#could i have saved him? if she hadn’t shattered their relationship? could i have helped him back toward what he truly wanted? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yelena-bellova · 8 months

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Heartfirst: A Ted Lasso Story - Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen: Failure

Plot: Y/n deals with the emotional ramifications of her night with Jamie.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: f!reader, heavily insinuated smut, language

A/N: We’re rounding the final turn and we’re nearly to the end…I mean, there’s five or six chapters left but we’re very much in the last quarter of the story. As always, I don’t let my characters just have their happy endings so fair warning lol. Hope you enjoy!!

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Most alcohol-drenched nights are followed by a healthy dose of regret the next morning. When the sun comes up and shines a light on mistakes made under the influence, there are red cheeks, apologies and promises to never let it happen again.

But when Y/n woke up, head pounding and body curled into Jamie’s, the earth beneath her shattered.

She was up and out of bed faster than her hangover wanted her to move. Thankfully, Jamie was a heavy sleeper and hadn’t budged when she slid out of his arms.

Y/n’s sober self had had the good sense not to unpack, cutting her getaway time in half. She threw on her jeans and sneakers from the day before, hurriedly threw her toiletry bag in her purse and tiptoed to the door.

Just as her hand reached for the knob, she looked back at Jamie. Peacefully sleeping, arm still stretched out around the air she’d occupied…

Y/n took a shuddering breath, pushing out the door before she could think anything of the sight.

Room 502 was closest to the elevator, giving her a quick escape. As she pressed the lobby and ‘door close’ buttons repeatedly, the memories began to flesh themselves out. As much as they could through the vodka fueled haze.

After dinner, Jamie and her had gone to a club. At some point, one of them had pulled one of them onto the dance floor. Y/n couldn’t remember who’d suggested it, only that it had sounded like a great idea in the moment. Things began to blur after that.

She frustratedly dug her palms into her eyes. How the hell could they let something like that happen?

In reality, it hadn’t been anyone’s idea. Y/n hadn’t invited Jamie in, and Jamie hadn’t asked. The whole thing had come about as naturally as the rest of their relationship. Their bleary and bright eyes had locked in the empty hall, Their bodies, so near, had drawn closer and their lips had met before they knew what they were doing.

Y/n’s stomach clenched, the nausea of both the hangover and the memory hitting suddenly.

The elevator dinged, signaling she’d arrived on the ground floor. She squeezed herself and her suitcase out the doors before they’s fully opened and marched through the lobby. It was still too early for the hotel to be busy, even for it being London. It felt like an hour only meant for people with secrets, sneaking out with nothing but shame and a prayer.

The brisk morning air slapped Y/n, angering her post-drunk state more. Nevertheless, she pushed forward and began to wave wildly at the street, waiting for a cab to catch the signal. She glanced over her shoulder every few seconds, half-expecting a half-dressed Jamie to come running through the lobby, chasing her down.

Blessedly, a cab pulled up to the curb and saved Y/n from the possibility. As the driver got out to help her with her suitcase, she stopped him.

“I’ve got it,” she called, waiting for him to pop the trunk and dropped her luggage in.

Y/n’s phone buzzed in her pocket and stole her focus. She opened her home screen to find the worst possible headlines.

‘Jamie Tartt Celebrates England Victory with Mystery Woman.’

‘Tartt’s New Tartt? New Couple Spotted Exiting Club.’

‘A Perfect 10? #9 and +1 Dance The Night Away.’

“Shit,” Y/n’s voice broke. The cars whooshing past her and their horns pulled her back to reality. She threw herself in the backseat and took stock of herself. She hadn’t realized how sweaty she was, how fast her chest was rising and falling, the slight tremble to her hands.

“Where to, love?”

Y/n jumped at the question, briefly meeting the cabbie’s eyes in the rear view mirror. “Richmond Green.”

He grunted in reply and steered the car back onto the road. As they pulled away, Y/n glanced back at the hotel. Jamie lay inside its heart, blissfully unaware of the nightmare waiting for him. Warm and solid, he’d stay asleep, holding onto her ghost.

In her stupor, she hadn’t even bothered to look at what top she’d been sleeping in. She didn’t recognize it. It was a dark grey t shirt, oversized with a familiar and distinct smell to it.

Jamie’s.

Y/n’s breath trembled, the tears welled in her eyes. She had made a terrible, terrible mistake.

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“Fuck, shit, hell,” Y/n whispered under her breath, using every four letter word in her vocabulary. She hastened her steps, hitting the cobblestone of her street with a new fervor. She needed to be in her home, hidden from the world and everybody in it.

But the world was rarely ever so accommodating.

Stood outside Y/n’s door was Keeley, dressed more casually and fidgeting more than Y/n had ever seen.

“There you are!” Keeley exclaimed, running to her friend and grabbing her arms, “I’ve been texting you all morning.”

Y/n’s head throbbed at the pure volume of Keeley’s voice. If there’d been any alerts on her phone, she hadn’t seen them past the tabloid headlines. “Yeah, I, uh, went away for the night. Just to clear my head.”

Keeley was far too preoccupied to think anything of it. “I’ve got amazing news,” she smiled, “Rebecca offered to back the company.”

Either Y/n was dreaming, or the vodka was coming back for a second round of delusion. “What?”

“She’s financing us,” Keeley’s grin spread.

Y/n supposed that she should have felt relief. 24 hours before, she’d have been joined Keeley and probably started dancing in the street. The job she loved was saved. The life she’d built would stay whole.

Now it terrified her.

“Oh my gosh,” Y/n breathed, relieved at least that she still had a paycheck, “Wow. Okay.”

“I thought you’d be thrilled,” Keeley nudged Y/n’s arms, “You don’t have to leave Richmond now. Nothing changes.”

The fear deepened.

“Right, of course,” Y/n tried to smile, “I’m just…surprised.”

“Yeah, you and me both,” Keeley agreed, “I didn’t ask for her help or anything. She just offered and I tried to turn her down but…I really wanted to save this.”

Y/n ran a hand through her hair, her brain felt like it had been chopped into pieces and were floating around her skull. There was too much information to process, but this much she knew…

She’d slept with Jamie and she’d gotten her job at Richmond back.

Two things that couldn’t co-exist.

“Okay, I just wanted to tell you the news,” Keeley broke her out of her thoughts, cheerily wishing her goodbye.“I’ll leave you to your weekend.”

Just as she began to walk off, Y/n called her back. “Wait! You’re…you’re gonna need help getting the office back together. Why don’t I move into the building for a while?”

Keeley’s brows furrowed, “You want to leave Richmond?”

“I mean, there’s gonna be a shit ton of work to do,” Y/n explained, “Plus with a smaller staff, we’re going to have to work harder to maintain our clients. If I’m there, we can get twice as much done.”

Keeley didn’t object, giving the idea a fair hearing out.

“I can still take care of everything Richmond related,” Y/n assured, she was half defending the idea to herself, “Just from a distance.”

It had been an emotional 72 hours, for both women. Keeley had lost her company and gained it back, among other events. She was still raw. If Y/n was willing to help, she wasn’t going to turn it down.

Keeley reached for Y/n’s hands, her voice lowering. “Thank you.”

Y/n took a breath of relief, the whole plan hinged on Keeley not asking questions.

“Okay,” Keeley smiled, “Go get some rest. We’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“You got it,” Y/n replied, squeezing Keeley’s hands before parting. As soon as her boss’s back was turned, Y/n’s smile collapsed.

She unlocked her apartment door and shoved inside. She fell against the wood as soon as it shut.

Y/n had allowed herself to open up to her co-workers because it had killed her not to. She’d craved their kinship more than she’d coveted her solitude. It had been difficult, letting the Greyhounds in, but they hadn’t disappointed her. She’d had no regrets.

Until now.

Not only was her friendship with Jamie ruined by one stupid decision, it had opened the floodgates to all sorts of questions. Why had this happened? Was there a reason why it had happened with Jamie specifically? What was he thinking? What was he feeling? What was she feeling?

Was there…something?

Y/n had successfully avoided getting attached to anyone past a platonic level. But Jamie had become…something far past a friend. He was an extension of her, like an arm or leg might be. No one had ever gained her trust like he had. No one had ever made her happier than he had. If Y/n hadn’t known better, she’d have thought he was somehow sent to help heal her.

Days before, when she’d thought she had lost her job, the thought of leaving Jamie had leveled her. It had driven her to tears before she could get the full idea through her head. Missing Rebecca or Keeley would hurt, but nothing and no one could compare to losing Jamie.

Somewhere in her subconscious, Y/n could recall the kisses they’d shared. The feel of Jamie’s arms wrapped around her, hands grasping at whatever he could hold. But above all else, she could still feel the tenderness. The safety. The peace.

Y/n knew by the ache in her chest, she’d failed.

She buckled under the weight of the revelation, sinking to ground and curling in on herself. The tears came quick, as they only could from true emotion. The kind of feeling that holds the power to lift you up or crush your soul.

She was fucked.

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Was avoiding your problems harder than dealing with them?

Y/n pondered the question as she circled Nelson Road Stadium for the third time. Practice started at 10AM sharp, but she was waiting a few extra minutes. Chances couldn’t be taken.

It had been nearly a week since the Wembley match and she’d developed a system to avoid ever crossing paths with Jamie. She’d packed up her office essentials the day after Keeley had given her the good news. She scheduled her meetings with Rebecca and Higgins during training and made sure she was out the door before the boys broke for lunch. All other matters were handled over email. So far it had been successful, she hadn’t seen Jamie once.

