#sometimes i wonder if the summaries are too melodramatic

[gailynovelry]

I think I got the summary for Ember Warrior hashed out! Figured I'd post it here really quick to get a little feedback on it. I'm curious as to if it's interest-grabbing, and/or if there are any confusing sentences in there.

War has come for Rhimn. The unified feyrie courts strike back against the knights of the Irongardhe, casting the dark-winged shadow of Lady Death over Gadhi.

While Crislie wrestles with unexpected heritage and razes the frontlines of open warfare, her friends navigate the political intrigue of their Heraldry. As Meparik sets off on a diplomatic mission to convince the Ulluan Matrius to lend her aid, Navaeli parleys with the feyrie courts on behalf of General Morekai, hoping that he may hold the key to the cage of her Heraldry.

But allies may be more difficult to make than outright enemies. When Ullua is reluctant to make war with its neighbor, and the courtleaders and generals have agendas of their own, the situation might not be as straightforward as putting an ax through a foe . . .

And it’s far too easy for foes to pose as friends.

As the Ashen Army advances, the political imperatives of everyone’s roles threaten to devour them — but faltering could cost the lives and freedom of the fey of Rhimn.

[angstsfordays]

I will go to you like the first snow [2/?]

Pairing: Coriolanus Snow x OC! femreader

Summary: "I liked it so much. Watching over you, my heart (is) fluttering." Coryo realizes that loving you and having you are two separate things.

Warnings: Coriolanus Snow is a warning. Pre-signs of toxic! and possessive! Coryo!

Notes: For new readers to my work, the genre of my writing is usually more angst, sometimes fluff and slightly melodramatic. So if you are expecting anything sexy, I forewarn you that you ain't getting any. If you want sexy in terms of emotions, maybe I will try! Here's another chapter while I still on a writing roll! Happy new year everyone! 🥳🎆

Love, Angstsfordays 🫶🏼

Link to part one here

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

This is the last place Coriolanus thought he would spend his last break before his final and senior year at the Academy. The grand Carnell estate was a sight to behold and the privilege of having a chance to step foot into the home ground of the most distinguished family in Panem is one most could only dream of.

Unlike most of the elite in Panem who lived in penthouses, your family is the rare few who gets to live on an entire estate land belonging to themselves aside from the President.

He didn't expect a simple comment he made about roses would actually grant him this privilege.

The two of you were having a short break at your special spot under the Burning Ash tree before your next class was about to begin. While penning down your study notes, you felt that your hair was starting to get in the way as the wind was picking up.

Grabbing a hair tie from your bag, you gathered your loose hair and tie them into a loose tail. Coryo's eyes were fixated at how you held your hair tie between your lips and wondered since when they looked so lovely. The kind that were looked soft and inviting that he would love to just kiss over and over again.

Once you were done tying your hair, Coryo noticed how your already beautiful features stood out even more. His eyes then went down to the mole that rested halfway on the right side of your neck and wondered if he were to kiss that spot, what kind of reaction would you give him?

A particular scent then wafted to his nose as the wind blew once more. It was feminine yet zesty, comforting and making him want to get closer to you to get more of the delicious scent. It then clicked for Coryo why your scent was comforting.

"You smell like roses." Coryo's voice got you to look at him when you barely returned to your notes after tying your hair.

"Oh, you noticed?"

"And something else." His voice was deep and eyes were intent on you. You were starting to feel butterflies again, oh boy. You cleared your throat to avoid sounding like you were nervous.

"Apples."

"Apples?" It came off as question rather than a statement and you chose to elaborate further.

"When my parents moved to District 11, they lived and worked on an apple orchard. I grew up surrounded by apples." This was news to Coryo as you seldom mentioned anything about your father. Rather than being ashamed, Coryo thought you did not want to say anything as it would have triggered deeper emotions within you. Your glassy eyes proved his point.

"My mother has been interested in perfumery lately and she just created this scent. She always liked roses and the apples reminded her of the happier times she had with my father." You were trying to not look at Coryo as you spoke, fearing that you could break down any second. Taking a deep breath to calm yourself, you willed yourself to look at Coryo for a second before looking down at your notes again.

"I sprayed a little after gym class to not smell. Hope you don't mind."

"No not all. My mother loved roses too." Coryo rarely spoke about his any of his parents. You did know both passed on, his father died from a rebel shooting during the war and his mother in childbirth. Hearing him speak about her to you made you feel special.

Throwing a small smile his way, he caught it and returned one in kind. "She has this compact powder that smelt of roses, sometimes I will take it out when I think of her more on a particular day. " You didn't miss the look of nostalgia and longing in Coryo's eyes as he spoke. Reaching over to cover his hands in yours, your thumb brushed against his knuckles in a comforting effort. Coryo moved his fingers over to engulf your hand in his, tightening his grip to show that he did not want to let your hand go anytime soon.

"My grandma'am also likes to grow roses in our home's rooftop garden. She's rather possessive of them but would sometimes give me one for important occasions." He tried to lighten the mood. A sudden idea popped in your head.

"You should come over to my house!" Coryo's eyes widened at your statement as you excitedly continued on.

"My mother has an extensive personal garden and she has grown many types of flowers including roses! I will ask her if I can have some for your grandma'am!"

"No, I couldn't impose-" Coryo started sputtering which was very unlike him, but why wouldn't him be? It felt so intimate having you invite him over to your home. He had never visited any of his classmates' home ever since his family went into poverty.

"No, you're not. What's the point of so many flowers if you do not share it with someone? I will talk to my mother, she will be more than happy to! She's maybe my grandfather's daughter, but she's the furthest thing from him." Coryo grinned at your child-like excitement before nodding.

"If you insist."

"It's a date then!" You said excitedly not knowing the subtle impact of your words on Coryo. A date with you? Coryo felt like his fantasy just came true.

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

So here he was, decked out in his finest clothes to impress. After giving his name to the guards at your front gate, he was let in no more than a minute later. Once he reached the front porch, a handsome ginger haired man who looked around to be in his mid-twenties was waiting for him.

"Greetings, Mr Snow. I am Rowan, a butler to Miss Y/N. As an esteemed guest of Miss Y/N, please allow me to escort you inside." Coryo nodded and muttered a word of thanks before walking through the grand doors that were held opened for him.

The inside of the Carnell estate was truly a sight of marvel, his family penthouse even back in its glory days was nothing in comparison to your family manor.

Greeted by the doubled sided grand stairs at the center, Coryo took the time to drink in the posh interior.

"Coryo, you're here!" His attention was taken by your voice. Coryo looked to see you dressed in mid length flowy dress with a knit sweater. Your hair was different as it was curled in looser waves and it seemed light as it bounced in the air when you made quick steps down the grand stairs.

"Miss Y/N, you know that you're not supposed to run in the manor."

"Please Rowan, grandfather's not here." You rebutted in jest.

"He has eyes and ears everywhere." Rowan reminded you in response. You sidled up closely to your butler and playfully poked him before speaking.

"And I supposed you're one of them? Are you going to tell on me?" Rowan remained unfazed at your childish behaviour although Coryo could tell he was trying to hold in a smile.

Coryo knew you could be playful sometimes but never would he have thought you to behave the same towards your own staff. Afterall, you are the dignified young lady of the house Carnell.

But then again, you were never one for formalities so seeing you acting so casually to your butler was not too surprising either. However, he did not know if he liked that you acting this way to this Rowan.

"I am but a humble servant in service to the honorable Chief Commander Carnell." Rowan placed his right hand over his left chest before offering you a kind smile. You scoffed before turning to Coryo and grabbing his arm. Giving him a wide smile, you were excited at having your best friend over at your home for the first time.

"Come on, let me give you the quickest house tour before we head over to the garden!" Coryo brought a hand to rest on yours and then noticed how Rowan's eyes narrowed in at the physical contact.

'Harboring feelings for your young miss, Rowan?', Coryo's brows raised slightly at this unexpected discovery.

You waved off Rowan who offered to escort the both of you to the garden, reassuring that you knew your way around and wanted him to take a break.

As you started to ramble on about the house tour, Coryo turned back to see Rowan still looking on at the both of you and proceeded to twitch his mouth into a wired smug look.

You can't and never will have her, Rowan.

Once the house tour which was cut short to just the main living areas due to its sheer size (it would have taken half a day to go over the entire estate) was over, you led Coryo to have a meal at the your mother's garden.

You then brought him to where the rose beds laid and to see Coryo's face light up at the sight of the roses made your heart soared. With your mother's permission, you got the gardener to pick some roses and kept them for Coryo's grandma'am later.

Picking up a small budding rose bud that fell from the bunch, you blew off the invisible dust and beckoned Coryo over. Gesturing him to bend closer to your height, you then broke a part of the stem and tucked the flower above his ear and into his golden curls.

Giggling at your work, you brought Coryo over to the fountain nearby and stared at both of your reflection in the water.

"As pure as the driven snow." Crinkling nose at how cringey you came off, you looked down and away from Coryo who was still looking in the water at your shy expression. His hand rested on your shoulder to prevent you from turning away and nudged you to turn towards him.

His fingers then moved to find your chin and tilted it up to have you face him. As light his eyes were, you were able to find yourself in the reflection of those blue orbs.

"Look into my eyes. That is the person who's the real definition of being pure as as the driven snow." His husky voice spoke and your heart trembled at how attractive you found it.

He was very close. You two have never been this close. "Coryo...."

Coryo grinned at seeing how your ears were turning red- a telltale sign of you being embarrassed.

MY little blushing rose.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you held your breath in anticipation of what might happen next. Coryo smiled at your little action and decided that the time was now to make you his. Just one more inch and he will be able to find out if your lips were as lovely as he thought.

"Y/N! My darling, you in here?" An outsider's voice broke the spell between you and Coryo as you took a few steps back. The both of you looked around awkwardly and pretended as if nothing was about to happen just a few seconds prior.

The voice that called for your name spoke again and you realised it was your mother!

"Mother!" You responded to her call as you moved forward. Coryo was disappointed at what transpired but his feeling quickly dissipated and changed to one of nerves when he saw your mother stepped into sight.

Your mother was a gem of a beauty and one might not have believed that she had bore a teenage daughter with her how youthful she looked. She carried herself well just like any elite lady of the Capitol. But what differentiated her was the kind and approachable disposition she also carried, making her even more charming to the heart.

Coryo thought the apple did not fall far from the tree. The only difference that you had from your mother was the energy you gave. If Coryo were to describe you to be warm and bright like sunshine, your mother exuded a calmness like the moonlight.

"There you are, dear. Oh, you must be Y/N's friend." You greeted your mother in a tight hug before letting go.

"I'm Coriolanus Snow. It's nice to meet you , ma'am. Thank you for having me." Coryo saw how your mother looked over his features before forming an affectionate smile.

"You do look alot like your father."

"You knew my father?" His words came out hoarser than he realized.

"Yes, he was once a pupil under my father. I met him and your mother at their engagement party once. She was such a lovely person. It's a shame." She looked at Coryo with sad eyes but they were not pitiful.

"I'm sorry to bring up painful memories, my dear. If there’s anything you ever need, I’m here to help." Your mother reached over to hold both of Coryo's hands. The warmth she radiated was the same as yours, Coryo thought.

"Are the roses enough? Y/N here told me your grandmother grew roses too."

"Yes, more than enough. She would be thrilled." Coryo's answer caused your mother to smile widely, one that mirrored the smile he adored so much.

"That's wonderful. I can't say enough thanks for you taking care of Y/N in school. I was honestly so worried when we moved back to the Capitol and she enrolled in the Academy. It's a rather big adjustment since she lived most her life in an entirely different place. I'm just so glad she has a friend that she can trust."

"I'm very grateful for her too."

"Grateful that I'm keeping you on your toes? You better be prepared for the new school term if you still want to be on top!" You taunted cheekily, trying to cover up how tense you were still feeling from that almost-kiss from earlier.

"Y/N, be nice to Coriolanus here!" Your mother chided you softly. You crinkled your nose in an attempt to be innocent to your mother.

"I am! I always am!" Coryo chortled at your act. "Not when you try to pelt me down with those dodgeballs during gym class just the other week-"

You immediately brought a hand over Coryo's mouth in an attempt to shush him as you didn't want your mother to hear of your 'unlady'-like behaviour in school. Your mother shook her head while giggling at the two of you engaging in a childish fight as Coryo tried prying your hands off and proceeding to aim and tickle for your weak spot.

Coryo just managed to wrap his arms from behind you in a hold to stop you from running away. Your tummy was feeling weak from the laughing so much and Coryo relished in having you snugged in his embrace.

"Miss Esme,” Rowan came in to the garden in hurried steps and greeted your mother first before greeting you. His eyes looked at how Coryo was holding you before meeting the young Snow's with an almost defiant look.

You didn't catch it but was wondering why Coryo was still holding onto you tightly, (not that you didn't like it) but you didn't want to show such intimacy in front of others.

"Master Carnell has returned home." Your eyes furrowed in confusion before speaking, "But he was not to be back until the day after?”

"Apparently, his trip out has been cancelled early due to unforeseen circumstances from the other party." Letting out a deep sigh, you can't believe that your grandfather had returned earlier than expected. You planned for Coryo to come over today, knowing he was making a trip out of the Capitol to provide consultation at the peacekeepers headquarters in district 2.

"Then I guess I have to go, I'm sorry Coryo. I wished you could have stayed longer." You started pouting at the fact that your day with Coryo has to be cut short. Rowan ceared his throat to get your attention.

"Master Carnell is aware that you have a guest and wishes to see all of you in the main foray." Your eyes widened in fear, why would your grandfather want to see Coryo, absolutely not! Who knows what he would say and do to scare Coryo off!

"No no, you do not want to meet him. He's absolutely hor-" Your mother uncharacteristically called your name in an almost shrilling tone.

Pursing your lips tight after your mother's chiding, your eyes wandered to see Coryo biting his lip to hold back his amusement.

"Miss Y/N, we do not want to keep Master Carnell waiting." Letting out a big exhale, you stomped off ahead of the rest to face the music.

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

As Coryo entered the main reception area, he first saw the back of your grandfather which stood tall and imposing in his uniform. Hearing the sound of your footsteps, your grandfather turned around and Coryo was immediately reminded of how he used to look up at his father back then.

Your grandfather nodded to Rowan who made his exit shortly after everyone entered the room.

"Esme, Y/N."

"Father." Your mother's voice was polite and sweet.

"Grandpa." You also tried to your best to sound as cordial as your mother.

"What a nice welcome home indeed." Your grandfather was known to be feared by most that knew him but he always reserved the rare warm side of him for the dearest women in his life- his wife, daughter and granddaughter.

This was shown by the small smile (which already meant a lot) on his face as he looked over both you and your mother. The smile immediately dropped however when his eyes moved over to glance upon the young mister Snow.

"I see you brought a guest."

"This is Coriolanus, my friend from school." Usually you would act more of like a brat in front of your stern but albeit forgiving (only towards you) grandfather but you kept in mind that you wanted him to be nice to Coryo and decided to go against your usual routine.

"Mr Snow is it?" Coryo stood a little taller and puffed his chest slightly more to give off a more confident stance at your grandfather's address. He definitely wanted to make a good impression not because he was the great Chief Commander Carnell of Panem but your grandfather too- if he were to ever want you, this was the man he needed to make an impression on.

"Yes sir."

"I heard many things about you." Your grandfather's tone was steadfast.

"I don't remember sharing about Coryo before." You were puzzled as to your grandfather's words before he looked over to you with an almost mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I have my ways." Your grandfather finally let a wide smile as seeing how your eyes widened in astonishment. You wanted to retort before your grandfather continued.

"I trust Y/N was a good host."

"The best, sir." Coryo answered truthfully.

"Hmm, Y/N- would you give us the room to talk?" Your grandfather tilted his head towards you and you furrowed your brows at his statement.

"Grandpa..." You spoke in a slight warning tone. Your grandfather nonchalant to your expression and instead told you he just wanted to have a short chat with Coryo.

With a reluctant step, you walked over to Coryo to pat his arm gently as a form of support. You nodded to him and he responded in kind to ease you of your worry.

"Grandpa, please be nice. Please." You had a love-hate relationship with your grandfather ever since you returned to live with him. While sometimes you were upset whenever you thought of how he treated your parents in the past and his over-demanding tendencies, the moments of tough love he gave you could not be ignored.

You were the only person that could get away with talking back to him and he was always trying to make up to for not being present ever since you were born. Once your mother and yourself were out of sight, your grandfather swiftly addressed the elephant in the room.

"Mr Snow, what are your intentions with my granddaughter?" Coryo had somewhat expected your grandfather to ask this question but it still unnerved him the same.

"I have no other intentions other than being her friend."

Your grandfather didn't seem to take kindly to the politically correct answer that Coryo gave.

"It's funny how you think you can lie to me. I hope you don't think you can use her to your benefit." Coryo started to panic at how direct your grandfather was being. His words were uncompromising and his tone was resolute.

"Never. I would never do that to her. She's too important to me." Coryo justified himself and your grandfather took a short pause before he continued speaking.

"You father was a great man, one of the finest generals I ever got to work with. Your family name is also not one to look over, the Snow is a prominent name." Dread fell upon Coryo as he was being once reminded of how far his family had fallen from the glory days and for your grandfather, a prominent figure in Panem to point them out only served to increase the heart wrenching feeling he always held in his heart.

"My daughter once fell in love with a talented man with no name. And so it seems my granddaughter seems to like a boy that comes with a great name but yet to prove himself worthy of that name." Hearing Master Carnell bluntly saying you liked him sounded too good to be true but of course, Coryo was in high spirits hearing that. He had to control his excitement before responding.

"I don't think Y/N likes me like that, sir." Your grandfather smiled in amusement as he shook his head.

"I may have only reunited with my granddaughter not long ago but I know her well enough. The fact that she acted so cordial with me in front of you which is really unlike her usual self showed me plenty on how she regards you and how she wanted me to like you." Master Carnell took several steps closer to Coryo and the young Snow swore he had to use every fibre of his being to stop his legs from trembling in an obvious manner as the old gentleman stopped a few feet from him.

Your grandfather's eyes instantaneously switched and sent chills down Coryo's spine.

"Mr Snow, you are not worthy. I will tell you this and foremost. Y/N is my only granddaughter. She might not be my successor but I will not doubt she is able to achieve great things and bring glory to the Carnell name." Seeing how Coryo has paled, your grandfather backed up to take it easy on the young man.

"It's a shame what your family has come to after the first war." Coryo sucked in his breath and let out an exhale to give himself the confidence to speak up after all of your grandfather's contempt.

"I am ambitious Sir. I plan to bring my family name back to its glory days." Coryo's answer caught the attention of your grandfather who turned back to face him.

"Are you?" Your grandfather held Coryo in a death stare to see if he truly meant his words and Coryo did try to his best to unyield to your grandfather's micro-aggression.

"Prove it to me and perhaps I shall consider giving you my blessing to even court my granddaughter." It was then that it dawn upon Coryo that wanting you and having you were two separate things. If he ever wanted to have you, your grandfather would be a big obstacle for him to overcome. And for that to happen, Coryo had to gain more power- far more than he initially dreamed of.

Coryo mustered up all the confidence he had before voicing up.

"I will do my best, sir. For Y/N." Your grandfather just nodded before calling for Rowan. It was then you burst into the room like you were on fire.

"Everything is good? Are you alright?" You immediately went over to Coryo's side and placed a hand on his arm. Coryo felt the intense stare that your grandfather was sending and just nodded curtly to you. He added a reassuring smile which relieved you of your worries.

You looked over to your grandfather and spoke, "Thank you for being nice."

"If I knew you would act so demurely whenever your friend is around, I would have invited him sooner." Your grandfather chuckled before looking over at Coryo once more, "feel free to come over whenever you like, Mr Snow."

"Thank you for the hospitality, sir." Coryo replied before your grandfather took his leave. Once the two of your were left alone, you turned to Coryo with both your hands on either side of his arms.

"He didn't say anything to scare you right?"

"I would be lying if I say he's not intimidating but I can tell he loves you very much." Coryo was heartened to see you care so much for him. You scoffed at what your friend said and replied, "He has an odd way of showing it."

"I would do the same if I had such a beloved granddaughter myself." Your face crinkled at how cheesy Coryo was but you didn't give it too much thought.

"But I think everything seemed to go well, he even said you could come over next time. Thank goodness. You did well." Coryo preened at your praise and you stretched your hand to place it on his head affectionately.

Coryo leaned in and felt his heart fluttering as he watched over you looking at him with such pure fondness. You were the only one who ever watched him with such pure adoring eyes.

I will do whatever it takes to have you, Y/N. Nothing and no one will get in my way.

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

Thank you for the support through the likes and reblogs! ♥️ Do let me know what you think of this chapter in the comment section!

I will open up a tag list for anyone who's interested to follow this series! 😆

[20forty9]

I Didn't Mean To Haunt You

Chapter III - Sisyphus

Summary : Suliman makes the spirit realize something about itself and the curse it bears. You find yourself feeling more down than usual.

Word Count : 5.3k

Warnings : Suicidal ideation, uncomfortable touching because it's Suliman, lol.

Pairings : Gojo Satoru/Reader, Geto Suguru/Reader, Everyone/Reader (Reverse Harem)

Cross-posted on Ao3

A/N : Hiya! Back with another short chapter. I'm posting this one early because I'll be away next week and won't update for 2 weeks. I'll be active on Tumblr as always, though! As an apology for my going away, you get more Satoru and Suguru this chapter! Enjoy, please let me know what you think of this chapter, I love reading your comments and they motivate me. (I see your comments ladies, and they make me smile - I'm lurkin' and I'm stalkin' when you least expect it-) (please someone get this reference, I'm embarrassed now)

  Sometimes the curiosity can kill the soul but leave the pain. ~Alice In Wonderland

Even after two or three weeks of back and forth blood tests, physical tests, psychological tests and even more tests , the initial shock that the spirit’s heart no longer belonged to itself didn’t wear off. It seemed that it checked its pulse every alternating hour, just to confirm that it truly wasn’t there. And each time without fail, there would be a lack of thumping underneath its shaky fingertips. 

The missing heart didn’t seem to stop any normal biological workings of its body, however. Sweat still formed underneath its palms, blood still pumped throughout its body, but it was a mystery as to how. Even with all the lingering questions at the back of its mind, the spirit was too afraid to ask, scared that there would be a possibility that it would learn something it would rather not know in the first place. 

It spends most of its time looking outside the window of its locked room. With every day that passes, it starts to resemble a prison cell more and more. The spirit would never imagine it would long for its old life, shrouded in naivety and unknowing of the current horrors it now faces. It feels melodramatic as it reminisces; stop complaining, you got what you deserved, a nasty voice says at the back of its mind . Why didn’t it just stay with its kind instead? Why did it have to wonder what the other side looked like? It spends most hours chastising itself for how stupid it was for shaking a dirty human’s hand. 

Said-dirty human unlocks the door to the spirit’s room, a small smile playing upon her lips. Dreading that Suliman is gathering it for another test, it cowers into the furthest corner of its bed, shoulders raised up to its ears as it tries to make itself seem as small as possible, as if it could make itself vanish into thin air, but the glare it sends her is deadly. 

“Oh, don’t give me that,” she says, sitting down on the bed, hands neatly folded over her lap. “I come bearing good news.” 

What you consider good news is terrible news for me, it thinks to itself, teeth grinding together. 

“You’ll be allowed outside today,” Suliman wistfully looks outside the window, peering down and observing the garden outside. 

That makes its eyes widen by a slight margin. It doesn’t remember the last time it felt the sun on its bare skin, nor the soft breeze enveloping it with a soft caress. Hell, it doesn’t even recall when it last smelled fresh air.

It realizes a moment too late that it gave too much of a reaction to the woman in front of it. She squints her eyes as the smile on her face grows, unnaturally so, pleased with herself. Too trusting, too expressive. Get a hold of yourself. 

“Follow me,” she beckons it to follow as she gets up from the bed, taking slow steps out of the doorway as she leads it down the dimly lit hallway. 

The spirit notices that there’s a new painting adorning one of the once-empty spaces along the wall; a picturesque illustration of a landscape made up of yellow sand and brown dead grass, with short trees with skinny stumps and lots of foliage. It can’t help but wonder where this location is. Its eyes scour the small details of the painting, noticing each brushstroke and dot that the artist left behind in their wake. The oranges and blues of the sky mix together, creating a beautiful sunset. At the bottom of the frame sits a golden plaque. 

South Malawi… it reads the words in its head. Wonder where that is. 

A shove to its shoulder from one of the men standing behind it pulls the spirit from its daydreaming, and begrudgingly, it continues to follow Suliman from behind. It knows it shouldn’t take the opportunity to go outside for granted, but it can’t help but think this is another one of her big schemes that will only cause pain and grievance. 

The small group makes their way to the impressive greenhouse, and though it has passed through it multiple times by now, it still can’t help but admire the humongous banana plant that nearly reaches the top of the archway of the glass ceiling. It can see that it is flowering, the pastel pink of the flower’s petals contrasting against the vibrant green of the plant’s huge leaves. The spirit doesn’t know if it’s Suliman who takes care of this herself, or if she has a team of gardeners for it, but either way it holds a small smidge of respect to whoever upkeeps the greenhouse. 

Right before they reach the exit of the greenhouse, Suliman stops and turns to face the spirit. 

“I expect that you’ll behave and listen to what I tell you to do,” she says, eyes boring into its own. “If you don’t, I’ll be very disappointed.” Code-word for ‘I have no problem tossing you back into that room where you first woke up and letting you rot.’ 

Anxiously, it subtly nods that it will obey her. As badly as it wants to turn tail and run, the spirit knows that there is a high chance that whatever plan it tries to pull will inevitably backfire on it. 

With that, the shaman smiles again with an air of satisfaction before she opens the doors. 

Immediately, a small breeze brushes against its face, as if the wind is welcoming it back outdoors. The spirit inhales deeply, the smell of dewy grass hitting its nostrils – the garden must’ve been recently watered. It’s early in the evening, the sun barely starting to set, so most people are inside preparing dinner, leaving Suliman, the spirit, and her small group of men to themselves. There are a few small bats starting to fly haphazardly from tree to tree, the afternoon light casting cool shadows along the ground. 

Suliman leads it through the gardens, her hands brushing through the neatly-trimmed foliage and stroking delicate flower petals. If she were anyone else, the spirit would think that this is the image of pure innocence, of embracing the natural beauty of the world, but in reality, it is anything but. Instead, this is the image of despicable ugliness, manipulation that can rot someone’s bones deep to their core.  

They arrive at an expanse of land that remains untouched by the gardeners, void of trees and any shrubbery. With a wave of her hand, the group of men stop walking, hanging back and staying still along the path of the gardens. Their cold eyes stay locked onto the spirit, analyzing each breath it takes. 

Meanwhile, Suliman continues to take a few steps forward, putting a fair amount of distance between her and the spirit. Her lips move as she moves her hands to form a symbol that it doesn’t recognize, familiar dark and wispy tendrils that once covered its arm being erected from the ground. 

It immediately takes a few steps back, arms raising defensively in front of itself, fists clenched in case the shaman tries to attack it again. Instead, a smirk plays upon her lips, and with another quick motion of her hands, the tendrils move to wrap around themselves, slowly shaping into what looks like a scarecrow; black and purple shadowy arms outstretched with skinny stump-like legs to keep it standing upright. 

When the weird scarecrow doesn’t show any sign of moving, the spirit’s shackles slightly lower, but its muscles are still tense in unease. It casts a confused look in Suliman’s direction, who approaches the spirit and steps behind it, her hand coming up to move its right bicep to raise again, this time to aim at the tendrils. Her other hand wraps around its waist, making dread and nausea pool in the familiar pit at the bottom of its stomach. It swallows down the rising bile at the back of its throat, eyes trying to focus on the scarecrow in the distance. Her touch makes its skin crawl, and it's almost considering ripping it off. 

Suliman hooks her chin over its shoulder, gaze boring into the side of its head. The hand resting on its waist trails up the side of its rib, making goosebumps erupt along its skin, before it latches onto its chin, turning its head to face her. Her unnaturally soft skin seems like sandpaper against its own, making it swallow back the uncomfortable amount of spittle gathering in its mouth. When did it become so powerless? 

“I want you to destroy that,” her eyes flit over to the scarecrow. “Use your fire.” 

With that, she retreats to observe from behind, hands clasped together in expectation. 

Its eyes drift back to the target in front of it. It knows from previous experience that if it tries anything with its other abilities, they won’t reply to its first initial pull until it does it again, but that only results in agonizing pain. What’s to say this won’t be different? 

The spirit takes a quick glance back to the shaman looming behind it. Her eyes are almost closed from the large grin that stretches across her face. Everything about her is just… wrong. Unfortunately, it can’t afford to piss her off unless it wants to get locked in that cellar once again. 

It takes a deep breath to steel itself, thumb pressing against its middle finger, closing its eyes to focus on singling out the cursed energy that surely must be enemating from the tendrils. Strangely enough, it feels nothing. Attributing it to its nervousness around Suliman, the spirit tries harder to concentrate, but there’s still a lack of cursed energy in the air. Very strange; a woman of her power should surely be exuding large amounts of it, especially the offsprings of her unintelligible technique, but there seems to be a void instead. Her control must be absolutely phenomenal, it thinks to itself. 

