then it remembered your brother’s words.
“Hey, what’s up?” You spoke as you answered his call. Your brother wasn’t much of a caller, so it made you worry. 
“Hey, where are you right now?”
“I’m home, why?”
“y/n… There’s something I gotta tell you.” He sighed and you could clearly hear the guilt.
“Did you break my DS!” It was your first thought as you had given it to him the last time you had seen him. “Dude! I’ve had that since I was seven!”
“No no, I called about something else.” He cut you off mid-whine. “But also I did lose the pen.” You huffed out a sigh of frustration but stayed silent so he could tell you what he wanted to tell you. “I saw your boyfriend at the park today.”
You furrowed your eyebrows. “And?” How did this warrant a phone call? 
“He was with Bob.” 
When you had met your best friend, your brother was only a toddler. He had decided that her name was Bob, so it stuck. You always called her Bob, she was saved as Bob in your phone, your whole family called her Bob. But you still didn't understand. Why was he calling you to tell you that your boyfriend and your best friend were at the park? 
“Why are you calling me about this? You know that they’re friends, right?” You let out a chuckle, albeit still pretty confused. “They’re allowed to hang out without me.” 
“They weren’t hanging out.” You could hear your brother push out a strained sigh. What wasn’t he telling you? “They were making out on the swing set. As in, both of them on one swing. And I double checked, it was definitely them. I-I told mom and she said not to tell you, but I couldn’t not tell you when I’m the one who saw it!”
You couldn’t bring yourself to say a word.
“I’m sorry, y/n.”
There was no lying to yourself, you had doubts about your best friend and your boyfriend. But you constantly brushed it off. He wouldn’t hurt you like that. Hell, she couldn’t hurt like that. Not after everything you had been through together. 
But you had seen his call log by accident one time, he called her more than he did you. She face-timed him one time to ask his opinion about a dress she was going to buy while you were in the changing room. She had done a handful of things since your relationship with your boyfriend started that made you uneasy. If this was their first kiss, which was something you doubted, then they’ve both been emotionally attached to the other for far too long.
All those tender intimate moments, all those dates, throughout everything, he wasn’t faithful. Not emotionally, at least. None of those moments that you cherished meant anything to you anymore. He had played you. With none other than your best friend since middle school. You didn’t know who to be more mad at.
The thoughts of betrayal from someone who you considered a sister and the hurt of being cheated on made you nauseated.
So when the large warm hand on your face stroked your cheek again, you didn’t mind it. This was Corpse. Not your cheating boyfriend. Not your lying best friend. Corpse. And you knew that he would never hurt you.
“He’s been cheating on me for a while I think.” You mumbled against his sweatpants. “Maybe a couple months. I don’t know.” 
Corpse furrowed his brows in thought. You had told him you were going to visit your boyfriend for your one year anniversary next week. “Weren’t you go-”
“Yeah.”
“And Bob’s been your friend since-”
“Yeah.” Your chin wobbled as you answered. You brought your arms up around Corpse’s thigh and hugged it. It was a strange position, but you didn’t care. He was so warm and nice and hugging him properly required more movement on your end than you were willing to do.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Corpse sighed and reached out to untangle your arms from his leg. He gently pulled you across the few inches of bed between you and sat you in his lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, immediately sobbing into his shoulder. “Do you want me to turn off the music?” You shook your head no against him and he chuckled before he solemnly sighed. “When did you find out?” 
“When I came home.”
“But you came home hours ago. Have you been in here this whole time?” You nodded. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were streaming, didn’t wanna interrupt.” You shrugged.
“y/n,” he sighed disappointedly, “you’re my best friend. I can end a stream if you need me.”
“Okay.” Your voice, broken and weak and tired, made him feel so guilty. You had been crying your heart out for over two hours just down the hall from where he was.
He gently grabbed you by your hips and tried to push you away, but you only held on tighter and whimpered. “I just wanna get you some water.”
“I don’t want water.”
“Then what do you want?”
“You.” You whispered. “Please stay.” 
Fuck. How could he say no to that?
So he stayed.
492 notes · View notes
weirwoodking · 3 years
Note
I feel like that if Jon was a girl, she'd be hated so badly by the fandom for everything she was loved for as a male
Oh, yeah, of course. Jon (and the other male characters) gets away with feeling emotion in a way that none of the female characters do or would ever be able to do.
I was going to do this in a separate post, but your ask gave me the perfect opportunity to do it right here. I took the liberty of compiling a few Jon excerpts, and switched the name “Jon” to “Dany” and the male pronouns to female pronouns.
And then she heard the laughter, sharp and cruel as a whip, and the voice of Ser Alliser Thorne. "Not only a bastard, but a traitor's bastard," he was telling the men around him.
In the blink of an eye, Dany had vaulted onto the table, dagger in her hand. Pyp made a grab for her, but she wrenched her leg away, and then she was sprinting down the table and kicking the bowl from Ser Alliser's hand. Stew went flying everywhere, spattering the brothers. Thorne recoiled. People were shouting, but Dany did not hear them. She lunged at Ser Alliser's face with the dagger, slashing at those cold onyx eyes, but Sam threw himself between them and before Dany could get around him, Pyp was on her back clinging like a monkey, and Grenn was grabbing her arm while Toad wrenched the knife from her fingers.
—Jon VII, AGOT
Ser Alliser seized Dany by the arm.
Dany yanked away and grabbed the knight by the throat with such ferocity that she lifted him off the floor. She would have throttled him if the Eastwatch men had not pulled her off. Thorne staggered back, rubbing the marks Dany’s fingers had left on his neck. "You see for yourselves, brothers. The girl is a wildling."
—Jon IX, ASOS
In the end Halder and Horse had to pull her away from Iron Emmett, one man on either arm. The ranger sat on the ground dazed, his shield half in splinters, the visor of his helm knocked askew, and his sword six yards away. "Dany, enough," Halder was shouting, "he's down, you disarmed him. Enough!"
No. Not enough. Never enough. Dany let her sword drop. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Emmett, are you hurt?”
Iron Emmett pulled his battered helm off. "Was there some part of yield you could not comprehend?" It was said amiably, though. Emmett was an amiable man, and he loved the song of swords. "Warrior defend me," he groaned, "now I know how Qhorin Halfhand must have felt."
That was too much. Dany wrenched free of her friends and retreated to the armory, alone. Her ears were still ringing from the blow Emmett had dealt her. She sat on the bench and buried her head in her hands. Why am I so angry? she asked herself, but it was a stupid question. Lady of Dragonstone. I could be the Lady of Dragonstone. My father's heir.
—Jon XII, ASOS
“Men say that freezing to death is almost peaceful. Fire, though…do you see the candle, Gilly?”
She looked at the flame. “Yes.”
“Touch it. Put your hand over the flame.”
Her big brown eyes grew bigger still. She did not move.
“Do it.” Kill the girl. “Now.”
Trembling, the girl reached out her hand, held it well above the flickering candle flame.
“Down. Let it kiss you.”
Gilly lowered her hand. An inch. Another. When the flame licked her flesh, she snatched her hand back and began to sob.
“Fire is a cruel way to die. Dalla died to give this child life, but you have nourished him, cherished him. You saved your own boy from the ice. Now save hers from the fire.”
“They’ll burn my babe, then. The red woman. If she can’t have Dalla’s, she’ll burn mine.”
“Your son has no king’s blood. Melisandre gains nothing by giving him to the fire. Stannis wants the free folk to fight for him, he will not burn an innocent without good cause. Your boy will be safe. I will find a wet nurse for him and he’ll be raised here at Castle Black under my protection. He’ll learn to hunt and ride, to fight with sword and axe and bow. I’ll even see that he is taught to read and write.” Sam would like that. “And when he is old enough, he will learn the truth of who he is. He’ll be free to seek you out if that is what he wants.”
“You will make a crow of him.” She wiped at her tears with the back of a small pale hand. “I won’t. I won’t.”
Kill the girl, thought Dany. “You will. Else I promise you, the day that they burn Dalla’s boy, yours will die as well.”
“Die,” shrieked the Old Bear’s raven. “Die, die, die.”
The girl sat hunched and shrunken, staring at the candle flame, tears glistening in her eyes. Finally Dany said, “You have my leave to go. Do not speak of this, but see that you are ready to depart an hour before first light. My men will come for you.”
—Jon II, ADWD
“Lord Janos,” Dany said, “I will give you one last chance. Put down that spoon and get to the stables. I have had your horse saddled and bridled. It is a long, hard road to Greyguard.”
“Then you had best be on your way, girl.” Slynt laughed, dribbling porridge down his chest. “Greyguard’s a good place for the likes of you, I’m thinking. Well away from decent godly folk. The mark of the beast is on you.”
“You are refusing to obey my order?”
“You can stick your order up your arse,” said Slynt, his jowls quivering.
Alliser Thorne smiled a thin smile, his black eyes fixed on Dany. At another table, Godry the Giantslayer began to laugh.
“As you will.” Dany nodded to Iron Emmett. “Please take Lord Janos to the Wall—”
—and confine him to an ice cell, she might have said. A day or ten cramped up inside the ice would leave him shivering and feverish and begging for release, Dany did not doubt. And the moment he is out, he and Thorne will begin to plot again.
—and tie him to his horse, she might have said.
If Slynt did not wish to go to Greyguard as its commander, he could go as its cook. It will only be a matter of time until he deserts, then. And how many others will he take with him?
“—and hang him,” Dany finished.
Janos Slynt’s face went as white as milk. The spoon slipped from his fingers. Edd and Emmett crossed the room, their footsteps ringing on the stone floor. Bowen Marsh’s mouth opened and closed though no words came out. Ser Alliser Thorne reached for his sword hilt. Go on, Dany thought. Dark Sister was slung across her back. Show your steel. Give me cause to do the same.
[...]
“If the girl thinks that she can frighten me, she is mistaken,” they heard Lord Janos said. “She would not dare to hang me. Janos Slynt has friends, important friends, you’ll see…” The wind whipped away the rest of his words.