Privately, she’d dodged 32 calls, 15 voicemails and 25 text messages.

She knew she was running, that it wasn’t fair to Jamie just up and leaving that morning without so much as a note. But her fear was stronger than her empathy.

Since returning to Richmond, Y/n had felt the sparkle fade. The quaint little town’s magic was either passing over her head or had denounced her entirely. She supposed, as she passed the Crown and Anchor on her way home, that it had to do with her mood. Nothing had seemed right in the world since her night with Jamie.

Pulling her keys out her purse, Y/n looked ahead to her front door. There on her front stoop, anxiously tapping his foot was the very man she’d been avoiding.

Jamie looked up, half-surprised that she was actually there. He jumped to his feet and pushed back the hood of his sweatshirt. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Y/n replied, her voice unnaturally high.

There was an overwhelming amount of things to be said but neither of them could utter one. The last time they’d seen each other had created ten new walls for them to break through.

“I, uh,” Jamie scratched the back of his neck, “I tried callin’ ya and texting ya.”

Y/n took a deep breath, “Yeah, um, I’ve been busy.”

“Yeah,” Jamie nodded, “Course.”

Y/n fiddled with her keys as he fisted his pockets nervously. Their conversations had never been so lacking.

Jamie inhaled, “Look, I need to apologize for that night-“

“No,” Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, “Jamie-“

“No, I just need you to know that I didn’t, like,” he struggled, “Plan it or something.”

“Neither did I,” Y/n shook her head.

“I didn’t think that was gonna happen.”

“I didn’t either.”

Their words overlapped each other, both so eager to clear the air. The only difference were their intentions.

“Look, Jamie,” Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose, “What happened was a mistake. We were both drunk, we were both excited about the win and it just happened. I don’t blame you for anything so…we’re good. We never have to talk about it again.”

Jamie wasn’t sure how he’d expected the moment to go, but Y/n brushing off the whole thing was…it wasn’t it.

“Right, yeah,” he nodded. He had a choice in front of him, two conversational roads leading to either the best or worst conclusions. Jamie knew if he didn’t try, he’d regret it. “But…what if it wasn’t a mistake?”

Y/n was firm in her stance, but it didn’t show through her person. She was nearly trembling. “No, Jamie, it was.”

“No, I get we were drunk and there was a lot goin’ on, but,” Jamie took a hesitant step forward, “What if…what if we…I don’t know, what if it meant-“

“Jamie,” Y/n cut him off. Where his thoughts were leading was unbearable and she refused to entertain any part of it. “We fucked up. We don’t have to talk about it.”

In the days since the England win, Jamie had gone through every emotion he thought himself capable of feeling, plus a few new ones. The second he’d woken up in bed alone, he knew it hadn’t started that way. He’d put back together the memories of the night, dancing and drinking, stumbling back into the hotel room. Y/n was at the center of it all, soft and warm and his, just for a moment in time. Before he’d even opened his eyes that fateful morning, Jamie was at peace.

The calm ended the moment he glanced around the room and realized Y/n had left. In a hungover panic most likely, she’d run out. Jamie had been quick to try and catch her, throwing his clothes on and running down to the lobby. There was no trace or her. Back in the room, he’d found nothing left over of her. Jamie knew he’d messed up before he even knew if the blame was his to take.

He’d texted her, asking to talk. When there was no reply, he called and left messages, begging for two minutes of her time. He’d waited in the parking lot of Nelson Road, watching for her car to pull in until the very last minute before training. He’d raced into the building after each practice, roaming the halls expectantly. He’d knocked on her office door ten times a day, finding it empty every time. Finally, when he felt like he was fully losing his mind, Jamie drove to her place. He’d stay on her doorstep all night, that was perfectly fine with him. He needed to see her.

All of it had confirmed in Jamie’s head what his heart already knew.

He was crazy about Y/N.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened or what had changed, but somewhere along the line he’d fallen for her. The only thing about their night together Jamie regretted was how it happened. He didn’t want some drunken hook-up. He didn’t know what the fuck he wanted, but it wasn’t what had brought them to that moment. Standing outside of Y/n’s flat, avoiding the topic in its entirety.

Jamie swallowed, his eyes bouncing around her face looking for any cracks in her exterior. She wasn’t budging.

“Yeah,” he relented, “Okay.”

The conversation had scared Y/n enough, she was terrified to face Jamie in all her uncertainty about him. What truly made her afraid was the hesitation in Jamie’s eyes, the new tenderness in which he looked at her with. The possibility that he knew exactly what he felt. Y/n couldn’t handle any of it.

“So…we’re good,” she faked a smile, it didn’t reach half her face.

“Yeah,” Jamie’s whole body seemed to be caving in on itself. His tall posture had become lazy, his head drooped with resignation, “We’re good.”

In the space between them rested everything they weren’t saying, creating an ever thicker silence.

“I’ll, uh,” Jamie briefly pointed down the street, “Guess I’ll see ya at work.”

“Yeah,” Y/n tried to sound cheery, “See you.”

With clear hesitation, the two of them walked past one another, Jamie toward the road and Y/n to her door.

“Wait,” Y/n called, slipping her key in the lock and popping inside.

Jamie stayed on the sidewalk, his eyes tracing the stairs past the door. He’d never not been invited in.

Y/n crossed back over the threshold, holding a folded piece of grey fabric in her hand. She held it out to Jamie.

“I, uh,” she stammered, “I’ve been meaning to get this back to you.”

Jamie unfolded it to find it was one of his shirts. In their drunken stupor, he must have given it to her to sleep in. The crack developing in his chest deepened.

“Great,” he quickly covered, balling the top up and nodding gratefully.

“I washed it,” Y/n added.

“Yeah, thanks,” Jamie replied, he didn’t even know what he was saying. They’d crossed some new line of intimacy and it was killing him. If nothing more was going to come from them talking, he needed to leave. “I’ll see ya.”

Y/n’s breath caught as Jamie hastily descended her front steps and walked off into the night. He didn’t look back.

Entering her apartment and shutting the door, Y/n felt like she’d just laid a part of herself to rest. Simultaneously, a piece she’d long thought dead was blooming back to life. Neither one settled her.

Allowing herself to feel…something…for someone was the great mile marker she never dared to cross. It was one thing to get coffee with Keeley or go out clubbing with the team. It was a whole other arena to let someone to see her most vulnerable self. To give someone your best, your worst, and everything in between. To trust someone that much…

Y/n knew she could never let someone in that far, and that it had been a mistake to let Richmond in at all.

She sat down on her staircase, pulling her knees to her chest. She could never come so close to losing her sanity again. Whether she liked it or not, everything had to be different going forward.

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Heartfirst Taglist: @lalla-04p @optimisticsandwichgladiator @makingmunson94 @taytaylala12 @storysimp @sokkigarden @lightninginab0ttle @poohkie90 @alipap3 @verra-nerevarine @shineforever19 @spaceagechimera @burnafter-reading @qardasngan @cyberpvnk-enthusiast @sogoodtoheritsvicious @buckybarnex @angelsunflxwer @blueanfield @thewildestwonderland @sablecities @oxxolovemelikeyoudooxxo @strawberryacethingz @mentalistfan @tortilla-maria1 @katdahlali @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @glitterquadricorn @jamieolivia27 @imvibin69 @katlizada @lil-tracys @fanaticalfantasist @heyitz-julia @cactajuice @peachyy-tea @notalxx @rockchickrebel @anxiety-prime-max @loveforaugust @jellycolors @actuallybarb @heletsmelovehim @lovinnscarletknight @imfalling-inlove @leslieiscrying @meg-ro @littlemisssunshine192 @beboldbebravethings @maydayfigment @spencerreidsbookclub @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @lemoonandlestars @im-a-weirdo-for-life @mindless-rock (tags cont. in comments ❤️)

#ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fic #ted lasso imagine #jamie tartt x reader #jamie tartt imagine #keeley jones x reader #keeley jones imagine #heartfirst

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itsohh · 1 year

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Ghost and Price Soulmate AU

A/N: G/N reader, posted as seperate fics on ao3 with each specific tag relating.

Warnings: Angst, self-mutaliation, reference domestic abuse

AO3 Masterlist

Ghost

He never believed in soul mates. Not in the matter that most people thought. Sure, they were real, sure there was someone out there destined to be ones other's match. Ghost just didn't believe it meant anything. Not really.

He of course had seen what it lead to.

His mother, destined to be with his father. They were soul mates and yet he treated her just as bad. His father loved his mother, sure, but he loved himself so much more.

So when that fated day came, that one when a bullet hit Ghost directly on his thigh, he couldn't help but be a little relieved. The nurses had been so sympathetic, the doctors too. They hadn't been able to save the soul mark. Now replaced with a gunshot scar. A blessing in disguise. It was a weight off his shoulders.

Escaped. He had escaped destiny.

Legs rather comfortable on Soaps lap, you hand your arm over your eyes while you quietly rest. "How'd you get this one?" He poked the scar just under your knee. If anyone else had asked, you would have given them a piece of your mind. Asking about a scar wasn't a line that everyone could cross.

"Some dude tried to go for my kneecap and missed."

"Ouch."

"Didn't even hit me hard enough to shatter my kneecaps regardless of his shit aim."

The door clicked open and you heard the quietest of footsteps enter the room. "Sergeants." Ghost.

"Hey LT, what's the sit'?"

"Price's put us all on mandatory vacation leave." Your arm lift from your face at his voice as you stared at him.

"For real?" You asked, disbelief written across your face.