No matter – after countless years of being deaf, its other senses have become impossibly more refined. Its eyes can pick out details that others cannot see from long distances, and for its ability to actually hit anything, it must know precise measurements. In the case of the scarecrow, it stands exactly fifty-four meters away from the spirit. 

With a quick snap of its right hand, sparks emerge from the tips of its fingers, a hot beam of fire emerging and darting towards the target at high speeds, engulfing it in bright unnatural blue and cyan flames. When the flames and smoke dissipate a few seconds later, all that is left is a pile of ashes laying in the grass. 

The spirit felt absolutely no pain. 

But… 

“Isn’t it amazing, what a blazing fire can decimate in a matter of mere seconds?” Suliman immediately invades its view, interrupting its slowly dawning horror. “You are gifted with such immense power… you could destroy anything that stands in your path.” 

The insinuation that she has something else on her mind isn’t lost on it, but the spirit quickly backs away from her, trying to put a safe amount of distance between the two. Another snap of its fingers, and it summons a small flame on the tip of its index finger. Blue and cyan. It gets snuffed out as quickly as it came. 

The nausea seems to take over again; the flames aren’t as hot as they originally used to be and are a completely different colour. It’s an unfamiliar feeling to manipulate fire that feels like it doesn’t belong to itself, like the element knows its own existence is wrong. Hot white anger pulses through the spirit, teeth grinding together as its jaw clenches painfully hard. How dare she reduce it to this? How dare she manipulate its very being this way? She’ll pay. It will destroy her and everything she’s worked for. The spirit still has its fire, it will make sure it decimates everything here. She’ll fucking regret the day she met this spirit–

Searing pain courses from its left arm and spreads throughout its entire body, making it double over, heaving and gasping shallow breaths of air. As it tries to recuperate itself, it sees Suliman crouch down to meet its eyes, tilting her head as if to taunt it further. 

“Sorry, did I forget to mention…?” She says, grey eyes lighting up in morbid glee. “You better learn how to control that anger, spirit. What is it that Mark Twain said… oh, I know! Anger is an acid that can do more harm to the vessel in which it is stored than to anything on which it is poured. Or something along those lines– honestly, he never interested me very much.” 

Her gaze trails down to the spirit’s left arm, and its own follows. Underneath the short silk wrap, it notices that the curse mark has peeked through the fabric. Did the fabric move when it snapped its fingers…? Wait, no–

“–It’s spreading,” Suliman finishes its thought process. 

Just when it felt a flicker of hope at the prospect of being able to use its fire to ruin this god forsaken place, it all comes crumbling back down. There is no winning against this cruel shaman and whatever demented curse that has been placed upon it. 

“Well, that’s enough for today. It’s getting late,” she says, waving a simple gesture at the men on standby. They immediately make their way over, surrounding her and the spirit as they force it to walk forward back towards the greenhouse. “I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson.”

As the sun sets behind them, the spirit can’t help but think it would rather die than be here. 

It yearns to let itself rot in the ground and let go. 

 

It’s been about a week or so since you have seen any of the other students around campus. You would like to assume it’s the higher-ups doing it on purpose, trying to isolate you from the rest of them, but in reality you know that it’s you doing this to yourself. You’ve barely left your dorm room, spending your days moping in bed instead. For some reason, the nightmares have been getting worse. Though you used to be able to go for days without sleep, it doesn’t seem to apply to you now. 

Your hands tremble, muscles weak and face dripping with sweat every time you wake up violently from whatever nightmare you were having. It’s enough to drain you for the rest of the day. Instead of going outside and training or doing anything else to distract yourself from it, you stare at the wall in front of you, eyes unfocused and mind anywhere but the present. 

The lack of sleep makes the pain in your arm more bothersome than ever, but you can’t find it in yourself to care enough to take the shitty medication Yaga gives you. It sits untouched on the nightstand beside your bed. 

It doesn’t help that you’ve also barely eaten, only having a few snacks that you keep in one of the drawers in the room and some water when you feel like you can stomach it. You had just enough energy today to take a shower for the first time in nearly a week, so maybe you’ll be able to actually eat a meal this evening. 

You currently lay down on your side, back facing the doorway and gazed fixed upon the blank wall that the bed is pressed up against. Your hair is still damp from the shower you took an hour ago (you couldn’t be bothered to dry it), strands of hair staining the pillowcase with water. Your arms are left uncovered, clean bandages laying on the floor, exposing the curse mark and old scars that run along the length of them. 

It felt like just when you thought things could start to look up, life always threw you in for another loop, no matter how hard you tried and continued to try. There were days where this bothered you more than usual, and some days where you just didn’t care enough, feeling completely numb. At least when you pretended to be happy, putting on a nice smile and ignoring the constant nagging voice at the back of your mind, you could imagine what it would be like to feel normal for once. 

There’s a sudden large palm that gently touches your back, making you suck in a deep breath and flinch away, quickly turning your head to face whatever was disrupting your peace. Wide eyes lock onto dark brown ones, the familiar sight of Yaga greeting you instead of an enemy. 

“ Sorry,” the teacher signs, immediately retracting his hand, opening his mouth to speak. “I tried to grab your attention, but you weren’t responding . ”

Immediately, you break eye contact and shake your head. 

“ It’s fine, ” you move your hands lazily in reply. 

Yaga takes in the sight; messy unkempt hair sticks up at awkward angles, your eyes are impossibly sunken in, and there’s a shake to your hands when you sign. The brunette sighs out deeply, disappointed that he didn’t catch onto this sooner. 

“Come with me, let’s get you out of this room,” he says. 

You can’t look directly at him, but you can’t tear your eyes away from his lips, either. I don’t want to, you think to yourself, I don’t want to go out there right now. I want to stay here. Leave me alone. 

“You can’t stay in here and rot in bed all day, it’s not good for you. At least come with me to prepare some tea,” Yaga refuses to leave you alone in this state of mind, having become familiar with it by this point. There are bad days, and then there are worse days. 

Empty, droopy eyes look back at him, not a single trace of emotion across your face. You know he won’t leave until he gets what he wants – you remember the time Yaga dragged you out of the room by the feet as you threw a tantrum – and resolutely shuffled your body to get out of bed. 

Satisfied, Yaga stands up, extending a hand that you don't accept. Instead, you take the bandages laying on the floor and wrap them around to cover both arms individually. Though they’re loose, you don't want to be touched by anyone right now. Even though it’s not cold enough, you take an oversized hoodie and put it on, the loose sleeves barely touching the bandages. You’re already wearing some soft baggy sweatpants and fuzzy socks on your feet. 

Without exchanging any words or signs, Yaga leads you out of the room after you put your shoes on. You don't bother looking up, either, too wrapped up in your own self-pity to really care enough about what he may have to say to you. 

There’s a communal kitchen in the dormitories, and the teacher must’ve passed through before visiting your room because there are already two mugs full of piping hot green tea set on the table. Slowly, you both sit down across from each other. 

For a solid twenty minutes, you don’t talk. Both of you slowly sip on your tea, letting the taste comfort you. You feel your muscles start to loosen up, though you can’t tell if it’s from exhaustion catching up or from the relaxed state the drink puts you in. 

Yaga doesn’t ask any questions about what is running through your mind, knowing he won’t get an answer. When you are in this state, you tend to keep everything close to your chest; whether it’s because you want to, or because you don't know where to start or what to say is unknown to the both of you. For lack of a better term, you shut down. 

Instead, he decides to take your mind off of things. 

With a tap to the table to grab your attention, Yaga puts his cup down. 

“I got approval from the elders to send you out on a mission with my students,” he says. 

Your eyebrows lightly raise in surprise. You weren't expecting them to fold that quickly, even though it took a few weeks. 

“They’ll be sending you all out tomorrow,” he takes the last sip left of his tea. “I want you to be very careful, don’t unleash anything that will make them lose their minds.”

You nod, feeling the swell of determination blossom in your chest. “ I won’t let you down. ” 

Yaga slightly tilts his head to the side, the corners of his mouth quirking up very subtly. 

“When have you ever?” 

You look down at your empty mug. Just now? When I could barely manage to get out of bed, like usual? I let my emotions get the better of me again, I’ve become weak. It’s an endless cycle. I’m so tired. 

Instead of acknowledging any of these thoughts anymore, you look back up at your friend, sending him a tired smile, one that you hope comes across as genuine. 

“Nevertheless, stay alert and please take care of my students for me,” the teacher says, rising from his chair. “And go take a walk before the sun sets today.” 

He doesn’t see you rolling your eyes behind his back as he walks away – he acts too much like a father sometimes. However, you decide to listen to Yaga anyway; a walk will do you some good. 

After putting your empty cup in the dishwasher, you stuff your hands in the pocket of your hoodie, making your way outside. It’s more cloudy than usual today, the sun barely peeking through the dark clouds, but that doesn’t deter you. You take slow steps as you try to enjoy a leisurely stroll around campus. There doesn’t seem to be a single soul around today, probably staying inside just in case it starts raining. 

It’s been a long time since you have lived in isolation away from everyone besides the man who took you in, so you don't feel lonely as you walk down the pathway by yourself, but you have to admit that it feels like something is missing. Though you had only interacted with Yaga’s students a handful of times, they had a certain energy they brought to the room, one that couldn’t be replicated on its lonesome. Geto, Gojo and Shoko always freely joke around each other, complimenting each other’s personalities perfectly. 

You find yourself yearning for that connection that they have with each other. 

You look up ahead, feet dragging along the ground as you notice a figure sitting underneath the shadows of a large tree, lost in their own world. The pure white hair is unmistakingly Gojo’s, who seems to be alone for once, not surrounded by his entourage of friends. He seems to be looking down at something in his lap, and you decide to approach him. 

Gojo hears your footsteps on the pavement before he sees you, peering through his glasses to look at you. 

“Wow, you look like shit,” he says. 

Direct to the point as always. 

You simply nod in reply. Too exhausted to think about Gojo’s discomfort surrounding the cursed spirit situation, you sit down next to him, back pressed against the thick trunk of the tree. Your shoulders are nearly touching, but you make sure to lean back just far enough once you notice the proximity. 

You observe Gojo’s face from the side for a moment, noticing the furrow of his brows and the tired look in his eyes hiding behind the pair of sunglasses. If you were in any other state of mind, you might say that the white-haired man looks sad , but you quickly shake that thought out of your mind. Him, being sad? He’s the most arrogant and extroverted person here, always surrounded by someone. And yet…

Gojo closes the book resting in his lap when he notices you trying to take a subtle peek at what he was reading. There’s a strange leaping sensation in your throat as you see the cover.  

Why is he reading a book about sign language? 

The white-haired man tries to shuffle the book out of your sight, putting his large hands over it and turning to face you slightly. 

“Can I help you?” He asks, and shit, you can’t tell if he’s joking or being sarcastic now that his eyes are covered by the pitch-black sunglasses. 

You shrug awkwardly, shaking your head no. 

“Wait, no, try signing instead,” Gojo says, turning his body slightly to face you more. You raise an eyebrow, but obey him anyway. 

“ Seemed like you could use some company, ” you sign. 

Gojo stares at him for a moment, brows furrowing, before he shakes his head, looking absolutely stumped. “Nope, I got nothing.” 

Not entirely surprised, you point from the book to him. Why do you have this in the first place? 

He huffs, sunglasses dropping down to the tip of his nose, bright blue eyes averting to look anywhere but at you. 

“I gotta know when you’re talking shit about me,” he says, crossing his arms. “Plus, sensei seems to be super keen on trying to get you to join us for missions, so I have to understand you somehow. You can’t fight and write in that dumb notebook of yours at the same time.” 

Though you can’t speak in the first place, you find yourself speechless. Or motionless, in this case . Gojo was so rude on your first meeting, shackles raised and ready to fight you at any moment, yet here he is now, determined to try to pick up sign language faster than any other person you have ever known… though he words it in his own strange way. 

Unable to formulate a reply, you give him a soft smile, one that you know you don't need to fake. 

The white-haired male doesn’t speak any further until he looks down at the book, moving his hands off of it to open it again, then looking back up at you, whose eyes are already on his lips. 

“Teach me how to sign my name.” 

So, for the next twenty minutes, you teach Gojo how to fingerspell his name, the latter catching on rather quickly. Of course he’s naturally good at sign language , you think to yourself somewhat bitterly. 

Gojo’s blue eyes are uncovered at this point, sunglasses resting on top of his head as he brings his entire focus to the lesson at hand. He seems strangely invested, nodding his head vigorously as you sign your own name, then a common greeting. 

His attention is finally diverted to something behind you. Gojo waves at the person with a small grin stretched across his face. Curious, you turn around, seeing Geto approach the duo. 

“Hey guys, what’re you doing over here?” He asks, taking a seat in the grass in front of the two of you, legs crossed. He notices the book in Gojo’s hand. “Sign language?” 

“Yeah,” The latter shrugs nonchalantly. 

Geto grabs the book from off his friend’s lap, flipping through the pages. Wondering what the pictures look like, you move over to peer over Geto’s shoulder and take a glance at them. The raven-haired man tilts his head slightly to the side to allow for a better view, pausing at a specific page. 

“Ohh, look, they have signs for animals,” he smiles. 

An image of an unhealthy black betta fish sits right next to another of a pure white one with healthy fins. There’s a smaller picture of a red and white koi fish underneath both of them, rolled over on its back. Next to the images are illustrations of hand signals, with the names and meanings written next to them. 

“This is how you sign fish, right?” He asks, turning to look at you. You suddenly notice how close your faces are to each other, but neither of you make a move to change that as you nod, pointing to the black fish. 

“Sad fish, ” you sign, then point to the other one. “ Happy fish. ” Then, the red and white one. “ Dead fish.” 

All three of you suddenly deadpan. 

“Did you seriously pick up a kid’s book on sign language?” Geto turns his head up to look at Gojo. 

“They didn’t have any other available books, sue me!” He immediately exclaims in defense, yanking the book back. “There weren’t many sign language books.” 

“Kinda morbid for a kid’s book, don’t you think?” 

“It’s never too early to learn about mortality!” He says with a gleeful smile spread across his face before reading through the pages again. 

You huff in amusement before you get nudged by Geto’s elbow, who looks at you expectantly. 

“How do I sign my name?” He asks, the look in his eyes so soft that it makes you nervously look away for a second. 

Another ten minutes pass as you teach them both how to sign each other’s name. You’re just about to move onto Shoko’s name when there’s a large flash of light that explodes from the dark grey clouds in the sky. Immediately, it starts pouring. Thick droplets of rain cascade and puddles are already forming in the divets in the ground. 

“Oh shit – let’s go inside!” Gojo exclaims, lifting his shirt up to hide the book underneath it to protect it. 

“Run, run ! Go!” Geto laughs, grabbing your wrist and heaving you up off the ground, the three of you immediately dashing through the storm to the dormitories. Your converse are completely soaked when the raven-haired man accidentally makes you run through a large puddle, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. The cold rain is so refreshing as it hits your skin, waking you up more than your blistering shower did this morning. 

You look back at Gojo, who frantically scrambles behind the two of you to slam the door shut as the wind picks up, blowing rain into the entranceway of the building. 

The three of you exchange looks with each other, taking in each other’s soaked appearances. Then, the two young men burst into laughter, you silently laughing, eyes crinkling as the smile spreads widely across your face. You can see Gojo and Geto’s shoulders shake from their sniggering. 

Your clothes are anything but dry, sticking awkwardly to your skin with mud covering you head-to-toe, but it’s so amusing that you all just keep chortling at the situation. 

“Wh– wait– what happened to the book?!” Geto asks his friend through bursts of chuckles. 

Gojo reaches underneath his soaked shirt, pulling the book out; all the pages are crinkled, water dripping down the spine of it. He pouts, realizing it’s completely ruined. 

“Aw man,” he whines. “It’s totally done for.” 

Reluctantly, he throws it in the trash bin near the front door, knowing there’s nothing he can do to salvage it. 

“Well,” Geto says after catching his breath, looking at the two of you. “Guess we gotta go dry off. I’m gonna go take a warm shower, that rain was freezing .” 

Gojo’s already running back to his own room, waving a simple goodbye to them and leaving a trail of water in his wake. 

Geto awkwardly throws a smile in your direction. “See you tomorrow, I guess?” 

You nod in reply, grinning and doing a sideways peace sign. “ See you later.” 

As the raven-haired man walks in the same direction that Gojo went, you steal a quick glance at the trash bin. You make your way over to it, peering inside, and hesitantly reach an arm inside of it, grabbing the book that was thrown away just mere moments ago. 

You hold the book close to your chest, heading in the opposite way from where the two men disappeared into to go back to your own room, feeling a weird sense of satisfaction in the back of your mind.

[heliossecretdeskdrawer]

A Group Project

Requested by anon.

Continuity: IDW1

Rating: Explicit

Relationship: Megatron/Rodimus, Megatron/Drift , Megatron/Drift/Rodimus, Drift & Rodimus

Characters: Rodimus, Megatron, Drift

Summary: In which Rodimus invites a friend over to spend some quality time.

Warnings: Threesome, awkward sexual situations, sticky interfacing, biting

Crossposting: AO3 | DreamWidth

Fic under cut

Rodimus leaned against his hand, placed on the desk right over the datapads Megatron had been trying to sort through.

“Hey, so, I’ve got this idea.” The words came with a trademarked, mischievous smirk.

Hardly surprising, Megatron thought. Rodimus usually had several bouncing around in his processor, many ill-advised at best, though more than a few were truly brilliant.

Megatron sighed, crossing his arms to prevent himself from trying to pry the datapads free. He had already lost too many datapads that way. By now, he would say he had learned his lesson. Despite all appearances to the contrary, Rodimus was an excellent hostage taker… if the hostages were reports.

“What is it this time?”

“Take it easy.” Rodimus grinned, practically beaming, a sure sign that Megatron was not going to like what came out of his mouth next. “You’re gonna love this one.”

Doubtful, at best, but Megatron decided to be congenial and say nothing. Instead, he just wordlessly nodded for Rodimus to get on with it.

“Great, so… what if I brought a friend over?”

Megatron squinted at him for a second in confusion.

“Why are you asking my permission to have a friend over?”

Rodimus had never asked that before, not once since Megatron had moved into the captain’s quarters with him. He just brought whomever over whenever it suited him. Drift was often over to play video games or watch holonet reruns. Sometimes Swerve or Tailgate would come over… or both at the same time. Or any number of others that Rodimus enjoyed spending casual time with.

The parade of guests was occasionally aggravating, but the disruption was usually easy to ignore, especially since none of them seemed to really expect Megatron to join in the socializing.

And it wasn’t just Rodimus who filled their quarters with guests.

Megatron too occasionally asked Minimus to come sit with him and read or engage in in-depth discussions about a given text.

“You’ve never asked me that before,” he continued, “Why start now?”

“No, okay, listen though.”

Rodimus extended the index finger of his free hand and held it out in front, a melodramatic gesture to request patience.

Sure, fine; he would wait to see where Rodimus was going with this.

“This time is special.”

How nonspecific.

“Special how exactly?”

Rodimus stood up straight and clapped his hands before rubbing his palms together.

“So get this, right? I’m talking about having a friend over for a super special, extra fun time.”

He winked with each emphasized word. While Megatron knew it was for some effect, the back of his processor briefly wondered if Rodimus was perhaps developing a twitch or if one of his facial nerves was getting pinched, the beginnings of some sort of unfortunate palsy. He didn’t relish the thought of having to hold Rodimus still—a mythical feat in its own right—to fix whatever was wrong with his wiring.

Megatron tilted his head to the side, not comprehending whatever subtext Rodimus was avoiding making explicit. There was something to be said for the value of subtlety, but Rodimus had overshot it straight into obtuse vagary.

With a sigh, Rodimus clapped his hands again, though this time with disappointment rather than enthusiasm. He gestured with his hands pressed together like he was dousing for water for reasons unknowable.

“For someone so smart, sometimes you’re as dense as lead, babe. I’m talking about having a threesome. C’mon.”

Oh.

“I see.”

--

While waiting for Rodimus to return from an “errand”—Rodimus had refused to elaborate on its nature—Megatron sat on the worn couch after clearing away the clutter from the floor.

Trash and belongings tended to accumulate whenever Megatron was on duty and away from the habsuite. Rodimus tried his best, of course, but that best was usually piles of things. It was still an improvement over an even spread of debris—empty snack tins, discarded packaging, moist mesh towels from the washracks, crumbs from those snack tins, and empty cubes—across their quarters’ limited floorspace. Piles were also easier for Megatron to tidy all at once, so he would take the small victory.

Small steps, but for now they had reached an amicable equilibrium.

Megatron expected Rodimus back from his “errand” before their “guest” was due to arrive.

At least the place would be presentable whenever they showed up.

Ever since Rodimus had mentioned the idea, Megatron had been trying to figure out just whom his “roommate” had had in mind. There weren’t many that seemed plausible, either because Rodimus had shown no interest in them and/or the other way around.

Rather than just tell Megatron the person’s identity upfront so he could decide without the person present, Rodimus had promised it would be a “surprise.”

Unfortunately, that meant that if Megatron backed out or didn’t approve of the choice in partner, he would now have to say to that person’s face rather than obfuscating with a general lack of interest in the event.

Most of the crew were complete nonstarters.

Out of the handful that remained anywhere in the realm of plausibility, Drift was the most likely, given his closeness with Rodimus. That was the most obvious answer. Maybe Rodimus had assumed Megatron would just deduce the new mystery lover’s identity and that he wouldn’t have any objections.

He sighed, leaning back against the plush upholstery of the sofa. No wonder Rodimus liked to nap on this stupid thing. It was surprisingly comfortable.

Drift, however ideal on the surface, would be an… awkward choice, partially because they had been… close before they had both thrown down their prior allegiances and partially because ever since they had both returned from their respective exiles, they had silently agreed to avoid each other outside of work.

It wasn’t as though Drift wasn’t appealing; he did have his charms, after all. Megatron could appreciate that—and had in another life. When he and Deadlock had both worn another badge, sometimes they had kept each other’s nights warm.

Even though Drift had discarded Deadlock’s heavy armor and gloomier color palette for lighter and brighter plating, he was still pleasant to behold. It was no wonder that Ratchet was quite taken with him.

Megatron had long ago, before even seeing Drift again on the Lost Light, decided to leave the old hurts alone so that he and Drift could both move on.

However, there was no way Rodimus hadn’t noticed the just-civil distancing, hadn’t noticed that two of the people he was closest to almost pointedly did not interact with each other.

Or maybe he’d been willfully ignorant.

Or maybe this was some scheme to fix it.

Or maybe Rodimus had picked up some other mech that Megatron hadn’t even considered to bring home for some “adventure.”

Perhaps he’d lucked out against all odds and Rodimus had managed to invite Ratchet. Now that would have been a pleasant surprise, a handsome doctor on a “house call” for a private “tune up.”

A knock sounded at the door, jarring him from his thoughts.

Probably not Rodimus, given that he could usually let himself in when he didn’t forget the code or keep transposing the same digit multiple times in a row.

However, he had assured Megatron that he would return prior to any… liaising.

Megatron got up and answered the door, manually sliding the door just enough to see out. It was hard to break old habits gained from dodging assassination attempts.

Drift stood on the other side, looking a little uneasy as he kept his spinal struts unusually straight.

A cold, conflicted discomfort swirled around Megatron’s spark.

Maybe he could play dumb, take a page right out of Rodimus’s play book.

“Are you looking for Rodimus?” he asked, not even letting Drift have the chance to open his mouth before providing an answer of his own. “He’s not here.”

Drift crossed his arms and squinted.

It wasn’t impossible that Drift had simply shown up to play video games at an inopportune time, without any knowledge of the private “party” that Rodimus had been planning.

“Yeah, I know he’s not.”

Dammit.

“Then why—“

“He told me to wait here for him.”

Of course, Rodimus had told him that. Of course. It should have been no surprise.

“We’re expecting company,” he countered, still leaning on the plausible deniability of not knowing why Drift was at their door. If he verbalized his assumption that Drift was, in fact, here to interface, and he was wrong, well…. Developing a reputation as some sort of lecher was one of the last things he needed.

Drift, however, merely uncrossed his arms and rested his hands on his hips—He didn’t have his swords with him… or at least not any that Megatron could see, not even empty scabbards.

Interesting.

“I should hope so.”

Rodimus had done this on purpose, specifically to make Megatron sit alone with Drift.

Megatron’s instincts on whom his “roommate” would have been invited for some … recreation had been spot on.

With a sigh, Megatron slid the door to the shared quarters fully open.

--

Megatron and Drift sat on opposite ends of the couch, sitting in purposeful silence as meaningless drama played out on the glowing holonet screen.

Over an hour and a half had passed since Drift had arrived and Rodimus still had not shown up. Not even a comm message or ping.

If not for the fact that Rodimus was easily distracted, Megatron would have been concerned rather than aggravated. It still, however, seemed rather a long time for Rodimus to force Drift and Megatron to sit in each other’s presence.

The holonet displayed some rerun that Rodimus had left in earlier, the poorly mixed audio track blaring in a tinny sound shift. Megatron had neglected to unplug the dataslug earlier, so when Drift had turned the screen back on, in lieu of having a conversation, the ancient programming just resumed playing from wherever it had stopped.

Some mech had just been fired from their job and needed to woo their boss into giving them their job back, that they’re really the best worker for that position and no one else could make their boss happy like they could. It was either that or the obvious alternative of starving and having their employer-sponsored alt-mode exemption revoked. From what Megatron could tell, it was supposed to be a comedy series, with job-related mishaps each episode. The previous conflict had been the main protagonist being accused of employment infidelity after a case of mistaken identity.

Absolutely ridiculous, but even “mindless” entertainment had a purpose, he supposed.

In this case, the purpose was avoiding an awkward conversation with Drift.

Unfortunately, this stalemate had to end.

Not just because the dataslug had just finished playing the final episode, given the sudden dark screen after the ending credits, but also because they had to sort something out before Rodimus returned.

Even if what they would tell him might be “no, this won’t work.”

Despite being “dark,” the holoscreen hummed softly and still threw off the smallest amount of gray light, a signal that it was still on.

Megatron turned the appliance off with the remote that had been left on the low table in front of the couch before tossing the remote back onto the table.

“So, I assume you know why Rodimus asked you to come over.”

Drift gave a curt nod.

“And that reason is… what exactly?”

“Did he not tell you?” Drift had a clueless look on his face.

Clever.

It seemed Drift was also hesitant to acknowledge the situation. Either that, or he truly didn’t know, which was a possibility, that Rodimus had arranged a prank of some kind.

The prank idea, however, lacked veracity; the twitch at the corner of Drift’s mouth a tell that this innocence was merely a mask, a veneer.

“He might have, but he might not have.” Megatron shrugged, not quite willing to show his proverbial hand just yet. “For the sake of argument, let’s presume he didn’t.”

“Then he’ll have some explaining to do when he gets here, won’t he?”

Drift smiled broadly, further playing up the act. Megatron could see the points of his fangs, just barely visible like he was restraining himself from flashing them.

Come to think of it, since seeing Drift again, Megatron couldn’t recall him baring his teeth often.

Autobots tended to find fangs an unsettling fashion statement, the modification having been common—though not ubiquitous—among Decepticons, a sign of weaponized independence and that, even if disarmed, they remained some manner of threat.

Megatron had encountered some Autobots and non-aligned mechs with them as well, but they were a rarity.

He had also heard of defectors having their fangs removed, replaced with more factory standard teeth by medics either to more properly assimilate or for any number of personal reasons.

On the other hand, Drift hadn’t done that, even with his significant frame changes after throwing off the guise of Deadlock.

Nor had Megatron for that matter. There had been some things he had been unwilling to lose, though he had filed them back a little—just enough to blunt the points—for ease of maintenance, something Rodimus occasionally bemoaned as he, in stark contrast to the faction’s aesthetic norms, found fangs attractive.

It looked like Drift hadn’t altered his fangs in the slightest, the warm pseudo-incandescent “mood” light of the habsuite—one of Rodimus’s dubious decor decisions—glinting off the sharp points. No matter how long Drift had been with the Autobots, that was still a Decepticon’s grin.

“Yes, yes, of course, but I’m asking you.”

“Maybe he didn’t tell me either.”

A blatant lie; Drift had already admitted to knowing.

“I find that highly doubtful.”

Megatron huffed.

“Yeah, well, I also doubt he didn’t tell you.”

Drift finally let his teeth show fully, unaltered fangs on shameless display.

An involuntary thought of letting Drift sink those in between the narrow seams of metal plating or in the vulnerable separations between delicate cables popped up in his processor.

Rodimus, perhaps, had figured out that Megatron too found such weaponized anatomy appealing. That would explain the time Rodimus had offered to get the mod, only to give up after a few days when he kept cutting his tongue on the test, glue-on pair. It would also explain Rodimus’s choice of third participant, though… that could have just been an amusing coincidence.

Maybe.

Megatron doubted the coincidence more the longer Drift smiled.

“I mean, you’re his boyfriend, after all.”

“Roommate,” Megatron inaccurately corrected.

“Sure, sure.” Drift lifted his hands, wiggling the first two fingers on each hand in an “air quotes” gesture. Insufferable. “‘Roommate.’”

“There’s no need to insinuate—" But having sensed an opening in the argument, a place to poke and prod, Drift was quick to move, to pounce on it like cybercat on a glitchmouse. He scooted across the couch towards Megatron, taking the center seat before any explanation of just what was being insinuated could occur.