This is wrong, Dany thought. “Stop.”
Emmett turned back, frowning. “My lady?”
“I will not hang him,” said Dany. “Bring him here.”
“Oh, Seven save us,” he heard Bowen Marsh cry out.
The smile that Lord Janos Slynt smiled then had all the sweetness of rancid butter. Until Dany said, “Edd, fetch me a block,” and unsheathed Dark Sister.
By the time a suitable chopping block was found, Lord Janos had retreated into the winch cage, but Iron Emmett went in after him and dragged him out. “No,” Slynt cried, as Emmett half-shoved and half-pulled him across the yard. “Unhand me…you cannot…when Tywin Lannister hears of this, you will all rue—”
Emmett kicked his legs out from under him. Dolorous Edd planted a foot on his back to keep him on his knees as Emmett shoved the block beneath his head. “This will go easier if you stay still,” Daenerys promised him. “Move to avoid the cut, and you will still die, but your dying will be uglier. Stretch out your neck, my lord.” The pale morning sunlight ran up and down her blade as Dany clasped the hilt of the sword with both hands and raised it high. “If you have any last words, now is the time to speak them,” she said, expecting one last curse.
Janos Slynt twisted his neck around to stare up at her. “Please, my lady. Mercy. I’ll…I’ll go, I will, I…”
No, thought Dany. You closed that door. Dark Sister descended.
—Jon II, ADWD
And, of course, let’s not forget about this line:
"Well, he will not want it said that Stannis rode to the defense of the realm whilst King Tommen was playing with his toys. That would bring scorn down upon House Lannister."
"It's death and destruction I want to bring down upon House Lannister, not scorn."
—Jon II, ADWD
If these scenes had been Dany’s, she would have been called a power-crazed mad bitch who’s destined to be the villain of the series. And... people still do that anyway, even though none of her scenes come close to these Jon ones. And no, this does not mean Jon is going to go mad, of course it doesn’t. I love these Jon scenes, and I think that his bursts of anger and emotion are valid and understandable. It just shows how men/boys are allowed to act in ways that would never be possible for women/girls to behave without massive, massive misogynistic interpretations and critique.
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honeypiehotchner · 3 years
Text
intelligence & issues (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- chapter eighteen
Helloooo I almost posted this yesterday as a thank you gift and then I totally got caught up in schoolwork. Gotta love finals season am I right
Anywho, thank y’all so much for 1.7k followers <3 Here’s a long ass chapter that’s a good ol’ mix of fluff and angst xx.
Chapter Warnings: waking-up-together kinda fluff, no sexytimes but there are some ~suggestive~ comments of course, ANGST at the end (i’m so sorry), the end of this case is very near on the horizon
Previous chapter || Fic Masterlist
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Aaron wakes you when his first alarm goes off at 5a.m. It’s way too fucking early in your opinion, but you know he wants you to have time to go back to Emily and JJ’s room to get ready for the day.
Still, being woken by a kiss on your forehead is something you can see yourself getting used to. Not to mention using his chest as a pillow all night.
You tilt your head to capture his lips in a sweet kiss, not caring that the both of you probably have disgusting morning breath right now.
He pulls away first, nudging your nose with his before he rests his forehead on yours, looking deep into your eyes. “Good morning, sweet girl.”
You can’t help the smile that splits your lips. “Good morning.” You close your eyes in your flustered state, burying your face down into his chest. “I don’t want to leave.”
“I want you to stay,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “But we’ve got a job to do.”
“I know,” you sigh, opening your eyes to bring yourself back to reality. Then, you hook your arms around his neck, starting to grin. “Same thing tonight?”
He smirks, wrapping his arms around your waist. “Depends on how much of a good girl you are today.”
“Ooh, a challenge,” you tease. “I dunno…I’m feeling pretty bratty this morning.”
You feel his arm tighten around your shoulders, drawing you closer to him in warning.
“I’m just teasing,” you murmur, propping your chin on his chest, giving him your best eyes.
But he isn’t fazed. “I know. I’m keeping track.”
So, naturally, you pout. “Fine.”
“Strike two.”
“I have a feeling this isn’t like baseball. Three strikes and I’m out?”
“Are you trying to find out?”
“Mm, maybe?” You grin, but, as always, the FBI Agent part of your brain comes back to life. “If we didn’t have to be downstairs soon, I’d say yes. But I probably should go get dressed.”
“Understood,” Aaron replies, a small grin on his lips too. “I suppose even as your boss, I can’t keep you here.”
“As my boss, we’re technically not even supposed to be in the same bed together,” you remind him with a snort, but seriousness comes over him. “What?”
“We still need to talk,” he says quietly. “Really talk about this, but right now I just want you to know...I don’t regret this. I want this. No matter the consequences.”
“Me too,” you whisper, fingernails gently scratching the base of his skull, your weak attempt at comfort. “Do you think there’ll be consequences?”
He sighs, and you rise and fall with his chest. “I don’t know.” He pauses. “If Strauss finds out somehow, maybe. I don’t know if keeping it from her until she inevitably finds out is better than telling her ourselves, but…”
“We’ll figure it out,” you assure him with a small smile. “But you wanna do this?”
Instead of answering you verbally, he pulls you closer for a soothing kiss, coaxing all your worries away.
“I want to do this,” he says, knowing you need to hear the words from his voice.
“Okay,” you murmur, taking a deep breath. “What do we do about the team?”
His eyebrows furrow. “What about them?”
You give him a tired look. “Come on. They know.”
“What?” He blurts, sitting up a little, taking you with him. “Rossi knows.”
“And Emily and JJ and Garcia,” you chuckle. “I didn’t even tell them. Emily saw us at dinner one night. JJ figured it out from the phone call a few days ago. Garcia just...knows.”
“What about Morgan and Reid?”
“Are you kidding me? Morgan knows. Have you seen how he irritates the shit out of me every day?”
“Exactly,” Aaron says. “He does it every day.”
“Have you noticed how he’s been doing it especially when you’re around?” You raise an eyebrow. “Come on, you’re our supervisor! I thought you were a better profiler than that!”
“We have a rule not to profile each other,” he says sternly, obviously a little butthurt that he didn’t see that everyone else knew.
“A rule that none of us stick to, by the way,” you laugh. “We just don’t voice it. But we do. Trust me.”
“I didn’t think you’d figured that out yet,” he admits.
“Eh,” you shrug. “It wasn’t hard. I caught myself profiling everyone. I figured I couldn’t be the only one who does it by accident.”
Aaron only smiles. He’s amazed by you every single day. Sometimes he wonders if you even know how intelligent you are. If you even know the full scope of your mind. Maybe you don’t, maybe no one does.
“But anyway,” you swerve back on track. “I feel like it should be unspoken, but just...no PDA, you know? It’s fine that they know because honestly I think they knew before we knew, but let’s not make it a big deal.”
“Agreed,” he nods. “We still need to be professional.”
“Exactly,” you breathe, glad to be on the same page.
His second alarm goes off, the one for 5:30, and you groan, dropping your forehead to his chest.
“Why does it have to be so early?” You mutter, your lips brushing against his skin as you speak. It sends a hot wave through him, one that causes him to promptly shift your body off of him. “What are you doing?”
“You need to go get dressed,” he says. “And if you stay here wrapped around me any longer, I won’t be able to let you leave.”
You grin. “Point taken.”
You roll off the mattress, fully aware that he’s looking at your ass, and at your entire body, marveling at the way you look in his shirt.
“Oh,” you say, doing a dramatic turn, watching his eyes very quickly move back to your face. “Do you have any boxers? I probably shouldn’t walk down the hall in just a shirt.”
He’s scrambling for a pair of his boxer briefs, the thought of anyone else seeing you just like this making his blood boil frighteningly fast.
“Thanks,” you smirk when he hands them to you. And you put them on in front of him, partly for a show and partly because the look he was giving you demanded it. “I’ll see you in an hour or so?”
He nods. “Try not to spend too much time gossiping.”
“Oh, please,” you shake your head. “They’re getting all the details.”
You’re out the door before he can even catch you, and you just know you’re going to get it later.
+++
Emily and JJ are on you as soon as you open the door, both of them dressed and ready, arms folded over their chests like Moms whose daughter stayed out too late last night.
In a way, that’s completely accurate.
“And where have you been?” JJ asks, fully entering her Mom persona.
“Uhm, a friend’s house?” You play along, trying to inch your way to the bathroom.
But Emily knows your move, and stands in front of the bathroom door. “Is this friend named Aaron?”
“...maybe.”
And the façade falls, because they both cheer, pulling you into a hug.
“Finally!” Emily screams.
“Finally, what?” You laugh. “The night before I was also in his room.”
“Oh, we know,” JJ assures you.
“Finally, you admit it,” Emily clarifies. “So...details?”
“So...we have to be downstairs soon and I need to get dressed,” you walk past them to your bag. After grabbing your clothes, you turn back around to find them still staring at you. “What?”
“You’re in his shirt,” JJ says, still smiling.
“And boxers,” you laugh, pulling the hem of his t-shirt up a little. “Guys, don’t make this a big thing.” You pause, heading toward the bathroom. “He was a little upset that I knew everyone knew, and he didn’t.”
“How did he not?” Emily scoffs. “He can be so dense.”
You shake your head, shutting the bathroom door to get dressed.
When you emerge from the bathroom, now dressed and looking more presentable, Emily and JJ are finally getting ready, too. They still watch you like a pair of hawks stalking prey, though. You just hope they won’t make any comments later.
That’s wishful thinking and you know it. But hopefully the comments will be held in at least until you’re all on the jet, heading back to Virginia.
+++
When you walk out of the elevator with Emily and JJ, you find Hotch standing with Rossi, the former looking much more grave than you left him. And he’s on the phone.
“Shit,” you mutter under your breath, picking up the pace. You glance at Hotch, silently asking, and he nods. “There’s another body,” you fill in Emily and JJ, ignoring the strange look that Rossi gives you.