"Two weeks." You heard a huff from his voice as he sat down opposite to you. There was almost a relief in his eyes. He had been working hard. Too hard.

"Well gives the pair of you a perfect amount of time for a honeymoon huh-" Soap's tease was cut off by your kick but only made him laugh harder. Your relationship with Simon wasn't a secret, not to Soap anyway.

"Alright, alright I was joking. Shite."

"Perhaps you could use that two weeks to learn how to be funny." Your eyes narrowed at him.

"You wound me." He jabbed a finger next to a scar. "Speaking of wounds, How'd you get this one?" You looked over to the exposed skin just under your shirt.

You froze for a moment and your eyes didn't go to Soaps, but to Ghosts. The pair of you had never brought up the matter at hand. Soul marks, it never seemed important. So many people so dedicated to finding that person that the world designed for them, it just didn't seem to matter for you. You loved Ghost, you didn't want to know it was because of an outside force. You loved him and nothing would change that.

"That's my soul mark."

"Damn, that's rough. Not a pretty one." Soap looked down at the nasty scar.

"No, I mean it was. Alright, so when I was a kid I was totally in love with this girl at school called Lilith."

"Oh yeah?" He raised a brow while Ghost continued to watch.

"But she had a different soul mark than mine and wouldn't even look at someone who wasn't her soul mark. She was only gonna date her soulmate."

"What happened?"

"I figured I couldn't have the same one as her but maybe she would date me if I didn't have one. Like how would she ever know if I lost it."

"So you burnt it off?" Soap looked at you with slight horror.

"Cut actually. It uh, really fucking hurt but man she was really pretty." Soap straightened his back slightly and you swallowed.

"I presume it didn't work out."

"We started dating happily and were together up until right before I joined the military. Until her actual soulmate showed up."

"Ohhhh, rough." He gave you a look of sympathy.

"At the time? Was not happy. But I think everything worked out okay." Your eyes locked onto Ghosts for a moment.

"Cute. What about this one?" Soap asked and you looked at the scar on your hand.

"Think that was when I burnt myself making an omelette." Soap barked out a laugh and you could have sworn you saw Ghost's eyes squint from a smile.

"For fucks sake, Soap!" A grumble turned into a yell and the pair of you froze at Price's voice. In all honesty, Price didn't shout like that very often, especially at one of you. Normally it was more akin to a tired sigh.

"Whaddya do this time?" You removed your legs from his lap.

"Better go find out." He jumped up and cracked his neck. "If you don't hear from me in three hours then I want stripers at my funeral." He gave you a wink and headed out the door. The fact he locked the door after him wasn't something you missed.

Silence settled between the pair of you. Eventually, Ghost spoke up. "Can I see it?" Your eyes lift up and met his. You knew exactly what he meant.

"Sure. It's just a scar now, nothing special." Ghost stood up and towered his way over to you. He replaced Soap and your feet settled on his lap. Carefully, Simon removed the mask from his face and placed it on the coffee table next to you. You watched as he bit the top of his glove and slid it off his hand for it to join his mask.

His hand gently grazed the old scar. "Do you regret it?"

"No. Not really, to be honest after things didn't work out with Lilith I didn't think I would date again."

"Why did you?" His brown eyes settled on yours while he continued to stroke the scar.

"Well, we spent what like three months skirting around each other?"

"Four."

"Mmm, I mean you're an attractive man Simon. Enough to make someone change their mind."

"You couldn't see my face."

"What can I say, I'm a sucker for tats." You grinned and he raised a brown. His curled lips betrayed him and you let out a small laugh. "Honestly blame Soap, dunno if he did the same to you but god fucking dammit was he a persistent wingman. I enjoy your company and he didn't let me forget that."

"Hmm, seems he played matchmaker for the pair of us."

"Are you really surprised? It's Soap, he loves to meddle."

"Probably why Price is ripping him a new one," Simon muttered and his eyes sent back to the scar.

"Does it bother you?" Your voice was small, quiet and concern drew across your face. "That I don't have a mark anymore. That we will never know if we were made for each other." Simon paused and then suddenly got up from the chair only adding to your uncertainty. He placed his leg on the coffee table and started to pull up his trouser leg.

Confused you watched him until he pointed to a particular scar. "See that there?"

"You got shot?" You raised a brow.

"That there's where my mark god before it was shot. Lucky bullet. Can't be upset with you an't having one if I don't have one now."

Simon let the trouser leg fall and sat back down on the couch. This time he grabbed your legs and pulled you up onto his lap. It was a swift movement that had you automatically let out a small laugh. He had that adoring look on his face. The corners of his lips all crinkled up. Now with you in arm's reach, his bare hand caressed your face. "Couldn't give a flying fuck about that shite. I'm with you because I want to be, not because some destiny bullshit tells me to. But because I choose to love you."

Price

It had been a completely innocent moment that he saw it. That mark on your torso. A cropped singlet showed it off while you played netball with your squad. A particular game that Gaz had joined. Price wasn't even supposed to be there, he was only getting Gaz. Yet he froze when he saw that mark. The one that was identical to the on his wrist. Just under his watch.

Gaz forgotten about, Price had a call he had to make.

"Look, Kate, doesn't need to be somewhere safe or dangerous just anywhere but where I am."

"John I can't just have people reassigned for no good reason. Are you trying to sabotage their career? Is this a personal thing?"

"No, fuck, I'm not trying to fuck with their career. I'll be compromised around them, it's not a problem now but it might be in the future."

"Are you in a relationship with this person? Or were you?" Kate asked and John let out a sound of slight frustration through the phone.

"They're my soul mate Kate. They don't know it but I saw it." The line went silent. John eventually heard a sigh on the other end of the line.

"I'll do what I can."

After that phone call, John hadn't heard from you again. Despite the desire for companionship feeling deep down inside of him, he knew he did the right thing. It wasn't your fault and it wasn't his. Yet he had decided to override date, to override destiny.

Laswell never told him where she sent you. On any other day, he would have said that was for the better.

Any other day.

Gaz sprinted alongside him, guns firing about near them. "Fuck!" He could hear Gaz as the building nearby crumbled down into dust, a building they had just come from.

The pair of them were overrun and for a moment he looked at Gaz and regretted bringing him to his death. There were just too many from too many directions. With no proper cover, the pair of them were fish in a barrel. Bullets came from in front of them but not at them. By some miracle, a door opened while gunfire continued to cover them.

The door promptly shut behind them as both Gaz and Price fell to the ground in their hurried movement.

"Well, I'll be damned, long time no see Gaz." You held a hand out for him and Price watched as you pulled Gaz off the ground.

"Hey, Lieutenant! Didn't expect you to be here." Lieutenant? Price never knew you were promoted. Then again it's not like he wanted to hear about you, it was easier pretending you didn't exist.

"Yeah well, not the worst place to be at. I presume you guys are here due to the attack three days ago?"

"Affirmative on that." Price finally spoke up, he could pretend at least now that you weren't his soul mate.

"We have been here since then, then you two were running through dead man's land."

"Are you guys stuck here?" Gaz asked while you lead them over to a table with a map on top.

"Of course not. We have an underground pathway in our access. But they don't know that. They think that we are stuck here, they tried to push a could of times but Katey up in the best keeps taking them out."

"Are they hoping to starve you out then?" Gaz asked and you nodded.

"Yup in the meantime we have been setting up."

"Setting up what?" Price asked and you gave him a big grind.

"Fireworks show of course. The tunnels below here are far more extensive than everyone originally thought. It goes directly under their set up so we are going to hit the supports."

"Have it crumble from beneath them." Gaz breathed and you nodded.

"Only problem is that there's a high chance that our tunnels will collapse too, we are right on a cliff face so it's gonna be close." Your Sergent popped up next to you.

"This is Sergeant Lawyerson. Demolitions and structural expert."

"The idea is we will evacuate everyone first. " You explained.

"Speaking of, we should get to that. I onto have one set of charges left."

"Right we have to be quick then, when they realise that we don't have people at their posts they might push."

"I'll go get them in place now. Captain, Sergent do you mind looking after my men? There's a side path on the mountain we need to take, it goes from tunnel to straight cliff face. It's pretty risky but KitKat knows the way."

They both gave you a nod and started to work with the squad to leave. Yet Price's eyes lingered on you for a moment. You were a storm, not one to be trifled with. You spoke with certainty and confidence. The perfect leader for your squad. He could see the trust in their eyes.

"Lieutenant!"

"What is it, Katey?"

"Fuck, they got a tank out here!" Price watched as you froze for a moment then sprinted to the exposed gap then swore.

"Right, everyone evacuates now. KitKat eyes front."

"What about Attorney?"

"I'll get Lawyerson, the rest of you go." Price was swept up with the small crowd and followed KitKat down a tunnel. He only had a glimpse of you before you ran down a different path away from him.

"Captain, this way." KitKat had a kind smile on her face but he couldn't help but feel the pit in his stomach form. Was this a result of the bond? Or was this a gut feeling? He couldn't tell.

With Gaz in front of him, he was led through the path until he reached outside. It was an old climbing path, the bridges were old and wooden while the actual path was thin. It didn't allow for fast movement.

A few minutes later his head whipped around to see you following your Sargent. "Blow it." You commanded as the pair of you expertly hurried down the path. Far faster than everyone else had. He couldn't help but wonder how many times the pair of you had travelled it in the last few days.

"We're too close to the blast!" Price's eyes went to the entryway as more voices started to echo down.

"We can't let them reach here else everyone's dead. There's no cover here."

"We can handle some!" She protested.