At some point since the conversation had started, a shift occurred that Megatron hadn’t initially noticed, a shift from avoiding having to interact to seeing if they could bait each other into admitting that they knew what Rodimus had asked of them.

And now, yet another shift: this one to Drift taking the opportunity to tease, by falling into the easy familiarity of presumably good-natured antagonism to sidestep the awkward questions, an answer without actually answering. When he had been Deadlock, he had always enjoyed opportunities to bully those around him. Drift hadn’t lost that as an Autobot, just like he hadn’t lost that sharp bite.

The discomfort of not having talked about the metaphorical behemoth in the room was not resolved, however, simply set aside. Perhaps Drift hoped to bury it by skipping to something else, something distracting to not bother unpacking until later.

On the center seat of the couch, Drift took care to avoid actually touching Megatron, as though he were still pretending he wasn't here to engage in any licentious activity.

He would likely to try lure Megatron into making the first move.

"I'm not insinuating anything."

Or maybe Drift was punishing him, getting his revenge for how they had parted ways before, sending bounty hunters to retrieve a wayward Deadlock.

Drift leaned forward, carefully maintaining that minimal distance between their bodies. He kept his smile wide, the fangs catching the light and a spark of mischief in his blue optics.

"Look," he said, gesturing with his upturned palms spread wide, just inside Megatron's personal space, "we all know about your long-term relationship with Rodimus."

The roommate facade was a pretense borne of habit.

While he had rarely had intimate or even close relationships during the war, Megatron had never been willing to publicly acknowledge any of them. It would have made the loved one a target, someone who could be hurt or killed in an attempt to manipulate him.

Rodimus probably thought it was funny since he had never openly objected to Megatron’s flimsy cover story.

"Drift, you’re crossing the line," he growled, even if there was no danger behind it, a toothless threat. There wasn’t really anything he could or would do to Drift about it, short of maybe kicking him out of the room.

Maybe he wouldn’t even do that.

There had always been something thrilling about being defied. It was one of the unspoken reasons that Starscream’s treachery had been tolerated for so long. Harnessing defiance had a certain appeal.

Drift, however, ignored the the warning.

Instead, he shook his head and pointed over the back of the couch to the recharge slab nestled in an alcove off the sitting area.

Piled with blankets that Megatron had meticulously folded that morning, the slab was large enough for two mechs; it even had a cable splitter adapter to allow sharing the same recharging unit.

“It’s simply a matter of resource conservation.”

A fragile lie, one Drift would see through instantly, not that it mattered. It was part of the game.

Beyond the game they had fallen into, there wasn’t even any reason to lie, not really. No one onboard, not after they left their home universe behind, was going to target Rodimus to get at Megatron nor the reverse. The threat was functionally nonexistent. No one cared.

Yet he had already put up the front. He couldn’t just walk it back.

Drift would have to tear the facade down.

“You’re still so bad at little fibs after all this time.” Drift tsked at him, leaning closer. “That’s not what Rodimus says.”

Megatron tensed, refusing to cower even though he knew it would be only a matter of time before he let himself buckle.

At this range, he could feel Drift throwing off heat, grinning like a predator cornering prey. Even with his new, lighter armor, Drift still moved like a hunter.

Megatron’s own internal thermostat started ticking higher.

“And what does he allegedly say then?”

“Oh, just how much fun he has between your legs.”

Megatron raised an eyebrow at the blatantly crude remark.

“That’s not necessarily indicative of anything,” he protested, “Casual interfacing is—”

Drift held up a finger, telling him to wait.

“And how you tell him you love him when you think he’s asleep at night.”

“Hearsay.” Megatron scoffed. “Rodimus likes to talk. We all know that. He says whatever comes to mind without thinking it through.”

That was a little disingenuous. Rodimus had become far more careful about his word choices in recent years, sometimes to the point of unhelpful, such as when trying to ask Megatron if he wanted to have a third person join their berth for a casual romp.

Drift continued to smirk, as though he knew he was rapidly depleting Megatron’s stock of canned excuses. The pull of Drift’s mouth charmingly crinkled the red paint under his eyes, revealing some of the endearing, well-hidden microfractures that he had earned with age and experience.

Maybe… running out of hollow excuses was alright.

“Sure, he does but he doesn’t like to talk about his feelings much.” Drift finally crossed fully into Megatron’s personal space, just barely managing to not touch by strategically placing his palms on the couch on either side of Megatron’s middle. “Neither of you do.”

The thermostat flashed a warning on Megatron’s HUD, along with a notification that his cooling fans were automatically cycling on, an embarrassing whir that Drift was certain to hear.

“That’s fine though,” Drift continued, “we don’t have to talk about it at all.”

It was funny, almost. Megatron knew that Drift’s current optics were Autobot blue, bright and friendly. Deadlock’s had been red, fiery and dangerous. Yet he could have sworn that Drift was looking at him the way he had before defecting, with a threat that was a promise.

“No,” Megatron agreed, Drift and his teeth inching closer to the delicate cabling in his throat. “No, we don’t.”

His own fans now weren’t the only ones he could hear, Drift having allowed his to roar on as he bit down, fangs pushing into the narrow spaces between the cabling.

The flood of error messages from the sensors in his throat tingled in his processor as he let them dominate his HUD, relaxing back against the plush upholstery of the couch.

Drift could have his stupid win.

Megatron shifted his posture, grabbing Drift by the hips and guiding him between his thighs. Warm breath on his neck as those fangs stuck fast spurred him to open some of his modesty paneling. The ruse had already been all but destroyed anyway.

The cold air on his freshly bared valve was banished immediately by the crush of Drift’s pelvic plating.

He heard a quiet click and something hot and firm brushed his anterior node, a soft burst of pleasure. He inadvertently ground up against the spike only to feel Drift shudder in response.

Their plating scraped together awkwardly as they adjusted their angles to better line up, wasting no time.

Soon the tip of Drift’s spike lightly pressed against the entrance of his valve.

A horrifying thought occurred to him.

What if, by some phenomenal odds, Drift might not have been who Rodimus had invited over?

In that case, rather than accommodating Rodimus’s wishes, Megatron was, in fact, betraying his trust.

Before that thought could take root, however, the door to the habsuite slid open, Rodimus standing in the doorway with an open-topped crate in his hands, probably borrowed from the cargo bay and full of some pilfered, salt-laden snack food.

"Aw, you started without me!"

 The door slid shut behind him as he tossed the crate in his arms to the floor in favor of eagerly scrambling up the couch behind Drift. Several tins, most likely bismuth chips by the sound of them, rattled around inside the crate on impact.

“I got distracted when picking up snacks and—Don’t worry about it, guys; I’ll catch up.“

--

The couch had proved to be too small for the three of them, despite Rodimus’s bold insistence that he could simply climb on top of or squeeze behind someone. After Rodimus had accidentally hurled himself to the floor after placing his knee in a precarious place on the cushions, they had had to admit defeat.

The berth, despite being large, barely had enough room for everyone, meaning Megatron had to let his legs dangle off the side of the padded recharge slab. And by “dangle,” it was more akin to resting his feet directly on the floor.

Rodimus had just crudely described it as the “huge bastard tax” right before kissing his nose and clambering elsewhere on the berth, presumably to rearrange the cushions and tarpaulins.

The display of affection was a strange thing to do right in front of Drift but given that Drift was buried comfortably to the hilt in Megatron’s valve, maybe it didn’t really matter at this point what sort of embarrassing intimacies he saw.

He could hear Rodimus scuttling around just out of sight, like he was trying to sculpt a more comfortable landscape out of the covers.

Drift, on the other hand, was doing a valiant job of trying to distract him with slow, lazy thrusts. They escalated nothing but did hold his attention while Drift rested his weight against heavier armor. A warm, unhurried pleasure with no expectations.

The occasional contracting of his valve was a comfortable background thrum while they waited for Rodimus to find a way to slot himself into the tangle somewhere.

While Megatron certainly had some ideas about how this could go, Rodimus had previously made him promise to not to treat it like a constantly shifting battlefield. Despite Megatron’s objections to giving up that much control, it was up to Rodimus to finagle everything.

Drift had, Megatron assumed, also been made to make the same promise.

Threesomes always sounded so good on paper, but in practice they were tricky to coordinate. Angles and positions were tedious to negotiate. That was, he presumed, what Rodimus’s hold up was.

“Are you just watching or are you planning on joining some time before we’re finished?” he asked, throwing an arm around Drift’s back to keep him close. With where Megatron had had to relocate on the berth, Drift’s legs were in near constant danger of slipping right off the padding.

Surely this wasn’t the best way. Maybe he could be permitted a bit more space to accommodate Drift.

Without warning, his head was lifted up and a wadded-up tarpaulin stuffed underneath to support his neck and shoulders.

Drift unfortunately stopped moving, probably a safety precaution.

“Don’t be impatient,” Rodimus said, coming back into view as he adjusted the lump. A pillow would have been simpler, but Rodimus had never been known to do things the easy way, at least not the first time around.

Megatron scoffed, turning his head sideways to better see.

“That’s rich coming from you—“ He was cut off by the sight of a familiar red-orange spike bobbing excitedly right in front of his face.

So that was how Rodimus anticipated this going.

Not the worst configuration.

“And it took you all that time to prepare?”

He glanced up to watch Rodimus’s face.

Rodimus, however, just idly scratched his nose and shrugged.

“No, not really. I was also watching. I can do both. It’s called ‘multitasking.’”

Before any retort could be mustered, Rodimus shifted his kneeling posture, bouncing his spike on purpose.

Megatron grumbled before just opening his mouth to let the spike in as Drift started moving again.

Within a few vigorous thrusts, however, Drift’s precarious stance, huddled on his knees between Megatron’s thighs on the edge of the berth, finally faltered. His hands scrabbled in vain for purchase on Megatron’s armor. With a surprised yelp, he slipped out of the valve, landing on his aft on the floor.

“Okay, fellas, so… new plan.”

Rodimus’s spike halfway down his throat, Megatron groaned.

“Not the plan I had in mind, babe, but thanks.”

--

“Rodimus, your new plan is the same plan,” Megatron said, Rodimus getting tentatively settled between his knees.

The two racers had merely switched places.

Drift sat off to the side, hand on Megatron’s shoulder in case they needed to suddenly move again.

“No, it isn’t!” Rodimus grabbed his spike, starting to nose it against Megatron’s valve as though that would solve the “no space at the end of the bed” problem. “This is a totally different plan. It’s fine!”

“You’re going to hit the floor again,” Drift added.

“No, I’m—“ A look of understanding dawned on Rodimus’s face, like he’d just been given a vision from Primus himself. “I’ve got it!”

Megatron raised a skeptical optical ridge as Rodimus excitedly spread his now-lubricant-covered hands wide.

“Guys, I’ve got a new new plan!”

--

The floor.

Bolstered by pillow and covers.

It wasn’t the most comfortable surface but the risk of someone falling off the bed had been nullified by obviating using the bed in the first place. Space was also no longer an issue.

Rodimus’s “new” new plan seemed to have actually paid off.

Moaning around Rodimus’s spike, Megatron silently congratulated himself on having tidied up the floor before Drift had even arrived.

Drift, meanwhile, was speeding up the motion of his hips, the lewd noises between Megatron’s legs where they met growing louder.

After a several more firm thrusts, he felt Drift finally go stiff over him in overload, at long last after all of the interruptions.

A shame, he thought, gently patting Drift’s back, since he himself was really only just starting to get anywhere, his valve clenching in vain at the softening spike inside. His frame tended to require a lot of attention compared to those of sleek racers.

Drift fell limp against Megatron’s body, still catching his breath.

“My turn!” Rodimus yanked his spike out of Megatron’s throat before scrambling down to bully Drift out of place. Drift whined but obeyed, leaving the now unoccupied valve open for Rodimus to take position.

Megatron sighed, wondering quietly when it would be his turn.

Eventually, of course. Rodimus and Drift would almost certainly be taking multiple turns and—a warm burst of charge, growing rapidly and radiating out from the touch of a hand that suddenly appeared between his legs.

Drift had crawled up alongside him and reached down, massaging the exposed anterior node as Rodimus settled in.

His valve started to clench down on Rodimus’s spike as soon as he was properly seated.

Maybe this wouldn’t take as long as he had thought.

--

“You planned that, didn’t you?” Megatron asked, closing the door to the hallway after Drift had finally left.

It had taken nearly an hour to the get the paint transfers off his bright white finish. White tended to show even the slightest flaw, which meant that color required additional upkeep compared to others.

Rodimus shrugged from where he had flopped across the couch, still covered in transfers with his exhausted array still on full display.

“I mean, I did plan the threesome, yeah.” Rodimus tilted his head to the side. “Is your memory starting to go, babe?”

Megatron sighed and took his seat next to Rodimus on the sofa. He had cleaned himself up some and closed his panels, but the paint transfers remained. He would need Rodimus’s assistance to reach some. Likewise, Rodimus would need his assistance in return. It was a favor they did for each other after intimate encounters, affectionately wiping away the evidence.

“No, I mean, you planned to have Drift show up while you were out.”

“Oh.” Rodimus thought for a moment. “Yeah, yeah, I did plan that.”

The couch shifted as Rodimus rolled over before crawling into Megatron’s lap, straddling his hips. He slipped his arms around to pull the larger mech into a comforting embrace.

“Why—“

“Well, I wanted you guys to have some time to get the weird out.”

“Get… the weird out?”

Rodimus shrugged again, grinning up at Megatron.

“Yeah, you guys have some weird thing you needed to work out and I thought that would be a great time. Get whatever it is out so the banging could go off without a hitch.”

Somehow Megatron felt that they hadn’t actually worked anything out but had simply side-stepped it in favor of falling into old patterns, but before he could protest, Rodimus interrupted.

“It must have worked since you guys got started without me.”

“I… suppose it must have, yes.”

Perhaps not to the extent Rodimus had envisioned, but perhaps the door to his friendship with Drift had, at the minimum, reopened after all.

“Great, because I want to invite him back for another few rounds next week.”

[lizzybeth1986]

It Takes A Village

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: None. Kiara with her family, and maybe a little bit of Hakim x Joëlle.

Rating: G

Summary: A young Kiara Thorne has something important to say to her parents.

Word Count: 2,234+ words

Tagging @choicesficwriterscreations for FoTW.

A/N1: This fic takes place in the universe of my series featuring Hana x Kiara, Petals and Thornes, but will precede the events of that series. Because of this, the family name is written as Thorne, not Theron. Kiara is 15 years old in this fic (and is 17 by the end of it).

(Gif is from GIPHY)

"Something the matter, ma fée?"

Kiara jumps with a start at the sudden break to the silence. Guiltily, she realizes she's been picking at the same merguez sausage for the last ten minutes - the poor food item is now mutilated beyond recognition. Kiara has somehow managed to create a well in the middle of the subtly spiced couscous without eating any of it too.

Right next to her, Ezekiel raises his eyebrows. Well...you telling them today?

Kiara remembers what she'd confessed to her brother two days ago and sinks a little further in her seat.

She isn't sure why this feels so hard to do. It's not like Castelserraillan is a place that will not accept this...nor like Maman and Baba will throw a fit over it. In fact, her home has attained worldwide fame for being Cordonia's "LGBTQ+ capital" - the first place in Cordonia to publicly celebrate Pride, and the first to have an internationally known queer community and events of all kinds, year round.

Every October, her parents throw themselves headlong into organizing and supporting Pride, getting exhibitions ready, screening films, informing their friends at the press in advance so the events are covered with all the style and pizzazz they'd need for promoting. Every year, they fund more groups and organisations in the duchy, striving to ensure that the queer community in Castel lacks for nothing.

Yet somehow, telling her parents that not only does she find herself attracted to boys and girls, but that she still isn't entirely sure what she should label herself as...somehow the prospect of opening up to them about that is turning this normally-delicious sausage into dust in her mouth.

It had been easy enough with Zeke. It usually is - he accepts just about everything with the same laconic nonchalanance, the kind that makes you wonder if you were the one being melodramatic.

"You're bi?"

"Oui...non...ugh!! Je ne sais pas!" Kiara groaned, throwing her hands in frustration, "Sometimes I think I am...I mean right now I have a crush on that new artist Maman is mentoring..."

"Chantal Bachelet? The cubist?"

"Oui. Her."

"What's there to get confused about! Three months ago it was that stable-boy from the royal palace -"

"He's not a stable-boy. That was for just one summer! Drake lives there!" Kiara hissed, uncomfortable at the warmth creeping up her cheeks again. She was grateful her brother thought this one crush was recent...but it really has been going on for five months and shows no sign of subsiding. Maybe in another five...

"Fine. Whatever. I still don't see why you're so confused."

Kiara pursed her lips in annoyance, too tired and confused to explain herself any further. This isn't what she imagined being bisexual to feel like (not that she'd seriously dwelled on it before). Somewhere she'd imagined it would be a perfect split - that one would likely be attracted an equal amount to both. Yet most of her crushes since age 13 have been boys...and Chantal is the only one so far who has made her rethink things.

They're questions that keep her awake some nights, and make her feel a little bit silly on others. Would calling myself bi make me a fraud? Is it too early to tell either way?

What if I come out, and it turns out I was straight the entire time?

Kiara sighs, trying to make the best of the sausage she'd just mashed to oblivion. It had been far easier to come out to Zeke because he hardly seems to have an opinion on most things. And even if he does - he won't show you one way or the other. There are times she wonders if he deliberately strives to make himself a mere sounding board whenever she wants to hash out things.

Her parents, on the other hand...she suspects they'll follow the revelation up with a hundred questions. Questions she's not entirely sure she has the answers for, yet.

"Kiki," her father begins, his voice warm and gentle. His mouth twists a little in amusement when she frowns at the nickname. "if something is troubling you, you know you can tell us, don't you?"

"Um..." Kiara swallows. "Maman...Baba..." Damn this sudden dryness in her mouth.

Her mother takes a deep breath, trying to follow the advice she's about to give. "Prends ton temps, cherie... don't rush."

And as it always seems to happen since she's turned thirteen, Kiara does the exact opposite of what her mother says. "MamanIthinkI'mbi."

Silence. Confusion.

"Pardon?" Baba says.

Kiara tries, and fails, to clear her throat. She winces as she hears her voice, speaking its truth in the most embarrassing squeak. "I...I think I might be bi...but I'm not sure." She covers her face, cursing the Fates for making this Big, Super Important Moment into such a colossal dud.

"Not sure?" Maman echoes, a frown burrowing lines on the fine skin. Kiara can just see her mother's brain scrambling to pick the right words, her voice tentative and her words unsure. "I don't understand. You are attracted to a girl, I take it, yes?"

Kiara bites her lip, trying to gauge from Maman's face how this conversation will go. "Yes, Maman."

Maman fingers a stray ringlet of hair by her ear, as she often does when she gets a bit confused or agitated. "... shouldn't that settle it then?" She picks a piece of invisible lint on her dress. "I'm sorry - I think I don't entirely get how this works."

Kiara feels a small rush of relief at the words. " I don't know if I really get it either."

"You're young yet," Baba says, his deep voice an oasis of calm rippling around herself and her mother. In another ten minutes they will both wonder why they agonized over this so much. "No one ever knows everything at 15, not even smart young girls fluent in four languages or who can best Auvernese princesses even when they cheat at chess." He chuckles, Zeke hides his giggle behind his hand, and both Maman and Kiara can't resist a tiny smile.

Her parents think she won't notice, but she detects the slightest movement of Baba's hand, presumably covering Maman's. Maman likely places hers over his.

Kiara is half-sure this gesture might prelude a discussion. A discussion involving her. That she may not be a part of.

Yet.

Normally, she would hate that. But today - her own head too muddled and thoughts too scattered to think further without getting a headache - she feels a bit more relaxed.

It would be nice to let her parents do thinking for her once in a while.

--

By tacit agreement, Kiara's mother and father choose to skip their afternoon siesta, preferring to sit in his study and ruminate over today's revelations with a potful of mint tea.

"I don't see why you're so worried, Joli," Hakim tells his wife, his knuckles absentmindedly brushing over hers. "I mean...you're not against her caring for women, are you?"

Hakim won't lie: there were moments at the dining table today when he wondered whether his daughter's truths made his wife uncomfortable. He's heard about it before - parents and loved ones who will genuinely believe they support queer people, yet struggle when they find them in their own families. He won't deny he's still getting used to Kiara's revelation himself...but over here in Castelserraillan, they always come around. They always work on their discomforts themselves, because they know it's their loved one who needs the most support.

It's just that Joëlle - who usually moves through her life with confidence and pizazz even when she doesn't completely know what she's doing - seemed so unexpectedly unsure of herself.

Hakim steels himself against the possibility. Surely even if Joëlle did feel that way, she'd try to process it in a way that wouldn't hurt Kiki. That much he knows about his wife.

"What! No!" Joëlle bursts out. Hakim lets off a stuttering laugh, feeling ten times lighter. "It's just... I know it's silly, but I'm worried. For her."

Hakim runs a hand lightly, slowly across her hair, running a small curl through his fingers just the way she likes it. "What's there to worry about, bonbonayet albi? She has us."

Joëlle looks him straight in the eye, her own dark and wide-set on a heart-shaped face. "But will that be enough? Are we enough?

His hand stills. "What do you mean?"

"She has us today, yes," Joëlle says, covering his hands with her own. Distractedly her long fingers twist slowly over his wedding ring. "But we don't know what it's like, do we? Even when we host events, we are at best on the outside looking in. Sooner or later she's going to want guidance from those who have gone through it too, won't she, mon bijou?"

Hakim's answering smile is one of slow recognition. "You're saying what our Kiara really needs...is a community. A community of people who may have been where she's been, who might give her the answers we won't always have."

Joëlle rests her head against the crook of his neck, breathing in the spicy-sweet cinnamon scent of his cologne. Suddenly she is not only grateful for this man she married, but this place she married into. Because her mind may be a maze of doubts about a lot of things, but the one pillar of certainty she can cling to is that Castelserraillan is a safe place for children like her daughter. A safe, welcoming, accepting place. "Maybe we should start small. Baby steps."

Hakim nods. They saw Kiara's face at breakfast today - no matter how confused they were now, she had to feel twice as much. Push her into finding answers now and their daughter is bound to shut down.

"I trust you, ghazali. Absolutement."

Joëlle smiles, already feeling optimistic about her daughter's future. "And I you, cheri."

--

The gallery has never been this packed, Maman had told her just the other day. Kiara's feet feel worn and tired from standing and walking all day, but she's never felt more invigorated. It's been two years since Maman had brought her here, convincing her without much fanfare to volunteer at an art exhibition they run every year during Pride month. She and Baba never told her why, never made it a priority - just put forward the offer and let her choose.

No assumptions, no unnecessary fanfare, no pressure to figure out who she was or what she identified as. In retrospect, Kiara thinks as she approaches a newer, more nervous face, it was the best thing her parents could have done.

They knew they didn't know everything...had no ego acknowledging that fact...and eased her into a community she knew deep inside would accept her but still felt afraid to approach.

"New here?" She asks the new girl, who wraps her shawl around her thin frame tighter, struggling to look Kiara in the eye.

"Yes," the girl says, "Bethany, from Cormery Isle. I'm...here to support a friend."

The brief pause tells Kiara straightaway that Bethany may be hiding a detail or two, but that possibility only makes her own smile grow wider.

When Kiara finally came out as bisexual in public, a year after that suggestion from her mother, it had felt natural - like it was time, like she was ready and felt safe to tell the world who she was. She had agonized over the decision in the months before, wondering if her new friends would turn away from her for lying...whether they would even believe her...whether she was bisexual enough.

But no. People around her embraced that news with the same warmth that they showed when they knew of her as Duke Hakim's straight-ally daughter, not a trace of surprise in their eyes when she told them she wasn't straight after all. And not a single question about whether she really was what she claimed she was - just acceptance and whispered promises to lend an ear if she ever needed to talk. Promises that she took up, figuring out more and more about herself in the process.

She would learn from several of them, much later, that she wasn't the only one.

Kiara doesn't know what the journey of the girl standing before her - 15 just like she was, afraid just like she was - is going to be. Maybe she'll find herself here. Maybe she won't. Maybe she'll discover she's straight, or not. Maybe she'll recognize she's cis, or not. Maybe she'll realize labels were never for her. The possibilities are endless.

All Kiara knows, is that an entire community of people once enfolded her within their wings, gave her time and made her feel safe about exploring what she wanted. And the only reward they would ever ask for, is that you pay that guidance forward.

That's the way Castelserraillan is. That's the duchy her parents are so proud of running, that she and her brother are so proud to call their home.

Kiara calls Mlle Bachelet, the star artist for this year's exhibition, for an introduction (she notes with faint regret, a slight dull pang that she thinks one feels when a crush is over), and grins at how starstruck Bethany looks. I think I'll leave them to it...for now. And come see Bethany later.

Kiara walks away from the two, footsteps light as air. As she passes paintings and portraits chronicling journeys as vast and diverse as Cordonia itself, charting personal and communal histories, she can't help but remember a line she's heard from the grandmothers in both sides of her family. It takes a village to raise a child.

Smiling, she wraps her arms around herself. Safe in the arms of a community that quietly let her blossom, secure in the promise, that they trust her to do that for so, so many more people.

--

Notes:

French:

Ma fée - "my fairy" in French.

Oui...non...ugh! Je ne sais pas! - Yes...no...ugh! I don't know!

Prends ton temps - Take your time

Pardon (in this context) - Excuse me

Mon bijou - My jewel

Darija/Arabic:

Bonbonayet albi - my heart's bonbon sweet (an endearment)

Ghazali - literally means deer, can be used as an endearment for a female loved one.

A/N2: One of my earliest HCs about Castelserraillan, after TRR3, was that if Castelserraillan which was a hot-seat of culture, and had one of the most chill Duke and Duchess in Cordonia leading it...it would probably also have a vibrant LGBTQ community and culture. I tried to incorporate that into this fic.

[project1939]

100+ Films of 1952

Film number 130: Boots Malone 

Release date: January 11th, 1952 

Studio: Columbia 

Genre: drama 

Director: William Dieterle 

Producer: Milton Holmes 

Actors: William Holden, Johnny Stewart, Stanley Clements

Plot Summary: Boots Malone, a broke agent in the high-stakes world of horse racing, meets a rich kid who wants to become a jockey. Still grieving the death of his last client, Boots is reluctant to see the kid as anything more than a dollar sign. 

My Rating (out of five stars): ***¼ 

Plot-wise this is a fairly standard “kid melts the heart of a broken man” kind of film, but what sets it apart is its close-up view of the horse-racing world. There are many thrilling racing and training sequences that are worth the price of admission alone. It’s too bad the rest of the film couldn’t reach the same heights. (some spoilers)

The Good: 

William Holden. He's wonderful as a vulnerable man trying to shield himself from any more pain. The way he slowly warms to Tommy was very moving, and his character never really fell into the kind of saccharine behavior you might expect for this type of movie. 

Stanley Clements as Stash, Malone’s sidekick. I was shocked to find that he didn’t make many films outside of cheap serials, because he was the actor who stood out the most to me. His performance was really naturalistic for the time, and I loved every scene he was in. 

The peek into the world of horse racing. Apparently, it was quite accurate, and it wasn’t over-simplified or overly melodramatic. 

The exhilarating racing scenes. Wow! 

There was more than one riding scene with Tommy and/or Boots where it was plainly evident that rear projection was not being used- it was all filmed on the horses. That was almost as thrilling as the racing scenes for me! 

The relationship between Boots and Tommy was pretty heartwarming, without turning into a maudlin mess. There was one scene that was an unfortunate exception, though. 

I loved that no romance for Boots was added. This is the kind of movie that generally would have shoe-horned in a half-baked romance, especially with a leading man like Holden. I was so glad it didn’t! 

I picked up a new slang term. After Tommy gets into a fight and is beat up on the ground, Boots says to him, “Are you gonna get up, or are you gonna lay there and geek it?” I gather “geek” had a slightly different meaning then?

The Bad: 

The plot didn’t pan out as interestingly as I expected. I was a little underwhelmed with the drama, aside from the horse-racing. 

Sometimes it did get too cloying and melodramatic. There was a scene where Tommy broke down in front of Boots, begging to stay with him, that was a bit much for me. 

The film lost some steam when Tommy’s mother entered the picture. 

Was there a dig at career mothers there? Tommy’s mother was a rich career woman raising him on her own, but it portrayed her as a terrible neglecting mother. Given the generally stigmatized view of career mothers then, it just felt like an awful stereotype. 

The way Boots immediately criticized her parenting. Because Tommy ran away, Boots felt entitled to give her a lecture about why she must be a bad parent. It was way too harsh, and Boots had barely spoken more than a few words to her at that point. 

The name “Boots!” It felt pretty silly to me- like it was trying too hard to be a folksy earthy kind of nickname. 