Once Hotch hangs up, he looks immediately at you. “There’s two bodies. Male and female.”
“What?” Emily blurts. “In the same location?”
He nods. “Same house.”
About this time, Morgan and Reid step out of the elevator, jogging over when they see the team’s faces.
“What’s going on?” Morgan asks.
“Two bodies this time, same house, male and female,” you explain briefly.
Hotch jumps in. “JJ: you, Reid, and Y/N head over to the precinct and get Garcia on the phone. Get her to find everything she can on these new victims.”
You nod, glad he’s not sending you to see anymore bloodied bodies. Just the thought has a chill running down your spine.
You don’t want to admit it, but it’s hard not to picture Trevor’s face. It’s hard not to feel the thrill of the possibility of revenge. But you know that’s only the irrational part of your brain. You know you wouldn’t really act on those thoughts.
But they’re still there.
+++
Back at the precinct, you’re dialing Garcia and stirring a cup of shitty coffee. When she picks up, she sounds about as frizzed as you feel.
“Good morning, my angel sent from Heaven,” she sings, sounding far too bright for seven in the morning. “What can I do you for?”
“Good morning,” you chuckle. “We’ve got two new victims.”
“Mm, I know,” she groans, and you begin to hear typing. “Morgan texted me their names, I was waiting for your call.”
“Yep, we just need you to work your magic, that’s all.”
“That I can do,” she replies, no doubt through a smile. “Speaking of magic…”
You already know where this is heading. “Seriously? Who told you?”
“JJ and Emily texted me,” Garcia admits. “But you know I was going to weasel it out of you eventually, anyway!”
“Yes, I know,” you roll your eyes, tossing the coffee stirrer and empty cream and sugar packets in the trash. “Listen, how about this: Once this case is over, we’ll all have a girl’s night at my place with a bunch of junk food and wine, and I’ll give all the details -- whatever they might be at that point.”
You can’t let yourself believe that you’ll still be together because who knows what could happen. Anything could happen. The universe has a bad habit of getting in the way of your love life.
“You know the way to my heart,” Garcia sighs dreamily. “It’s a date. Speaking of dates, it looks like our two victims were married.”
“Married?” You nearly yell. Talk about a plot twist. “And the guy brought our unsub home for a one-night stand?”
“Looks that way so far,” Garcia says with a grimace. “Caroline Merritt, 35, was the CEO of her own company and traveled a lot. It looks like she changed flights yesterday and landed around eleven p.m. She checked her car out of the airport parking lot at eleven forty-five.”
“Great, so she might’ve walked in on our unsub.” You rub your forehead from the stress. “What about the other victim?”
“Jasper Rhodes was 34 and a part-time worker at the local Walmart,” Garcia lists off. “They had been married for three years, but Caroline never changed her last name.”
“Don’t exactly blame her,” you remark. “Alright, which one had allegations?”
“I’m about to burst your bubble, babycakes. Neither of them.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Garcia echoes, just as solemn. “Caroline has a squeaky clean record, aside from one speeding ticket when she was seventeen for going forty-five in a school zone. Jasper also has a clean slate for a record, but he does have one DUI from when he was twenty-two. Nothing else since.”
“It’s been twelve years, so for all we know, he could be sober for a decade now,” you mutter. “Okay. Do they have any connection at all to our other victims? Please say yes.”
“Cross referencing as we speak,” Garcia says, typing furiously. “Almost done… Negative,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“Don’t be sorry,” you shake your head. “Thank you for being such a wizard, as always.”
“It’s my specialty,” she quips. “So...do I get some details about you and Hotch now?”
“Goodbye Garcia…” You chuckle, ending the call before she can ask anything else.
You walk back into the conference room, shaking your head sadly at JJ who looks up with hopeful eyes.
“Garcia found virtually nothing. Caroline got a speeding ticket at seventeen, and Jasper a DUI at twenty-two. Nothing since. And no connection to any of our other victims,” you relay the information, ending it with a sip of your coffee.
“This unsub is good,” JJ says, exasperated. “How is she always three steps ahead of us?”
“She’s not, really,” Reid says, and you can feel something else coming on. “It’s like she knows we’re closing in on her, so she’s going after those who have no reported allegations. She’s not as far ahead as we think, but maybe that’s what she wants us to think.”
“Reid, dude, you’re sounding like a fortune cookie right now,” you laugh. “I get where you’re going with this. But unless they find some DNA at the crime scene, we’re back to square one again.”
“Maybe…” He trails away, getting up to look at the map.
Something is going on in his head, but you’re not sure what. He’ll tell you when he’s finished with it, you’re sure.
In your pocket, your phone starts buzzing. Thinking it’s Garcia, you pull it out and answer without looking, but Garcia’s voice isn’t what you hear on the other end.
“I’m heading back to the precinct,” Hotch says.
“O...kay,” you furrow your eyebrows, mouthing, ‘Hotch’ to JJ. “Why just you?”
“I need to show you something,” he says slowly, like he’s struggling to get the words out. “The unsub left a note.”
“What does it say?” You ask, wondering why it’s like pulling teeth to get him to speak.
“It’s addressed to you,” he finally says, and all the blood drains from your body. “It’s in an envelope and sealed. Your… Your name is on the front.”
You’re not sure what to make of that at all.
“Okay,” you say, your brain unable to really process it. “Okay, we’ll look at it when you get here.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Aaron,” you whisper, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Don’t say that to me. You’re scaring me.” You pause. “What are you sorry for?”
“For this note,” he replies, voice quiet. “For this unsub targeting you, and now for scaring you.”
“What does the note say?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t open it.”
“Okay. Just...hurry, I guess.”
“I’m turning into the parking lot now.”
“Okay, see you in a sec,” you murmur, ending the call.
You look up from the phone to find both JJ and Reid staring at you, concern swimming deeply in their eyes. You don’t even have the energy to offer them a reassuring smile. Nothing about this is comfortable for you.
Why would the unsub leave a note addressed to you?
Hotch walks through the precinct doors a few moments later, a man on a mission as he walks directly to the conference room. You’re explaining to JJ and Reid about the note when he walks in, and you fall silent upon seeing him.
He hates that he even called you to warn you, but he had to do something. His mind was racing on the drive. He had to hear your voice, and he knew you were bound to ask why he was coming back on his own, what’s so urgent, so he knew he’d have to tell you.
But the fear in your eyes right now is something he never wants to see again. Ever.
“Where is it?” You say, your voice wavering.
Slowly, Hotch pulls the envelope out of his jacket pocket. It’s in a plastic bag, which is standard protocol for evidence, and you begin searching for a pair of gloves.
You find a pair and start to slip them on, grimacing at the way your hands shake, and using your peripheral vision to see that Aaron is watching you closely.
Once you’re gloved up, he hands you the plastic bag. It feels much heavier than it should.
Carefully, you pull out the envelope, swallowing down the nausea you’re feeling. As Hotch said, your name -- Agent Y/N L/N -- is scrawled on the front in messy handwriting. Fortunately, Reid can examine that, and this letter if it’s handwritten.
You break the seal on the envelope, flinching slightly, and ignoring that you did. But Aaron saw it.
You pull out the note and half of you cries in relief because it is handwritten, and the other half of you feels sheer terror because your business card is taped to the top left hand corner.
“Shit,” you cuss, closing your eyes.
“What?” Aaron asks, taking a step closer, lowering his head to meet your eye level.
“My business card,” you say, opening your eyes again, hating the way things look blurry for a moment. JJ and Reid are just fuzzy figures at the table when you look around the room. “It could’ve been anyone at the meetings. I handed my card to as many that would take it. There’s no way I’ll remember everyone, or even half of them, I mean, I ran out of cards, I had to go stand by Morgan because--”
“Okay, okay, slow down,” Aaron stops you, putting both hands on your arms. “Look at me, please.”
Slowly, the world comes back into focus and you meet his brown eyes, finding your peace there like you have so many other times before. You focus on the weight of his hands on your arms, grounding you, bringing you back.
“I know it’s difficult,” he says. “But you need to breathe.”
You nod, sucking in a deep breath a little too abruptly, not even realizing you had been taking shallow breaths in the first place.
“Good girl,” he whispers, so low that he’s almost mouthing it, careful not to let JJ or Reid hear. And it’s not sexual or sensual this time. It’s comforting. “Can you read the rest of it?”
You nod. “I can help you end your suffering. I can help you avenge. I can help you heal. It doesn’t have to be this way.” You pause, looking up from the note, looking between Hotch, JJ, and Reid. “What does that even mean?”
“Did you talk about your experience during the meetings?” Reid asks.
“A little bit, but I barely scratched the surface of it,” you admit. “And I didn’t mention any names. I might hate him, but...I’d never send a serial killer after him.”
“I know,” Hotch says. “We’re not accusing you of that,” he adds gently. “It’s clear our unsub feels a connection to you now. Something you said must’ve resonated deeply with her.”
“But all I said was that he was my fiancé and that I didn’t report him, so that still gets us nowhere. She’s still a ghost.”
“She’s not a ghost,” he says sternly. “We will find her. You’ve already seen her once.”
“Yeah, but I don’t remember seeing her, Hotch.”
“That doesn’t matter. What matters is she’s reaching out. Which means we’re close.”
“Not close enough,” you protest, tossing the letter back on the plastic bag on the table. “I need to take a walk.” You move toward the door, and he’s following you, so you add quietly, “Alone, please.”
Hotch nods, and watches you go, more worried than he’s ever been in his life.
+++
When Rossi, Emily, and Morgan return to the police precinct, they spot you sitting alone on a bench outside the front doors.
“I got this,” Morgan says, hopping out of the car and heading to you, gesturing for Rossi and Emily to head inside. They share a look and nod, disappearing into the precinct to leave Morgan alone with you.
You don’t even look up from your hands when you see Morgan coming over from your peripheral vision.
“What’s up, kiddo?” He asks, standing in front of you.
“I’m really not in the mood right now, Derek.”