"Some, not a goddamn army." You were right. She glanced at you over her shoulder then hit the detonator.

A rumble echoed it as the pair of you continued to sprint. Echos of your enemies' screams carried through the tunnel and out into the open. True to Lawyersons suspicions, the tunnels on your side had started to collapse too.

Unfortunately, not all your foes were caught. A brief area by the exit was reinforced rather well and they survived. Meanwhile, the path around you started to crumble. Gaz lit up his gun in an attempt to cover the pair of you.

Price snapped to action just in time for the wooden bridge to collapse under both you and Lawyerson. She managed to barely leap over to safety but your jump, slightly further back didn't make it.

But he caught you.

Price's hand found yours as he dove prone to the side. With one hand off the side, you dangled to his hand. "I got you." His eyes bore into yours as the pair of you tried to pull you up. Yet the wood that you used cracked under your weight and all progress was lost. Lawyerson recovered and went to help pull you up but a bullet in her leg had her cry out.

A curse left John's mouth as a gunshot hit his shoulder. They were getting lit up trying to save you. Your eyes turned to see the small group that had survived. They were aiming for the three of you.

"Let go, you need to leave." Your voice came and for the first time in a very long time. He froze.

"I'm not leaving you."

"You will die if you stay and I'll die regardless. Don't water your life like this. " He felt your hand go limp against him and he used all his strength to continue holding on.

"I can't."

"They always said you were such a level-headed man. Let go. Don't put the weight of your death on me. Lawyerson will need help with that leg of hers. Save her."

His eyes glanced at the small mark on his exposed wrist, your eyes followed him and you gave him a weak smile. John couldn't say it out loud, that he was your soul mate. A man you only knew from word of mouth.

"I already knew. Gaz showed me a picture of the pair of you, your wrist was showing." His lips parted.

"You didn't say anything."

"Love wasn't an option for me. Soulmates? That's a fantasy for civilians to have. Not us. But for what it's worth, if there was anyone worth being cosmically tied to, your a pretty damn amazing man to be it."

He shouted your name and with your free hand, you pried yourself from his grip. "Go!" So John watched as you fell, a love finished before it had even started.

#ghost x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #mw x reader #modern warfare 2 #cod x reader #call of duty #simon riley #john price

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sarahmadisonxoxo · 1 year

Text

Steve Harrington has trained himself in the art of saying goodbye before a relationship actually ends. Whether that be friends, potential partners, or anyone besides maybe Dustin and the rest of his six kids.

The change is subtle. Steve had been through it so many times that he stopped noticing the moment he started pulling away from people. The moment his thoughts would start lying to his heart. Slowly. Gradually pulling itself away until the inevitable fact of being left alone happened.

His own parents hadn’t wanted him. Wasn’t that supposed to be one of the strongest bonds people could share? One between a parent and child. Something about blood being thicker than water. If he’d been broken enough for his own parents to reject him... why would anyone ever want him?

He’d been desperate to prove the hateful voices in his head wrong. Willing to do almost anything to feel important. To feel like he fit in somewhere. He’d gone so far as to change his entire personality... taking on the persona of the respected and ever-beloved King Steve. Going on with the idea that he’d permanently lock that broken child somewhere deep in his memories to never see the light again. His younger self would be locked away, but at least he’d be safe.

There had been a moment, with Nancy, when he’d felt safe to be a little less like King Steve and more like Steve. She was a good person. Nancy wasn’t only beautiful, but she was brave, compassionate, and easily one of the smartest people he’d ever known. Nancy accepted people for who they were. It was the answer to his prayers. His manifestations coming true. Finally, he was being given someone that could accept him... even for the broken parts.

‘ Bullshit’

The word hit like a final nail in his coffin. Shattering his heart in a way that he hadn’t figured out how to fix.

It worked easier this way... handing out pieces of himself. He didn’t have to give the most vulnerable pieces, instead handing out the parts he didn’t mind losing.

Robin had been one of the first people in a long time he gave a larger part of himself to. After she’d opened up to him on a gross bathroom floor at the Starcourt Mall. Nearly dying with him at the hands of the Russians. It felt safe to trust her... Robin was his soulmate with a capital P for platonic. Their friendship helped him start piecing himself together. Slowly, but progress was progress.

During his days at working at Starcourt he purposely struck out with dates. It was easier for the world to assume he was hitting a rough patch than to let them know he was ready to give up on love.

Enough time with Robin had him ready to start again... He actually tried to get dates, and let it just appear that he was getting his game back.

Countless dates... none of them made him want to risk his heart again. Lovely women. The issue sat solely on his own shoulders...

Eddie Munson pinned him to a wall with a broken bottle at his throat.

Vecna happened.

According to Eddie... Nancy hadn’t hesitated to jump in Lovers Lake to save him.

The world was practically ending again... running back to Nancy felt safe. Easy. Familiar. If only he’d known how stupid he’d feel when he came to realize Nancy just couldn’t love him. She never would.

Surprisingly Nancy’s rejection didn’t break him again, sure it hurt like hell. It struck him hard, but he survived it.

Days turned into Months. Seasons changed, Spring to Fall then Winter.

“ Weary travelers.. it appears your Royal Carriage awaits and I wouldn’t want to delay the King’s plans. We will pick up next week” Eddie’s eyes looked up from the table to Steve, leaning against the doorframe, returning his gaze back to the table. Amusement burst on his face at the annoyed groans and mutters of the kids.

“ They are all yours... your grace.” Eddie’s gaze once again flickered up toward Steve.

“ Steve... My name is Steve man. “

“ Steve, you are free to take your kids”

“ Thank you..” Steve chuckled.

“ Anytime..”

Steve ignored how his heart jumped due to Eddie’s smile, being under his gaze. If there was anything he didn’t need it was to fall for someone else..

Only he was afraid he was too late...man this one was going to sting.

#steddie #steve harrington #steve stranger things #steve x eddie #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #robin buckley #steve/eddie #stranger things

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spacemonkeysalsa · 29 days

Text

Appetites

It's been five years since the Vampire Ascendant Astarion helped save Baldur's Gate. He has everything he ever wanted, and he's miserable.

Isolde is nobody, and has nothing. When given the option to become a vampire spawn, her response gives Astarion a moment of pause; “No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

Read Chapter One on Ao3

or below the cut (this will be multichapter)

“Can I watch?” the Baron wet his lips, his eyes fixed on Astarion’s mouth. Isolated enough, in their little corner of the ballroom, that no one could overhear them. Especially not over the collection of minstrels gathering all the attention for themselves.

The question seemed to come from absolutely nowhere. One minute they were winding their way from one end of the ballroom to the other, discussing almost suspiciously mundane tedium; court gossip, not even the kind that could enable business. Cravats, last month’s parties, next month’s parties, the quality of lace.

Then “can I watch?” just like that.

“No, you fucking can’t,” was what Astarion wanted to say. In control, he let out a slow exhale. The deal they negotiated was important. Not just to both of them, but to the city. He ought to at least fane respect. He briefly let himself become distracted by the sight of someone across the ballroom.

The Sharran Mother Superior had decided to take advantage of her standing invitation, though few people knew that’s who she was. Apparently, his gatherings were a convenient place to find new acolytes for the Lady of Loss. Or, that’s what she told him. Their eyes met and he raised his glass in greeting, but had no intention of approaching her tonight. They hadn’t spoken in a while. The last thing he remembered her saying to him was; “you used to be funny.”

Still, the distant interaction gave Astarion a moment to seem disinterested in the Baron’s question, which suited him just fine. He finally floated back to his companion and lazily countered the hanging question with his own, “Watch? Whatever do you mean?” He took a sip of champagne, wondering if it was any good. He used to know those things. Used to have an opinion, always. Maybe opinions were part of being funny. He tried not to think about the implications, but it was getting to the point where every unsatisfying taste of life was a reminder; something was wrong.

No. No it wasn’t. Everything was fine. If it wasn’t, he could make it be fine.

“When you take her,” the Baron opened the clasp on his ring, surreptitiously taking a sniff of something inside. “I’d like to be there. I’d like to see it.”

Astarion did not shatter the champagne glass in his hand and drive the jagged glass steam into the man’s eye, because he was in control, and because he still had plans to fuck the Baron to exhaustion later. If the night took them there. But he did take a moment to feel the annoyance, hot and sickening in his throat.

Was he just too old and too tired for this new, hungry elite crowd? Was that the problem? Had he outgrown ‘the great and the good’ of Baldur’s Gate? He took a moment to really see the Baron. Human, like most of the patriar remnants who’d survived the culling and ‘new organization’ of titles in the last few years. He’d always be young, in a way, but the Baron one was well into his adult years. He had children of his own, a household he ran like second nature and a series of trade routes that he’d made quite successful on the trackless sea. He was handsome, in that way that everyone of a certain privileged class could be. He dressed well, held himself with dignity. Not a single scar on his face. Ferdinand Joerg, the Baron De Cloyo, just a Baron, but savvy. He’d be useful, if Astarion let the relationship develop. But, like everyone, he’d die, and his stupid children would take over, and then they would die…

It didn’t matter. Not really. His takeaway should just be that cultivating a relationship with this particular Baron could be beneficial in the long run. He could afford to be slightly uncomfortable, if it meant securely their alliance.

And it wasn’t as though Astarion had never killed someone for an audience before. Should he indulge the man? “No, you fucking can’t,” he muttered into his glass.

“What was that?” De Cloyo chuckled, like maybe he had keen ears, for an aging human male.