[tomanpeach]

the rindou whisperer – reader x rindou

a/n: this is not very proofread bc i wrote it kinda quick so apologies if anything is very unhinged or messy LMAO listen besties nobody asked for this but i had no choice!!! i was reading these bonten hcs earlier and the writer said at the end that they HATED RINDOU????? and i took that personally bc i am in a civil union w his brother so i made this as an apology to rindou for the behavior of my peers please leave him some love in the reblogs enjoy xoxoxo

summary: rindou has a bad day but do not fear, you are here!!!! just some mfn annoying sweet bf rindou

content: mentions of alcohol and lots of cursing i'm sorry bout that!!!

word count: 1k (1,001 to be exact how crazy lol)

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

you brace yourself at the door to rindou's apartment on the top floor. after work you had excitedly texted him asking if he wanted to get dinner to celebrate the start of the weekend, or if he'd like you to pick something up and come over. the response you received was: "idk i had a shit fuckin day come over if you want"

you decide to use the key he had given you instead of knocking and risking incurring rindou's wrath, especially since he'd already told you he was in bad mood.

rindou was like a wild animal sometimes, when he felt angry or scared or cornered, he lashed out. but, after nine months of dating him, you liked to think that you had become a master in dealing with his frequent mood swings and unpredictability. you were the fucking rindou whisperer.

once you're inside the apartment, you spot him lying on the couch with one arm draped over his eyes. he's so still you aren't sure if he's even awake. you watch him intently as you shut the front door, searching for any sign that he's heard you come in.

he huffs out a sigh. so far so good.

before you say a word you head straight to his kitchen and get a beer from the fridge for him. "i don't want that," he calls from the couch behind you, following the sound of the refrigerator door closing.

"maybe it's for me," you reply simply. he says nothing.

you kick off your shoes and climb onto the couch, folding yourself neatly to fit in the space between his outstretched legs. his arm falls away from his face so he can scowl at you.

"do you have to sit so fucking close?"

"yeah, i do," you spit back, narrowing your eyes at him.

despite growing up being on seemingly equal footing with his older brother, he still managed to feel like he was living in his shadow. ran was older, taller, and more assertive. he knew how to be charming and funny and how to get shit done. people liked and respected him but more importantly, they feared him.

rindou longed to be seen like his brother was. he fought, he killed, he strategized, and as he and ran climbed the ranks of the tokyo delinquent scene, he reveled in the respect his subordinates were forced to show him. and, once he realized they were afraid of him, he reveled in that, too.

but rin realized how much it had gone to his head when he met you. it had been infuriating to speak to you. you weren't a member of bonten, or any gang for that matter. you weren't involved in his world at all. and as such, you didn't have to show him the same forced respect that he expected from everyone else. you talked back, you teased him, you dared to challenge him, and he fucking hated it for a while. but for some reason, it was humbling for him. it brought him back down to earth. so he kept seeing you and pretty soon, the way you acted around him became grounding. sometimes, it was honestly kind of sexy.

"sit up," you pat his thigh. "come on."

your stubborn boyfriend stares back at you without moving. you wonder just how difficult he's going to be today.

"rin," you let yourself whine the tiniest bit, frowning at him.

with a melodramatic eyeroll he plants his hands on the couch cushions and lifts himself up. because of how you chose to sit on the couch, you're practically in his lap once he's seated upright.

"i still don't want the fuckin' beer," he snarls. now it's your turn to roll your eyes. you take a sip and push it into his hands. he places it onto the table.

"why was your day shit?" you ask, tucking some lavender strands of hair out of his face. he shakes his head to deter you, "i don't want to talk about it. just generally shitty."

"would all the chinese food i brought you from that spot you love down the street help at all?"

the corner of his mouth turns up the slightest bit as he exhales through his nose in something resembling a laugh.

"oh, there he is," you say fondly, stroking his cheek. he leans into the touch, telling you that the big angry gang boss part of him was slowly losing steam. you lean in to kiss his cheek. he places a hand behind your head, holding you there next to his face and turning so your lips meet his own.

he presses his forehead against yours and mumbles a quiet, "sorry... for being a dick."

"you're not a dick," you cup his cheek and kiss him once more. "you just had a bad day. nothing i haven't seen before."

"you see it a lot, though," he sighs heavily, seeking out your hands with his in your lap.

"i don't mind."

"how?" he pulls away, grimacing.

"because i'm in love with you, stupid."

rindou smiles again, sheepish and genuine, at the way you say it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. his charming smile, the way he's looking at you. you know he's feeling better.

you reach for him and he lets you hug around his middle and lay him back. now you're both horizontal on the couch, your cheek to rindou's chest. he feels comforted by the weight of your body against his.

"is today still shit?" you ask teasingly when he starts to run his hands up and down your back.

"shut up."

"fuck you, you feel better now. be sweet to me."

"today isn't shit now that you're here," he mumbles quietly. "everything's a lot better when you're around."

"and you love me?"

"yeah, i love you."

and despite the big goofy grin on his face, and the fact that you can't actually see his face at all, you're sure that he's rolling his eyes.

[favefandomimagines]

Illicit Affairs (t.t)

Summary: you’re living a Romeo and Juliet love story and the stakes are just as high.

@gillybear17 can you do an imagine where the reader is a Pogue and secretly dating topper. Their friends don’t know they’re together and catch them making out at a bone fire

Had to add some angst in here cause why not. I also changed it from a bonfire to Midsummers, I feel like the scandal of the two being caught together at a big Kook event would be HUGE

Warning: mentions of social anxiety and anxiety attacks

Secret relationships were always so cliche and a bit melodramatic for your taste. Why was it so hard for two people to openly be together and be proud of it?

But continuing to believe that would make you the biggest hypocrite. You yourself were in a secret, rather scandalous relationship with Topper Thornton.

You still don’t quite know how it happened, one day he was just there. Somehow you convinced Sarah to take you to a party that some of her Kook friends were throwing.

Why she invited you and not Kiara was still unknown. Pogues weren’t exactly welcome on Figure 8 and that led you to standing awkwardly in the living room of some random persons house.

If you were being honest, parties where you knew absolutely no one made you rather anxious. At Boneyard parties, that was your turf, with your friends. It was comfort zone and that Kook party was definitely the opposite of the Boneyard.

Sarah was nowhere to be found and all the looks you were getting wasn’t helping the tight feeling in your chest. Setting your cup down, you weaved your way through the crowd towards the back door.

You leaned against the balcony railing and tried to slow down your shallow breathing.

“Y/N right?” You heard someone ask. You turned around and saw Topper standing behind you. “Uh, yeah, yeah that’s me.” You stammered. “Are you okay?” He questioned. “Yeah, I’m okay. Large crowds, not knowing anyone, sometimes makes it hard to breathe.” You answered, trying to catch your breath.

“Hey, hey, just take some deep breaths. You’re out here with just me, no big crowds here.” Topper told you. You did as he told you and soon your breathing evened out. “How did you know how to do that?” You asked. “I used to get anxiety attacks when I was younger. My mom didn’t want her 13 year old on Xanax so she sent me to therapy.” He explained.

You gave him a curious look, wondering why Topper Thornton was being so nice to you. “I appreciate your help but why are you being so nice to me?” You questioned. “Look, after all of that shit went down with Sarah and John B, I learned he’s not such a bad guy. I was the bad guy and I’m trying to fix that.” He explained.

“Very self-reflective of you.” You commented. “Do you think you’ll be okay? I can find Sarah for you.” Topper suggested. “It’s okay. I’m probably just gonna head to Kie’s and ask her for a ride home.” You said. “I can give you a ride. This party kind of sucks anyways.” He offered.

You were hesitant for a moment. This was Topper Thornton you were talking too. He’s not known to be the nicest guy but he all of a sudden has a change of perspective.

“Sure. Why not?” You finally said.

The party was close to a year ago and you had kept your relationship private ever since. No one knew about the two of you and that’s how you both wanted it for a while.

Things were always complicated on the Outer Banks and you didn’t want it to affect you and Topper.

Midsummers was approaching and Kie asked you to come with her to the event. She loves Sarah but she really needed her best friend with her.

“So, I’m going to Midsummers with Kie.” You told Topper as the two of you were laying in your bed. Your parents were out of town for their anniversary after saving for months.

“Oh really? I thought you hated Midsummers.” Topper said. “I do. But I’m doing this for Kie and that means I can keep an eye on you.” You teased. “Oh like I’m going to get into trouble at Midsummers. My mother would drop dead if I did anything to embarrass her.” He replied. “Like dating a Pogue.” You commented. “Y/N,” Topper started. “I know, I know. We agreed to keep us a secret because of how our friends would react. But you have to admit that it would be nice to actually go somewhere together. I can’t help but think that you’re ashamed of me because I live on the Cut.” You spoke.

Topper sat up and pulled you up with him, taking his hands in yours. “I’m not ashamed of you, Y/N. I love you, you know that. I don’t want anyone around me to make you think that you’re lesser than them. I just want to protect you from that.” He said. “I’m sorry.” You said. “Don’t be sorry. Never be sorry. Hopefully, we’ll be able to go out and I can show you off soon.” Topper told you.

You smiled at him before leaning forward and kissing him lightly.

—

Midsummers was the biggest Figure 8 event for as long as you could remember. You were never invited and when you did attend, you were working. This year your were attending as a guest of the Carrera family. It was weird walking into the event in a floor length, pink, satin dress. Kie’s mom bought her multiple dresses and whichever one she didn’t like she was going to give to you.

“You look great. Stop fidgeting so much.” Kie whispered to you. “I feel like a moron.” You muttered. “Then we can both feel like morons together. I’m going to sneak us some drinks. JJ’s a waiter this year.” She told you before walking off.

You sighed to yourself as you looked around at all the party guests. Subconsciously you were scanning the room for Topper, no doubt he was with Rafe and Kelce. And that’s exactly who he was with and all three of them standing at the top of the stairs to the country club conversing amongst themselves.

Topper spotted you first before you saw him. He thought you looked absolutely breathtaking. Of course he thought that every time he saw you but seeing you in that dress with your hair all curled, that was different. Topper began getting flustered as he watched y, wanting nothing more than to just walk over to you and kiss you in front of everyone.

Let everyone know that you were his. You finally made eye contact with him and he gestured for you to follow him. With furrowed brows, you followed after him and into the building. You turned a corridor and felt someone grab your arm. “What is going on?” You asked. “You look beautiful, do you know that?” Topper said. “Well, Kie told me a couple of times.” You said bashfully. “Kie is definitely right on that one.” He told you.

“Rafe and Kelce could be wondering where you are.” You said. “And Kie might be wondering where you are.” Topper. “But we don’t really care do we?” You asked. “Absolutely not.” He answered. “I love you.” You whispered. “I love you too.” Topper whispered back before pressing his lips against yours. You were taken aback at first but reciprocated quickly.

Topper’s hands were on your waist, yours placed on his shoulders. It wasn’t ideal nor appropriate to have a full blown make out session in the middle of Midsummers but it’s what the two of you decided to do you.

“Wait, wait,” You started, pulling away from him. “Are we really making out at Midsummers?” You asked. “Yeah and what’s so bad about that?” Topper questioned, leaning in again. “Let’s just, tell people about us. I’m tired of feeling like a secret.” You said.

“Too late.” You heard a voice say. You both whipped your heads in that direction and saw Kie and Sarah standing there. “Seriously? You two are dating?” Kie asked. “It’s a long story, but he makes me happy and he’s different now.” You said. “I’m not the same guy I was before.” Topper added.

The two girls looked at each other before looking back at you. Your mood had changed drastically over the past year and no one knew why. You actually enjoyed doing crazy, spontaneous things and they didn’t know it was because Topper was like an anchor.

And they couldn’t stand in the way of their best friend being happy.

“If you hurt her, you won’t have to worry about JJ because I’ll kill you myself.” Sarah said. “I don’t plan on it.” Topper said. “Then tell people about the two of you.” Kie suggested before they walked away.

“So? What do you say? You know I love being dramatic, let’s just walk out there together.” You said. Topper thought for a moment, only beginning to imagine what his mom would say. But in that moment he didn’t really care because he had you. The girl of is dreams wanting to actually be with him and no amount of lectures from his mother could pull him down from that bliss.

“Okay. Let’s do it.” He said. You smiled up at him as he intertwined his hand with yours and walked with you out to the lawn. Topper escorted you to the dance floor where the band was playing a slow song and began dancing with you. You hear the whispers, see the stares. See JJ attempt to approach you but Kie holding him back. You could see Topper’s mother shooting daggers in his direction.

Topper could feel that you were beginning to feel a bit uncomfortable so he tightened his grasp on you as a form of comfort. “Hey, just look at me. After all you said you liked to be dramatic.” He teased. You smiled before kissing him gently. “I love you.” Topper whispered. “I love you more.” You said back. “Hm, we‘ll see about that.” He replied.

Though announcing your relationship at Midsummer was very unconventional and rumors were starting to spread like wildfire, you didn’t care. You had Topper and your friends accepted it and at the end of the day, that’s all you really wanted.

[holden-caulfield]

Authentic

main masterlist

REQUESTED: "Hi, can you please do a part two of unbearable (nikolai x reader), part one was amazing"

SUMMARY: nikolai and reader are finally on good terms but the reader wants more.

WARNINGS: none i believe

WORD COUNT: 1407

A/N: part two of "Unbearable", you can probably read this without reading the first but it makes much more sense if you read that one before :)

It had been a while since the ambush. Nikolai had healed; it hadn't been a terrible wound and you knew that because he kept on teasing you about it.

You had been worried about his state. Not because you cared, you told yourself, but because he was Ravka's king and Ravka had already lost enough.

You had to admit, however, that after that accident, things between you had started to get better and better.

You didn't wake up anymore dreading the hours to come, nor did you try to constantly avoid him. He had become nicer and actually fun to be around.

Death really does bring people together.

He had gotten even more handsome than he already was and you often wondered how that was possible: he hadn't changed anything about his appearance but his smile, it looked slightly brighter. And you noticed it.

You actually became quite fond of him: it turned out that, if he didn't try to be as unbearable as he could possibly be, he was actually a nice company. Funny, handsome and brilliant; a true catch for anyone. And you had married him.

You didn't regret it as much as you did before, but being married and it being a marriage of convenience, made everything feel fake.

You were starting to like Nikolai, the real Nikolai, and that's what hurt you the most. What the two of you had was a fake marriage and a forced friendship. There could be nothing between the two of you; the two of you were just for show.

Nothing was authentic.

Sometimes you even doubted the liking he had taken on you was real: maybe he had started acting like that because it was easier than showing his hatred for you so openly. It was hard to accept, but it was a very probable possibility.

That day you woke up as usual, got ready as usual, and left the bedroom as usual to stroll through the palace's grounds.

There were no royal matters that required your attention so you decided to take some time for yourself around the castle. Someone had had the same idea.

"My beautiful wife, what are you doing on this fine morning?" came his voice from behind you.

He hurried to catch up to you and joined your side; at a safe distance. Not too far that you didn't seem like a couple, not too close that you actually seemed like a couple. It hurt but that's what you were and weren't: a couple.

"Walking, as you can see."

"At this speed, you are almost jogging."

You looked at him sideways, "The king of Ravka can't keep up?"

"That's not at all what i said."

"But it sure sounded like it."

"And here i was about to ask you to join me for the day." he sighed heavily; he had always been way too melodramatic. And yet, you had started to like it.

You turned around to face him, still walking. "Join you for what?"

He smirked and looked down at you. He knew he had your attention now.

"It's a surprise." You lifted one eyebrow, skeptical. "Can't a loving husband prepare surprises for his loving wife?"

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. It was odd: before the accident you couldn't bring yourself to fake a smile beside him and now you couldn't stop your face from lighting up whenever he was around.

You felt like a child with a crush; how romantic and so, so stupid.

"Give me a hint, then."

"If i do, you'll ruin the surprise. I guess you'll have to trust me." he offered you his hand. You eyed it a moment before grasping it with a fake huff.

You had held his hand before but you had never stopped to think about how firm his grip was, how sure it was and yet how soft.

He began leading you farther from the building, into the gardens that surrounded the grand palace. They were always mesmerizing: your kingdom never had such beautiful and luxurious gardens, it felt like walking inside a fairytale and you would have lied if you said you didn't love spending time there.

Now that you were approaching them with Nikolai's hand in your own, you truly felt like a princess. You had always been one but now you were feeling like one, walking hand in hand with your prince charming.

You saddened at the thought: he could have never been that for you, not in private at least, even if all of Ravka thought so.

"Everything's fine?" he asked as he saw your face darkening.

You shook your head to clear your mind of those thoughts and gave him a small smile. "I would feel better if you gave me a hint."

He chuckled lightly. What a heavenly sound.

"Fine, but only because i am so thoughtful." he kept on leading the way through the flowering bushes and coloured trees. "I want to give you a gift and i needed the right atmosphere."

You snorted. "So dramatic..."

"Not dramatic, theatrical."

"Same thing."

He ignored your comment with a complacent smile and went on, tugging at your hand and slightly increasing his speed.

"Now you're jogging, your majesty."

"The queen of Ravka can't keep up?" he retorted with the biggest smile on his face.

The queen of Ravka. His queen. It was a truth but it felt like a dream. You hated it.

You grimaced at him but he kept his pace. You almost began running to keep up with him when at last, you arrived, and you couldn't help but open your mouth in surprise.

He wasn't kidding when he had said he wanted the right atmosphere: he brought you to an alcove hidden in the depths of the gardens. Cherry trees surrounded it, their blossoms framing the place just right. The pink petals decorated the branches just as much as they decorated the ground, melting into the green of the grass with perfect ease.

"I noticed you came in the gardens quite often but i had a feeling you hadn't seen this part of them." he said proudly.

You still kept your eyes on the place, mouth agape, eyes lit up like candles because of the sight in front of you. Or maybe because of the man that had brought you there. He made it extremely easy to fall in love with him and it was upsetting.

"Do you like it?" he asked, not a bit of sarcasm or pride in his voice, but simple, genuine interest.

You gave him an awestruck look and took a step forward to take in the beauty of that little piece of heaven.

"Like it? I am absolutely astonished by-"

The words got quickly cut off as you turned around to face him and found him kneeling on the ground, his hand holding a golden ring with the biggest emerald you had ever seen, a bashful smile on his face that was nothing like the confident smirks he usually gave crowds.

You stared at him, unable to speak, unable to move.

"I know we are married, i swear i haven't forgotten, but-" he trailed off a moment, looking for the right words. "But i wanted to ask you again, for real, and you can actually say no this time."

Your body remained still in place, not daring to move. Your mind still trying to understand whether this was really happening or just a dream; it certainly felt like one.

"Although i would love for you to say yes."

You must have looked like an idiot, your mouth unable to let out any word, even though the only word you wanted so desperately to pronounce was 'yes'.

"Right now i would love any kind of answer, i'm not picky." he admitted, a smirk gracing his lips as he looked into your eyes.

"Is this for real?" you finally asked, confusion laced in your voice.

"It sure is, lovely."

That was enough. You rushed down on your knees in front of him, colliding your lips with his.

You had kissed him before, but it never felt real. Now, now it was.

"I shall take this as a yes, no?"

"Of course it is a yes!"

He slipped the ring on your finger; it felt just right, as if it had been made for you and only you.

"Good, because it would have been very embarrassing otherwise."

taglist - @henqtic @eunoniaa @wh0re4blaise @harmqnia @sanctimoniousslytherpuff @maybesandohnos @youreso-golden @beforeoursunsets @o-rion-sta-r @mollysolo @prettygirlkay @dlmmdl @chaoticgirl04 @badass-yn @peachybaes @dracomalfoys-wh0re @dreamcxtcherr @gwlvr @aleksanderwh0r3 @antideppresants @miraclesoflove @tartheanmaid @amourslover @i-love-scott-mccall @im-constantly-fangirling @s1xthirty

[if your name is crossed out, check your privacy settings! if you don't want to be tagged anymore, tell me!]

[n0bamak1s]

whisper of the heart- megumi fushiguro x reader

summary: you begin to take notice of the name “megumi fushiguro” on all the tops of your library checkout cards. a semi-retelling of whisper of the heart featuring you and megumi. (genre: fluff, high school au, meet cute)

warnings: none! except maybe slightly ooc megumi

word count: 3.2k

a/n: hi everyone! ty all again for being so patient with me publishing this. i’ve been very busy with college apps lately, but i’m gonna try to keep this blog as active as i can while balancing it with school life. anyways, i had a lot of fun writing this, but i’m definitely not used to writing megumi, so feel free to leave feedback ^^ i also changed some details from the original movie and left it a bit open ended, so feel free to let me know if you want a part 2!

“who the hell is megumi fushiguro?”

your gaze was fixed on the faded ink reading the now all too familiar characters. the characters spelling out a name that managed to keep showing up on the yellow tinted checkout cards tucked into the books you borrowed.

nobara glanced over your shoulder, inspecting the piece of cardstock tucked between your fingers. wrinkling her nose in disgust, she plucked the card from you, holding it closer to her face.

“whoever it is, they have terrible handwriting.” she stuck her nose up, turning back to you with a playful smile. “i don’t know how you managed to get ‘megumi fushiguro’ out of that chicken scratch.” a face of mock distress crossed her features as she did air quotes around the name, as if she couldn’t believe such a delicate name would be given to someone with such handwriting. she’s always had a tendency to be a bit over dramatic about trivial stuff like this.

with nothing more than a huff in response, you snatched back the card, tucking it neatly back into your library book. your fingers grazed the worn down cover for a moment, gliding along the slight tears around the corners and the stiffness of the yellowing pages.

‘i wonder how many of these creases came from megumi fushiguro?’

“whoever it is, it seems like that name shows up in every book i check out in the library.”

nobara kicked a rock as she walked, leaving a small cloud of dust around her feet. “maybe you’re just imagining it. you always stay up so late doing whatever the hell it is you do in your free time that you’ve probably begun to hallucinate.” she nudged you playfully, eliciting a dead pan expression from you.

“i’m serious nobara. i mean, i’ve never really believed in fate but there’s no way it’s completely coincidental!”

she raised an eyebrow, as if to say you can’t be serious. “i think you’ve been reading too many romance novels, for all you know this person could totally be just some weird old guy with nothing better to do than visit the library.”

“hey!” you acted as if that last bit was a personal attack on you, and knowing nobara it probably was. “i’m not saying this megumi fushiguro person is my soulmate or anything, i just think it’s a very strange coincidence.” you shrugged off your backpack as you talked, putting away your book. noticing the suspiciously light weight of your bag, you rummaged your fingers around for a moment to find that your sketchbook had gone missing.

crap.

nobara turned to you, perceptive as ever of your suddenly altered demeanor. “forget something again?” it was almost annoying sometimes how well she knew you. was it really that obvious?

“just my sketchbook,” your hands rifled through your bag one final time to make sure you really didn’t have it “probably left it on the park bench or something, it’ll just be a minute to get it.” you turned to her with a sheepish smile, silently pleading her to follow you there. she stared blankly at you for a moment, probably having one of her internal monologues about how lucky you were to have her as a friend, before rolling her eyes and following suit.

“this better be quick, i have places to be you know!”

“no you don’t.” you turned around before you could meet her melodramatic glare.

behind you, you could hear her huff of dissatisfaction, though she made no move to leave, reassuming her position next to you, giving you a gentle nudge as she brushed next to you.

as you walked, the sunlight peeking between trees framing your pathway began to warm your face, highlighting the ends of your eyelashes and the tops of your cheeks with the warm glow of the first hints of summer time. for a moment, you closed your eyes, letting yourself be enveloped in it, before your fleeting thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a bike coming in your direction. you felt as if you’d jump out of your own skin in that moment, hearing a “move out of the way!” from a husky, disembodied voice.

it probably looked pretty ridiculous how you jumped out of the way, kicking up a fleeting cloud of dust as you avoided the sudden presence of the biker. grounding yourself, your eyes flickered up to the source of the voice, being met with the gaze of stormy blue eyes, framed by long, dark eyelashes that nobara would most definitely be envious of. taking in the boy’s whole figure, your eyes were drawn to the messy black hair atop his head, formed at the ends into contradictorily gentle looking spikes. the sleeves of his white button down were rolled up taut around his forearms, leading your gaze to his hands wrapped tightly around the bike handles.

oh, right. he’s still biking.

you turned your focus back to keeping to your side of the path momentarily, before the sight of your name written atop the sketchbook peeking out of his bag came into your field of vision as he continued to move past you. before you had time to think rationally, you turned to his now retreating form, breaking into a jog, kicking up a few more dust clouds as you did.

ignoring nobara’s incredulous calling of your name, you tried to call to the boy who had no intention of slowing down. “excuse me!” you cupped a hand around your mouth, hoping to project your voice louder. “hey!” the irritation in your voice was clear, but you breathed a small sigh of relief as the bike slowed to a stop, and the spike headed boy turned to your direction.

after an awkward moment of your continued jogging to him while he stood with a blank expression, you stopped in front of him, an accusatory look grazing your features.

“i think you have something of mine.” you tried your best to imitate the confident attitude you always admired from nobara, placing a hand on your hip and using the other one to point to his bag. his gaze followed the direction of where you pointed, his eyebrows raised while the rest of his face remained stagnant.

“oh, this?” he tugged the cardboard covered sketchbook out of the pocket it had been placed in, examining the cover. his eyes flickered between your name written in the top corner, and your currently annoyed looking face, as if he was playing some sort of word association game. you simply nodded in response, anticipation clear in your actions.

as he held out the sketchbook to you, he leaned down so his face was closer to you, as if to tell you a secret, voice low and eyes trained on you. “you should be more careful next time. you’re lucky i’m nice enough to not just steal this from you right now.”

you didn’t have an explanation as to why your heart began to race.

taking your silence as a response, he pushed it into your hands, his fingers brushing against yours gently. “nice drawings by the way, i recognize your friend over there from the portrait you drew of her on the first page.” his face remained stoic as he pointed at nobara, who was tapping her foot in boredom.

face warm from embarrassment, you snatched the sketchbook from where his hands lingered on it, muttering a bitter sounding “thanks” before stalking over to nobara once more, who looked relieved that she’d finally be able to go wherever it was she was going to.

“what an asshole.” you glared at him over your shoulder as he biked away, your gaze lingering a second too long for someone so insistent on hating him. nobara shook her head in response, clearly annoyed at your own obliviousness after witnessing the whole interaction.

a smug smile crossed her soft features. “maybe that’s megumi fushiguro.”

you raised a brow as you glanced at her. “as if!”

despite your insistence on your distaste for the mystery boy, he managed to have flooded your thoughts. ‘he must be using sorcery or something to keep himself on my mind, weirdo.’

still, you couldn’t deny how just a few more of your portraits were accented by ocean blue eyes, or pointed ends to the different mops of hair you sketched. how did you manage to keep attracting mystery people into your life?

when you returned to the library, you gripped a thick science fiction novel, the pages brushing your soft fingers as your marched it up to the checkout counter. as the librarian wrote the date on a small piece of cardstock, you took note of the fact that your name would be the first one there. had megumi fushiguro missed out on this one?

a pleasant smile stretched across your face as the librarian handed the book back to you. scrawling your name at the top of the checkout card, your eyes flickered to a stamp of ink beneath the slot for it.

donated by fushiguro.

of course it was.

the library door squeaked quietly as you pushed it open, one hand on the door, and the other placing your new book in your backpack. zipping it up and throwing it over your shoulder, you were met with the feeling of a dog sniffing your leg. your eyes trailed down to a dog almost akin to a small polar bear brushing its nose against your calf. reaching your hand to scratch softly against the back of his head, you coo gently at the not-so-little little guy.

“what’s got you all by yourself buddy?” an involuntary smile creeps onto your face at how he calms at your pats.

wordlessly, obviously considering this is a dog, he turns and walks a few steps forward, before pausing and tilting just his fur covered face toward you, egging you on to follow him just as you had the other day with nobara. you considered for a moment, before shrugging and giving in to his pretty minimal amount of convincing. nobara would be out getting lunch with maki today anyways, so you could use something to do today. after all, it could be fate.

it was almost as if you were one of those people who walked their dog without a lash, but in reality, it was more like the dog was walking you as it lead you down tall, sidewalk-lined hills and through parks filled with young parents having picnics with their children and couples going on walks. you wondered to yourself if this was a worthwhile excursion, was he just leading you to a dead end, or worse, was he some dog trained by a gang to lure people into danger?

after walking a few minutes more, you found out the spot you were being lead to was, in fact, even worse then both the possibilities you’d been brainstorming in your head, when you were met at the bottom of another hill with the stoic expression of that spike head. his eyes softened at the sight of the dog, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips that quickly vanished as he met your gaze, his eyes hardened in contrast with the bashfulness that shone on his cheeks.

“oh, you found him. thanks for that.” he cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting his gaze back to the dog. you shifted your weight from one foot to the other. to be fair though, what did you expect you’d do when you found where the dog was leading you?

“i should probably go.” your usually collected demeanor had been replaced with that of a puppy with its tail tucked between its legs. with a stiff wave, you took your leave, turning on your heel.

“wait.” his voice wavered, as if trying to catch himself before he spoke. “i can walk you home if you want. it’s the least i can do after you got him home.” he forced a smile onto his face, though it made him look more constipated than inviting. what happened to the snarky, aloof boy who had handed you your sketchbook just a few days ago?

still, you nodded, lips pressed into a line that you hoped resembled somewhat of a smile. surely, you should have been more worried about his sudden change in demeanor, but the relieved expression on his face seemed to soothe your nerves a bit. he assumed a spot next to you, tucking his hands in his pants pockets.