“Too bad,” he shrugs, sitting next to you on the bench, stretching his arm out behind you. “What’s going on? You know I’m just gonna keep buggin’ you until you tell me.”
You snort. “I know.”
“So…” He pauses. “Tell me. It’ll save us both a whole lotta time. And it’ll save you a whole lotta stress, sittin’ there with all that in your head.”
You know he’s right. And you know he’s the only one who really gets it.
So, you tell him what’s wrong.
“The unsub left that note just for me. My card was taped to it, Morgan.”
“And?”
“What do you mean and? It means I laid eyes on her, maybe talked to her, handed her my fucking card, and I still didn’t know it was her.”
“We’re not superhuman, Y/N. We only see what they show us. She probably put on a mask while talking to you.”
“Well now she’s still out there--”
“Listen to me. I ran out of cards too, remember? We started using yours. I easily could’ve given her your card. Hell, I was there with you, I probably looked at her a dozen times, too. Are you gonna yell at me for not recognizing her?”
“No--”
“Then stop doing it to yourself, you hear me?”
“I just… She feels a connection to me. What does that say about me?”
“That you’re a relatable person,” Derek offers, causing you to glare at him. “Hey,” he raises a hand in surrender. “I’m just being logical. It doesn’t say anything about you. Because a serial killer’s view of you is not who you are. You are who you are.”
“Thanks for the fortune cookie.”
“Don’t get that tone with me, kid,” he replies tiredly. “You know you’re not really mad at me, so don’t take it out on me, okay?”
“I know, I’m sorry,” you rub your forehead. “I’m just…”
“It’s not your fault, Y/N.”
“I know that.”
“I know you know that, but you still need to hear it,” he says. “And I’ll always be here to tell you, got that?”
You look over at him with a small smile. “Got it.”
He smiles too, glad to see you’re feeling better. He shoves your shoulder lightly, playfully. “Come on. Let’s get back in there.”
“Yeah,” you nod, standing up.
He walks ahead, but you stay still, wondering if you should even ask what you’re about to ask. But Derek notices your hesitation and turns back around, studying you.
“Spit it out,” he says, knowing there’s something.
“The unsub is trying to talk to me,” you say, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly. “So...what if we set up a trap.”
“What?” Morgan deadpans, raising his eyebrows, turning his body to completely face you.
“What if we--”
“Use you as bait?” Morgan finishes, incredulity coating his words.
You nod. “I wasn’t going to word it like that, but--”
He scoffs, looking more and more pissed off as the seconds go on. “Hell no. Are you outta your damn mind?”
“No, I’m not. I’m--”
“No,” he stops you, holding up his hand, pointing at you. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence. Don’t go there. We will find this unsub, and we will do it without you sacrificing yourself.”
“I wouldn’t be sacrificing myself!” You protest. “You guys would be there. You’d have my back.”
“We can’t predict everything this unsub will do, Y/N, you know that,” Morgan fires back. “And I’ll be damned if I let you throw yourself into danger like this. It’s not happening. You hear me?”
SIghing, you nod. “I hear you.”
“Have you even told Hotch about this?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t,” Morgan replies. “You’ll just get a lecture and you and I both know you don’t need that right now.”
“I know.”
He pauses, shaking his head. He steps forward, wrapping you in a hug, eyes closing when he feels you burying your face in his neck. “I love you, kid,” he whispers. “And I know it’s hard, but you got this, we got this. And it’s gonna be okay. Okay?”
“Okay,” you nod into his neck, taking a deep breath. “Yeah.”
Next chapter
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alpacaparkaseok · 3 years
Text
Working Overtime
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requested by @thecaffeinatedscribbles​ - thanks for requesting! a picture of your request will be at the bottom of the post!
Pairing: BTS x reader
Premise: A freak storm forces the biggest band on the planet to spend the evening seeking shelter at your small cafe. Of course, you can't complain about having to work overtime.
"...remain indoors for the rest of the evening....further notice....stay safe everyone!"
You can't help but groan, the sentiment clearly reciprocated by Benny, the cook at the small cafe you work at. The two of you came to work expecting to be kept inside for a while - just because a storm was brewing didn't mean you got a free day. Chances were that customers might decide that the best way to spend the hurricane-like day would be at their favorite restaurant.
Well, their favorite clearly isn't this one. The cafe is completely barren, leaving both you and Benny to lounge around. Just waiting for the storm to pass.
Benny dug up an ancient radio from the supply closet, and spent thirty minutes tuning it before finding a station. The two of you have taken up two stools at the front counter, head down on the table while the staticky radio picks up every other sentence. "Well Bill, it looks like...that's right, Sharon, I was thinking the same-"
You'll never get to find out just what it was that Sharon and Bill were thinking about, because suddenly the front door flies open, nearly tearing itself off its hinges.
Both you and Benny turn around in shock, nearly slipping off your chair as you get a look at whoever these strange newcomers are.
It takes a few moments before they all file in - there's seven of them - and slip their hoods back.
It takes another moment before they manage to get their hair out of their face enough to actually identify them.
"I'm so sorry about that," Kim Taehyung apologizes as he throws his body against the door so that it will close properly. "We just saw that you guys were open-"
"Nobody else is open on this entire block," Park Jimin finishes, currently struggling to brush his fingers through his hair like he usually does. It's a bit more difficult now that it's been through such a windy atmosphere.
You and Benny exchange a look, clearly at a loss for words at the strange development. Together, the two of you let out a wry laugh.
"What are you boys doing out right now?" Benny asks, rising from his seat and motioning for them to hang their coats on the coat rack.
Everyone immediately turns to look at Jungkook, who's cheeks turn a little red even as he laughs.
"Someone wanted to see how windy is was," Seokjin drawls, glaring daggers at the youngest member of the group.
"And you willingly agreed!" Jungkook defends, pulling a laugh from you.
Huh.
They're just like the other boys you've met.
Silly. Irrational. Blindingly beautiful.
"Could we get you anything to eat?" You ask, slipping into waitress mode. "It sounds like you might have to be here for a while," you tap the radio, scrunching up your nose as a bit of dust flies up.
The boys settle down in the middle of cafe, pulling a few tables together. You place some menus before them, marveling at how they seem to bicker like your family.
They place their orders - enough to feed a small army, which, you suppose they are. You head back into the kitchen, prepared to help Benny with the order. However, you're a little surprised to see Seokjin and Yoongi trailing you, with a nervous Jungkook behind them.
"Oh, did you want something else?" You ask, smiling brightly. The two oldest members of the group chew on their lips, sparing the maknae a glare.
"Actually," Yoongi begins, his cheeks reddening, "Is it alright if we help with the order?"
You blink, unsure of what to say. "...what?"
Jungkook jumps into the conversation like an excited puppy. "Well, it's just that it's going to be a lot of food and it's just the two of you..."
"We're bored." Seokjin injects, laughing to himself. "Let us help you?"
Shrugging and praying that your boss won't decide to fire you over it, you lead them back into the kitchen. Benny grins when he sees the four of you.
"Come to learn from the best?" He boasts, his round belly proof of his amazing cooking skills. "Grab an apron, wash your hands. Prepare to learn, boys."
You cackle as the three highly successful (and blindingly beautiful) idols follow Benny's instructions, chattering excitedly between each other.
It only takes a couple of minutes before the rest of the group appear at the doorway to the kitchen, watching on with curiosity.
"Care to join?" Benny invites. You stand off to the side watching with endless amusement.
Taehyung joins in with glee, while Namjoon, Hoseok, and Jimin hang back. They look to you hesitantly.
"Could we actually help you bring the dishes out?" Hoseok asks timidly.
You smile. This has got to be the best shift ever.
"Yeah, if you want to. Want to come watch the kitchen go up in flames with me?" Jimin bursts out into a fit of laughter, pointing at you with pride on his face. "Oh, she's funny!” He walks over to you, leaning against the counter.
Namjoon and Hoseok follow suit a moment later, giving you kind smiles as they take up the spot next to Jimin. 
“We’re so happy you guys were open,” Hoseok comments, watching with a bit of apprehension as Jungkook tries to copy Benny’s movements. “I seriously thought we were going to die out there or something.”
“Agh you’re so dramatic hyung,” Jimin says, rolling his eyes. “But it is pretty bad out there. When do you think it’ll end?”
You shrug, stifling a laugh at Yoongi’s expression of long-suffering as he fields Taehyung’s questions.
“I’m not sure...probably not for another couple of hours, though. It’s going to be a mess trying to get home I bet.”
“Mmm.” Namjoon leans forward so he can see you properly. “Care to eat with us when the food’s done?”
Try as you might, you still end up blushing. “That’s alright, I don’t want to intrude on your meal-”
“I’m already making your food!” Jungkook shouts from where he stands watch before the oven. “Or...Jin is, I guess. But I’m making sure it doesn’t boil over!”
You give a shocked laugh, dropping your head in your hands. “I guess I will, then.”
Together, the four of you watching from the sidelines being to commentate every move that’s made within the kitchen. 
“Oh, that was a bad move Yoongi,” Jimin chides. 
“Shut up,” Yoongi responds, not even looking over.
Jin nearly drops a potato, earning quite the reaction from you. “Kim Seokjin, if you drop that potato so help me!” 
Everyone in the room pauses for a moment, Jin looking over at you with wide eyes. A moment later, they all dissolve into a fit of laughter, Jin making a show of setting the potato down with car.
“Better?” He asks. You nod.
“Much better, thank you.”
In the matter of an hour, you’ve made yourself completely at home with these complete strangers. Benny begins making more food, getting overly-excited at having willing students. Time drags on, and eventually you all ditch the idea of eating out at the tables, opting to hop up on the bar and watch the chaos unfold.
“How long have you worked here?” Jungkook asks with a mouth full of food. He ditched the kitchen a few minutes prior, deciding that it would be better to eat than learn. Hoseok replaced his presence in the kitchen.
You blow on your soup before taking a bite. “Umm...a couple of years? It’s been a good college job, I think.”