“Who is she?” Astarion raised his voice and fixed a smile. He didn’t usually ask those kinds of questions, directly, preferring to do his own clandestine investigation. But, he was impatient tonight, and it had been several months since someone just boldly came to one of his parties with a captive for Astarion to drain dry.

If he was going to acquiesce and entertain De Cloyo’s desires, he’d like to know the whole story. Was the patriar outsourcing his personal revenge to Astarion?

“Scullery maid. My wife dislikes her, told me to dismiss her.” De Cloyo fought a grin.

So, De Cloyo was just a pervert then? “You’re not even going to say the maid stole your wife’s jewels or something?”

“She might’ve done. Would that make a difference to you if she had?”

“It’s just that people are usually so intent on letting me know that they’ve brought me a meal of poor moral character. It doesn’t make a difference to me, but I was starting to think you were all intent on making yourselves feel better.” Astarion slid back into a playful tone with ease. “You want to watch the light leave her eyes and hear her plead for her mother?”

“Do you enjoy that part? Or is it just about the blood?”

Astarion’s vampirism had become an open secret in the past five years that he’d been gaining and maintaining his influence in Baldur’s Gate. It wasn’t ideal. It wasn’t the plan. Then again, what scraps of a plan he’d ever had seemed foolish now. There was only ever one plan that worked; maintain the status quo. Gradually, he’d slipped, he’d shown off a little too much. He did like to dazzle.

It didn’t help that his neighbors were so nosy.

Maybe he was reckless, but he could always just hold up a mirror, display his perfect reflection, walk out into the sunlight, and take advantage of the benefit of the doubt. Only a small handful of people knew the explanation behind those little tricks. He could even turn into animals in public without raising suspicion, thanks to a convenient rumor that he’d spent some time amongst the druids and unlocked latent wildshape abilities. Not even false, in a way.

But. His closest allies knew the truth. His very closest had been there to see it. And, unfortunately, they did not keep his secrets.

It wasn’t common, but it also wasn’t unheard of, for someone who was looking to ingratiate themselves to Astarion to bring him a gift: someone to kill.

Most of the time, when he investigated, it turned out to be an enemy of theirs, or an unwanted mistress, or lovechild, or a witness. Astarion somewhat resented being a guilt-free means of disposal for pariahs and poor wretches who crossed the wrong Baldurians.

Did he enjoy it though?

It definitely wasn’t about the blood. Not anymore.

He hadn’t felt hungry in years.

“I’d like to see what you’re like,” De Cloyo’s eyes comb over Astarion, perceiving every perfect piece of him “when you kill.” His amber eyes flooded with black, desire apparent in his ragged breaths. Absolutely a pervert, which wasn’t necessarily a problem, but Astarion knew to take him at his word. He meant what he said. It got more difficult to lie as lust took over.

“You want to see me lose control?” he murmured, wondering if De Cloyo would hear the patronizing edge that he couldn’t quite curb.

“Yes,” De Cloyo breathed. If he heard it, he didn’t care.

Astarion threw his gaze around the ballroom, suddenly more crowded and livelier than when he’d last explored their surroundings. Another group must have arrived while he was distracted. Did they have enough wine? He caught the eye of a serving girl, Allie, or Halie, whatever she was called. He beckoned her over.

Helly was quick, ready to refill their glasses. It was a port. Perfect. Astarion took the bottle from her and shooed her away. “You first,” he told De Cloyo as he held the bottle to his lips, encouraging him to take a deep, long drink.

An hour later, De Cloyo was being poured into a carriage by his manservant, and Astarion was ready to have an early night.

Nothing had been accomplished, really. A waste of good wine. They were supposed to discuss real estate, but De Cloyo was too eager for debauchery to focus, which in times past, might’ve simply taken the evening in a new and much more fun direction, but Astarion didn’t have the appetite for any of it tonight.

It felt bleak in a way that weighed on him. Burnout, already? Gods. Barely five years into his glorious reign as the vampire ascendant, power still growing, network spreading out over the city, routine in a state of self maintenance. There was no reason he should be this bored of it already. And there was eternity to go.

He hoped.

Or, he hoped?

Maybe his nightly meditation would bring some clarity. It had been so much better, for a long time, after the city and his own life were no longer in immediate danger, but then… He entered his chambers and halted. They were occupied.

Oh. Right. The girl. The scullery maid that De Cloyo brought him to eat. He’d managed to forget about her completely.

She was a depressing sight, totally out of place amongst the sumptuous red and black decor. The room wasn’t really for entertaining, or for killing, for that matter. He had other chambers for those activities. But, it had been a moment since the palace hosted a doomed captive. Maybe Hilda or whatever her name was didn’t know what to do with her? And here she was.

The scullery maid cowered on the very edge of the chaise lounge pillowed with velvet and golden trim. It was one of the most comfortable pieces of furniture he owned, and she was perched on it like it was a jagged stone she had to cling to or else she’d fall to her death. The large silver-backed mirror against the wall showed her fists twisted behind her back, red and swollen where she’d pulled against her bindings. Her hair was matted and mussed, her cheeks wet, tears cutting through tracks of dust and dirt. Her clothing was ripped, falling off of her. She’d almost escaped, by the amount of mud on her skirts, suggested being wrestled to the ground—not to mention the red marks on her throat.

She didn’t react right away, when he entered the room, except perhaps to tense up, and then release with a tremble that threatened to turn into more exhausted tears.

The bite would be quick, as close to painless as death ever was. He wasn’t deluded enough to call it mercy, but it was as close to mercy as he was capable. Make it quick.

“I’m not going to beg for my life, if that’s what you’re waiting for,” she looked down at her stocking feet, filthy and bloodied.

Waiting? Had he been standing there long? “Apologies,” he fought a sigh, “I’m not myself tonight. I don’t usually allow enough time for begging.”

She shuddered, finally breaking into a sob. He might have ended her misery before she could say another word, but she swallowed, trying to turn away as her shredded dress fell off her shoulders, exposing her ample chest up to the stiff underbust, the bones of the cheap corset poking out. “Could I—would you permit me a little dignity? I’ll beg for that.”

She couldn’t very well do much damage, even with her hands free, so he obliged, retrieving Rhapsody from the sheath at his hip, under his waistcoat. She started, eyed the blade, but when he only cut the bindings on her hands, she relaxed.

He half expected her to lunge for the knife. That would have made for a fun few seconds, he thought idly, but she only flexed her freed hands and then righted her torn dress, still looking at him expectantly.

Still, he hesitated to do what he knew he was going to do. He stripped his waistcoat all the way off, removed the sheath and the dagger, tossed his things on the bed, some part of him still morbidly curious to see if she’d try to grab the weapon when he least expected. The chair across from the lounge wasn’t quite so comfortable—back too straight—but they were a matching set, and he figured if she was going to die, she could take the more comfortable seat for the moment. If she was going to die. He supposed… she didn't have to. De Cloyo would be upset, but that was assuming he ever knew.

Every breath that the girl took, she seemed to grow more nervous, like she knew each one was borrowed. So much so, he felt some strange, dark reassurance. He was right to kill them quickly. It was, in a way, something like mercy. At the same time, watching hope spark inside of her was intoxicating. Hope? Or was it dread?

Was this boredom cultivating some new sadistic fascination in him? It didn’t feel good, watching her work herself up like this. Actually, it felt awful. He wanted it to stop.

“Can you at least tell me why?”

Past victims had occasionally had the chance to pose this question, or a similar one. He wasn’t disposed to answer, because it had never occurred to him that there was a reason. Maybe it was something about the way she prioritized dignity over her very life. As though she knew one was already forfeit, so prized the other more. Maybe it was De Cloyo’s admittance that she hadn’t really done anything to wind up here. It was just bad luck. But, he didn’t want to tell her that. Was it bad luck that had condemned him? Sure, it was. But. It was more than that. It would be more than that for the scullery maid too. She’d found herself here because of cruel gods and a cruel master and… because he was who he was.

“Why what?” He heard his own voice, but for a moment didn’t recognize it. He’d spent a long time perfecting that voice, strange not to know it, even for two syllables.

“I suppose—why did he bring me to you? I know who you are. He talked about you.” She was rubbing her raw wrists, periodically checking her dress to make sure it was staying more or less intact and covering her, but for the first time, he caught a flash of something calculating in her face.

Perhaps she wouldn’t go for the knife, but she did have some plan. She had an idea of what to do, probably something desperate and stupid—but it ensnared his attention, as it was meant to, he suspected. “You think I’ll keep you alive if you tell me a bit about De Cloyo’s private conversations?” a paltry offer.

She shook her head, “I don’t think he said anything you wouldn’t already know,” she admitted, voice low, defeated for a moment before she took a sharp intake of breath, “you’re Lord Astarion. You’re a vampire, who can walk in the sun.”

“Yes, I do know all about that, in fact,” Astarion smirked at her. “But who did he tell?”

“Baron Horrold.”

“De Cloyo had Horrold in his parlor?” that was intriguing actually, “and no duel at dawn? How disappointing. I thought they despised one another.”

“That figured into the context of your mention,” said the girl, she paused to rub at her face, frowning at the dirt that came away on her fingers. “The master said you were his friend, that you’d kill for him. He threatened him.”

Astarion laughed shortly. Friend was a stretch, and killing a Baron was a little conspicuous. He’d hardly lay low that way. Astarion hadn’t killed anyone more important than a flaming fist or two since… He couldn’t force another laugh.