“your little buddy there lead me all over the city trying to find you, so i don’t exactly know how to get home from here, but maybe you can just lead me to the library.” you turned so you faced him, now aware of the close proximity between you two. nobara would probably laugh in your face if she could witness the moment you paused, stunned by the eye contact he made with you under his thick eyelashes. had you been perceptive enough in the moment, you may have noticed the blush creeping up his face. he nodded his head, which was already tilted down to face you fully, with eyes hazy and lips slightly parted.

“it’s just this way, i’ll show you.” he removed his hand from its pocket to point up the hill that had brought you to him in the first place. you gripped the straps of your backpack and faced in the direction he pointed to obediently, hoping to ignore the weird tension in the air. what could you talk to him about?

before you could continue your internal dilemma, he cleared his throat again. “you seem to like the library a lot, huh?”

by god was this boy terrible at small talk.

“i guess i do, but i don’t know how you came to that conclusion considering i only just brought up the library.” you cocked an eyebrow as you looked at him, probably sounding more annoyed than you’d intended.

he smiled knowingly at you, a hint of disbelief on his features as he raised his eyebrows. “i guess you wouldn’t know since your nose is always buried in a book, but i see you there like every day.”

your eyebrows furrowed so they practically touched, trying to rack your memory for seeing him in the library. “i’m sure i’d be able to recognize you if you did.” you were completely oblivious to the implications of how memorable you found him that laced your statement.

he shrugged nonchalantly. “believe it or not. i even tried sitting down in front of you a few times, but you were always too focused on your books to notice.” his smile was almost bittersweet as you waited by a stoplight. before you could respond, he continued. “it’s kind of admirable though. i think it’s nice that you’re so passionate about your books.”

you took a chance to look at him, really look at him, for the first time since you’d glared at him biking by. he held your gaze, eyes gentle. there was absolutely no way this was the same boy carrying your sketchbook in his bag from a few days ago.

“well if you think i’m so nice, what was with you trying to be all smart about my sketchbook?” ever the stubborn one, you were.

he shrugged his shoulders, shoving his hands back in his pockets. “you really should be more careful of your stuff. i was just letting you know. it’s not like i would have put in that effort for just anyone’s sketchbook. i guess i was just trying to make sure you wouldn’t lose it again. sorry if i offended you.”

the way he was blushing would have made any bypasser believe he’d just asked you to marry him.

“it’s just…” he continued “after seeing you in the library all the time, i thought you were really impressive. i thought if i tried to return your sketchbook, i could impress you too.” he kicked a rock that touched the edge of his sneaker.

“why would you wanna impress me?” your obliviousness was excruciating for the poor boy, though it was completely sincere on your end.

“you know, for someone so smart, you really are dense.” he pursed his lips, feigning annoyance. “and here i was thinking i was so obvious.”

at this point, you were nearing the library, and suddenly desperate to continue this conversation that you would have been dreading at the start of this walk.

“when it was obvious you weren’t gonna look up from your book, i tried checking out as many books as i could to get on your radar.” his smile had a weird hint of sadness behind it. you stayed silent, piecing together facts in your head.

“recognize the name megumi fushiguro?”

oh.

it pained you for a moment to know you’d have to tell nobara she was right.

“you’re megumi fushiguro?” your eyebrows shot up in surprise, mouth slightly agape. he seemed to stifle a laugh at your expression.

“i mean, what were you expecting?” he looked a little too smug for someone who was too scared to talk to you in the library.

“some weird old person, probably.” you shrugged, still with an incredulous look on your face. “i’m glad it wasn’t though.”

“oh?” he really did have a nice smile. “i guess you’re glad it was me then.” even he was unsure of this sudden confidence.

you pondered his question for a moment, but your body moved before your brain did, nodding your head slowly. he seemed to loosen up then, hands out of his pockets again, making you aware of how close you stood to him with the way his fingers brushed yours every few steps. a slight sadness filled your being as you stopped in front of those squeaky library doors that suddenly seemed so uninviting.

“i’ll tell you what then,” he started confidently, juxtaposing the bashful way he avoided eye contact with you all of a sudden “come to the library again tomorrow, and i’ll meet you there. really meet you this time, not just walking past your table. i can show you my favorites there and you can show me yours, it’ll be…fun.” he looked up almost worriedly for your reaction, slightly angry at himself for his sudden shyness, you seemed to have quite the effect on him.

there was a beat of silence, and he almost cut the tension in the air by taking back his request and booking it back home. before he could fully hatch his master escape plan, you reached over to grab his hand, his slender fingers lacing through yours. you gave it a light squeeze, and swore you could feel him jump a little at the contact.

“i’d like that a lot,” you looked in his eyes, which had gone from defensive to doe like in just your five words “megumi fushiguro.” he loved the way his name sounded coming from you. his anticipation cracked into a smile as he squeezed your hand back, and you prided yourself on getting to make him smile again.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, then.” he leaned down slightly as he said it, reminiscent of how he had scolded you about your sketchbook just a few days ago. you nodded in response, unable to stop the giddy smile stretching across your face.

tomorrow couldn’t come any faster.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

All Men Have Limits - XII

Character: Dick Grayson x Reader x Bruce Wayne

Summary: A certain bat believes that Y/N is in way over her head, that she’s too naive to act in her best interest. So, whether she wants it or not, the vigilante family is going to help and protect her before she gets herself killed.

Word Count: 6,600+

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse

Previously on…

6 MONTHS LATER...

Dick threw his small duffle over his shoulder as he looked around at his surroundings.

It sure was beautiful.

The complicated and long journey to get there was definitely worth it.

Dick figured out his surroundings before starting to walk.

There weren’t many people he passed, even when he got close to the town. But ones he did, they all stared, immediately recognizing him as a tourist. The place was too isolated for people to be passing through frequently.

Dick used that infamous Wayne charm to give polite smiles and nods to the townsfolk who gawked at him.

An hour later, Dick was at the bottom of a small hill, outside the fence of a bright yellow house. On the other side of him was water – the Norwegian sea.

The air was crisp and fresh, and Dick’s lungs seemed to thank him every time he took in a deep breath.

He was lost in the scenery when she appeared at the top of the hill.

Dick noticed her before she noticed him.

But when she was just a few yards from her house, she finally raised her head and spotted him.

Y/N froze for a moment, convinced she was seeing things.

But then her face broke into the brightest smile and she was running to him.

Dick caught her in his arms and spun her around, laughing at her excitement. 

“What are you doing here?” She asked after he let her go.

“What do you think?” He chuckled.

Her smile faded slowly, and it was replaced with a contemplative look.

“Come inside,” she told him quietly.

Dick watched as she moved around the small kitchen and made them coffee.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

“I’m surprised it took you so long to find me,” Y/N admitted shyly as she grabbed two bright red mugs from a cabinet.

“Well, it didn’t,” he looked a little bashful at the confession. “I found your location a couple days after I got your letter.”

Y/N stopped moving for a second.

“Oh,” she slipped out in surprise. “Did Bruce tell you?”

Dick shook his head. “No. I didn’t ask and he didn’t offer up that info.” He took in a deep breath. “I think he wanted to make sure I worked for it.”

Y/N nodded slowly. 

But it was clear that the mentioning of Bruce wasn’t making her feel all that great.

“I’m sorry he never came,” Dick told her softly.

“Why?” She challenged.

After all, wasn’t Bruce his competition?

“I waited to come find you because I didn’t want to mess up what you were trying to make here,” Dick admitted.

“You could never mess anything up, Dick.” Y/N poured coffee into both of the mugs and sat across from him at the tiny kitchen table. “I was the one always messing everything up.”

“That’s not true.”

But from her face, Dick could tell she was unconvinced.

“Why Norway?” He asked, trying to change the subject.

Y/N shrugged with a little smirk as she looked out the window that showed the sea just outside her door.

“I always wanted to visit. Just never got around to it.”

“What have you been doing?” He asked, surprised to see not even so much as a laptop sitting around.

It was strange to imagine her living without a dozen computer screens surrounding her.

“I work at the preschool. And I help on one of the farms nearby on the weekends sometimes.”

Dick smiled at the thought.

“What?” She pressed.

“Nothing. Just the world’s smartest and most badass hacker working on a farm.”

Y/N shrugged and laughed. “It’s relaxing.”

“I’m sure.”

“I’ve made friends.”

“Friends?” Dick repeated melodramatically to tease her.

“Shut up,” she laughed as she punched his shoulder. “Yes, I have friends. And get this…I go to therapy now.”

Dick smiled proudly at her. “Therapy, huh?”

“Yep. I talk about my feelings and everything,” she laughed.

His smile dropped a bit and he cleared his throat. “I’m proud of you, Y/N. Really. I am.”

Y/N winced at his sincerity a bit. She was never one to take compliments well. 

And before she could stop herself or hesitate, she stood from her chair and moved to Dick’s lap, hugging him.

“I’ve missed you, Dick.” She mumbled into his neck as he held her tightly and rubbed her back.

“I’ve missed you more,” he muttered.

Y/N pulled back to look at him. “Not possible.”

A single tear had escaped from her left eye. 

Dick gently wiped it away.

“Hey, none of that,” he whispered.

“How long are you staying?” She asked him.

“Just two days.”

Her eyes widened. “That’s it? You traveled all this way just for two days?”

Dick Grayson was a romantic. 

His face turned serious. “I was serious about not wanting to mess up what you have going on here. I just wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“I’m doing great,” she clarified.

He smiled. “I know. I can see that.”

“OK. Well…want to go to the pub with me tonight? You can meet my friends and get to see the town.”

Dick didn’t know why she bothered to phrase it as a question. Surely she knew by now that he was going to go anywhere she would.

But he nodded anyway.

——

Dick sat back and watched Y/N interact with the locals. They seemed to have taken her in as their own. He couldn’t help but wonder how they’d react if she were to ever leave. Surely she didn’t intend on staying here forever. Or maybe she did.

But he was surprised when she introduced him to a few of her new friends and their eyes widened with joy at hearing his name.

“Oh, you are Dick? We’ve heard so much about you!”

“We didn’t know you were coming to visit!”

“Come! Come! Let us buy you a drink!”

Dick tried not to blush when they all seemed to know who he was already.

Y/N sang along to songs with them and danced with anyone who asked her.

Dick had never seen her like this. She seemed to be glowing.

“Come on, Dick!” Y/N suddenly grabbed his attention. “Come dance with me!”

He laughed as he did as she requested, and let her spin him in too many circles.

-

A couple hours later, they were walking home.

They were both happily buzzed, but were by no means drunk.

Y/N wrapped her arm around Dick and leaned into him the whole walk.

When they were just outside her house’s gate, Y/N stopped them. 

“Look how bright the stars are here!” She exclaimed quietly as she tilted her head up to look at the sky.

Dick was instantly thrown back to that night, laying on the ground of Wayne Manor and looking at the smoggy sky of Gotham. The stars seemed so bright to her then and now she was amazed at how bright the Norwegian sky was.

Y/N realized Dick hadn’t tilted his head back.

“You’re not looking!” She accused before shifting her gaze to him.

When she did, she found that he was staring at her.

“What?” She whispered.

“I wasn’t completely honest about why I came here,” Dick confessed.

She tilted her head questioningly. 

“I mean, yes, I did want to check on you. But there’s more to it than that...”

Y/N had untangled herself from him now and turned to look at him.

“I know things have always been…complicated. And I know you loved – or love Bruce. I don’t know. But I just…I needed to tell you this.”

Dick took in a deep breath. “I’m gonna wait for you.”

“Dick…” Y/N exhaled in surprise.

“Wait. Please…let me finish.”

She did.

“I’m gonna wait for you. And you take as long as you need. I mean it. I know you think that I don’t know how to be alone…but I’ll wait for you as long as I have to.”

Y/N stayed quiet.

“Unless it’s Bruce. Then I’ll–”

“It’s not Bruce,” she quickly cut him off.

Y/N stepped forward and softly captured Dick’s face in her hands.  

“It’s you, Dick.”

And before he could ask her if she was messing with him, her lips collided with his. It took him a second to react and kiss her back. But when he finally did, it was with everything he possibly had.

When Y/N pulled away, she stared into his eyes and took his hand, guiding him into the house.

As soon as the door shut behind them, she started kissing him again.

She tugged at his belt and became frustrated with the amount of buttons on his flannel. Dick would’ve been more helpful if he wasn’t so preoccupied with taking off her clothes. He seemed to be doing much better than she was.

Once they were both in their undergarments, Y/N dragged Dick to her bedroom, giggling when he tripped over the edge of her couch on the way.

It wasn’t until Y/N’s thumbs slipped under the elastic of his boxer briefs that Dick stopped them.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he breathed as he paused their kissing and grabbed her wrists.

“What?” Y/N gasped, worried that she’d read all of this wrong.

“I just…Are you sure?” Dick asked quietly.

Y/N couldn’t help herself, but she started giggling.

“Oh, come on,” Dick groaned in embarrassment, pressing his forehead into her shoulder.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry,” Y/N said as she controlled her amusement. “It’s just…you’re too sweet for this world, Richard Grayson.”

He rolled his eyes.

But Y/N’s smile softened as she stared into his eyes. “I love you. You love me. And that’s all I care about right now.”

Dick just stared at her in awe.

“OK?” She asked.

Dick nodded quickly, so desperate not to mess this up.

“OK,” he agreed before kissing her again.

——————

It was the dinging of the buoy bells and the sound of soft waves that woke Dick up. 

Maybe it was the unusual soundscape. He was so used to the sounds of cities that this was triggered as unusual in his mind.

Dick opened his eyes and his mind slowly reminded him where he was.

Y/N was asleep on his chest, held in his arms.

He smiled at the feeling of her naked skin against his.

It was going to be harder to leave than he original anticipated.

Dick tried to untangle their bodies, waking Y/N up in the process.

“Go back to sleep,” he whispered to her. “I’m going to make us some coffee and breakfast.”

“Don’t bother,” Y/N mumbled sleepily. “I don’t have any food.”

“Stay,” she added in a whine. “You’re so warm.”

Dick chuckled. “I know you have coffee, Y/N.”

“I do,” she hummed with a mischievous smile, eyes still closed. “But I want you to stay in bed.”

“I promise I’ll be right back,” he whispered to her before kissing the top of her head.

She finally allowed him to leave.

Dick quickly put on his underwear and got to the kitchen, trying to be quiet as he shuffled around to find everything to make coffee.

When he returned to bed it was with two filled mugs.

Y/N had rolled onto her stomach, her face buried in Dick’s pillow.

Her shoulders and upper back were exposed as she slept.

Dick paused and allowed himself to take in the scene before him.

He’d spent so much time dreaming of having such bliss. And now it sat before him as a reality. It felt too good to be true.

He sat on the very edge of the bed, putting both mugs on the nightstand beside him.

Dick bent down to place a trail of kisses up Y/N’s spine and then to her shoulder.

She hummed at the feeling.

“Come on. Wake up,” Dick whispered in her ear.

Y/N slowly woke up, and pulled the sheet to her chest as she sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

“You know…you’re very adorable when you first wake up,” Dick told her with a smirk.

“Oh, shut it,” Y/N warned him as she grabbed for one of the mugs.

Dick allowed her one sip before he pressed his lips to hers.

“Morning,” Y/N smiled after.

“Good morning,” he huffed a laugh.

She sighed. “What would you like to do today, Mr. Grayson?”

“I really don’t care,” Dick admitted.

He wanted to say, ‘As long as I’m with you, it doesn’t matter.’ But he knew it would come out cheesy and she’d only laugh at him. So he saved the thought for himself.

“How about a hike?” She offered.

“A hike sounds perfect.”

She tilted her head. “Maybe a shower first?”

“Shower first,” he confirmed. “Would be even better if it was together.”

Y/N threw her head back in a laugh. “I’ll allow it.”

A hike did turn out to be perfect.

Y/N pointed out landmarks or the property of friends. 

And then she’d ask Dick about his life back home. And she asked about his brothers – to which he gave great detail about each.

But it didn’t go past Dick that she hadn’t asked about Bruce.

They’d finally reached the top of their goal peak.

They were both breathing heavily. It was by no means an easy hike.

“Do you miss him?” Dick finally had the courage to ask.

Y/N shrugged, but wouldn’t look at him. “Of course I do.”

“Be honest. Were you expecting him to find you?”

“No,” she answered truly. “I knew he wouldn’t.”

Dick didn’t know how to respond to that.

“But I think the worst part was that I was so okay with that,” Y/N admitted.

Then she sighed.

“Obviously I’ve had a lot of time to think about…everything. Me and him…we would be terrible for each other, Dick. I don’t know how to read his mind. And he doesn’t know how to talk to me. We’re both so stubborn and so bad at communicating. We would’ve just grown to resent one another.”

Y/N took in a shaky breath and exhaled. “And once I realized that, I was terrified that I’d completely fucked things up with you – and that I’d hurt your relationship with him.”

“You didn’t, Y/N.” Dick tried to reassure her.

“Things would be so bad between him and me. Then there would be one single moment of good…and I’d hold onto it for dear life,” Y/N added. “And I realized that would be our whole relationship.”

Dick nodded in understanding.

He knew she was absolutely right, and it had been his biggest fear for them.

“I’m sorry,” she quickly apologized. “I shouldn’t talk about him with you like this.”

“Don’t apologize.”

Dick wrapped his arm around her as they looked at the view together.

“Come on,” he told her. “We should get back soon. I have to catch a boat.”

She nodded.

——

The walk to the boat went by far too quickly for both of them. And their goodbye had arrived too soon.

Dick held Y/N in his arms on the dock.

When they pulled away he saw that Y/N’s eyes had filled with tears.

“Why do you have to go?” She muttered, clearly trying not to cry.

“You know all I want is to stay with you. But you said it yourself: you gotta figure stuff out. And I don’t want to be the one that gets in the way of that.”

He kissed her slowly.

“I wasn’t lying when I promised that I’d wait as long as I needed to, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“You take as long as you need, hear me?”

She nodded quickly.

“But I gotta go now.”

Dick gave one final and abrupt kiss before rushing away and jumping onto the boat. 

He knew if he lingered, even a second, he might not be able to leave her.

He wouldn’t even let himself look back at her as the boat started to drift away. Because even then he was at risk of jumping off and swimming back to her.  

——————————

9 MONTHS LATER…

“Seriously, Jaybird?” Dick asked as he held his cellphone to one hear and the steering wheel with the other.

He turned to Y/N, who sat in the passenger seat. “He says he’s not coming.”

“Gimme,” she muttered impatiently as she held out her hand.

Dick passed her the phone.

“What the fuck has you so busy that you can’t have a family dinner?”

Dick chuckled at his girlfriend’s sass.

“Jason, I haven’t seen you in over a year! Please? For me?”

Dick immediately heard the tone in her voice that always brought him to his knees – and she already had him wrapped around her finger. He wondered if Jason was immune to it.

But when he saw Y/N start smiling widely, he knew his brother was no stronger than him.

“Can’t wait to see you!” Y/N sang before hanging up.

The car went silent then. The only sound being the commercials on the radio.

“Is this going to be weird?” Y/N suddenly asked quietly as she stared out the passenger window.

“No,” Dick answered confidently.

She turned to look at him. “Sure?”

“No one is better than Bruce Wayne when it comes to pretending everything is alright. Trust me.” Then he sighed sadly. “Plus, Damian texted earlier and said there was last minute Justice League business. I doubt he’ll be back by dinner.”

“Sorry,” Y/N told him softly as she grabbed his right hand and placed a kiss on his knuckles. “I know you’ve missed him.”

Dick had been jumping from place to place for the past year and a half that even when he was in Gotham, he barely had time to see Bruce. It was always in passing.

“It’s fine.”

When they pulled up to Wayne Manor, Dick barely closed the car door before Damian was tackling him into a hug.

“Hey, Damian,” Dick chuckled softly at the boy.

Y/N smiled at the interaction and walked to the door to find Alfred waiting patiently with a smile.

“Hello, Alfred.”

“Ms. Y/L/N,” he bowed his head slightly.

“Alfred, we’ve been over this…” she warned playfully.

“A hard habit to break, Y/N.” He answered with a wink. “Welcome back.”

“Jason will be late,” she told him before hugging him hello.

“Master Wayne had another engagement,” Alfred said to Dick as he walked up with Damian glued to his side.

“Damian gave me the heads up,” Dick answered before hugging Alfred, too.

Damian gave a rushed side hug to Y/N as if he was embarrassed to show her any sort of affection and then ran away.

Dick and Y/N laughed at the gesture.

“Mr. Clark and Ms. Brown are here, as well.” Alfred informed them.

Y/N gave Dick a questioning look.

“Superman’s son and Tim’s girlfriend,” he explained.

“Ahh.”

Jason did end up coming to dinner – late as usual.

But he made up for it by wrapping Y/N in a giant bear hug and lifting her off her feet.

“Easy, punk!” Dick warned protectively as he heard his girlfriend shriek in surprise. 

“Oh, fuck off,” Jason shooed.

This particular meal went off rather differently than Y/N’s first Wayne family dinner.

It probably helped that Damian was distracted with his best friend, Jonathan – who was the sweetest little boy Y/N had ever met. And Tim kept having a quiet conversation with his girlfriend, Stephanie – who was a social butterfly and asked Y/N about a million questions before dessert.

Jason claimed to only have come for a free meal and to ask Y/N why she was dating such a loser.

After dinner, Y/N convinced everyone to have a game night in the family room. Jason blasted some music. And everyone – to no surprise – got way too competitive with each other.

Y/N found it amusing to see Dick’s brother interacting with their own friends or significant others. Tim looked absolutely love stricken every time he looked at Stephanie. And even though Jon and Damian seemed like total opposites, Y/N could see that Damian really did enjoy the boy’s company.

“How did you not get The Searchers?” Jon groaned at Damian, but he clearly wasn’t actually mad or upset at the loss.

Y/N laughed at the boy. “Jon, how the hell do you even know that movie? It’s form the ‘50s.”

“Me and my dad watch westerns every Friday night,” he beamed proudly.

“I have better things to do than watch movies all the time,” Damian mumbled.

Y/N turned to Dick, who had her locked onto his lap with his arms.

“You gotta let me go,” she muttered to him with amusement. “It’s our turn.”

Dick did as she asked, but not before giving her a quick kiss.

“Eww!” Damian screamed.

“They’re in love! Leave them alone,” Stephanie reprimanded Damian, and looked at the couple – almost with admiration.

“Damian and Jon only got three in their round,” Jason announced just before he started the timer. “You two idiots ready?”

Y/N nodded and bounced on her feet in excitement.

Her and Dick ended up doing better than the younger boys. But they only got 5 right in the time limit and that was not good enough for Y/N.

“Can you please watch more movies?” Y/N moaned. “Or I’m going to partner with Jason next time.”

“Who knew pop culture was gonna be the thing that broke the two of you up…” Jason snickered.

Dick punched him in the arm before he pulled Y/N back down onto his lap against her will.

“You sure you wanna threaten me?” Dick asked before tickling her.

“I’m a winner. And you are becoming our weakest link!” Y/N managed to say through her laughter.

Even with the room filled with nothing but joyful chaos, a thought was nagging away at Y/N’s mind the whole night. She couldn’t ignore the disappointment of Bruce being absent. Dick knew she missed him – and he couldn’t acknowledge that without also feeling jealous.

Y/N just wanted to know how Bruce was doing.

But she also wanted to make sure there was no water under the bridge.

Yes, Bruce could go on living without ever clearing the air between the two of them. But Y/N couldn’t. She wasn’t that person anymore.

She was dating Dick now, who was basically his son – no matter how much they all tried to ignore that. 

Just went Jason was about to partner with Stephanie, there was a throat clearing in the doorway of the family room.

Y/N looked up to see not only Bruce, but also Clark Kent standing in the doorway, watching all of them.

Or should she say Superman? Because he was still in his uniform.

“Hi, dad!” Jon smiled.

Clark smiled at the chaos before him. “I see you’re having fun with the Waynes.”

“Dad, can I sleep over tonight? Pretty please?” Jon whined.

“Yes, father. May he?” Damian urged to Bruce.

Clark and Bruce shared a look.

Y/N had to hide her amusement at the tired-dad role she was seeing Bruce fill. It never failed to surprise her.

Clark sighed, clearly sad he was about to disappoint his son. “I promised your mom that I’d bring you home tonight. Another time, alright?”

Jon’s head lowered in disappointment. But he didn’t fight his father on the decision.

He got up to walk to him.

“What do you say?” Clark asked.

Jon turned to Bruce. “Thank you for having me over, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce smirked at the boy. “You’re welcome any time, Jonathan.”

Jon turned to wave bye to the rest of them. But then his eyes widened when he got to Y/N.

“Oh!” The boy practically yelped and skipped to where Y/N sat on the couch.

She was taken by surprise when the boy wrapped her into a hug.

“It was nice to meet you, Y/N.” Jon hummed with a smile. Then he turned to his father. “Dad! This is Y/N.”

She stood up when Clark walked to her. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you.”

Clark reached his hand out. Clearly Jonathan got his manners from his father.

“Clark,” he introduced. “I’ve heard a lot about you, Y/N. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Y/N turned to eye Dick for that.

“Oh, not from that one,” Clark clarified with a smile and then nudged his head in Bruce’s direction, who was still standing in the doorway.

Y/N blinked in surprise, but recovered quickly.

“I hope they weren’t too much to handle,” Clark commented with a wince, knowing that Dick and her were probably supervising the kids the most.

“Not at all,” Y/N said. “Jonathan is better behaved than any of these monsters…”

“Hey!” Dick and Jason called out in unison.

Clark chuckled.

Then he looked down at his son. “Come on, Jonathan. Time to go.”

Y/N peaked through a window as the two of them walked outside and took off into the sky. 

A second later, she heard the sonic boom.

When she turned back to the room, no one seemed to have watched their exit like she had. They hardly noticed people’s inhuman abilities anymore.

“You guys are way too used to that…” Y/N mumbled.

Jason laughed lightly at her amazement. “You should ask Bruce about the first time Dick met Clark.”

“Absolutely not,” Dick immediately shut down.

But when Y/N looked up to ask Bruce to elaborate, he had already disappeared from the room.

Maybe her being here wasn’t as easy for him as she had expected. But that was so hard for Y/N to believe.

“He was his biggest fan,” Jason continued as Dick tried to tackle him into silence. “He asked for his autograph like a fuckin’ nerd.”

Y/N shook her head at the two of them. “Aww…cute little baby Richard.”

Before she could ask more questions, Damian tugged on her hand and pulled her out of the room.

Dick didn’t call after them, too relieved to get away from his past childhood obsession with Superman.

“Where are we going?” She asked Damian with a laugh.

The boy tugged her harder, clearly annoyed by how slow she was moving.

“I wish to show you something.” Then he hesitated before adding, “It’s a secret.”

When they got to his room, Damian double checked the hallway before closing his bedroom door behind them.

He walked to his giant, walk-in closet.

When he opened the door, Y/N knew exactly what he was hiding.

There was a litter of kittens and their mother in a large cardboard that had food, water, and toys for them.

“Damian…” Y/N cooed at the sight of them.

“I found them on patrol a week ago. It was raining and they were freezing cold. Father and Pennyworth don’t know.”

She arched an eyebrow. There was no chance that they didn’t know. Bruce was aware of everything that happened in this household.

“You can hold them,” Damian offered as he held a kitten up to her.

It warmed her heart. And she took the kitten out of his grip.

She watched as Damian played with them and their mother, who seemed to be alright with this new human touching her babies.

“How’s your father doing, Damian?” Y/N asked carefully after awhile.

He shrugged. “Fine, I suppose. Though I think he was rather sad when you left.”

Y/N hummed.

She was surprised that such a thing could be perceived by Damian. It had to have been rather obvious for him to notice. 

But this was most likely all she’d get from the boy.

“I see Grayson is quite happy,” Damian added.

“Think so?”

He nodded.

“I liked Jon. He’s a little cutie.”

“Yuck. He’s my friend.”

Y/N laughed. “You know, I think you’re a little cutie, too. But I would never tell anyone that. I know you’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Damian glared at her.

But the look just caused Y/N to laugh more.

“Maybe I can convince them to let you keep all of ‘em,” she told him.

His head whipped up to from the kittens to her, surprised by her offer.

“You would do that?” He asked.

“Yeah. I just don’t know how much power I have...”

“More than you think…” Damian mumbled.

“What?”

“I think he still loves you,” the boy said as he looked down at the kittens.

“I’m not so sure. After all, he didn’t seem to even want to talk to me.”

“He doesn’t know how to behave around you and Grayson. He’s scared to get in between the two of you.”

Her brow furrowed. “How do you know that?”

“A couple nights ago, I overheard father and Pennyworth talking about you visiting. Father thought it was best to keep his distance.”  

“Overheard or eavesdropped?” She challenged.

Damian smirked mischievously.

“We should probably get back before everyone get’s suspicious. I don’t want to expose your secret,” Y/N finally told him.

The boy nodded in agreement.

“Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Mhmm,” he hummed back.

——————

Dick and Y/N had already planned to stay the night at the manor.

The two of them stayed in Dick’s bedroom, which only got Y/N to make a dozen jokes about sleeping together in his childhood room.

But the fun ended there.

While Dick quickly fell asleep, Y/N laid wide awake.

She went over her conversation with Damian again and again.

Was Bruce really that worried about her visiting?

After failing at going to sleep for hours, Y/N finally gave up.