They nod along, watching at Jin wanders over. He makes a show of looking exhausted, leaning up against the opposite counter. “Is the food good?”
“Delicious,” Namjoon says.
“What do you want to do when you make it out of here?” Jimin asks.
You frown, looking down at the counter. “I...I actually really love graphic design. I don’t know, I just think it’s the coolest thing ever. There’s so much that could be done with it, too.”
When you look back up again, you find Namjoon and Jimin locked in a silent conversation. A second later, they look back to you with smiles. 
“What?”
Jimin shrugs. “Nothing. Graphic design is cool, don’t you think, hyung?”
Jin nods weakly, eyeing your soup. You take the hint, blowing on the spoonful you have. “Want to try it?”
He looks at you a little sheepishly. “Can I? Is that too weird?” You shrug your shoulders. 
“It’s a weird day. Might as well go for it.”
That’s all the motivation he needs.
The storm doesn’t let up for a long while, but you’re kept busy with the boys. They all take turns in the kitchen except for Namjoon, who claims that he’d be more harm than help. 
Together with Namjoon and Taehyung, you turn up the volume on the radio. The static makes it hard to understand, but you hear enough.
“subsided for now...remain cautious, but the worst is over.”
You let out a shout of excitement, pounding the table. Taehyung jumps a bit, laughing. “I think the storm is ending!” 
Benny hardly hears you, but the boys do. They also shout with you, except for Namjoon who suddenly receives a phone call. He’s on the call for all of thirty seconds before it ends. 
“Hey guys, that was Sejin...we need to head out.”
You frown, but try not to let it get to you. “Thanks for hanging out with Benny and I.”
The boys each take their leave, thanking you and Benny profusely. Jungkook hops on his feet as Benny fills a couple of takeout boxes for him. They quickly exchange numbers with the two of you, vowing to return soon.
“We’ll just put you in our group chat, alright?” Hoseok says, typing away at his phone. 
“How much do we owe you?” Yoongi asks, grabbing his wallet from his back pocket. Both you and Benny immediately wave them off. 
“Nothing,” Benny declares. “Thank you for keeping us company. That was enough.”
“Really, let us pay you-”
“You guys need to get going,” you interrupt, smiling at Yoongi. “Really, don’t worry about it.”
They leave, grumbling the entire way. Once the door has closed behind them, you and Benny exchange looks. 
“That was...”
“Freaking awesome,” Benny finishes for you. You chuckle. 
“Yeah, it was.” Sighing, you slip off of the bar. “I’ll put the chairs up and then come help you clean up.”
Benny waves you off. “I don’t have much to clean, Hobi did most of it.”
“Oh-ho, you even call him ‘Hobi’!” Heading into the dining area, you go toward the table that the boys were originally going to sit at. Something catches your eye before you can put the chairs up.
“Benny!” You shout, hands shaking a little as you grab the paper. 
It’s a note, hastily written but legible. 
Thank you for the meal and new friendship - please confirm the Venmo request we send to you. All the best: Bangtannies
Almost as though timed, both your and Benny’s phones chime. You gawk at the ridiculous amount of money, but you nearly burst into tears at the text message that follows it.
Bangtan: This is the number of the head of graphic design at Bighit. They’ll be in contact with you within the next couple of days - keep a lookout for it!
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earliebirb · 3 years
Text
nosedive
steve/tony, fluff, (newly) established relationship, 3250 words
Tony stares absentmindedly out the airplane window as he puts his phone up to his ear, watching people run back and forth, performing last-minute engine checks. Some of the guys look sweaty and out of breath.
From the comfort of the air-conditioned Stark Industries private jet, he feels a slight twinge of sympathy for the people having to suffer in the humid summer heat.
He loosens his tie and sinks deeply into his seat, closing his eyes with a massive yawn as he listens to the ringing tone. He hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout his five-day stay in Tokyo, too anxious about the contract to rest properly. 
The ringing tone goes on for a few more seconds before ending with a click, replaced by an achingly familiar voice greeting him in his ear. 
“Hello?” 
Tony’s eyes spring open. Outside, an aircraft marshaller walks by, speaking rapidly into his walkie-talkie.
“I had a blueberry muffin for lunch today. One single blueberry muffin.”
“...What?”
“It didn’t even taste that good. I couldn’t finish it. Too dry.”
“Tony, that’s not good. Is that all you had for lunch? You should really eat—”
“The meeting went well, by the way. Mr. Watanabe finally signed the contract, everything went as planned. My ride to the airport, however…”
“I told you things would go smoothly, you had nothing to worry about. You’re a brilliant negotiator—”
“The traffic? Fuck. I had to keep shifting in my seat to avoid pins and needles.”
“That sounds awful, are your legs okay—”
“Did you know that Tokyo is number nineteen on the list of cities with the worst traffic congestion in the world? I know that, because I looked it up on the way to the airport. But boy, did it feel like it deserved the number one spot. I think I lost feeling in my ass.”
“I did not know that. And, uh, is your ass okay—”
“Thank God for my private jet. These plush seats are the best things I’ve ever spent my money on.”
“That’s objectively not true, and you know it—”
“Then again, I think these seats in particular were Pepper’s choice? We remodeled the airplane’s interior like… two years ago. I couldn’t be bothered to meet with the airplane seat people and I just told her to pick whichever looked best. I had much more important things to tend to, like sewing up the holes in JARVIS’s Christmas stocking.”
“I am concerned about how you sort your list of priorities—”
“Hm, that’s right. I think it was around two, three weeks before Christmas and I didn’t want JARVIS to be upset about the whole stocking thing, you know?”
“I’m sure he wouldn’t have—”
“Also, you’re right, the single blueberry muffin was a bad idea because now my stomach won’t shut up. So I’ve ordered some pasta for my in-flight meal. Robbie’s making it, you’ve met Robbie—”
“I’ve met Robbie, yes, he’s—”
“Larry’s replacement after he resigned. Gotta say, I was sad to see Larry go. Guy worked for me for seven years. But then there was that thing with his grandma, and he had to leave, so… But! Robbie makes a mean carbonara, maybe even better than Larry, don’t tell Larry I said that—”
“I don’t even know Larry like that, how would I—”
“Mr. Stark, we’re ready to go.” The pilot—Paul—emerges from the cockpit, staring at him in anticipation.
Tony nods and makes a few rapid gestures with his free hand that he supposes Paul is only able to interpret perfectly after years and years of working for Tony. The gestures roughly translate to something like “Copy, I hear you, just let me wrap this up and then I’ll let you know when I’m done. Capiche?”
Paul—bless him—just gives him a curt nod and retreats back into the cockpit. 
“Anyway,” Tony takes a deep breath and puffs his cheeks out with the exertion of his exhale, “I called because… I got a feeling, Steve.”
“A… feeling?”
“Just— A gut feeling. A feeling in your gut. Inside of me. Like a hunch?”
“Okay,” Steve says patiently, his voice low and warm, “what are you feeling?”
“I… got a bad feeling. Today. A few hours ago. The feeling came to me when I was sitting in traffic, and I just— I feel like something bad’s gonna happen today, Steve. I can feel it in the air. In my heart. In my gut. In my joints.”
“Your joints? Like… the feeling old people get when it’s about to rain?”
“Okay, maybe not in my joints. Also, are you calling me old, grandpa?”
“I did not, you told me you felt something in your—”
“Anyway, so yeah. Where was I? Oh, right. Feeling. Bad feeling. Like, like, I don’t know, something bad’s gonna happen. Like an accident. Like a plane crash.”
“God, please don’t say that. You’re scaring me, Tony.”
“And I guess, I just called because I… I feel like I need to do this before the plane crashes and I die a violent and fiery death.”
“Nothing bad’s going to happen, Tony—”
“Like, if I didn’t do this today, maybe I’d never get to do it, you know? And, uh, okay, I’ve honestly been ranting to stall for time, but the longer I keep it in the more nauseous I feel, so maybe I’m just gonna do it now so I can die in peace—”
“Do what? And stop saying that—”
“Look, I’m trying to be brave and honest here and— Wait, actually? Maybe I’m being a coward because if the plane actually does go down, I won’t have to face the consequences of my actions, so I guess I’m just going to say fuck it, and say that I love you.”
“The plane is not going to— Wait, what?”
“I, uh. Love you. I’ve known it for a while now. And, uh, I know we’ve only been dating for like, a week, but—” Tony blinks. They’ve only been dating for a week. 
“...Fuck.” Tony can feel his own pulse starting to race. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
“Tony?”
They’ve only been dating for a week. What is he doing? What the hell is wrong with him? Normal people don’t do this. 
“Fuck. Shit, I mean— Uh, I’m sorry. That was super weird, huh?” Tony laughs nervously. He closes his eyes, gritting his teeth and cursing his stupid brain. Of course it’s weird. He always gets too attached to people way too quickly. No wonder Pepper was his only long term relationship. She was the only person who could put up with him—everyone else just got weirded out. “Uh, see you tomorrow? Or not. Fuck, sorry, I’m just gonna hang up before this gets—”
“Tony, wait.”
“...Yeah?” Tony says, hyper-aware of how breathless he sounds. His heartbeat is ringing in his ears. Everything is going to be fine. Right? Right. The worst thing Steve could do is… break up with him.
Oh, God, that is the worst case scenario. He really should’ve just kept his stupid mouth shut. 
“Tony, are you freaking out? I feel like I can hear you freaking out from all the way over here.”
“No, I’m not, of course I’m not. Who says I’m freaking out? You have no proof. I am calm, I’m calm as a clam, is that the saying? Did I get it right? Or was it happy— Anyway, I am absolutely calm, I’m the calmest I could possibly be. Any calmer and I’d be asleep. I’m—”
“Tony. Breathe.”
Tony forces himself to drag in a slow breath as he grips the arm of his seat with his free hand, focusing on the soothing hum of the airplane’s engine.
“Look, Tony, I—”
“No, listen. I’m sorry I jumped the gun, I hope I haven’t weirded you out or anything. You really, really don’t have to say it back to me. I mean it.”