“As long as you’ll listen to me, you might as well know my name. It’s Isolde. I imagine you won’t remember it long, but if you’re going to kill me, I’ll permit myself to be petty and condemn you with its knowledge.” She still hadn’t managed to meet his eyes, but all things considered, she was steady, almost calm. Her voice didn’t give away her distress, and the tremble that had gripped her seemed to have confined itself to her hands, which she was now folding in her lap to try and steady.

He worried a question in his mind, briefly sure it was a mistake to even entertain the idea, but entertain it he did, and then he was captivated by it. Maybe his life had become so boring precisely because he hadn’t made a mistake in a while. “Isolde. The pleasure is all mine.”

“Truly?” she let the word slip, light and airy, and there was that strange, painful hope again. “I don’t want to die, in truth,” her tone stayed steady, she wasn’t breaking. “But, if it must. I would ask to understand. Something to ponder as I wander the Fugue Plane.”

“You master is something of a coward, I gather,” Astarion shrugged, his back stiff against the too rigid back of the chair. “His wife merely asked that you be dismissed, but he didn’t relish the confrontation, didn’t want the other servants speaking ill of him.”

She nodded, though Astarion had only guessed that about him, it seemed she agreed with his insight.

“And, he’s rather perverse. I think he was quite excited by the idea of your tragic disappearance, everyone wondering what happened to you, while only he knows. He has the image in his head, of your lifeless, bloodless body, prone, consumed, forgotten.”

A little moisture shone in his eyes, but still, she didn’t look up to face him or endure his gaze. “I really will be. He may well be the only one to think of me ever again, after the gossip settles.”

“He likes his little secrets.”

“Alright. Him, I understand,” Isolde sounded heavy when she said it, but the tears that had threatened to fall were gone. She’d bitten them back. “Why would you aid him? What do you get out of it? Besides a few quarts of low blood to sate your unimaginable hunger, I suppose.”

He wasn’t hungry. “That’s plenty.”

Her cheeks burned, but if it was rage she felt, she didn’t express it. Shame, maybe? Why?

He promised himself he wouldn’t feel shame again, but then he spent a few years living, building up a steady shimmering anger at every instance when he broke a promise to himself. Should he feel ashamed now? For what? Because he had no reason? He didn’t need one.

Isolde cleared her throat, swept her tangled hair aside and gestured to her neck. “Alright.”

“You’re really not going to plead?”

She didn’t say anything. She still hadn’t met his eyes, but her own sparkled again.

“Did that little ashen-haired servant girl bring you in here? She had other duties tonight, but she’s so tenacious. Seems she’s everywhere.” Astarion’s heart beat, and he hated noticing it. There was something of the lie in the way his body so perfectly mimicked a mortal’s after the triumphant return of the ‘arousals and appetites of man.’

“Alice?” Isolde furrowed her brow. “Yes. She told me it wouldn’t hurt much.”

Was that her name? “Do you know why she serves me?”

Isolde shook her head.

“She hopes I’ll turn her into a vampire spawn. And then, a true vampire. She’d been here a few months and I’ve done neither of those things. Maybe I never will.”

“But maybe you will?”

“That’s what she tells herself.”

“Spawn are under compulsion, aren’t they? They would have to do whatever you say?”

“Alice does whatever I say anyway. But yes, that’s one appeal of having them.”

“Do you have a lot of spawn?”

“Currently, no,” Astarion almost interrupted himself to demand she look at him, but then noticed her eyes listing towards the decanter on the nightstand. He scoffed and gestured, “have a drink, why not?” he rolled his eyes. It wasn’t like he’d be in any position to enjoy it.

Isolde hesitated, but not long enough to annoy him. She passed his discarded jacket lying on the bed, Rhapsody shimmering on top. Again, she didn’t try it. Pouring herself a heavy glass, she downed the entire thing, then poured again. Nearly escaping, crying her eyes out and waiting for death in this overwarm bedroom had probably dehydrated her.

“Currently?” she swallowed, voice already clearer as a result of the wine. “You’ve had spawn before?”

“A few. All gone now.”

“Why?”

“I killed them.” Or they killed themselves, or got themselves killed. It was all the same really. His fault. “I killed them all.”

She didn’t seem surprised by that. She finished off another full glass of wine and said, “Poor Alice.”

“Yes. She is truly the victim here.”

But Isolde ignored him. “You didn’t make any of them into true vampires?”

“No. That would be a terrible idea. As I said, one appeal of spawn is that they have to obey me. A true vampire could do what they liked, and create spawn of their own that have to obey them, and it gets untenable before long. There are natural rivals aplenty, without designing my own demise.”

“What are the other appeals?”

“Hmm?”

“You said one appeal. You said it twice, actually. Why do you keep making spawn, just to kill them?”

“I like it when people do as I say.” He thought that much would be obvious.

The look on Isolde’s face could only be described as doubt. She frowned into the glass in her hand, half-empty with the last of wine from the decanter, now empty and discarded on his bed, next to his coat. Not much of a maid, then. “Even if they don’t have a choice?”

“Wouldn’t that just make it very simple?”

“Not if the point is for them to want to do what you say,” she finished her glass.

She might have something there, but he didn’t want to dwell on it, and in any case, Isolde wouldn’t let him.

“Maybe that’s why you keep killing them? Or is it the other appeal, the one you won’t say? You remain unsatisfied?”

“Well, yes.”

“But you keep trying. Maybe Alice will be different?”

She wouldn’t be, but Astarion wasn’t sure why he felt that way so immediately. “What about you, Isolde? Would you be any different?”

Her eyes widened, and she finally looked up at him, just a glance, then she turned away again. That same look of doubt, almost a pout, and her lip trembled. “Don’t tease me,” she said.

“I’m not,” and he realized he wasn’t. That sort of cruelty wasn’t exactly above him, but he was considering her. There was something resilient about Isolde. Clever. He’d turned someone for less than that.

“Before you were a true vampire… you were a spawn?” Isolde also knew how to ask the right questions. Maybe that was dangerous. Maybe dangerous would be a welcome change.

“I was never a true vampire,” Astarion corrected her. “I was a spawn. Then, I became a new kind of monster. My—I was never true.”

“What was it like to be a spawn? You had to do whatever… you had to obey?”

She was quick too. He hadn’t spoken that name, hadn’t even alluded to it in years, and in the moment he almost slipped, she caught it and then caught herself. She might not be the worst company, all things considered. “Yes,” Astarion conceded. “I had to obey.”

“Did you have to do things that you didn’t want to do?”

“Every day. Horrible things. I’m rather kind, in comparison.”

“Kind to the spawn you keep killing?” Isolde’s selective sharpness wasn’t off-putting, he found. Oh yes. He’d turn her. De Cloyo wouldn’t like it, but again, why did he have to know? She could stay here, tucked away. He could teach her, lead her. It would be different this time. Everything that had gone wrong with the others, it was because he’d been too permissive with them. He hadn’t controlled them the way that he should.

The hunger, the isolation, it was difficult to manage. If he didn't command them in all things, they hurt themselves, hurt others, and made themselves a nuisance. He knew all too well that the longevity of a vampire lord came down to their ability to amass power without attracting the ire or vengeance of any righteous heroes.

His erstwhile spawns had been allowed far too much freedom, too quickly. They weren’t ready. That was his failure. He’d be careful this time. He’d keep her close.

“I can be kind,” Astarion knew he wasn’t lying, but she didn’t, from that look on her face. “It’s a modest operation. Maybe I had larger designs at one time, but—the thing about grand designs is that they tend to… go horribly wrong and get you sacrificed in your own ritual. Well deserved. You wouldn’t be inducted into some cabal of ancient diabolical nonsense—you’d just live on. Forever. As one of mine.”

“Forever?” Isolde’s doubt was almost comical, she shook her head, but didn’t say what he could tell she wanted to say—some variation of the caveat that he could always just kill her once he was sick of her. Like he had all the others.

It would be different this time.

But, she wanted to live. He knew that for certain the moment she finally looked him in the eye. Maybe she’d resisted for so long because she suspected him capable of some passive hypnotism.

Her eyes were a lovely hazel. But, they would look good red. She did seem a little hypnotized, he thought, or maybe it was the three glasses of wine she’d downed on an empty stomach, or whatever De Cloyo’s people had given her to sedate her before bringing her here. Her shoulders relaxed. Her hands absentmindedly rose to fix her ruined dress again, she searched him with that gaze. She wasn’t a stunning beauty per se, especially not in her present, distressed state, but she had an appeal that was only enhanced by a bit of blood, sweat and anxiety.

He didn’t think he had to sell it much further. The choice was turn or die, and he’d made that choice himself a long time ago. One of the oldest memories he still had, thinking that it was really no choice at all. Of course she’d say yes.

“No.”

What?

He tried not to betray his surprise, sure this was some gambit. He just stared at her, waiting for her to reveal the twist.

“No. Thank you. I think I’ll just die.”

He wanted to laugh, but nothing came out.

Isolde crossed the room, the tremble visibly returning to her whole body as she approached.

Astarion stood, frowning down at her. He was wrong, then? That hadn’t been a will to survive that he’d seen in her? Or, if it was, it was the last flare before it went out. Outrage, disbelief. He couldn't settle on a reaction to perform. I think I’ll just die? Absurd. She was mad.

“I might try to run,” she confessed, and then added, “or, when I feel it happening—I might say I’ve changed my mind. Please don’t heed me. Just keep going until I’m gone. Truly gone. And don’t let me come back.”

He breathed in deep, and she mirrored him. For an instant he savored the taste of her in the air, even sullied and stressed, there was something fresh and savory and sweet in her scent all the same, like the berry bushes that stubbornly grew near saltwater waves. It almost made him feel hungry again, but not enough to look forward to killing her.