She started getting out of bed.

“You OK?” Dick mumbled, her movement instantly waking him up.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just gonna go get some water from the kitchen,” she told him quietly. “Go back to sleep,” she urged before kissing his cheek.

It was a bit of a white lie.

Y/N was going to find Bruce.

However, she expected to have to trek all the way down to the cave.

Imagine her surprise when there was a slit of light leaking from the office.

Y/N froze, realizing her moment of confrontation was coming much sooner than she’d expected.

Her inhale was shaky the second before she slipped into the room.

Bruce immediately sensed a new presence and looked up from the computer.

“Hey,” Y/N greeted quietly.

Her body language screamed how uncomfortable she was.

But Y/N knew she had to stop running away from the hard questions.

What was the point of going to therapy if she wasn’t going to use the resources and advice to improve her life?

Bruce straightened in his seat, almost as if he’d been caught.

“Hi,” he replied softly.

His eyes held a smile that didn’t reach his lips.

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked her.

Y/N nodded and crossed her arms.

But she couldn’t stop herself from blurting out, “I’m sorry if it’s hard – me being here, I mean.”

Then she blinked and her eyes widened, fully processing what she just said. 

“Or maybe it’s not hard at all and I’m completely projecting,” she added quickly.

Y/N cringed at her mess of a mind and inability to actually communicate what she wanted to say.

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Bruce assured her before she could panic any further.

He slowly stood from his desk and walked out from behind it.

Y/N was a bit caught off guard by how close he stood to her, arms crossed and radiating poise.

She was so used to him keeping a distance – literally and figuratively.

“I’m glad you and Dick came to visit,” Bruce shared.

Y/N nodded.

Of course he would say that. It was the polite thing to do. And Bruce Wayne was raised to be polite, if nothing else.  

An awkward silence settled.

“It is hard, you being here,” Bruce finally confessed.

Y/N was caught off guard by the honesty.

“I shouldn’t have kept the two of you apart,” he told her tenderly.

“It wasn’t just you, Bruce. I kept pushing him away,” she tried to defend.

Bruce shook his head. “But you wouldn’t have done that if it were not for me.”

Y/N took in a deep breath. “I’m glad you didn’t come find me.”

It was like they could both feel the gravity of the conversation drop.

“I needed time and space to see our relationship without,” she hesitated, “without being distracted by wanting you to want me.”

She shook her head at her own racing thoughts. “We would’ve been terrible for each other, Bruce.”

His instinct was to tell her that he disagreed.

But that was only because she saw the truth before him, and it made a part of him bitter – bitter that she wasn’t scared of it the same way he clearly was.

So Bruce’s silence said more than any words.

“I finally understood that the issue was never you not being able to find the right person. It was you never finding the person who would make you give up everything else.” Her head bowed in defeat. “And it just…it fucking sucked to realize that wasn’t going to be me. But I had to realize it at some point.”

Bruce cleared his throat. It was more to hold back his emotions than anything else.

“After everything, does it even mean anything when I say that I will always be sorry for what I did to you?” He asked her faintly.

She gave him a sad smile and bowed her head, “It does.”

Her smile brightened. 

“Bruce, I really love him,” she whispered.

It was desperate and almost frightened, like she was scared saying it aloud would ruin the whole thing and Dick would disappear.

“I promise…he loves you even more.”

Once again, Y/N was taken aback by Bruce’s words.

But it was the truth.

From the short time Bruce had been in the room with Clark, he was hit with the absolute infatuation Dick had for her. Bruce noticed the way Dick looked at her, how his body was always facing her direction, and the love-sick sparkle in his eyes. 

It had made Bruce wonder, ‘Could I have ever loved her that way?’

And he knew it was the what Y/N deserved.

“I won’t allow my mistakes to be the thing that keeps you two away,” Bruce finally disclosed. “I want the two of you to be happy.”

“Thank you,” Y/N whispered, trying to stop her voice from shaking.

Y/N faltered before she asked, “Are you gonna be OK, Bruce?”

He nodded. “Always am.”

She laughed lightly at his answer. “No, you aren’t. You’re just way too good at hiding it. And that’s why I worry.”

“You don’t have to worry about me, Y/N.”

“Well, I’m going to.”

Bruce gave her a shy smirk. “I will be fine.”

Y/N gave a stiff nod. That was as good as she was going to get.

“I should try to get some sleep,” she told him with a shrug.

He nodded. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

With that, she walked slowly out of the office and left him.

Tiptoeing back into the bedroom, Y/N got back into bed and nuzzled close to Dick.

He pulled her into his arms without opening his eyes.

“Hi,” he mumbled sleepily.

“Hi,” she whispered back.

She brushed some hair off his face and took in the sight of him sleeping.

They had officially been together as a couple for the past six months, bouncing around the country together.

Dick had done what he promised and gave Y/N her space.

She ended up staying in Norway for a year, spending 6 more months there after Dick had visited.

It was a real testament to Dick’s self control, the way he stopped himself from texting and calling her every day. He managed to keep it to a single text, once a week. He’d always kept it light, using it more as a check-in to make sure she was doing OK and staying safe.

Now Y/N looked at him as her boyfriend.

Someone she’d never had in her life before.

It was definitely a learning curve for her. But Dick was patient. More patient than Y/N believed she deserved. But that was something she had to work on still, too.

Dick was nothing but loving and gentle with Y/N. He made her laugh and smile – sometimes at his own expense. He taught Y/N that relationships could be filled with fun and jokes. They didn’t always have to be weighed down by tension and uncertainty. 

And even though Y/N didn’t understand it or agree, Dick still saw himself as the lucky one.

“I love you, Dick,” she finally breathed as she brushed his cheekbone with his thumb.

“I love you, too.” He mumbled back.

And she had no idea if he was talking in his sleep or not. 

Regardless, it was absolutely adorable.

————

Dick was a product of Bruce’s bad habits, often waking up early even when he was disturbingly sleep deprived.

When he walked into the manor’s kitchen the next morning, only Bruce was occupying the room. Alfred was probably working in the gardens.

“Morning,” Dick greeted as he poured himself coffee.

“Heading out early?” Bruce asked.

Dick shook his head. “Y/N didn’t get a lot of sleep last night. So I wanted to let her sleep in as much as she wants. Then we’ll probably head out.”

“Where to?”

Dick shrugged, “San Francisco.”

Bruce just nodded in interest.

“I can feel a lecture coming on…” Dick pointed out before he quirked an eyebrow and took a sip of coffee.

Bruce moved in his seat. “Don’t ruin this, Dick.”

Dick couldn’t help but smirk. “You do understand how ironic that is coming from you, right?”

Bruce sighed, but it was his equivalent of rolling one’s eyes.

“She talk to you last night?” Dick asked.

As soon as Y/N had come back to bed, he knew that’s where she’d been.

“She did,” Bruce confirmed.

Dick shifted his weight.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Bruce said with a smirk. His amusement only earned him a glare from Dick. “She chose you, Dick. And I’m not going to do anything to hurt either of you.”

Dick knew there was nothing but sincerity behind Bruce’s words.

But he also spent most of his life comparing himself to Bruce. This was the first time he’d ever done so with women or love or even sex. It would take a bit more effort to get over it like he had with his other insecurities.

“I know,” Dick finally said quietly.

———————

A few hours later, Y/N had woken up, showered, and gotten her things together.

Dick and her had said their goodbyes to the boys and Alfred.

Just as they were at the door, Y/N noticed Bruce leaning against the wall, watching them leave.

“Go,” Dick urged her quietly when he saw her hesitate. “I’ve already said my goodbyes.”

Y/N’s fingers fidgeted as she slowly walked to Bruce.

“Guess this is goodbye,” she laughed awkwardly.

“Guess so,” he offered with a sad smile.

‘Fuck it,’ she thought before wrapping him in a hug.

“Keep in touch with him, please. He misses you more than you think,” she whispered into his shoulder.

“You let me know if he gives you trouble,” he answered seriously.

But Y/N pulled away with a laugh. “We both know he would never.”

She took a step back. “Bye, Bruce.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

And then she was gone.

Bruce watched them leave through the windows.

When Y/N got into the car, Dick reached over with his hand and gave her a sympathetic look. “You OK?”

“Mhmm,” she hummed before kissing him.

“We got a long drive ahead of us,” Dick sighed.

Y/N smiled. “Yeah, but it’ll be fun.”

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

THE END

I just wanted to thank everyone who commented or messaged me about this story. I don’t know if I’ve ever written a story this quickly before. And it was honestly because I felt like people were reading it and they cared. I haven’t had that experience for quite some time. So thank you. 

Let me know how you’re feeling and what you thought!!!

If you’ve been reading this and not commenting/messaging me, or you’ve waited until I finished writing the whole series so you can read it in on sitting and not engage at all... we’re not friends. 

LOL. 

[ushidoux]

Not Enough - Oikawa (Haikyuu) x Reader x Gojo (JJK)

Summary: Your relationship with Oikawa feels more like a curse than anything else as it comes to a close. (~4.2k words) or tl;dr gojo is mr. steal your girl

Warnings: breakup, idk Gojo is a warning, cracky angst?, pegging mention, yandere themes

A/N: Ngl I’m patting myself on the back for making a crossover fic work somewhat LOLLLL, you can roll your eyes if you want this is hella melodramatic.

(if you wanna commission more niche things, you can always dm me <3)

---

“I-I think it’s best for us to end things here, Tooru...”

Oikawa’s fingers tightened around the cell phone in his hand at the sound of your shakily delivered proposition, and further at the abrupt pregnant pause thereafter - not because he was angry, nor afraid, but out of an all-encompassing confusion.

Two things were wrong with this situation. First of all, it was late enough for you, thousands of miles away, that he was genuinely surprised that you were still awake in the first place and the fact that your voice was thick with tears was particularly upsetting, implying that you’d been up all night before you decided to call. Second, you had to be feeling unwell because you were talking pure nonsense.

He must have not heard correctly. You wanted to ‘end things’?

End what? You and him? That couldn’t possibly happen.

Moments passed, maybe even a full minute, and Oikawa stood perfectly still in spite of the uncomfortable combination of a weightless sensation in his legs and a feverish pounding in his chest as he tried to let himself understand what you were saying. Suddenly lightheaded, he realized he had been holding his breath while you remained quiet on the other end of the line. Maybe he was hoping for you to fill the silence, but he knew you wouldn’t offer anything additional; he could tell from the single soft sniffle that betrayed your sadness.

He sucked air into his lungs.

“I... don’t know what you mean,” Oikawa replied, his voice steady even if his body wasn’t.

You continued.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore. It’s really hard… and I get so lonely, and I know it’s wrong, but sometimes it hurts to see you so happy without me…”

Your voice was smaller still, enough that he strained to hear you past the rush of blood past his temples. For a moment, he considered pretending he couldn’t hear you say such unpleasant things just so that he wouldn’t have to deal with the reality unfolding in front of him in this disdainfully sunny early afternoon, while he stood in the middle of the hallway right outside of his high rise apartment.

The fact that you had finally given up on him after all this time.

In a small way, Oikawa couldn’t blame you. While he had been gone chasing his dream, the emerging star had just as quickly been running further away from you day by day. He knew this was mostly his fault: he called you less frequently and whenever you did talk, the conversations were shorter and less substantial until you and he both felt like your interactions were a simple chore, a checkbox on his never-ending to-do list.

But yet, he could and would absolutely blame you. Long distance was hard but you had promised you’d stay by his side, hadn’t you? You’d promised him, rain or shine, through drought and storm. What could possibly be the issue now?

Even if you hurt, it would only be temporary, and he could always make up for it in full or even twice-fold. In fact, he was on his way to come see you in person this very second; it would just be mere hours before his flight would depart. Coming suddenly on holiday like this was meant to be a surprise, and his suitcase beside him was filled with gifts and souvenirs for you that would, at least partially, assuage your hurt.

At least he thought. Maybe the issue stemmed deeper, starting with the very fact that you weren’t such a fan of gifts - what you really craved was loyalty and quality time - and that too, he had chosen to ignore. Because it was easier to love you the way he wanted to love you, rather than the way you wanted to be loved.

You were often indecisive anyway. Did you ever truly know what you wanted?

“___, stop being silly. I love you -”, he paused at this last declaration for emphasis, gauging your reaction, of which you gave him none, then continued, “-and I’m coming to see you before the sun sets tomorrow,” he insisted, a stern edge in his voice to further supplant the denial that was keeping him able to breathe. Strength returning to his limbs, he resumed his path to the elevators, dragging his belongings behind him.

You were silly. You missed him and you were delirious from loneliness and sleep, and that’s why ridiculous things were coming out of your mouth, that’s all it had to be, he figured. End things? What you had was something precious and irreplaceable. Nothing could be better than what you were together.

It would be you and him for life, at least to him.

Unfortunately for you, that ideal had long since perished.

Any other time, you would have paused, your breath hitching in your throat, your heart pounding as you conjured up the image of your Tooru coming to be in your arms once more, to cross the vast distance and be yours again as it should be. He’d be quick to show you that he chose you over crowded gyms full of adoring spectators, a perfect set, the rush of victory, or a pretty Instagram model.

Any other time before, but time had run out with both you and him unsuspecting, in a flash of clear blue eyes.

---

A few months earlier...

“I’m not interested.”

Your voice was flat and so was your expression. Muttering a soft ‘excuse me’, you walked past the tall young man who had taken the fact that he’d helped you reach an item on the highest shelf (despite the fact that you were still somewhat tall, you still had struggled), as an invitation to follow you around the grocery store.

The stranger had started off indiscreetly at first, and you had to admit, when you’d passed him in the aisle, you had given him a double-take, and it wasn’t just because you were wondering how he could see the food before him with a black blindfold wrapped over his eyes, so you hadn’t thought too much of it. He was admittedly handsome - at least the lower part of his face was - and his relaxed voice and posture as he reached over and handed you your box of cereal reminded you just a smidge of your Tooru.

Your Tooru wouldn’t be caught in that nondescript dark ensemble, though.

Saying “thanks” and continuing on your merry way should have been enough. But instead, this same man had immediately started walking besides you as you pushed your cart as though he knew you, making comments about your groceries.

“I’m not particularly fond of eggs, but they’re a good source of protein.”

“You seem to have a sweet tooth, just like me!”

You probably should have been concerned about this man’s mental state, but he didn’t exactly seem harmful or delusional, just weird. But you were almost done with your shopping trip, and now he was in line with you with a single bag of chips in his hand, and it occurred to you for a while that this stranger might try to follow you home.

“Do you need something, sir?” You told him in exasperation.

He furrowed his eyebrows in mild confusion, still a smidge too close behind you and raised his bag of chips. “No, I’m fine.”

“Why are you following me?” You finally said, bolder than usual in this semi-crowded grocery store. You had had enough of being polite and you’d tried very hard so far. Today had been a long day and you just wanted to cook a meal and sleep, not argue with strangers.

“Oh, I was trying to be friendly,” he replied, shrugging, as though that were normal behavior, and thus here you were, switching lanes abruptly while making it clear to him that he needed to leave you the fuck alone.

Checking out of the store with your items occurred without incident but you had to admit you were both irritated and confused about that encounter, and again, while you didn’t exactly feel malicious intent or really any sort of ‘creepiness’ from the young man, the behavior was nevertheless alarming. You surreptitiously glanced over your shoulder just to make sure he wasn’t still in sight, only to catch him walking in the other direction, whistling again with the single bag of chips in his hand, now paid for.

Again stunned, you found yourself lost in a stare for a moment, a million questions in your head.

What was he trying to accomplish? And most importantly, how could he see with that blindfold?

What did he look like without it?

Quickly realizing your questions were getting absurd, you decided that whether he was attractive or not was a completely inconsequential thought, because the fact of the matter was that he had to be clinically insane. Absolutely.

With that thought in mind, you texted a friend briefly sparing the least salient details.

Call me in about thirty minutes if I don’t call you first. I’ll fill you in later.

Just for safety’s sake, but thankfully, you didn’t think you’d ever seen him again.

You may have brought up your odd encounter to Tooru that night, if he had managed to return your call.

---

“Go to sleep, I’ll talk to you when I land tomorrow. I love you, ____.”

Before you could protest, the line cut off abruptly and you lowered your phone to your lap. Now it was no longer just your voice wavering, but your entire body trembling as you sat over the side of your bed. You lurched forward, the pit of your stomach heavy with guilt.

Your Tooru was coming to see you and for once, he was the last person you wanted to see.

---

You had left your home a little later than usual but given that you would rather die than miss your morning coffee and croissant, you still stopped by your neighborhood bakery.

Noting that the line was a little longer than expected, you queued up, humming softly to the beats of your favorite song, not registering that the man standing before you had turned slowly in your direction and was now smiling down at you.

“Fancy seeing you here again.”

Your eyes furrowed as you looked up, then almost yelped in surprise when your eyes registered the same white-haired stranger who had stunned you at the supermarket lined up just two paces before you.

What the-

Of all the coffee shops in this city, why here? The hairs on your neck stood up on end, worse when he decided to keep speaking.

“Let me buy your coffee,” he proposed, tentatively. “Only condition is that you have to drink it with me.”

Today, the strangest of strangers almost looked normal; rather than a blindfold, his eyes were hidden by a dark pair of sunglasses and his hair had been allowed to fall into a slightly windswept cut. He was also dressed less eclectically, in a loose-necked long sleeved shirt and a pair of fitted dark jeans.

Like this, you could call him fashionable. He was definitely forward, at the very least.

He was obviously flirting and normally you would have a curt prepared answer for him, but the manner in which he leaned forward, smirking with hands on his hips, again felt too familiar. Like Tooru, who had forgotten to call you back and instead sent you a quick text that promised he’d get back to you.

If he remembered.

Before you knew it, and almost embarrassed as soon as it left your mouth, you blurted out, “I… have to go to work.”

It wasn’t a lie but for some reason it came out like one. Perhaps because what you would have normally said was, “I have a boyfriend,” without giving him a second look.

He frowned nevertheless.

“That’s too bad,” he finally said, letting out a loud sigh, excessively dramatic for the situation. You stared at him, dumbfounded, and he suddenly clasped his hands together, preparing to say something else but the barista had called for the next customer.

He made a motion for you to go before him, and flustered, you obliged, giving the barista a look that implored for help in any way he could offer it. The barista knew you well enough to ring up your order before you even asked for it, but not well enough to sense that the man behind you was actively harassing you.

“I can buy my own coffee, sir,” you murmured once you saw him rummage in his pockets and pull out his wallet while the barista went off to toast your pastry.

He grinned widely.

“Call me Satoru.”

---

“A drink for you, sir?”

The flight attendant’s voice betrayed a hint of irritation under her sweet tone of voice, hinting that she had been waiting for him to answer a while, and Oikawa realized that he had been staring at his phone for a lot longer than he expected. He flashed her his classic pearly whites before nodding, but the wheels in his head were still turning.

A mere couple of hours into the first leg of his flight back to Japan, he had taken to poring over his last few conversations with you.

Conversations that, at least from his end, had become pressured, short, and at times, he had been downright dismissive.

But he loved you - you had to understand that! It was a lot to manage:  being available for you but also giving 150% of himself to the game.

So what if he missed your calls but kept his Instagram up-to-date? So what if he was a little bit too cozy with his fans (and known to be so)?

There was always you, and you were supreme. He’d do anything for you.

“Wine?” The attendant offered him the higher octave in her voice making it clear that Oikawa had managed to charm her back into her retail persona.

Maybe a glass, but he’d limit his drinking. He wouldn’t want to disappoint you when you met.

---

You were shocked.

Satoru stopped a car that was meant to crush you, and you were still trying desperately to comprehend what had just transpired.

You were possibly too eager to escape that coffee shop, to get away from the young man whose presence both unsettled your stomach and made your face grown warm, that you’d hurried out into the crosswalk, somewhat complicated drink and slightly crisped pastry in hand, and right into the path of a car hurtling through a red light.

You didn’t have time to scream or rarely even time to drop your drink, but the impact of your carelessness and preoccupation, between him, being late to work, wondering why the fuck your boyfriend had yet again forgotten to text back, never came.

Instead, the car seemed to halt to a stop almost immediately before you, before him who now stood before you with lips held into a neutral expression, and one hand in his pocket. Even if time seemed to stop for a split second, the force that should have struck your body didn’t, instead hurtling around you in a terrifying gust of wind.

But you were safe.

There was a shatter of glass windows as energy redistributed and the car took the brunt of the shock, and airbags deployed, engulfing the driver who could have possibly ended your life.

When Satoru finally turned to you slowly, looking at your cowering form, you finally caught a glimpse of piercing blue. For once he wasn’t smiling, and he was suddenly much more terrifying than anything else.

As though the mask had come off.

He didn’t ask if you were okay. Instead, he asked you to control your grief.

---

You shouldn’t be able to love anyone so much that your heart breaks repeatedly.

Something about you had to be pathological - it couldn’t be normal to feel the pain of separation this acutely. It was just a long-distance relationship, even if he was just getting more famous and less available by the day.

You shouldn’t wake up wondering if you could still breathe without him.

You shouldn’t.

---

“I’m a sorcerer,” Gojo revealed as he stirred a warm caramel latte, as though he had said the most natural thing in the world.

You tilted your head over so slightly, knit eyebrows betraying your confusion.

“... Like a circus performer?”

The repetitive turn of his wrist halted almost immediately and he looked at you, the constant smug smirk immediately awash from his features.

“Do I look like I belong in the circus?!” He half-exclaimed, half-whined, as though you were the only patrons in this bustling coffee shop. Part of you was bent on saying yes, but you kept mum yet staring at his face in distress, you find yourself stifling a giggle.

Now that he’d saved your life, you felt (and probably erroneously so) obligated to at least indulge him in coffee, and your curiosity about the young man sitting before you a whole day later now waffled between morbid and genuine.

Cursed energy? Leaking from you? Sorcery?

He cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair once he realized you were more entertained by his distress than anything else, crossing his arms and raising his legs on the table. You stared at the bottom of his shoes with mild disgust but instead focused on his face.

He really was like your Tooru, the boyfriend that slipped away from your reach in your nightmares, causing you to wake in a cold sweat. You shook the thought of your head, a quick barely perceptible movement, and crossed your own arms.

“You’re sad enough that I can sense it, which despite the fact that I am obviously quite gifted, can be a bit of an issue long term.”

“Why would it be an issue to you?”

“Because grief creates spirits and spirits are a pain in my ass.”

You furrowed your eyebrows again.

“So you followed me because you thought I was sad?” It sounded far fetched enough but absolutely on brand for a weirdo like the man before you. You took a sip of your tea - you’d picked chai for this… meeting. It wasn’t a date.

He grinned, an elbow rested on the table propping up his chin as he leaned back towards you.

“No, it’s because I thought you were beautiful.” ---

For the first time in a year, Oikawa’s first step back on Japanese soil did not immediately bring him joy but anxiety.

It was odd for him to feel anxiety, this unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach, but of course it would dissipate the moment he saw you.

But first, a warm shower in his new hotel room. Then he’d go to see you.

It felt odd not to have you waiting for him, your million dollar - no, priceless - smile on your face, so he could kiss you dramatically in the midst of all watching to again reassert that you are his, and his alone.

But you were upset, and understandably so.

So he would come to you, as a good boyfriend should.

---

“I have a boyfriend,” you told him immediately and indignantly, as you got up to leave. “I don’t know how many times I have to tell you I’m not interested.”

He didn’t rise as fast as you did, watching you calmly instead as you balled your fists in irritation. It’s so shameless how he flirts, you thought. He’s so bold and rude and even if he’s a ‘sorcerer’ as he claims, there’s no spell that he can cast onto you that will make you leave Oikawa for him.

Not your Tooru, whose last Instagram post features a beautiful, tan, large-breasted and bikini-clad woman you’ve never met.

“Where is he then?” Satoru said in a low voice. He didn’t necessarily mean to cut but it did anyway. A lump formed in your throat.

“Overseas.”

---

The sound of chirping crickets is surprisingly loud for this part of the city, Oikawa considered, as he made his way towards your apartment building. It was an atypically warm evening for this point in the spring and he briefly mused if that is what excited them. Maybe they were cheering for him. They sounded a lot like the crowds if he closed his eyes.

He also hoped you had room for the gifts he carried with him, the most important of which was a Cartier bracelet he would hand to you once he departed, with a solid gold T for Tooru.

If he was on the search for fame and glory, he had to spoil you too, right?

To think that you were so angry with him that you had not yet contacted him since he had landed.

He knocked on your door finally, noting the shuffling of too many feet towards the door. This was the right door. He didn’t understand. Did you have friends over?

He called, and you didn’t immediately pick up.

---

“You have to leave!” You hissed. The statement was a plea and it was a command and it was a curse.

The blue of Satoru’s eyes was less electric in the dim moonlight, now more of a cool ice. Bare naked like this and barely visible save for the cracks of the illuminated city through your blinds, he was unfairly beautiful, as though he were carved out of marble. Again like your Tooru. Like, not better.

But still, he was there when Tooru wasn’t.

But Tooru was there now, knocking on your door, having traveled thousands of miles despite the fact that you had broken up with him just yesterday.

It was too little, too late.

But you didn’t love Satoru. He was just a band-aid for the loneliness that wrung agony out of you.

Right?

“I don’t want to leave,” your makeshift lover replied, flatly.

Your glare was sharp and instant, but Satoru matched your look, less pointed but unwilling to sway.

An unstoppable force, no different from the day he’d saved your life.

But he’d caused the problem in the first place, hadn’t he? Would you have run out so carelessly if not for him?

Your voice softened as you slipped on your clothes. The fight was lost before it started.

“Please? I… I can’t do this to him.”

Only a plea was left.

Your phone started to ring and your throat felt as though it would close up.

“___?”

Before you knew it, you heard your front door open and your heart dropped into your throat.

---

“What the fuck-”

Blue eyes were cruel.

Oikawa prided himself on his height but Satoru was taller, and his smirk was wide, while Oikawa’s face was ghostlike, devoid of any appreciable expression. Stunned.

“So you’re the boyfriend?” His voice dripped with mock amusement and he patted him on the shoulder before swinging open the door wide, letting Oikawa into his own girlfriend’s apartment, only to stand face to face with you whose feet seemed glued to the floor in shock.

“I.. T-Tooru..”

“Are you fucking serious?!”

His voice came out as a cry and his tears hot and fast. You never thought you’d see him crumple so fast, for you, for anything.

Your mouth opened and closed, and your hands shook but again, you stayed planted to the same spot while Satoru, still shirtless (but at least with the decency to have worn a pair of pants before answering the door), settled himself on the couch.

Before you could open your mouth to find a word to defend yourself to your sobbing boyfriend, your visitor let out an exaggerated yelp.

“____, you really showed no mercy on my asshole, did you?” he jeered. Then covering his mouth, he made a gesture of ‘Oops.’

What could you do?

Oikawa looked like he would stop breathing any second. He wanted to fight and maybe scream, but what use was that?

You had broken up with him yesterday.

You approached slowly, attempting maybe a touch, anything that would make your mistake less grievous.

You’d only been seeing Satoru for several weeks to… you weren’t sure why, really? Tooru was the one you loved. And to see him curl up like this… someone who was normally so proud...

You were disgusted with yourself.

“Tooru-”

“You said you’d wait for me.”

It was shocking how quick he rose, broken dignity, gifts and all.

“Tooru!”

He turned to leave, while Satoru contented himself on picking the earwax from his ears. It was easier to be like this, insufferable, than to gracefully accept the idea that his object of affection loved someone else.

He’d coveted you from the day he’d met you.

“Tooru!!!”

You were running after a man who gave 150% to everything, yet again. 

Everything but you.

But had he at the very least given you 100%? You weren’t sure.

Oikawa was the last person who could accept the thought of someone else. You weren’t sure if he’d call you ever again. You weren’t even sure you wanted to break up.

Cursed energy. Maybe you didn’t just leak cursed energy. Maybe you were just cursed.

Heart shattering to pieces once Oikawa was no longer within view, you made it back to your room. Satoru was there waiting, and you couldn’t see the look in his eyes, but his arms were open, and so you fell into them.

[pompompurin1028]

With Your Love

Summary: Late night thoughts from Dazai’s POV

A/N: Guess what I finally wrote fluff😭I’m just craving soft Dazai and trying to procrastinate from doing my assignments... Was inspired to write this after reading @tender-rosiey​’s newest post ❤

Relationship: Dazai x reader

Warnings: None

Genre: Mostly fluff

My Masterlist

When was the last time I felt so at peace? I couldn’t help but wonder this I closed my eyes, delving in the warmth that surrounded my being from our shared blanket.

There was something awfully stilling and serene about this night that has dawned upon us. It was almost as if the moonlight that spilled into the room placed a veil upon us, and casted a spell that parted us from the rest of the world. For once, even in the depths of the night, when I allow my darkest thoughts to wonder about, not a single intruding thought had entered my mind. Instead, my darkest thoughts and memories were replaced by my deepest feelings of adoration towards you. 

My mind wandered through the memories of the sound of your laughter, those that I managed to draw from you through my usual melodramatic antics. And those soft smiles and breathy laughs that you gifted to me even as I dropped my façade and my seemingly ever-beaming demeanor. 