“Tony—”
“No, in fact— Please don’t say anything. It’s fine. Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay?”
“But—”
“Drop it, Steve. Please?” Tony pleads. Clearly, his brain hadn’t been firing on all cylinders. That is the only reason that could explain his temporary lapse of judgment. “Look, I feel like talking about it more right now is going to send me spiraling into a panic attack.”
“...Okay. Fine.”
“Thank you. Uh, I’ll see you when I get home. If I get home. If the plane doesn’t crash. Haha.”
“Would you please stop saying that? It’s not funny.”
Tony latches onto the change in topic like a lifeline. “It is objectively true, you know. In order for me to be able to see you tomorrow, the plane has to land safely, and unfortunately, some things are just beyond my control. Like, who’s to say the plane won’t explode mid-air and—”
“The plane is going to land safely and you’re going to come back home to me in one piece. This is non-negotiable, Tony. You hear me?” Steve demands, his voice all hard authority and no-nonsense, like there will be Consequences should Tony fail to comply. 
As if he could ensure Tony’s safety with the force of his willpower alone. 
Come back home to me. 
That sounds good. Really good. Tony closes his eyes and pictures Steve’s baby blues in his mind’s eye. Warmth flowers in his chest.
“I hear you.”
“Great.”
“Awesome. I, uh, I gotta go now.”
“Okay. See you tomorrow.”
“See you.”
Tony hangs up and lets Paul know that he is done with his phone call. The jittery feeling left over from his call with Steve refuses to leave him, however, so he pulls up the drawing application on his phone and begins sketching something just to give his brain something else to fixate on.
He tends to lose track of time when he is hyperfocused on a project, so he isn’t exactly surprised that the next time he becomes aware of his surroundings, the plane is already well up in the air, his sketch of what looks like a flying coffee pot is almost finished, and Robbie is placing a plate of spaghetti carbonara on the table in front of him. 
“Spaghetti carbonara. With extra cheese.”
Tony’s mouth waters as he eyes the mountain of grated Pecorino Romano sitting atop the pasta. He sighs dreamily and smiles up at Robbie.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“Enjoy, Boss.” Robbie grins and slips back into the kitchen.
He only realizes just how truly famished he is after taking his first bite, and proceeds to finish the rest of his meal with gusto. Afterward, he spends the majority of the remaining flight time sleeping, the result of post-carbonara food coma and his sleep-deprivation finally catching up to him. 
It’s well past two in the morning when Tony finally makes it to his floor in the Tower, which is why he is surprised to see Steve sitting on his couch, one of Tony’s fantasy novels open in hand. 
“Steve, what are you doing here?”
Steve’s head snaps up at the sound of his voice. Tony frowns. “Actually, why are you awake at all?” He is usually an early sleeper, unless—
“Nightmare?” Tony gives him a sympathetic smile. It wouldn’t be the first time. In the early days of their friendship, Tony and Steve would sit together in the living room whenever they had trouble sleeping, talking to each other until the sun came up.
Steve shakes his head, closing the book with his eyes still trained on Tony. “No, I was just… waiting for you.” Tony blinks. 
“It’s…” Tony glances at his watch. “Half past two. In the morning.”
“I know, I just…” Steve stands up, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants. He ambles over before coming to a stop right in front of Tony. “I wanted to see you.”
Tony stares at him uncomprehendingly. “You’ll see me later anyway.”
“I couldn’t wait any longer. I didn’t want to go to sleep without seeing you first,” Steve says, low and earnest. His gaze wanders around Tony’s face, as if he were cataloguing each and every facial feature and trying to locate any changes he might’ve missed during his absence.
“Oh.”
Steve steps closer, arms snaking around Tony’s waist and pulling him close. His next words are whispered against Tony’s shoulder.
“I knew you’d make it home safely.”
“Uh, yeah.”
“You were wrong.”
“I was… wrong.” Tony swallows. “Uh, turns out the bad feeling completely disappeared after I woke up from my nap on the plane, so I suspect that perhaps the bad feeling I got was due to my severe hunger and sleep deprivation. I mean, I’ve heard about hallucinations caused by hunger or exhaustion, but this was—” 
Steve presses a soft kiss to the column of Tony’s neck, effectively cutting off Tony’s ramblings.
“Tony,” Steve whispers against his skin.
“Yeah?” Tony squeaks.
“Please don’t call me before a flight and say that you think the plane is going to crash, ever again.”
“Right. Noted. I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted,” Steve says, pulling away slightly and loosening his hold around Tony.
Tony allows himself to relax, letting out a quiet sigh. This thing with Steve is so new and delicate that every single physical contact still sends his heart fluttering, butterflies going crazy in his stomach.
Which makes, in retrospect, his abrupt love confession—as truthful as it was—that much more insane. God, Stark. Never do that again.
Except, it turns out that Steve only pulled away to slide his hands down the back of Tony’s thighs, wrapping his hands around them, and then lifting him up without warning.
Tony yelps, and in his alarm, promptly locks his ankles around Steve’s waist. When Steve begins moving, Tony quickly wraps his arms around Steve, resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder.
“Uh, Steve?”
“Hm?” Steve says, calm and nonchalant, as he begins walking away from the elevator. 
“Um— Wait— My suitcase—”
“Leave it. It’ll still be there in the morning.”
Tony blinks, staring dumbfoundedly at his lonely suitcase, abandoned by the elevator. It becomes smaller and smaller with every step Steve takes. 
“Where are we going?”
“Your bedroom.”
“Why are you carrying me there?”
“Because I want to.”
“You know it’ll be faster if you just let me walk, right?”
“Maybe. But you won’t be in my arms.”
“Um.”
“Bear with me, will you? I missed you.”
“I, uh, missed you too.”
Steve hums, satisfied. Tony lets himself settle more comfortably in Steve’s arms.
When Steve has successfully carried him to his bedroom, Tony fully expects Steve to deposit him on the bed. 
That is not, in fact, what happens. 
Instead, Steve turns around and begins walking backwards towards the bed before sitting down on it. Tony, still seated on his lap, swallows and pulls back slightly to look at Steve. 
“Look, Steve, as much as I’ve missed you, I’m kind of tired right now. I mean, don’t get me wrong. This whole carrying thing? Great. Very romantic. Ten out of ten. But I’m just not in the mood for sex, you know? Like, I’m not even sure I would be able to get it up if—”
“We’re not going to have sex.”
Tony blinks.
“We’re not?”
“We’re not. I’m just here to tuck you in.”
“Oh.”
Steve reaches up and begins undoing his tie. After setting it aside on the bed, he begins to unbutton Tony’s shirt. He takes his time, one button at a time.
“So…” Steve begins with a deep breath as he unbuttons the final button. “Did you mean, uh, what you said to me? On the phone?”
Tony closes his eyes, feels his own cheeks heating up. “Steve—”
“I’m sorry, Tony, I know you told me to drop it. But— I feel like if you did mean what you said, I owe it to you to… set the records straight.” When Tony opens his eyes again, Steve is looking up at him, blue eyes solemn.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean… We have only been together for a week. Well, eight days. In fact, we’ve only been on one date. And it was interrupted. By giant lizards.” Steve chuckles incredulously. 
Tony remembers that day very well. They were in the middle of dessert at Tony’s favorite Italian place when they received the call to assemble—something about giant lizards wreaking havoc in Central Park.
The lizards had green, gunky blood that got into the nooks and crannies of the suit. It had taken forever to clean.
“But Tony…” Steve gathers the material of Tony’s unbuttoned shirt in both of his fists, pulling him closer until their noses are only inches apart.
The second their eyes meet, Steve smiles the sweet, lopsided smile that never fails to make Tony’s stomach flip.
“I need you to know that… I didn’t have to date you to know that I loved you. I figured that a long time ago.”
Tony stills, breath frozen in his lungs.
“I guess, what I’m saying is… I love you too. I’ve loved you for a very long time, Tony. Even way before—” Steve breaks eye contact, looks down as he clears his throat. When he speaks again, his voice is tight. “Way before we got together. I’m talking… years before.”
Tony still finds it hard to breathe. “Oh.”
“Yeah,” Steve says, the word more breath than sound. He meets Tony’s dazed gaze. “So you don’t have to worry about… jumping the gun. Not with me. I’m in it for the long haul.”
“...Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Good.” Tony feels a lightness growing inside of him, spreading outwards to his extremities.
“Good.” Steve smiles, warm and impossibly fond.
“...Glad we’re on the same page.” Tony’s gaze drops down to Steve’s lips.
“We are.” Steve inches closer, nose brushing Tony’s. He then tilts his head ever so slightly and takes Tony’s lower lip between his, kissing him so tenderly Tony’s heart feels like it’s about to burst with it.
Steve’s warm hands slide up Tony’s naked back under his open shirt, sending goosebumps breaking across his skin. Tony buries his hands in Steve’s hair and relishes the feeling of the soft strands caught between his fingers. They stay caught up in each other for a few moments, capturing and releasing each other’s lips until the need for breath becomes too unbearable.
They break apart eventually, accompanied by soft chuckles. Steve smiles up at him, lips slick and cherry red, courtesy of Tony. He reaches up to caress Tony’s right eyebrow with the pad of his thumb, fleeting and affectionate.
“Get some rest, okay? You must be really tired. I should probably go to bed, too.”
Tony looks down at his lap, clearing his throat. “Uh, I know that we haven’t done this before, but…”
Steve waits patiently for Tony to gather his thoughts, hands stroking up and down Tony’s sides.
“Do you want to stay with me tonight?” Tony finds the courage to meet Steve’s eyes, holding his breath.
Steve’s blue eyes are gazing at him intently, looking at him like he’s the only person in the world worth his sole, undivided attention.
Tony swallows. “No sex. Just to sleep. If you—”
“Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“I would like that very much.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
“Good.” Tony feels his own lips slowly curve up into a smile, wide and unbridled. 
“Good.” Steve nods, lips twitching, his eyes never leaving Tony’s. 