She shook worse than ever, crumbling a little. She leaned into him, holding him at the waist and he felt her waiver, like her knees were giving out beneath her. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and tightened into fists. “Would you do one thing for me, first?”

He wasn’t in the habit of granting last requests, but in spite of himself, was curious to know what she’d ask for. Surely, she was hiding the knife behind her back, or something, wasn’t she? No, both her hands were digging into him, he could feel her desperately anchoring herself to him. And Rhapsody lay where he left it on the bed.

Isolde held his eyes as they came back to find her, “Kiss me.”

There was nothing fey, or arcane about her. Nothing remotely threatening, or hinting of subterfuge. She was just frightened and… very sad. He pitied her, almost refused her on principle.

He didn’t realize he still had those.

Astarion let her hold onto him, her heart racing like warren prey, her chest flush. He thought she’d probably fall if he stepped away. He lifted both hands to her face, ghosting along her jawline and pressing the blade of his thumb against her full mouth. She held her breath, and he waited until she had to release it before he leaned in and slowly stroked her mouth with his own, catching her lip on his fang and relishing the small moan that escaped her. When he pulled back, she wasn’t fighting not to look at him any longer, her wide, stunning eyes rested on his, she seemed strangely at peace, in spite of her frantic pulse.

Do something. He wanted to shout at her. Was she really giving up, just like that?

She embraced him, tight, hiding her face in his chest, spilling tears on his flesh, and bearing her throat at the same time.

All he had to do was lean in and let his teeth sink, the rest was second nature. His fangs traced their way to the throbbing vein, hardly protected by the thinnest softest skin he’d tasted. He sighed into her, kissed her neck softly, and pulled away.

Isolde stumbled. He’d been right to think she was relying on him to stay upright, because she was on her knees on the ground the moment he moved out from under her embrace. She blinked her eyes open, staring, questioning.

“I didn’t lock the door behind me when I came in,” his voice sounded toneless and lifeless. “Run.”

He’d been starting to think she was truly suicidal, and like so many others, was using him as a quick means to take inconvenient life. A life she didn’t have the energy to fight for, or end, any longer. But the moment he made it clear he wasn’t going to stop her from trying to leave, and wasn’t going to kill her, Isolde bolted.

It was a strange kind of feeling, watching her sprint from the room in a blur of torn fabric and wild hair. He wasn’t sure how he’d won, but the feeling was something like victory. Somehow, for both of them.

The only dark spot was the quiet moments that followed, as he embraced the sinking realization that he was alone and always would be.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 astarion #astarion #bg3 astarion #starts out fluff and angst #very very slow burn #incomplete work there will be more chapters #appetites

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darkhymns-fic · 2 months

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Poor Reception

Husk is forcefully brought to the radio tower, where he finds Alastor injured after the battle. He's weak. He's vulnerable.

What better opportunity to finally be free of the Radio Demon's chains than right now?

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Alastor/Husk Rating: M Word Count: 4531 Mirror: AO3 Notes: I wrote more for this ship? I'm unwell for them. Once again, a note that this fic contains depictions of unhealthy relationship dynamics, past abuse, and violence. More tags are on the AO3 mirror.

The thing was, Husk was still bleeding when Alastor called for him. So, he didn’t appreciate the urgency.

The cuts over his arms and his right cheek stung, not to mention both of his wings were aching badly. One of the angels from the battle had grabbed at them, seeming particularly pissed off that he even had wings in the first place. (Not like it was his choice to begin with). It had at least been satisfying blowing its face with his newly upgraded dice, even if a few of his feathers had been ripped up, and his clothes were now splattered with the gold that flowed from the angel’s severed neck.

Well, not like anyone got out of a fight that was worth fighting for unscathed.

The hotel still needed to be rebuilt, for it was nothing but rubble. Support beams stuck out of the ground, and all those fancy chandeliers from the lobby had shattered all over, glass shards mixing with stone and wood. Husk was careful, even if his wings were basically out of commission now. He picked up broken furniture and the remains of his bar, watching as the alcohol had already seeped into the dirt. In a more desperate time in his life, he might have tried saving some of his booze as best he could, but it was easy to shrug it off now, to shoot a smirk at Angel Dust when the guy made dirty jokes as they worked, and to even give Charlie a reassuring smile as she helped him out. He dared to think it was all going to be okay.

Husk didn’t notice the shadows gathering when he turned a corner, too focused on the cleanup.

He didn’t notice how they formed under his feet like a dark whirlpool, and only the sense of dread that ran along his fur even gave him a hint to what was happening. Too slow, for the long tendrils he recognized had reached up, curling around his legs, grabbing at his wrists—all to pull him straight down.

The last thing he saw was Niffty, the little demon still carrying around her golden bloodied knife like a trophy, stabbing at skittering bugs she kept unearthing. She turned, hearing him choke, her giant eye reflecting the blackness that was their boss’ shadow magic.

“Niff!” was all he could get out. A hand, taloned and strong, clamped over his mouth, muffling his screams.

Niffty simply blinked. He saw his own terrified face in her gaze. Then, she smiled, jumping up and down maniacally. “Ooo, I want a turn too! Let me go next!”

Suddenly, he was struck blind.

These were one of those times he thought he was going through a second death. The complete darkness. The silence. The immovability. His arms and legs stayed locked in place, but he could feel the pain of his wounds that hadn’t fully healed, all while a hand kept his mouth shut like an iron muzzle. It was hard to tell if his eyes were open or closed, for there was only the dark, pulling him through hidden places that he might never return from.

It was endless. It was impossible to deal with. Husk had no other choice to even do anything else. The shadows wouldn’t let him go, wouldn’t even let him scream, no matter how much his teeth felt like they were going to crack from the strain.

This was it. He was truly dead, and it was far worse than anything else Hell had to offer.

And then he was spat out of the ground like garbage.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Husk coughed and gagged, grabbing at his side as fresh wounds reopened. Somehow, swearing in the name of the Lord still hadn’t set him on fire, like he’d expected to the first time he did so. He was too nauseous to keep in mind the list of acceptable curses, already vomiting up some of the pancakes the king of Hell had made them all just a bit earlier. All his earlier cuts went back to stinging like a bitch again.

To the right, he saw a cackling shadow on the far wall, its antlers taking crooked shapes like the branches of a rotten tree.

“You gotta be joking me… I told you I hate going through that shit!” Husk wiped his chin with the back of his hand, grumbling all the while. It took all his effort just to slowly pull himself to a sitting position, balancing his shivering body on his knees. “If you want me somewhere, just use the phone! Or send a goddamn telegram or whatever. Not this nightmare express!”

The shadow of Alastor continued to laugh silently, its smile stretching and making gaps in its mockery of a face. It even gave Husk a little wave before going back to laughter, bending its back in painful contortions.

Husk grimaced, hating what he now knew: that Alastor was indeed still alive. Fantastic. Couldn’t have even stayed in bliss for one day that maybe, somehow, he might finally be free. He was such an idiot.

His eyes were still getting adjusted after being engulfed in shadow for who knows how long. It was only then he realized the lighting wasn’t normal—at least as normal as it got in Hell. Blaring red light coated the entire floor and walls, but it flickered, occasionally making his boss’ shadow disappear and reappear like a magic act. Husk directed his gaze to the ceiling, finding several broken fluorescent lights, the ‘On Air’ neon sign having two letters working at most.

Husk felt the cold metal beneath his feet, finally noticed the shattered windows around him, and the cramped space. Yeah, he’d been here plenty of times. The same radio tower his boss would materialize wherever he fucking felt like it. But along with the hotel, it had also collapsed. The tilt of the floor was already giving him a headache.

The shadow moved suddenly, stretching bigger and bigger until it reached the length of the floor. Husk scrambled away from letting it touch him a second time. “Ugh, what do you want now?”

He kept his eyes on the shadow, but it didn’t reach for him this time. Instead, it slid towards the front of the broken radio tower, where the console had been broken in half, the dials and buttons having fallen off.

He only then noticed Alastor’s body leaning against its side, legs stretched out on the floor. His own shadow finally melded with him.

Husk froze. He didn’t know what to do or think. He worried if taking another breath would break the image right in front of him.

There was blood pooling around Alastor, staining the floor.

The lights kept flickering, reflecting off steel-toed shoes, the frayed jacket that still hung around the Radio Demon’s shoulders, and the broken mic cane where each half was clutched in a separate hand.

Husk waited a long beat before he finally decided to try standing.

Easier said than done. His body still hurt from where the shadows had grabbed him, including his jaw and teeth. But he tried to get himself to one foot, watching the blood from his cuts drip down his arm, reaching his knuckles.

Eventually, he stood. His own shadow from the red light stretched out to Alastor, falling over both his boss’ face and torso. Even in the dimness, he could see the long gash across the chest, ruining the button-down he always wore. But that same chest also rose and fell, slightly. The red light around them pulsed like a struggling heartbeat.

“You’re a complete fucking mess,” Husk muttered.

The room was quiet except for the constant electric buzzing, but Alastor didn’t respond. Maybe he was truly knocked out, otherwise Husk would have felt his neck tighten, brought back down to the floor as another threat to his soul loomed over him. But there was nothing, just Alastor sitting there, broken.

And healing, Husk realized. He was healing very, very slowly.

It was a mistake, but he took a few steps forward, avoiding contact with the broken glass. No other nightmare shadows played around in his vision, nothing but his own, which slowly engulfed Alastor until all that red darkened. He saw the demon’s eyes were closed, his head lowered to his chest, still clutching so tightly to the broken mic.