Till this day, even as I watched you lay asleep right next to me, I couldn’t help but wonder if this is merely a fragment of my imagination, just a beautiful and far-fetched dream that my mind made up that could shatter with a single slip. There were days when I was too frightened to even touch you with my hands, these hands that have committed so much crime, fearing that you would disappear and fade before my eyes. 

Sometimes, all of this, this peace and serenity, your presence, your warmth, your acceptance feels too good to be true. All too beautiful and fictitious for this world that I had once deemed to be a hole shrouded by pain and despair. All too beautiful for a man such as I. 

But if the world is truly kind enough for offer this smallest piece of salvation, this glint of hope that there was more to it than what I thought. Then perhaps there is more to my life than I could possibly imagine, and perhaps there is a shred of happiness in this world, even for a man such as I. For happiness is being able to hope, however faintly, for happiness. At least, that is what I must believe if I were to continue living in the world of today.

I called out to your sleeping figure softly, as a small smile played on my lips. Even though I knew you couldn’t hear me, in this moment of sentiment and peace, I couldn’t help the words from slipping past my lips like a waterfall. Like the moon had casted a spell of truth upon my lips, calling out to express my affection for you. “You make me feel alive... You know? I can never ever thank you enough for staying with me.”

Even if I could count all the grains of sand on the beaches, name the number of stars in the sky. I know I still won’t be able to profess the amount of love I have for you in my heart, because I love you more than anything the world can offer, for accepting me as I am, and making me feel, for once, nothing less than human. 

And perhaps, if such a beautiful human being such as you could love me, with all my flaws. Then perhaps, I could slowly learn to love myself too... with your love.

[calaofnoldor]

Drug of Choice

Characters: Dean x Reader (gender neutral)

Words: 3,790

Summary: A night of drunken rambling leads to an unexpected change in your relationship status.

Warnings: angst, language, alcohol, feelings of inadequacy, very slight allusions of alcoholism/talk of drug addiction, reader likes the sound of their voice a bit too much when drunk, fluff, implied smut

A/N: written for @deanwanddamons 1st blogiversary and 2k follower celebration challenge! my prompt was “I wish I knew how to quit you“ which is bolded in the fic. congrats on the incredible milestone, sorry this is late! also for @spnfluffbingo and it fills the mood board square for @girl-next-door-writes‘ Make Me Feel Bingo challenge!

Square Filled: Kissed to Keep Quiet

MASTERLIST

It was four in the morning when Dean finally came home, and the bottle of Jack Daniels that sat before you atop the library table was over a quarter of the way through.

The heavy thud of his boots against the bunker floor drew your dark-adjusted eyes toward his shadowy figure, while the alcohol in your bloodstream loosened your lips, "How was she?"

"Jesus- Fuck!" There was a slight commotion before the lights flickered on, forcing your eyes to shut against the onslaught of sudden brightness. "Y/N??” Dean’s gruff, alarmed voice shattered the previously eerie silence, “What the hell are you doing sitting in the dark by yourself?"

Your eyelids lifted an experimental sliver but you kept your gaze directed down at the glass of whiskey in your hands. "It wasn't dark when I started."

Dean narrowed his eyes when he noticed the slur behind your words. "Started what? Are you drunk?"

His second question prompted a dismissive snort from you, "Hunters can't get drunk; you should know that by now, Dean."

"Yeah alright, we need to get you to bed." The man of your dreams began to make his way over to you until your gravelly words ceased his steps.

"I can't sleep... you haven't answered my question yet."

"What question?"

"How was she?"

"Who?"

You looked at him like he was crazy, "You know, the girl from the bar, the one with the curly hair… the one that was climbing onto your lap when I left?"

"I don't- there was no girl," Dean stumbled. His lips were parted and his eyebrows pulled together in an ever-gorgeous expression of bewilderment, but you were too busy examining the way the newfound light danced along the lustrous amber liquid between your fingers to notice.

"Oh," you grumbled in response, sounding a bit disappointed, which only served to deepen those adorable lines of confusion between Dean’s brows. "She sure was pretty though.” There was a pause as you pondered his declaration before blurting out in disbelief, “You really didn't fuck her in the back of Baby?"

"What- No! Y/N, there was never a girl and nothing happened, OK?" He sounded genuinely serious, so you conceded.

"I'm sorry."

"Why- why are you sorry?"

"I know you needed to blow off some steam after today, after I pissed you off by fucking up the hunt." You ventured a glance up at him through your lashes and the unadulterated pain in your eyes almost had Dean reeling back in surprise.

"What are you talking about? You didn't 'fuck up' the hunt," he argued, shaking his head as if to accentuate his point.

"Course I did. I got you hurt and I nearly let that dickbag get away."

A weighted sigh escaped Dean, "Y/N, you have to know that wasn’t your fault, and it’s not like you haven’t done the same thing for me. Besides, I wasn’t pissed off, I was... I was scared, OK?”

You were about to take another sip of your drug of the night when you lowered your glass to let the irrepressible giggle leave your system, “Scared? Since when does the big bad Dean Winchester get scared? And if he did, he definitely wouldn’t be talking about it out loud. Are you sure you’re not the one who’s been drinking?”

“I mean, I have been drinking but that’s beside the point. Look, Y/N, why don’t we talk about this tomorrow, alright? You’ve just gotta sleep this off.”

"Pft. This isn't something I can just sleep off. Trust me, I've tried." There was a tickle in your throat that alerted you of the oncoming word vomit, but your friend Mr. Daniels seemed to be gaining complete control of your tongue; it was all he was ever good for really, “I’ve also tried drinking it away, but clearly that doesn’t work either. There’s just- so much- of it, of you… and now, now you’re in me-“ Dean’s eyes went wide but you were no longer at liberty to stop, “and I can’t get you out. Sometimes I don’t even think I want to. But I don’t think I can keep going like this any longer either… all this waiting, and wondering, and watching.” Some fragment of sobriety within you recognized how ridiculous and melodramatic you sounded and it gave you enough sense to avoid eye contact with the subject of you’re alcohol-induced speech, as if that could help you elude further embarrassment.

“OK, you’ve gotta slow down, Y/N/N. What the hell are you talking about?” At this point, Dean had moved to take the seat across from you, subtly sliding the bottle of Jack out of your reach as he sat down.

A mirthless laugh was your reply, "Of course you don’t know. Why would you?“

“What does that mean? Why wouldn’t I? Y/N, what’s going on?”

But you ignored his questions and answered with one of your own, “Why am I never enough? You know what, don't answer that; that was a rhetor- rhetor…”

“Rhetorical?”

“Yes!” you exclaimed, flailing your index finger in his direction, “Yes, that’s the word. See, even your brain is too good for me.”

“What- why would you say that? Y/N, you know that’s not true. And why do you think you’re never enough? You’re plenty enough.” Concern now painted Dean’s features. He hated seeing you this way, broken and depressed, trying to drown your feelings in whiskey; he’d figured that was his trademark amongst the bunker residents. And he couldn’t understand how someone as incredible as you would think themselves unworthy of anything. Whichever son of a bitch made you feel this way would pay, Dean swore it.

“Then how come you never pick me?” you countered simply, deciding it was finally time to call out his hypocrisy.

The accusation floored Dean. He scooted back in his seat as he stared at you with a slack jaw, utter perplexity swirling within his emerald eyes. Over the years, Dean had garnered an inkling that you felt some kinda way about him, but he never really let himself believe, and not once did he think he could be hurting you. On the contrary, he always figured it was his own hopeful heart playing tricks on him. Even now, he wasn’t entirely sure he was hearing you correctly, or that your drunken state could be trusted, though he remembered you once told him that you were always the most honest version of yourself when you drank, whiskey in particular.

“I watch you go out with waitress after bartender after waitress, but I’ve been here the whole time, and you never consider me. It’s like I don’t even exist, like I’m not even an option, like I could never even help you scratch that itch, at least not as good as any barfly across the Midwest could.” You were aware that this was getting out of hand, but you couldn’t seem to find the brakes. “But that’s not even the real problem – I mean, sure, a roll around the hay with you would probably be mind-blowing as fuck – but it would never solve the root of it, never be enough for me.”

Dean had been studying you meticulously as you spoke, your words starting a fire to the embers of his soul, breathing life into a long-forgotten hope that brought him both joy and fear. “What would? Be enough for you, I mean?” His tone took on a raw sultriness that matched the intense, borderline predatory glaze of his eyes. Needless to say, Dean hadn’t expected your sardonic laughter to fill the air, and your sudden frenzied, carefree state certainly took him off guard.

“Nothing!” you laughed, “I don’t think anything will ever be enough for me! C-cause you’re like this drug that I’m hooked on and it’s just so fucking hard to get off… I mean, it’s also hard to get off without you now, or thoughts of you anyway...” Your tangent was quickly overcome when you remembered the topic of your initial spiel, “But it’s like everything about you draws me in! From the way you reference classic literature even though I’ve never seen you pick up a book that’s not about lore, to the way you rebuild Baby from scratch like it’s no big deal, to the way you’re so good with kids even though you never got to be one yourself, to the dumb way you bottle up all your feelings and never let them see the light of day yet still manage to do so much good in the world, t-to the way you get excited over classic rock and crappy horror movies and pie, and don’t even get me started on the way you love Sam! I mean, it’s just all of it! It’s your strength and perseverance through literal hell, it’s your huge fucking heart despite the mask of swagger and charm, it’s that stupid grin you get when you make a dumb joke and Sam rolls his eyes at you, it’s just those god damn lips in general! And then you walk around looking like that!?” you gestured wildly at all of him, “I mean, who gave you the right?!”

Dean looked like he was about to respond, but you cut him off. There really was no stopping your tirade now, “I’m like an addict who can never get enough, and when you leave, I get feelings of withdrawal, and I don’t know how to fucking deal with those either… You’re so deeply ingrained in me; I don’t think I’ll ever be able to flush you out of my system. And I just-“ you took a rare pause to heave a large breath before admitting quietly, “I wish I knew how to quit you. I really do, because as much as I love you, and trust me, it’s a whole fucking lot – God, does it feel good to finally say that out loud – but for every ounce of love that I have for you, for every bit of you that I’ve inhaled, it hurts just as much. Because you don’t feel the same, and you never will, and I don’t blame you, because you’re Dean fucking Winchester and you could have whoever you want with just a wink and half a smile, and you deserve to have whoever you want-”

“Are you done?” Dean was quick to latch onto the brief respite in your monologue, “Fuck, Y/N, you really have no idea what you do to me, do you? What you are to me?” His head shook in disbelief while his troubled green eyes searched yours.

“What I am to you? I’m your hunting buddy, Dean. The one you call when you need an extra hand with a vamp nest or an extra set of eyes to scour the books, the one who stays up with you when you have nightmares about the souls you tortured in hell, the one you sing rock songs out of tune in the car with, just never the one you go to for a booty call,” you finished with a bitter laugh.

Dean’s head had never ceased it’s shaking, even as he got up and walked around the table towards you. “Only because you’re worth so much more than that. Y/N, you deserve so much more than me.”

It was your turn to shake your head. How typical, you thought as you rolled your eyes and stood up to meet his eye line, “Don’t give me that bullshit, Dean. I know you’re trying to let me down easy and that’s nice of you and all, but you can’t fool me. I know you too well, Dean Winchester, and I know there’s no way in hell that- Mmf!“ The rest of your words were intercepted by Dean’s lips on yours.

The feeling was unexpected but not at all unwelcome. There was an urgent force behind the kiss as he pushed his mouth against yours with gentle yet firm ferocity, bracing your head with large hands cupping both sides. It felt as if he was desperately trying to convey a message to you, to disprove your woeful words of self-pity, or perhaps he just wanted you to shut up. You, of course, responded with tremendous enthusiasm regardless of his intent, grasping blindly at his forearms while slotting your tongue and lips around his in an increasingly frantic manner. You didn’t care if the kiss wasn’t good for him; this might be your only chance to take what you need from Dean Winchester, if only a tiny fraction of it.

When he finally pulled back, you were both panting for air. Dean still held your head in both hands as he leaned forward to rest his forehead upon yours. “Dammit, I shouldn’t have done that; you’re drunk... Do you at least believe me now?”

A slight grimace contorted Dean’s features as his mind was suddenly bombarded by a multitude of conflicted thoughts and feelings, feelings of desire and regret and bliss and unease, but when he caught the dazed look in your eyes, Dean made up his mind, “Ah, what the hell, you’re probably not gonna remember much of this anyway. Look, Y/N, you’re wrong. I do feel the same way about you; I have pretty much ever since I saw that magnificent ass of yours.” Pausing to chuckle at his own words, Dean licked his lips, still able to taste the whiskey from yours.

“The only reason I fucked around with those other people was because I couldn’t stand not being able to have you,” he continued through closed eyes and gritted teeth before filling his chest with a deep breath, “Like today, when I saw that fucking werewolf come at you, I nearly lost it. The thought of anything happening to you scares me shitless, and I didn’t know how to process that feeling, so I let that girl at the bar get close. I was trying to fill the hole you created but it was pointless cause in the end, just like every other time, I couldn’t go through with it. Every time I try to forget about you, your face shows up in my head,” he growled in that low, throaty tone that always seemed to reverberate down to your nether regions.

“But I- I wasn’t lying when I said you deserve more than me. Y/N, you know me. I’m a broken, twisted, shell of a man. I’m-“

“Poison, I know,” you finally lifted your head away from his so that you could look directly into his dazzling eyes. Dean’s hands slid down along your neck and landed on your shoulders while yours remained on his forearms, not willing to lose all contact. “I know what you’re gonna say. You think you’re poison, that being with you puts a target on my back, that loving you is a death sentence… Did I get that right?”

Dean gave you a miniscule nod and a look of resignation as he reluctantly released you from his hold, forcing you to let go as well when he took a large step back. You suddenly felt extremely sober, the effects of the alcohol and that kiss all wearing off instantaneously, “And you hate yourself. No one hates you more than you, Dean.” Your voice was hardly a whisper now, “But that’s OK, cause I hate myself too, for never being able to make you realize that you are so much more than you give yourself credit for, that you deserve all the things you think you can’t have, that you can have them all and still be Dean Winchester.”

You watched as Dean’s eyes began to water and when a single tear rolled down his cheek, you couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. Approaching him as slowly as you would a nervous animal out of its natural habitat, you stopped directly before him before cautiously raising your arm to wipe the offending tear away with your thumb. Your eyes seemed to be locked in a silent exchange of colossal magnitude, expressing everything mere words could not, from harrowing regret to agonizing self-inflicted torment to desperate desire. It was the yearning in his shimmering eyes that gave you the courage to speak your next words, a runaway tear of your own joining the whispered plea, “Please, let me show you.”

When your eyes fluttered open the next day, they were greeted with the most beautiful sight you'd ever awoken to. Dean’s face was barely a foot away from yours, and the man himself was already awake, staring directly at you. He was lying on his back with his head turned towards you, while your body was twisted to face his. A bedside lamp was on, allowing you to marvel at the breathtaking perfection in front of you, and despite the booze having long since evacuated from your veins, your mouth still imparted the first thing that came to your mind, “You know, I've always wanted to count your freckles,” you murmured honestly, “Maybe map them out like tiny constellations so I can memorize them better, so that one day I could trace them even with my eyes closed.” Your fingertips moved of their own accord as you spoke, gliding softly over his cheeks and across the ridge of his perfect nose.

Dean caught your hand in his and kissed it repeatedly as his magical olive eyes continued to bore into yours, never once leaving your face. His pouty lips curved into the slightest smile as if he were afraid to rear hope yet couldn't fight the peaceful thrill you were bringing him by simply lying next to him. “You’re not still drunk, are you?”

“Not unless it counts to be drunk on you… Sorry, that sounded a lot less cheesy in my head.” You cringed but Dean’s smile broadened.

“And no hangover?”

“No, I told you, hunters can’t-“

“Get drunk. Yeah, I heard. So does that mean you remember everything?”

“I don’t think I could forget that kiss if I wanted to; my brain wouldn’t let me.” You glanced down at his gorgeous mouth before meeting his gaze again, “I meant it all, you know? Everything I said was the truth. Every word.” You moved your thumb to graze his lower lip and he puckered his lips to kiss it.

“So did I, every word… Especially the part about that sweet ass of yours.” The hand that wasn’t holding yours roamed down to grab at your butt cheek with a hefty yet tender squeeze, causing you to squeal in delight. When you settled down, he moved your hand to place it above his heart, “You know I’m no good at chick flick moments, but you can trust me when I say I’m addicted to you too.”

The sincerity in his voice sent butterflies through your stomach and your smile felt invincible. “I hope you know that when I called you a ‘drug’ I didn’t mean it in a derogatory way. Some drugs are good for you. Some drugs can save your life,” you whispered as you fisted lightly at the soft cotton of his t-shirt.

“I wouldn’t go that far, sweetheart.”

“Isn’t that what you did yesterday?” Dean was about to retort but you sent him a raised brow and a look that said ‘don’t test me, I’ve got loads more evidence where that came from’ so he simply looked down with a small grin. “Does it still hurt?” You motioned to the white bandage on his shoulder where the werewolf had scratched him up yesterday when he jumped in front of you.

Dean shook his head, “Right now I can hardly feel it. Actually, it hasn’t hurt at all since I kissed you.”

The corners of your mouth lifted some more at his words. “See, that’s what I mean. To me, you’re like coffee on an early morning, morphine when I’m hurting, tranquilizers when I’m freaking out, Zoloft when the world’s got me down, mixed with a shot of ecstasy, and quite possibly the most potent form of Viagra known to mankind.” You might have lingered a moment to chuckle at your own joke, thinking ‘it’s funny cause it’s true’. Dean belted a guffaw himself and you were quite pleased as you continued, “You’re everything I’ve ever needed, all wrapped up in one beautiful, self-loathing man.” You stroked his stubbled jaw and caressed his cheek, letting your words waft softly across the distance between you, hoping he could sense the veracity within them, “And I just want you to let me love you, let me get high on you, so I can show you how good you are. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

A wave a sadness flowed through Dean and he lowered his gaze from yours. “This could end bloody.”

“I know,” you nodded, “But it’s so much better than the alternative... It was getting a bit too hard to bear, even if you were only eye fucking all those other suitors. Besides, if it means I get to kiss you whenever I want, it’ll be worth it. And if it means I get a chance to prove to you how worthy you are, then it’ll be more than worth it.”

“I was only staying away because I wanted to protect you from me, but I didn’t realize it was hurting you. I never wanted to cause you pain; Y/N, I need you to know that.” Dean’s warm, calloused palm ran up your arm, it’s gentleness in stark contrast to his fierce tone, while yours continued to cup his cheek.

Astounded by the passion behind his words and the utter beauty of his face, you whispered in awe, “How are you so perfect?” Seeing the cogs begin to turn in his brain, you quickly moved your index finger to press against his plush lips, “Shh, just let me say it. Baby steps, Dean.”

He took your finger and guided your arm to wrap around his wide shoulders, careful of his injury, then reached out to pull you snugly towards him until your bodies were completely flush, your chest heaving against his. “Well do we have to take baby steps with everything? Cause now that I’ve finally got you in my bed, I was kinda hoping you’d let me take you for a spin in it. Maybe find out if it’s really – how did you put it again? – ‘mind blowing as fuck’ I believe were your words?” That signature smirk of his that always brought you to your knees came out to play.

Your laughter fanned across his face, and the smile on your face was effervescent, “You really are one hell of a drug, Dean Winchester.”

thank you for reading! as always, feedback is marvelously appreciated!

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis​ @carryonmywaywardbucky​ @swiftlymoniquesblog​ @moosewinchester​ @sams-sass​ @thinkinghardhardlythinking​ @jotink78​ @winifrede​ @writingforthelonelysoul​

TEAM SQUIRREL: @deanwinchesterswitch​ @deandaydreaming​

[angelkurenai]

You’re magic, baby - Dean Winchester x Reader (Bodyguard AU)

Title: You’re magic, baby

Pairing: Bodyguard!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Word count: 4,525

Warnings: Language, Sexual tension, Voyeurism (I think)

Summary: The sexual tension between you and your bodyguard has always been too thick, you thought there would come a point when it would all explode right in your faces. Couldn’t go any further. That is, until you figured out it could. And while Dean is helping you put on a dress for an event, standing in front of the mirror you get a few ideas about how you could find other ways to use it.

“I swear, I honestly swear to you, one of these days I am going to call your manager and tell him you're going to be taking a break from all of this. No more Oscars, no red carpets, no late night shows no more any of it.” you heard he gruff voice of your bodyguard as you fixed the strap of your heels.

“I see.” you smiled to yourself “And how long do you plan for this break to last exactly?”

“Hmm maybe the rest of your life? Or maybe the rest of mine. Whatever gets the job done.” you heard a heavy sigh come from him “I'm in desperate need of vacation. Especially from joining you to this bloody show for the fourth time. Who knows what I'm going to have to witness tonight.”

“Aw darling.” you appeared from you walk-in closet, smiling at him “If you wanted to go on vacation with me, all you had to do is ask. It's not like I'd ever say no to showing you the lovely bikinis I bought three months ago.”

“You really have no mercy left for me anymore, do you?” he mumbled gruffly, shaking his head before running a hand down his face.

“Why? What else did I do?” you asked in disbelief “It's not like I made you come with me for swimwear or anything! I knew you would protest so I didn't even ask, what's the-”

“Yeah, and I guess I should thank my lucky stars for being spared one heart attack out of a thousand.” he said sarcastically before shaking his head “I wasn't talking to you, no. I was talking to whoever out there that could listen.” he looked up at the ceiling as you giggled at his dramatic stance “So that maybe they could take pity on me and give me one, just one calm night.”

“And?” you asked with a grin, moving towards your dresser “Any luck with that?”

“Well-” his eyes finally landed on you, as if he had almost been holding back from doing that or at least preparing himself for what sight could await him was he to look at you tonight “Taking a look at the dress-” he shrugged “Looks like they're having a fit at the moment. And my life and what I am currently going through is the joke.” he sigh and shook his head “What are you wearing?”

“Oh you like it?” you asked with a hopeful smile “It's called a slip dress.”

“Yeah oh trust me I know perfectly well what it's called. What I'm asking is why are you wearing it?”

“Why not? Because it shows a little more skin? I didn't take you for a prude, Dean.” you shook your head “Besides, I've been forever meaning to get one but after all that filming I was so tired that only now I got the chance to wear it. Sophie was wearing a lovely pink one the other day in case you not-”

“I don't care what your friend's been doing. I don't care what any other actress does, to be honest. I'm not their bodyguard, I'm yours and I am spending all of my day with you and not them. So how about appreciate it a bit by wearing something less-”

“Less what?” you looked at him a little disappointed and he almost felt his heart sink “Don't you like it?”

Less what, really? How could he put it into words?

How could he even put into words the fact that the fabric made you look nothing short of a goddess? How could he even put into words that the fabric was soft, a beautiful shiny silk that seemed to bring out a special kind of glow in you? A glow that he loved to take in whenever he saw; when you were happy and laughing, when you were carefree and singing, when you were basking in the sun in spring. A glow that came from within and could easily make heads turn, capturing any man's attention much to Dean's dismay. The fabric seemed to glide over every curve and edge of your body, making them stand out in the most beautiful way. Your skin looked alluring, to say the least, smooth and almost made of a softer material than that of the dress itself; begging for a touch. And the cut, the shapes the fabric took over your body, showing all the parts of your body that Dean had guiltily dreamed so many times about kissing. It showed much more skin than he would like for you to show on any occasion but at the same time he couldn't deny he saw how good you felt in it and therefore couldn't say no to you wearing it.

You looked ethereal. That was the word. That was the only word he could come up with, but never one he would use (never had found a reason to until now, that is) and therefore would earn a look or two. And not being ready yet to explain how undeniably alluring you were to him, he decided it was best not to put anything into words whatsoever.

“No it's uh-” he sighed and shook his head again “It's wonderful, sweetheart. And it looks great on you, actually. You're... you're stunning. I'm sorry.” such an understatement but he could never really tell you his opinion, no matter his feelings “It's just that you maybe, just maybe, could wear something less... Well, something with less chances of giving poor old me a heart attack? I'm barely surviving any these days.”

“Oh Dean, come on. You've survived worst.” you giggled, joking along “Besides, I'm sorry but this is actually a gift from Gal. She gave me this dress a long time ago and I really wanted to thank her by wearing it for a special occasion, you know?”

“Oh lovely.” Dean breathed out a bit sarcastically “So Gal hates me too, now.”

“She doesn't hate you, you silly.” you giggled again, turning to face the mirror on top of your dresser “Now, could you please help me with the straps? These two tie at the back, to keep it in place.” the moment you turned to reveal the nearly bare back he could swear the air got caught in his throat but he also knew you were watching him through the mirror so he kept his composure.

“Oh yeah, then explain the assassination attempt against me with this dress.” he muttered, half playfully and half... well, honestly, mostly trying to keep it together.

You snorted, shaking your head as you tried on different rings “You're so melodramatic sometimes, honestly maybe you should be the actor instead of me. But then again, that's why I love you this much.”

It took every bit of concentration and self-restrain in Dean not to show any reaction. Even if your words made his heat jump to his throat, even if shivers run down his spine and even if his hands, heavens his entire body, trembled as a result of hearing you say it again. He might look frozen on the spot but that still was a lot better than showing to you just how much it affected him; him and his treacherous heart.

“Dean?” your voice was barely above a whisper, indicating that maybe he wasn't so successful this time “Everything ok? Are you alright? I didn't-” you paused before you sighed softly “I'm s-”

“No” his voice came out gruff as if he had not spoken for days, but he had to stop you before you apologized. Because he knew that if you were to say you were sorry then it would be the breaking point for him. He'd just gather you in his arms right then and there and tell you he loved you too, and that was the last thing he needed right now. “No just-” he sighed, letting his head rest on your bare shoulder for just a few seconds.

“I was thinking-” he huffed a laugh, feeling proud for how genuine he sounded, and when he looked up again he tried to look just as casual as well “This really wasn't part of any of the training I did. Tell this to any other bodyguard and I bet you anything, they're gonna be jealous as hell. I mean, I can certainly think of a couple old friends who would. But above all else-” he almost grinned and took pride in ow convincing he looked when he saw his reflection in the mirror “I remember an ol' trainer of mine who preached about being able to put together a gun from scratch as if my life depended on it. If only he knew how much more scary it is to put together the laces of a dress like this. Talk about life and death situation.”

He had never felt more proud of himself, if not relieved, than the moment he heard your laugh and saw your shoulders relax. It wasn't your fault that everything was so complicated between the two of you, as it was certainly not your fault that Dean felt the way he did about you. He almost let out a sigh of relief himself but held it back in the end.

“More scary than putting out a bomb, that's for sure.” you grinned at him through the reflection “Imagine the headlines this will make if those straps fail to stay in place and the dress falls too loose. Maybe more than what deactivating a bomb would earn.”

“You can say that a-” Dean started, his eyes focused on making a second knot on those straps just for extra measure, before he paused mid-movement. He looked up again to see your reflection and narrowed his eyes at you “Please tell me that you didn't mean what I think you meant.”

“Depends on what you were thinking I meant.” you asked with a small innocent shrug that he didn't trust at all. But was maybe a bit thankful too because it took the conversation in a far different direction which that, at least, he knew how to handle.

“(Y/n)” his voice was warning “Please, just please, tell me that you are wearing some form of underwear underneath this. I don't care if it's even that weird magic sticky horror-stuff thingy you call a bra. I'll take anything at this point. Please.”

“It is a bra, Dean, and it doesn't work by magic. It's just as you said a bit sticky so that it doesn't need any straps.” you said casually and he rolled his eyes, not caring to know how it worked in the first place not when he'd freaked out the first time he saw it in your clothes and thought a murder took place, and not when this time he feared- “Either way, no bra is involved though, no. I kinda like it better like this.”

“Seriously?” his eyes widened and you shrugged once more before he let out a heavy breath, rolling his eyes upward “No mercy at all!” he shook his head before looking back at you “And then you wonder why I hate you attending events. I don't know if I'll even make it through the night, that's why. I'd even ask you to wear something on top but like hell you're gonna make it easier for me here.”

“Oh stop it you big baby. And are you done with that or what? What's taking you forever?”

“Just wait some more, will you? My very own sanity, if not will to live, is hanging by these two threads. I have to add another knot just to be sure.” he let out a long sigh, not informing you of how distracting everything else was, before he added a small bow in the end “There.” he breathed out, looking up again before bringing his hands up to rest on your shoulders and give a squeeze “You're perfect.”

“Not really, but thanks. I mean-” you sighed, offering him a soft smile “If you see me even a little bit like that, then it's all I need.”

He held your gaze through the mirror for a couple more seconds, a barely visible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He wasn't sure what to say but he realized a couple seconds later that he didn't need to speak. He nodded his head and, instead, leaned down and kissed your shoulder blade; every bit of doubt, every sense of logic and the small voice in the back of his head that reminded him he shouldn't be doing this because he worked for you, was gone at that moment. He was guilty for doing it as much as he was for enjoying it, specially the feeling on your skin under his lips.

“Anything else you need help with, princess?” he whispered, his breath ghosting over your skin.

“Well, I uh-” you bit your lower lip and lifted up a necklace “Thought I'd wear this as well?”

“You got it.” he took the piece of jewllery from your hands, working fast on it after taking a peak at you through the mirror “Something on your mind, sweetheart?”