Tony grins, feeling near giddy with delight. “Glad we’re on the same page.”
“We are, sweetheart.” Steve looks up at him, blue eyes fond and smile radiant. “We definitely are.”
179 notes · View notes
megumitski · 3 years
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hello these are the bnha fics i’ve read so far and i just made this to track them for myself. favorites are marked with a 💥! more bakudeku plus tododeku and other ships under the cut.
bakudeku
💥 Bluebird - EtherealBeing (53k)
Dialing a wrong number was no unusual occurrence. Everyone did it once in a while, and Katsuki was well aware of that fact.
However, possessing this knowledge made it no less aggravating for him to discover — a full two minutes into his rant about his day — that he’d been venting his frustrations to a complete stranger. As if that wasn't enough, said stranger was also inexplicably determined to hear his story to its end.
Let’s Be Alone Together - lalazee (3k)
Prompt: Deku being aggressively forward in his pursuit of Bakugou, and how that big oaf would react to someone else actually making the first move.
“Are you going to spend your entire life wishing you’d kissed me or are you gonna grow some balls and fucking do it?”
Bell Pepper - ticklishivories (7k)
Midoriya knew they wouldn’t talk about it. He was right. But he never thought it’d happen again.
spilling over every side - failbender (6k)
No good deed goes unpunished, not when there's a crazy lady with a complex and Lust Quirk parading around the city. By now, Katsuki should probably be used to things blowing up in his face.
be loved - bonnia (5k)
They sit there, in the darkness of the common room, about a few centimeters between them, but miles apart. Somehow, the quiet is companionable. More than it has been in many years. Katsuki knows he’s responsible for the rift between them, and he knows even more that it can’t only be Deku who attempts to mend it.
“Hey,” he says, after a while, and Deku turns to him in question, but Katsuki refuses to look his way. “Touch me again.”
(or: the kidnapping incident leaves bakugou traumatised about being touched on the back of his neck, and midoriya decides to take matters into his own hands)
Leftovers - brichibi (6k)
“Did you two make up?”
That. That’s why that fight felt like it was worth it, even if, technically, Izuku can’t answer her. Have they made up? Is this making up?
He actually doesn’t know.
[Or: the house arrest fic where it is, somehow, more awkward to talk through feelings than it is to fight]
lust-drunk - theboykingofhell (8k)
The one where Bakugou tries not to lose his mind to lust, and Midoriya is the useless gay who does nothing to help that matter at all.
💥 Quiet Rapture - lalazee (261k) - inc.
That A/B/O fic where cocky Alpha Bakugou falls in mate-love at first scent, while Midoriya is just a poor bookstore-owning Omega who got his nose punched in is a kid and can't smell a damn thing. Also known as: That time an Alpha had to use his actual personality to woo his mate instead of relying on his scent.
💥 A Demolition Boy & his Cryptid BF - kewltie (8k)
Bakugou of the Demolition Squad is famous for running one of the most popular Youtube channels on the web that regularly blow shit up and jumped off a perfectly good building for shit and giggles. He's also famous for his Cryptid BF™, never appearing on camera except for a few bodyshots and all information on him is kept locked up tighter than Fort Knox, therefore drawing all sort of attention and curiosity toward his mysterious boyfriend.
Deku from Deku Explains is a hopeless chatterbox who is known for uploading 20-30 minutes video that talked about his favorite shows and comics and have one of the most devoted following on Youtube. He also can't seem to shut up about his boyfriend Kacchan, who regularly make his presence on the channel as a disembodied voice.
They should theoretically have nothing in common except a shared platform to host their content and an army of fans with an endless curiosity and devotion to their Youtubers. Vidcon is where we lay our scene and the internet is about to get a rude wake up call.
What The Fuck Did You Just Call Me? - reading_raindrop (8k)
“A-ah B-Bakugou! You dropped some pencils!”
Katsuki stiffened. Kirishima and Kaminari froze. Basically, everyone within earshot stopped what they were doing to look at Izuku like he sprouted a second head. What did he just call him? “What the fuck did you just say to me?”
Katsuki whipped his head towards Izuku with his signature death glare as he stood up from where he picked up the fallen supplies.
“U-um I said you dropped some pencils! I think this eraser might be yours to-”
“No. What the fuck did you just call me?”
Izuku starts calling him Bakugou and it pisses the explosive teen off a lot more than he thought it would
💥 take care - Chrome (2k)
There are words to say stay safe, I’ll miss you, I love you, but Kacchan has always preferred to leave things unspoken. Izuku isn’t much with languages, but he thinks he’s figured out this one.
---
“Emotional constipation manifested as over-the-top housewifery?” Mina asks. Before Izuku can say that is not what he meant at all, she nods. “Yeah, I can see it.”
Just Look At Me - Colourcubify (52k) - dnf
Midoriya is completely happy with his life. Nope, not one single regret in his twenty-seven years. He especially doesn't regret running into his old childhood friend/bully after almost ten years, nor does he regret spilling coffee all over his very expensive looking suit. How nice it will be to die with no regrets. ~~~~ AKA the sugar daddy AU I meant to be a one shot, that turned into a full fledged story.
A Nest for the Best - Camellia_Sinensis (1k)
Deku’s been nesting and asking everyone in 1-A for pieces of clothing for his horde. Everyone, that is, except Katsuki. Cue the jealousy.
unforgiving - i_write_emotion (19k)
Deku is hit with a quirk that takes away his ability to forgive, and Bakugou’s world comes crashing down. Quirkless!Deku. Pro-hero!Bakugou.
@ Deku WRONG CHAT - katyastark (16k) - inc.
Deku: THE LENGTHS I WOULD GO TO JUST LICK THE SWEAT OFF HIS ABS hnnnnnghhh
Deku: or! like! It doesn’t even have to be his abs! It could be anywhere else! I’m not picky!
Pinky: excuse me what
ChargeDolt: OMG
Uravity: @Deku WRONG CHAT
I love you. I’m completely and utterly in love with you. Please don’t get married. - InkspillsNotebook (6k)
Ta-Da!!!! I hope you all enjoy the finished product!!! I'm sorry (not sorry) I broke a lot of you when I first posted this to tumblr!!
Procrastination - capncapk (5k)
But it is still surprising to see his more-than-friend-but-also-lover-he-guesses in his office seeking attention though Izuku already turned him down.
Usually he'll get a text of 'wyd?' followed by a time and place if Izuku responds with a confirmation, and silence if he's busy.
Or slammed into the wall in the agency's shower for a quickie if no one was around, which despite his anxiety, he often acquiesces to.
While You Were Sleeping - Belkacaramelka (71k)
The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.
Quirkless AU based on the film; endgame BakuDeku. -- Katsuki didn’t know when the change had happened: how he had gone from asking why Todoroki chose Deku of all people, to wondering why it was Todoroki that Deku chose. Troublesome Deku, who cooed like an idiot at cats, tripped at a random catcall and sang badly. Who, despite everything, proved that it wasn’t the quirk that defined a person. Deku, who was too much, not his, and undeniably off limits to begin with.
briar roses (and hundred years of sleep) - vannral (16k)
In complete honesty, no one who knows the Class 3-A should be surprised anymore. Izuku is asleep.
In which Izuku is hit by a ‘Sleeping Beauty’ Quirk, Class 3-A tries to find his True Love and get them to kiss him, and Katsuki’s very angry about it all.
Yes, They’re All Safe - teaandtumblr (5k)
Villains have entered UA grounds and are disposed of just as quickly, but that doesn't mean a headcount of the students doesn't need to be done. Toshinori would admit, he wasn't quite prepared for what he found in Bakugou Katsuki's room.
💥 all choked up - spicyrabbit (5k)
Bakugou Katsuki had a habit of turning away from the heard. At 16, he does this by coming to terms with wanting, desperately, to see his childhood friend cry.
💥 May I take your order, dipshit? - supercrunch (6k)
So, like, maybe Bakugou wasn’t really the best choice for this whole pizza delivery shindig.
(Midoriya in love, Bakugou in denial, and way, way too much cheese.
A BakuDeku romance in thirty minutes or less. )
blooms every hour - dynamighttiddy (7k)
“It’s you, okay?!” Deku screams. “It’s you. And I know you’ll never love me back, so -” Deku wipes his eyes and straightens. “So just leave it.”
-----
Deku has hanahaki, and Katsuki doesn't know how to save him.
all choked up - dynamighttiddy (7k)
“Deku, what the fuck are you doing?!”
Izuku asks Kacchan to help him train blackwhip. Things don't exactly go according to plan.
A Fight To The Death - iknewaman (10k)
Izuku isn’t competitive by nature, but when the blond, cocky asshole from the other table’s team gets involved he suddenly becomes hellbent on winning.
Rival Pub Quiz AU
💥 Like the Moon - osakakitty (15k)
Katsuki Bakugo is having constant, erotic dreams about Izuku Midoriya. He isn’t sure why, but they won’t go away. In order to make them stop, he needs to figure out what Izuku Midoriya means to him.
Canon-verse story in which Bakugo is confused about his feelings for Midoriya, and doesn’t know what he wants. Besides a good night’s sleep.
💥 We Wear Chains on the Weekend - surveycorpsjean (35k)
Well, in a day of revelations, it turns out that Izuku isn't as vanilla as Katsuki previously thought. Unfortunately, that fascinating discovery is overshadowed by Izuku's dumbassery, because he has zero concept of aftercare.
"Don't go to anyone else," Katsuki says, because screw it. He can do a better job anyways.
Or; Katsuki finds Izuku on a bad drop.
take me out to dinner first - dynamighttiddy (3k)
“Kacchan,” Deku chides. “What’s going on?”
Katsuki takes a deep breath.
He trusts Deku with his life. He can trust him with this, too.
“Have sex with me.”
-----
Katsuki Bakugou is one of the only virgins left in class 3-A - and with graduation just around the corner, he's desperate to change that.
💥 that ultra kind of love - dynamighttiddy (11k)
“So, uh,” Kirishima starts. “Was that your first kiss?” he whispers, almost sheepish. Katsuki’s stomach drops, and he freezes. Memories of green eyes and freckles and soft lips flash behind his eyelids. “Yeah,” he lies easily. “That was my first kiss.”
-----
In which Bakugou pretends Kirishima is his first kiss, amongst other things.
to the moon and back - kewltie (1k)
"He gets stupid when he's drunk," Katsuki seethes in his seat as he watches Izuku croon love notes into Uraraka's throat. He’d never met a worst lightweight then Deku, who become some kind of demented affectionate monster.
💥 Bridges - supercrunch (18k)
Yaomomo sighs. “We’ve got a little bit of a situation, Bakugou. Ashi—uhm, somebody might have accidentally signed you up for that modelling gig.”
Katsuki holds up a hand. "So what you’re telling me here," he says, "is that you told Calvin Klein I would model for them. In my underwear.”
Ashido sinks behind a desk to hide. “Yes.”
(The thing is, they really do need the money. And Katsuki's technically the leader of this bunch of morons, so he finds himself taking the job even though his pride will never recover. And even though nobody thought to tell him that he'd be working with his ex-boyfriend. You know, the cute freckled guy from high school who went and broke his heart.
So, yeah. This whole situation kind of sucks.)
Crescendo - supercrunch - inc. (4k)
(Izuku's band is on their way to the top of the charts. But the real star, he thinks, is the drummer.)
Guilty Kiss - osakakitty (1k)
He could feel Midoriya's eyes on him. Even though he knew it was wrong, Bakugo still wet his lips in anticipation.
(Canon-verse) A short story about making out in a closet. It's messy, but so is their relationship.
💥 Surfaces - surveycorpsjean (25k)
Katsuki has a new girlfriend, but something isn't right.
As impossible as it is, Izuku can't help but wonder what it'd be like to be called Katsuki's girl.
Classical conditioning - supercrunch (8k)
(or: how to trick a boy into going out with you.)
Alright. Maybe his idiot friends had a point, Katsuki thinks as he shoulders open the front door. His mother’s in the living room drinking coffee. Katsuki kicks off his shoes and stomps over. “Am I charming?” he demands, blocking the TV.
Mitsuki pats his cheek. “Oh, hon. Not at all.”
💥 Dance Bunny - EllaBesmirched (17k)
Katsuki Bakugou spends most week nights by himself, sitting in a corner at his local strip club and passing time until he feels tired enough to sleep. Work leaves him stressed and the new city he moved to a year ago is just different enough that he can't sleep at night and can't seem to get comfortable no matter where he is.
When he finally changes up his schedule and decides to head to the club on a Saturday night, he is instantly infatuated with a part-time dancer who can do things with his body that Katsuki didn't even know were possible. The dancer calls himself Bunny. By the second lap dance, Katsuki realizes he is in trouble.
but the entrails are the best part! - supercrunch (15k)
The boy straightens up. He’s about half a head shorter than Katsuki, face soft and youthful and sweet. He turns to look at him properly. His dark hair shines in the dying light, basket of blooms looped over one arm and mouth quirked into a tiny half-smile. The sun hits his face and makes his eyes a bright greeny-gold, just like emeralds.
Katsuki likes emeralds.
“Pretty,” he says, reaching out and picking the stranger up around the middle. He’s surprisingly heavy, although Katsuki doesn’t mind. “I like you. Come see my nest.”
The boy hits him.
He’s stronger than he looks, turns out. Katsuki drops him and falls onto his back, pain blooming across his face. Birds sing. The sky’s a lovely shade of orange, clouds floating lazily by. The boy scarpers. He leaves his basket of flowers behind, footsteps thumping on the ground and fading away as he escapes.
The sun sets. Katsuki, lying flat on his back with a bloody nose, decides he’s just fallen in love.
tododeku
(You Know You’re Really) Cute - ladyhoneydarlinglove (2k)
Kirishima poses the question, who’s the cutest boy in Class 1-A? The answers kind of surprise everyone, especially Midoriya.
Everything Except - Pouler (28k)
"In retrospect, Midoriya probably should’ve realized the moment they were enveloped in a glittering pink cloud that something was about to go Very Wrong."
After an encounter with a unique villain threatens to change the nature of their partnership, Midoriya must find a way to get things back to normal between him and Todoroki. That is, if he's certain that getting 'back to normal' is what he really wants...
count your blessings, not your flaws - PitViperOfDoom (7k)
Midoriya Izuku has never been asked out, confessed to, or flirted with, except as a joke.
Riddles in the Heart - PitViperOfDoom (19k)
The law is clear: whoever correctly answers three riddles will marry the prince, while all who fail are to be executed. The people live in fear as more challengers try and fail, and the throne grows bloodier with every passing year. But a young prince, nameless and in exile from his home, believes there may be more to this brutal challenge than meets the eye.
Of course, there's only one way to find out: ring the gong, and take the trial.
Late bloomer - Nohaljiachi (10k)
That’s why when they’ve found themselves face to face on the ring of the sport festival once more, for the third time ever since they’ve met each other, and Izuku smiled at him, eager and challenging, self-confident but never full of himself, Shouto blinked, dazed and shocked, in realizing just how blindingly beautiful his best friend was. The way Izuku’s white shirt clung on his muscles, the little peek of his collar bone and the hard lines of his pecs visible under it, the way his thighs curved and filled the school gym uniform.
‘Oh, fuck—‘ Shouto thought, his head spinning, feeling like he just got run over by a freight train. ‘Shit. He’s- hot?’
Burn and Breathe - PitViperOfDoom (11k)
Soulmates are connected through pain, and some bonds have more to share than others. Todoroki Shouto wishes he could reject his soulmate. Midoriya wants nothing more than to protect his own.
one string, fit for a bow - furihatachlookie (5k)
There was no magical moment that played a part in Midoriya's realization that he liked Todoroki. The thin red string that greeted him every time he looked down at his hand was an obvious factor, yes, but it wasn't love at first sight either.
It sorta just... happened over time.
fire and feelings - kagshina (8k)
“Uh…” he starts, eyes widening. “Your finger’s on fire.”
Todoroki’s face scrunches together, confused, and then he looks down, noticing the flame. Midoriya watches as shock flashes across Todoroki’s face, and then horror, and then finally settles on embarrassment as he puts out the flame.
“Shit,” Todoroki mumbles, and Midoriya’s lip curves upward.
bakutododeku 
💥 Fire in the Mountains - EllaBesmirched (168k)
“I’ll do it.”
Enji froze, fingers curling into a fist at his side, and didn’t turn around.
Shouto froze too, feeling his own eyes widen in shock at the words that had come out of his mouth, at the fact that he had actually stood up, followed his father out of the room, and dashed after him all just to say… he’d do it? He would do it? Him. Shouto Todoroki. He would--
Enji finally turned around and fixed Shouto with an expression so scathing, Shouto had to fight to keep his chin raised. “You’ll marry the Barbarian King.”
Shouto blinked. “Yes.”
The Ballad of Love and Hate - EllaBesmirched (6k)
After eight painfully long years, Katsuki finally has Izuku back. He's determined to keep him this time, and to do that, he knows there are some things he has to say.
(mis)matched - ethydium (12k)
Midoriya doesn't hate the idea of finding one's soulmate, even though he had long since given up on finding his own. And then Bakugou and Todoroki match, and while he's happy for them, his heart breaks from all the unsaid things he feels for them.
Or:
Midoriya pines and suffers his way to his own happy ending.
pillowed by love - ethydium (21k)
As a prank, Uraraka gets Midoriya a body pillow (dakimakura) with the image of Bakugou printed on it. Then another one with Todoroki's picture. Chaos ensues.
other
For who could learn to love a beast? - supercrunch (4k) - bakutodo
Bakugou takes a deep breath and steps out into the living room, eyes automatically adjusting to the change in light. There’s a boy hanging up his coat in the hall. He’s handsome, albeit in an annoying way, hair dyed two colours to match his heterochromia and skin pale and perfect and smooth. He looks expensive. “Bakugou.”
“That’s me,” Bakugou says. “You’re younger than I expected.”
“I’m older than I look.”
(Deku was right, damn him. Pretty boys are Bakugou's type.)
Want it All - surveycorpsjean (29k) - kiribakutododeku
“Hey, so..." Eijirou grins. "Can we ask you guys a question?"
Frankendick and the Great Acid Fiasco - EllaBesmirched (11k) - shiggyxdabi
Dabi had been intending to spend a very nice Saturday getting stoned and plotting murder, thank you very much, but when a trio of UA brats on enough L to kill a Beatle accidentally dose him and two other unsuspecting homicidal maniacs, Dabi has to change his plans a bit. Apparently no else around here knows how to trip balls and fucking enjoy it.
The Twitter - EllaBesmirched (8k) - tododenki
Shouto never really intended for anyone to find his secret Twitter account. He certainly didn't intend for Kaminari to see Shouto's thirst tweets about him. Luckily, Kaminari doesn't seem to mind.
pray you catch me - supercrunch (4k)
Katsuki pushes her shirt up to kiss her stomach. It’s silly, how it makes her heart flutter, how Izuku’s whispered I love you threatens to make her cry all over again. They’re unwrapping her from her clothes. They won’t let her hide, she thinks numbly. Won’t let her curl in on herself like she’s something dirty, Katsuki’s hands tugging off her underwear so she’s naked and exposed between them. “I,” she says breathlessly. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be crying. I’m just being dumb.”
Izuku shushes her. Another tear trickles down her cheek and into her ear. He kisses it away, humming, brushing her bangs off her forehead so he can press his mouth between her brows. “You have every right to be upset. We’ll deal with him later. For now just let us take care of you.”
“She’ll get the message once you stop talking and fuck her,” Katsuki says, slipping his fingers into her. She clenches around him and shudders. “Gonna eat you out ‘til you forget how to move. Now put that fucking motor mouth to good use, Deku.”
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