“Oh nothing in particular.” you shrugged far too innocently for his liking “Just, you know, really enjoying this hotel and this room. Maybe we should make ourselves regulars here.”

“Mhhm” he hummed, waiting for the bomb to drop as he helped you with a coat too.

“Everything is lovely, from the room service to the bed, best sleep I've had in a while, to the bathroom. That bubble bath did wonders. It's all incredible, really. But then again it's maybe cause I had more free time than I usually get. To the point...” you trailed off for a moment and Dean knew it was close “That some things got me thinking.”

“Oh really? Thinking about what?”

“Oh you know, mostly silly things. I mean, for example I've been really looking at this mirror and you know how one thoughts lead to another and then another and you end up remembering something embarrassing you did in high school in front of your crush?” you rambled casually while Dean only frowned in confusion “So as I was saying I was looking at this wonderful mirror and thinking-”

“Will you just get to it?”

“You know about how some people don't look good in photos or in the mirror. You certainly look good in a mirror is all I'm noticing now and I was thinking that maybe-”

“(Y/n)” he meant to sound warning but was only heard as soft exasperation.

“Have you ever done it in front of a mirror, Dean?” you asked so simply, as if it was the most simple thing in the world. Catching Dean really off guard, probably more than any other time. His head snapped up and he met your eyes through the mirror, his own impossibly wide, especially as you gave him a curious smile. “You know, had sex with a woman while in front of a mirr-”

“Aaaand we're done here.” he let go of the coat, spinning around to grab his own belongings and your bag while shaking his head in disbelief “Let's go.”

“Dean”

“Nope. Come on, chop chop. One feet in front of the other and no more words out of you for the rest of the way to the studio.” he ignored you. Much like he could easily ignore the topic altogether.

“But I only asked a ques-”

“What did I say?” he gave you a pointed look which only made you have to fight a smile off your face “No. Words. And that was certainly much more than just a question. You've had enough. Hell, I've had enough. Move, come on. We're gonna be late.”

“Fine.” you sighed “But if you didn't wanna answer it, you could've just said so.”

“I'm not getting paid enough to answer that, (Y/n). Hurry up.” he stood by the now open hotel room door and tapped his foot.

Rolling your eyes you grabbed your phone which was still laying on your bed and the keycard. It was only on the way to the door you noticed the drink and bag of baked goods he had gotten for you. Knowing how he'd never let you hear the end of it if you didn't eat anything until you were done, you made sure to grab them as well.

“Alright, I'm ready Dean-o. Let's go.” you said though your words came out muffled, making him look up from his phone to see you holding the keycard in your mouth, which he made a face at.

“I've told you so many times. Don't put that think in your mouth, you don't even know where else it's been.” he huffed, taking the card from you.

“Tell that to the people who make women's clothing and include no pockets. This coat is worth thousands and yet fake pockets!” you shrugged before giving him a small smile “Besides, I thought you'd like it when I put things in my mouth. Then again, I suppose it might depend on the occasion.”

“You know what, (Y/n)?” he spun around to face you, small smile on his lips before it vanished with his next words “You're right. It does depend on the object.” he gave you a somewhat dark look which made you raise an eyebrow, feeling the pleasant shivers run down your spine at the low and gruff voice of your bodyguard.

“Do I?” you asked softly and he hummed, approaching you. You held your ground even if it meant he could pin you on the wall, or maybe exactly because he could pin you on the wall, with his hands and body if he wanted to. The fact that anybody could walk in on you only added to the thrill.

“Mhm” he hummed, licking his lips; and oh your knees felt weak “Cause I really think there is one thing that those sweet lips of yours need. One thing I wouldn't object to, like with that damn card.”

“Oh there is?” your back hit the wall.

“Yeah.” now he bit his lower and you knew you could just as well be done in that moment, but he kept going “And you wanna know what I really think would go perfectly with that pretty mouth of yours that seems to find the most creative ways to torture me on a daily basis?” he wouldn't take his eyes off you and it only made the temperature of your body rise. If you wanted to shed every piece of clothing you had on then it was entirely his fault. It has always been.

“Please” it came out breathless “Y-yes.”

“A good... big... maybe even one of the biggest you've seen... hard to move...” his words made your eyes widened “Piece of tape over your mouth to keep your from talking for the sake of my poor and very fragile sanity! That's what I'd like to see and oh trust me, my ears would love the silence just as much!”

“And here I thought we were finally getting somewhere.” you made sure to look him straight in the eyes, wanting to get your point across. Dean couldn't look away even if he wanted to.

“If you mean anywhere but the studios, then I'm sorry but I'm not following.”

“Bunch of bullshit, Winchester, and we both know it. Cause I'm sure as all hell that if I were to ask you-” you took a step closer, taking a deep breath and holding his gaze for a few more seconds “If I were to ask you whether you would want to take me right here and now, consequences be damned, you would say yes. And you would because I know you want it, but you've convinced yourself that you never deserve any of it. That's the main difference between us, I know I may not be good enough for someone like you, but I want to give you the best of me and even more after that.”

Dean didn't say a thing for a good few seconds, preferring to hold your gaze and let your words sink in. Not for himself, but for you; because he knew how much you needed it. He knew how much you needed to let it out, at least once in a while. This game you were playing was far from it, he didn't even know how he was holding it together when in reality none of it was playful. When he knew real well what you meant to him.

He pursed his lips when he felt himself choke; your words of self-doubt hurting him more than pushing you back ever could. To think that you were the one not good enough for him was gut-wrenching.

We've made it clear that none of it can happen. We agreed on it, didn't we?

You shrugged, letting out a slow breath. You knew he wasn't going to talk about it. Not like it was the time or place to do so, you didn't even know why you had bothered bringing it up in the first place. But then again what should surprise you more was how you were still holding back.

“And I was ready to go along with it but then... the bathroom door was kinda open and I can't change what you do in your personal time, sure, just like I can't help what I hear.” you responded with a small smirk and a shrug, before raising an eyebrow “Can I, Dean?”

“You-” the way his eyes widened would have made for a priceless reaction as it was, but adding the way he stammered over his words and the fact that his face had turned the perfect shade of red, the color more evident on the tip of his ears, was indeed a sight for sore eyes that made everything worth it. “You- What- How- When-” his eyes moved back and forth, taking your expression in and trying to understand your expression if not the entire situation.

Granted, it was a one-time thing. Barely that actually. And it happened before you could even comprehend it. It was that quick. Not like anybody needed more than half a second to understand things for what they really were. But it didn't last long

Or did it?

Truth be told, you were still not sure just for how long you'd been standing there in the room, the warm steam coming from the bathroom, right through the the slightly open door, finding your skin only to create more goosebumps than the ones you already had. It could have been half a second... but it could have also been much much longer. Maybe the small tear on your lower lip from all the chewing was an indicator but then again a great part of you did not even want to consider it was a possibility. A possibility that you had not jumped to turn around and leave that very same second you realized things for what they were.

You took comfort in the fact that maybe if the roles were reversed he would have done the same. Or that anyone would have reacted as you and frozen in place. But was it that way? Were you merely frozen in place or there had really been more to it?

You didn't even want to think about it for more than a couple seconds for fear of remembering something that would have your entire face on fire in seconds. It was best not to dwell on it. So clearing your throat, you brushed off any thought for when his eyes weren't glued on you, studying your every move. You weren't going to let him get the upper hand in this, even if it was silly to still think so.

Besides, in your defense it was and accident. A lovely if not entirely surprisingly unexpected one.

“Depends... how often does that happen?” you raised an eyebrow, biting the inside of your lip to keep yourself from grinning. Ut the urge quickly died out when you saw Dean's eyes darken and his jaw clench. Not because he was angry, he could never be mad at you as you had come to realize very quickly, but because the comment seemed to bring him back to reality. A reality where he had convinced himself that you couldn't get attached to each other.

“None of your business. But even if it was-” he shrugged, smirking “Still more of an active sex life than yours.”

“Oh yeah, and whose fault is that?” you narrowed your eyes.

He only faked innocence “Don't know what you mean. I'm just the bodyguard.”

“...You're an asshole. That's what you are.” you huffed when he was out of your personal space, shaking your head in disbelief.

“And yet you pay me money. I'd call that a fucking success. Now move your ass, otherwise we're gonna be late.” he motioned with his head.

“Yeah, well that doesn't make you an less of an idiot. I know-” you shrugged, falling into step next to him “I'll get another bodyguard. Most celebrities have at least two bodyguards-”

“Good luck finding the guy with enough patience.”

“Yeah, well, if I do remember correctly, that “friend” of yours is currently not working for anybody. You said you were coworkers before. The cute one with the pretty eyes, what was his name? You know whom I mean, right? The one I first met on the Met Gala?”

Dean scoffed a laugh,playing it off as nothing, though it was mostly to hide the unpleasant shock tat ran through him at the mention of the possibility. Of course he understood which one you meant. “First of, he's not my friend. In fact he's far from it.”

“Oh how could I ever forget? You always speak so fondly of him.” you grinned at Dean who shot you another look. Last time he had spoken 'fondly' of the man was when he had complimented you. It was during the after-party of an event which he didn't care to remember; all formal events were the reason for a headache to say the least. He was there because his boss at the time also was invited.

“Fondly-” Dean scoffed under his breath “You can say that again.”

“Well, yeah that one. My-” you continued anyway, not paying attention to his words “Why can't I remember his name? What's up with me and remembering people's names?”

“Maybe he wasn't so important after all.” Dean shrugged.

“With that kind of smile and eyes to die for? Are you kidding me? That man is, no doubt, the wet dream of at least half the female population and a good part of the male one. He's more famous than his boss. Please, I'd strike every deal with the man just to see hi- Oh, yes!” you exclaimed, jumping for a second “Yes, Steve Rogers!... I think I got his phone, don't I, Dean?”

“Yeah, oh lucky me, you actually do.”

“Splendid! Maybe he will how to put his tie to good use, after all.”

~~~

A/N: I already had ome parts up which in a way inspired more of this fic, the whole au!Dean and flirting is somethingI would like to do more of, maybe with some smut since it’s been a while since I wrote any. The way I did with neighbor!Dean, a mini series of individualt parts. Let me know your opinion and feedback is always welcomed!

[yelenasdog]

heavy is the head that wears the crown (mob!arvin russell x fem! pastor’s daughter! reader)

genre: angst+fluff

summary: arvin had always heard the saying “heavy is the head that wears the crown” but never truly understood what it meant. not until now

words: 4.06k

warnings: since this is based off of a tdatt, family death, mentions of death, mentions of mobs, kissing, marriage, murder, smoking, suicide, cancer and i think that’s it. it’s also kinda melodramatic, and i haven’t watched tdalt in a while so a lot could be plot inaccurate also idk anything abt the mob or mafia so like dont k*ll me thx i just like joe pesci

a/n: first, i owe the amazing concept of mob!arv to @kelieah ! so go follow her for more mob!arvin goodness!! basically i’m obsessed w 90s mob movies and watched goodfellas and casino and few too many times lately and oops here we r! i tried to write this from the narrator in tdatt’s view, so if u wanna read it like that then cool! btw the pic w the dress is just an idea of the dress reader is wearing not what she looks like! ok enjoy i’ll stop rambling

·。·。·。

“So, Arvin. I was told you paint houses? That true?”

Arvin hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it again. He wasn’t a painter, no, he killed people. For a price, that is.

But rather than saying no, the jab in his side from his uncle told him to answer otherwise.

“Yes, sir. It is.”

The Pastor nodded, taking a drag from his cigar, imported all the way from Cuba. He then placed what was left of the long stick in the crystal tray in front of him, the tapping of it on the reflective surface seeming almost deafening.

“Can all your family be traced down to one place, son?”

Arvin gulped, avoiding his eyes, darting his own around the heavily decorated room. Another jab to his side. He winced, meeting the older man’s eyes. He may not know much about the life he was about to enter, but he knew enough about what that meant.

“Yes, sir. They can be, minus my father and my mother. They’re gone.”

Not even a full beat of silence later, the Pastor spoke.

“How’d he die?”

Arvin was taken aback, though he knew that question was coming. His jaw clenched, as did his fist by his side. If the Pastor noticed, he didn’t speak on it, barely lifting his eyes from the document resting on his desk.

“Suicide, after the war.”

“And your mother?”

He took his lip in between his teeth, feeling the skin break, the tears well in his eyes for reasons he would excuse as the pain he was inflicting.

“Cancer. It happened when I was young, I didn’t barely even know her.”

The pastor looked up, slimming his eyes. This time he did notice the glimmering droplets, welling up in his chestnut colored eyes, threatening to fall. He appreciated the boy’s attempt to keep his emotions in check in front of his would be superior, leaning back into his chair.

“It’s alright, boy. You’re allowed to cry, it was your mother.” His southern accent was thick like molasses, his words drawing out. Arvin still felt that it wasn’t acceptable, though, so he only sniffled and directed his chin further up towards the ceiling. He stood there for a while, nerves running through his every cell. It was electric, like white lighting making its way through his veins at a painstakingly slow pace.

“Right then.”

The pastor stood, walking towards Arvin and his uncle. His expensive loafers tapped along the cold floor as he went, the sound pestering to the ears of Arvin, taunting him. He reached a soft hand out, which the boy standing opposite to him gladly took. He observed how the Pastor’s hand was without scars, calluses. Anything that would point to evidence of him being a killer, doing his own dirty work (or “the Lord’s work” as he liked to put it).

“Welcome to the family, son.”

And as Arvin smiled widely and shook his hand with an iron grip, he began to wonder what his new life would entail doing the “Lord’s work”.

He thought he had a pretty good idea, but boy, was he wrong.

“So, how’d it go?”

It was later, and Arvin was sitting with one his most favorite people, Y/n. The pair were resting in an open field, the wildflowers around her just almost competing with the beauty she held. He bashfully looked to the dirt under his shoes, noticing how only inches away, her hands picked at the damp grass.

“Went well, I think. He told me I’m ‘part of the family now’.”

She smiled at him, and in that moment with her hair so widely astray, and wearing that pale blue dress he adored so much, Arvin’s heart felt a certain emotion he hadn’t necessarily felt for someone at this multitude before. He had felt it for Lenora, his mother, his aunt and uncle. But it was different, then. Because now as he sat with her by his side, his love for her was realized at its full potential.

She began to ramble on, congratulating him on becoming a member of her father’s so called “family”, telling him how proud she was. He couldn’t keep focused on the sweet words that were falling from her lips like honey, though, as he was too caught up in his own head, his own thoughts.

“Arv?” She asked, voice laced with slight concern, but mostly with curiosity.

“Sorry, darlin’. Just thinking.”

She blushes, it’s the first time he’s called her that before. She tries to carry on conversation, though with her heart beating through that pretty dress of her’s, it was a bit difficult.

“About what?” She questioned, doing her very best not to pry too far, to be invasive in the very reserved Arvin’s mind.

Truthfully? He was promising himself that he would marry her one day, make her his wife. But telling her that he was only thinking “‘bout the future” would have to do. I mean, truthfully, he really was!

So he answered her, and she was content with said answer, abandoning the subject and returning to many praises for Arv. The standards for the “family” were high, and though she believed in him fiercely, she knew that at his core Arvin was the sweetest soul she’d ever met, and she was skeptical he could put that aside to do whatever the job would require.

“Arvin?”

He looked up, and she nearly lost her breath. It was Arvin’s sunkissed skin, tanned from working under the hot sun, the beams beating down on him. Or perhaps it was the freckles that lightly dusted his crooked nose, like a constellation from the cosmos above. Maybe even it was the mop that sat on his head, the color all the same of those sweet brown eyes of his. Whatever it was, she felt it could only mean one thing.

Y/n Y/l/n was confident she loved Arvin Russell.

“Hmm?” He asked, tilting his head like a confused canine. Adorably endearing, she thought.

And though she had much to say, she was afraid that if he were the dog in question, then the puppy had got her tongue, so to say.

“Y/n/n?” The boy said, nudging her with his elbow, making a melodious giggle erupt from her chest. “What, cat got your tongue?” Arvin teased, and she only shook her head and smiled, as he had no idea how correct he really was.

“You could say that.”

The two shared laughs over the exchange, and at some point (neither of them are quite sure when, how, or who leaned in first), their lips connected in a short and sweet kiss. It seemed that it only lasted for a moment, and as soon as they pulled apart, Arvin and Y/n both were dying for more.

But they resisted, Arvin reaching out a cautious hand to entangle with hers. She bashfully grinned, as did he (though he did his best to resist).

“Y/n, I really like you.” He had said, his thumb running small circles upon her skin. “And correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you like me too.”  He laughed, nervous notes to the sound.

“And well, I was wondering if you’d like to be my girlfr-”

And with a light groan, Y/n had wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing both of them to the ground. She connected their lips, the kiss so oddly blunt, an attack on his lips that he had no plan of fighting off. His hands found her hair, and her’s moved to the sides of his face, holding him so tightly, as if she was afraid he would let go.

“Yes.” She pulled away panting, her lips swollen, his flushed. “Yes, I’d love to be your girlfriend, Arvin.”

They smiled as bright as the setting sun above them, and Arvin pulled her close as she buried her face in the warm crook of his neck. They stayed like that ‘till the sun went down and the stars came out of hiding, the cool summer breeze blowing around them. They both still felt it, then, the love they had only just began to realize was there. And they would continue to feel it for years to come.

Like when Arvin would get back from a job, sometimes with blood splattered on his crisp white shirts, his dirty work getting, well, dirty. She would slowly peel it from his body, taking care to make sure he wasn’t hurt. She would do her best to wash the crimson stains from the fabric, sighing if it was seeming to be of no use. Arvin would come up behind her where she was working at the sink, wrapping his strong arms around her middle and resting his head on her shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Arv,” she would start, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face, “damn thing won’t budge.” Arvin would just chuckle, reaching up a gentle hand, gentle only for her, to tuck the hair behind her ear, quietly speaking.

“Well I think it looks pretty good, darlin’. It’ll do just fine.” He would spin her around to face him, and pepper small kisses on her skin, smiling at her reaction. And if he was hurt, she would take care to use a warm washcloth, wiping the scarlet splatters from his creamy complexion. 

The juxtaposition of the shades was always bewildering for her, oddly beautiful in a way. She never said so, though, only muttering praises of how proud she was, how strong he is, things like that. And Arvin would watch her, honey colored eyes following her as she moved about to fix him right up. No pain would have any real effect on him, not when she was there to reassure him, make him whole again.

As Arvin moved up in their small town world, in the “family”, he remained just as kind, just as gentle. Nothing really changed, no, only the lines on his forehead deepening and the crows feet becoming darker when he smiled; And Y/n’s role, as well. She stopped cleaning him up, stopped trying to rid his shirts of bloody reminders of his living. Arvin seemed to no longer be “painting walls’, but rather making sure jobs were done, everyone was staying in their places.

And things led to another, and all of a sudden Y/n and Arvin were moving into a big house, bigger than Arvin had ever even been in before. Deals and arrangements were made, settlements too.

One regular Tuesday, Arvin came home from what Y/n could tell had been a long, long, day. He was exhausted, but had this unmistakable look of excitement and joy plastered to his face. He had come in bursting through the door, not even taking off his hat or overcoat before making his way over to Y/n and kissing her silly.

“Well hello to you, too, Arv.” She laughed, amusement and curiosity both equally swirling around in her brain, wondering what could possibly have inspired this behavior.

“Things are happening, sweetheart, good, good things.” He took her hands in his, briefly shaking them before planting a kiss to them and walking away, a big smile on his face. And truth be told, not that she would admit it, it scared the Hell outta her. She wasn’t quite sure as to why, but something was itching at her brain, warning her that whatever was brewing wasn't a good thing. But nevertheless, she maintained her grin, painted lips never faltering.

The next day, when the “good things” were supposed to be happening, Arvin was seriously wondering why on God’s green Earth he had expected this to be easy.

“Come again, son?”

Arvin swallowed, shifting on his feet. He mentally scolded himself for ending up in this position again, standing in front of the Pastor’s desk, all kinds of confused. But it had to be this way, it was for the best, he knew. The sun shone through the window above the desk in front of him, right into his eyes, nearly blinding him. The Pastor didn’t really care, though.

“I’m asking for your blessing to ask Y/n’s hand in marriage, sir.”

The older man slowly nodded in understanding, taking a long drag from the expensive cigar between his fat fingers, the gold ring on his pinky also shining brightly under the harsh sun’s light.

“I just thought that after our arrangement-”

“Arvin, I don’t regret making you an heir, I don’t.” He stated, blowing out a long stream of smoke. “Hell, I can feel something big and bad coming, boy, you understand? I know God’s will is holding out on us, on this family. But it’s running thin.”

The young man clenched his jaw, internally cringing on what that might mean to the family, for the family, what it meant for Y/n. He bit his tongue, feeling the iron seep onto his taste buds.

“And I know those damn Teagardins are plotting, they’re plotting for our downfall. Making you next in line is something they won’t see coming, and I trust it’ll stay that way. But I don’t quite understand

“Well I love your daughter, I love her so much that it hurts. And if worst comes to worst…” he stopped, his bottom lip wavering for a moment, trying to carefully dance around the different outcomes of this conversation. “I feel I’ll be better able to protect her if we’re married, if she’s truly mine.” That part might have been a lie. Y/n has never been his, never would be. She was her own person, outside Arvin, outside the family. It was what he loved about her above all else.

The Pastor was quiet for a moment contemplating his response, calculating it.

“Would you die for her?”

“Yes.” The answer came without thought, it was automatic for Arvin.

The Pastor smiled widely, lifting his arms.

“So, when’s the wedding, Arv?

Turns out, it was exactly a year, a month, and 6 days until Y/n and Arvin would tie the knot. Arvin had spent time, waiting to find the perfect moment to ask her the big question. He had decided on a night where the moon was bright and the sky was clear. They sat together in what they had donned “their” field, the greenery around them rustling in the wind. Though he was nervous, he had delivered a stunning speech that had taken poor Y/n’s heart by force. It ended up with both of them crying like babies and a shiny ring on Y/n’s finger.

The wedding itself had taken place on a beautiful summer’s day, and Y/n had worn a pretty white dress that had made Arvin almost faint when he saw her, standing there on her father’s arm. She was all decked out in the most expensive diamonds and pearls, courtesy of her father, making her shine like a crystal of sorts.

It was the best night of her life, Arv’s too. But the joy they had felt must have an inevitable end, as the worst night (Arvin’s too) was soon to follow.

It had been an ambush, the death of the Y/l/n family. The death toll had managed to wrack up every member immediate member of the esteemed mob family, including the Pastor, his wife, and their two sons. A bomb planted in the trunk of their Cadillac that had gone off, placed there by who knows. 

When Arvin had heard, his immediate reaction was to thank God that Y/n had decided to stay with him that day, to go lay in the fields just the two of them. Immediately after she had been told, she had fallen into Arvin, her entire body weight being put into his arms. Sobs wracked through her frame, her tears dampening Arvin’s yellow button up.

Once she had “come to”, Y/n had grown to be furious rather than sad. As when you look at the lineage of her family, look at the ranks of the mob and who’s to rise to power when the one in front of them dies, well Arvin was right after Y/n’s big brother, Jamie.

And Y/n had loved her big brother, she had loved him very much and would like to believe that Arvin, her sweet, sweet Arvin, would never do anything of that multitude just to satiate his hunger and appetite for power. The hunger for power she wasn’t even aware he possessed. But how in the Hell was she even supposed to be sure?

“I want to believe you, Arv, I do. But I can’t! It don’t make any damn sense, Arvin!”

“You really think that low of me, Y/n/n?”

Y/n had been shouting, trying to confront him for a crime he hadn’t committed. But Arvin was calm as he spoke, his eyes only watering and his voice only bordering on wavering. Y/n reached a trembling hand to her scalp, pulling lightly on her roots. The tears slipping down her face were hot and salty and she hated it so much.

“What else am I supposed to think?” She lifted an arm, sniffling before putting her other one on her waist, the blue of her dress, the same dress Arvin adored so much, just barely matching what was to become of her mood. She was started to regress, the red hot anger from before transforming to a stormy blue of unsure waters.

“My whole family is dead, and it just so happened that you asked me to stay with you the day they died! My whole family is dead!” She screamed, her voice a crescendo of sorts. “And everyone is clean, Arv, except you. You got the motive, you got the alibi, I’ll give you that much.” She paused, briefly wiping her nose and looking to the blank wall to the left of her father’s office. “It’s funny;” she dryly chuckled, and Arvin looked up.

“You went from doing my daddy’s dirty work to gettin’ some poor bastard to do your own. Ironic isn’t it?”  

Arvin stepped towards her, pain twisting his insides up to see his best girl afraid of him, cowering away from his touch.

“You still have me, Y/n. I’m your family.”

She looked to her feet and back to him, shaking her head.

“No, Arv. You’re not. And you will be sorry for what you did to him, to all of them. You will be.” She said, walking away with her heels clicking heavily on the wooden floors. Arvin stood still for a while, not quite sure where to go next. But it dawned on him as the stained glass shone down on his feet in the most poetic manner, that he was already there.

So he dragged his feet along with him, breaths ragged and short, his head slowly tilting up towards the glorious light. He only had to go a few feet, before he sat down in the old leather chair, the only emotions he felt being those of an imposter. He thought back to all the nervous conversations he’d had with the pastor while he was sitting in that chair, a trembling Arvin usually standing opposite, awaiting instruction.

He darted his eyes across the mahogany surface in front of him, looking at all the various things that he only could associate with Y/n’s father. His valued cigar box, the crystalline tray that rested next to it. (He swore he could still smell the fresh smoke, wafting from the little dish.) He opened it, the latch clinking before his hand reached in and his fingers clasped around one of the thick rolls of tobacco. Before he could light it, he felt overwhelmed all of a sudden, and dropped it back into the box, slamming the lid.

He laid back, resting his weary head. Arvin took a deep breath through his nose, exhaling through his mouth, before falling into a not so peaceful slumber.

He was only woken minutes later, Joseph, Y/n’s uncle, wanting to know if Arvin had seen her lately. He shook his head, muttering an annoyed “No”. Joseph got the idea relatively quickly, exiting the room. He heard the chapel’s doors close, taking that as his queue to leave once he saw the time. So he grabbed his hat and his coat, leaving the office and making his way through the dimly lit space. His attention was caught, though, by the cross by the front pews, so beautifully shining. Arvin put down his things, and walked over to the pew, sitting down on the uncomfortable hardwood. He bowed his head, putting his interlocked fingers utop the surface in front of him.

He hadn’t done this in awhile, this whole praying thing. It seemed naive in his way of life, with the things that happened around him, the people lost. But nonetheless, if ever, now was a good time to try.

“Heavenly Father, I, I, uh, I need to talk to you. To, uh, set the record straight.” His hands were sweaty, tears welling in his eyes.

“Y/n, she’s- well she’s the love of my life, God, and I don’t think she loves me anymore. Hell, she wants me dead. But I don’t blame her, I couldn’t ever. Not after...” he paused, his bottom lip shaking, “Not if she thinks I killed her family. But I didn’t, Father, I didn’t and I could never. But she don’t see that. I need her to see that.” He raised his voice, the bitter droplets rolling down his reddened cheeks, hitting his shoes.

“I can’t live without her, I won’t. So I guess I’m askin’ you a favor, Lord. Just… let her know I didn’t do it, that I would never hurt her.” His voice cracked, his words barely audible, not that whoever was listening cared.

“That I love her so much.”

Arvin muttered something of an “Amen”, and then just sat there for he wasn’t sure how long. His silence was interrupted by a mellow and raw voice, cutting through the silence like the sharpest dagger.

“It was the Teagardin family. I just found out.”

Arvin stood and turned so fast he dizzied himself, having to hold onto the back of the pew for stability. His bottom lip quivered, his flushed features gaining a confused look.

“Y/n/n? How long you been there?” He questioned, not bothering to wipe his eyes. She shifted from one foot to the other, fumbling with her hands.

“Long enough.”

There was a mutual understanding at her few words from the two of them, and an apology within them all the same. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose runny and her overall appearance disheveled. Despite that, just the fact that she was there, to him, made her the most beautiful girl in the world. 

Arvin could tell she was holding herself back, her emotions, too, as she started to speak, barely able to get through a sentence as she rambled about how she shouldn’t have assumed things, and that it wasn’t right of her to accuse her beloved of something so dire. But none of it mattered to Arvin as he strode towards her, her words only ceasing when he finally wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m so sorry, Arv.” She sobbed, gripping onto him for dear life. That was all she said, repeating it over and over again with the exception of “I love you” also being reiterated. 

Her husband spoke over her hushed tone, saying “It’s alright, doll, I know. You were right to think that, it’s not your fault. It was never your fault.” They continued that way for some time until they both regained their bearings, Arvin wrapping an arm around her shoulders and walking down the front stairs of the chapel. 

“Let’s go home, sweet girl.” He had said, so they did. Arvin kissed the side of her head, regarding once more how he loved her, before starting the ride home, his hand on her thigh the whole time, not wanting to let her go for even a second.

His mind was plagued with thoughts of the past, and he remembered an old saying he had heard long ago. What was it? Ah, you know what they say.

“Heavy is the head that wears the crown.”

·。·。·。

how we feeling folks did we like? gimme feedback if u wanna! mwah love u, take care of urself

 xx hj