What was he even doing right now? Why did his throat dry up and his hands shake so? Especially if his boss was barely breathing—

Alastor raised his head. The sound of sparks was faint, but there. Eyes lit up in their familiar electric crimson.

“Husker…” He said the name as if dragging teeth across flesh. “Such a… s-surprise to see you…!”

A stutter. Husk wasn’t sure if he had ever heard Alastor stumble over a word in his life (or death). What radio host worth his salt would make such a rookie mistake as to stutter?

Alastor’s grin was tight, resembling more of a grimace. Maybe he realized, too.

Husk let his eyes examine Alastor again, from the fresh blood still blooming over his chest, to the jagged ends of his broken mic. The head of it crackled, picking up only noise and static. No hint of distant voices or music—no hint of those usual screams Husk would sometimes catch through the walls as he slept.

“Adam got ya, huh?” He took another step, even if the feeling of terror didn’t exactly pass. But he never claimed to be a smart man.

There was a sharp glint in Alastor’s eyes—a furious spark of electricity. It passed instantly, Alastor keeping up his smile despite his radio act going off the rails.

“Now, don’t… don’t be spreading some false rumors. I just… appear to be having some technical difficulties… Please stand by, I need… Please stand by…”

The tone in Alastor’s voice was unnerving. His boss was usually on top of his game, but this was something else. In all their time together in Hell, he had never seen his boss so beaten in both body and pride.

Husk clenched his hands, claws furling and unfurling rhythmically. “So, did you bring me here to help you out? Keep you company?” He held out his hands in abject confusion, because it wasn’t like he was good at either of those things. “What’s the deal?”

He expected some inane nonsense from Alastor, even if the situation wasn’t the usual. But the other was still holding tight to the broken mic, still smiling as if it was the last thing he could do to keep up the routine.

But there was a flicker along his expression, an interruption over the airwaves. “Bring you… Is that right?” He shook his head minimally, still laying most of his weight on the radio console.

Husk felt his fur rise on their hackles. “Is this another stupid fucking bit of yours? I didn’t come looking for you. You’re the one who summoned me here with your shadow shit just now!”

Alastor chuckled, but there was a curious twitch in his right eye. It made the static rise higher, sputtering in pieces. “Husker, you and…your poor attempt at humor. I didn’t…ask for you…”

His head started to throb. He could still barely forget the claustrophobic feeling of being dragged into darkness, hardly able to breathe or even know if he fully existed anymore. It hadn’t been the first time Alastor had done it to him either, but now after he did it again, he didn’t even remember?

Was tormenting Husk just fucking instinct to him?

Alastor was now muttering, which was a whole new realm of lunacy Husk didn’t want to understand. “Just experiencing—” Loud static that could wriggle its way into eardrums. “Experiencing technical difficulties. Please—” More static, like an ocean wave that was steadily growing bigger with each passing moment. “Please stand by…”

The mic kept glowing then dimming, bright and then dark. It reminded Husk of some sort of lighthouse, one that only illuminated red, making it that much harder to see and find the rocks just below.

He didn’t see his boss’ strange shadows anymore. But it must have slept within him, using the very last of his strength to keep Alastor intact. But then why was he even brought here? Just to sit and watch?

Alastor was still deeply wounded. The guy could barely even look at him, his words coated in awful static, as if the dial was stuck on an AM station. Husk lowered his ears, hating every second.

He didn’t have to keep listening to this.

Husk reached into his pants pocket, wondering if he’d be lucky enough. He felt the familiar edge of the card and pulled it out. One from his old deck that he had been allowed to keep, despite it all. Except now, it was coated in the same silver lining that the angel’s weapons had, courtesy of Carmilla Carmine.

He’d already used the rest on the angels, their numbers so great, it ate through his entire deck except for one. The constant blinking of the red light revealed it to be the Joker card. He didn’t want to think too hard on that meaning.

But, he could kill Alastor right now. It would be so easy.

He took another few steps, quietly, and he’d have to thank the stupid form his body took in Hell for that. His feet barely made a sound over the metal floors, and soon he was standing over Alastor, the shadow of his wings covering both his boss and the radio console.

Alastor’s breathing was hollow, blending with the static. The shaking in Husk’s limbs finally seemed to subside, seeing none of the magic coming to Alastor’s fingertips. No sight of roving shadows or poisonous green. Even the antlers on his head remained small and unassuming.

Just aim the card at his neck. Then it’ll be over.

Husk didn’t understand his own hesitance, barely giving any second thoughts to the angels from before. He’d ruptured several torsos and blown up some heads. Alastor was just another body to get through—and the wound he suffered from Adam showed he wasn’t invincible. He could die, just as much as the rest of them.

He had to hurry it up.

But maybe Husk was breathing too loudly, or his feet did make a sound, probably finding a weakness in the metal to make it creak. Because Alastor picked up his head again, aiming his bright red eyes at Husk. The static increased, loudly. Desperately.

The light roved from Husk’s face to his hand. Blood was leaking through his boss’ smile, staining his shirt even more.

“Well, now…” he started to say, the dial turning to find a stable wave. But the static never left. “Just… what… are you even trying to do?”

Husk said nothing. He stared down at the man who had spoken of ripping apart his soul like it was nothing at all. He gripped the card more firmly between his fingers.

“You… do you think…” And then Alastor lost a bit more composure, a cough leaving his damaged throat. The static jumped, the electric shock of it making Husk wince. “That you have the actual gall to—”

“I didn’t ask for your opinion.” He’d had enough. Husk took another step, feeling the sharpness of the card against his skin. “I’m cutting out of our deal, whether you like it or not.”

He didn’t know what reaction to expect from Alastor—the man had several screws loose, ready to turn from charming to outright psychotic at the drop of a hat—but even Husk was surprised at the sudden laughter that tumbled from his mouth. It wasn’t any of his favorite audience tracks he loved playing, such as after he’d taken care of another Overlord, the screams and applause overlayed. It was his own, and it would then garble and crescendo in unsettling waves, even as his eyes fixated on the card Husk was holding.

“Such big words…” Another cough, the blood now dripping down his chin. “From a drunken has-been who had to come to me—”

Husk had always been a gambling man, and much of his gambles had always bit him right in the ass, his current situation very much a point to that. But after everything he’d gone through, after all the bloodshed and the humiliation of that leash around his neck all hours of the day, Husk took the gamble and stepped past the invisible line that was Alastor’s boundaries.

Not like the man had ever respected his own.

His free hand grabbed at a thin neck, his knee placed against the still bleeding chest, knowing it would hurt Alastor. Hoping it would. And from the flickering of Alastor’s eyes, along with the constant static, it really must have stung. Badly.

No shadows reached out to grab him. No chains. Alastor was too weak. Whatever shadow magic he’d used from before had been the very last of his strength.

“I’m not that drunk to not be able to saw your neck off with this.” Husk held the card high, its edge serrated, made to cut through flesh easily—one of the few things he was able to retain since his own Overlord days. “I can make it a quick, clean cut or slow enough for you to feel every muscle snapping. Your fucking choice.”

But even with the threat of a second death once again, still healing from his other wounds, Alastor kept his grin. It widened, the blood flowing more freely.

Something about it was more deranged than before.

Husk tried not to let the age-old terror seep in, the kind of terror he had never been able to drink away. Alastor couldn’t do anything to him. It was different now. He had the upper hand. His fingers pressed against the other’s neck, feeling the man swallow.

“Well?!” Husk barked, leaning forward, putting all his weight on his knee, hoping it would crack more bones, burst more vessels. “What do you have to say?!”

Alastor opened his mouth. The blood kept flowing from an abyss that was endless. An abyss that swallowed all sound and was constricting.

“Husker…” Alastor lingered over the little pet name he had given Husk all those years ago. He held it between his teeth, slid his tongue over the letters like they were irresistible. “Are you having stage fright?”

The claws, still clutching that throat, twitched. The bastard. Even on the verge of death, he still had to find a way to mess with him.

Maybe it was to prove it to himself, but he let his claws pierce through the flesh just so, watching as Alastor’s eyes fizzled and sputtered. Anything to make it hurt more. “You losing your memory? I was more on the stage then you ever were.”

Alastor’s shoulders hunched up. He leaned forward, pressing into that knee despite what must have been unbearable pain. But no, this guy had always liked pain, didn’t he?

“You always make excuses.” No shadows came out of him, but it didn’t stop Alastor’s face from transforming into an abomination, one barely seen in the dark. “Don’t keep your audience waiting…!”

The blood from Alastor’s mouth fell on Husk’s hand. Wet, hot, and burning. Husk froze. He stared back into the red, the light of it piercing right into his skull.

He didn’t understand what was happening. This should have been easy. With how often Alastor had demeaned him, had humiliated him, had broken his very bones for his slip-ups, torn up his wings for amusement, and would yank at his chain so hard he thought his own neck would snap from the strain—

Slicing the demon’s neck was a mercy out of everything.

Suddenly, all those awful memories came flowing back to him. He had learned to shut them away with drink, and gambling, and any other vices that fell into his lap. If he’d heard the screams from the tower through his walls, he’d just pull the blankets over his head. If Alastor gripped his chin during a conversation, to “Ensure you’re paying attention, my dear friend,” Husk would just roll with it if he felt a certain tension in those fingers. There were times he could push Alastor away, or shout back, but the demon was unpredictable, and the way the dice rolled lately had not been in his favor.

Except now. Except right fucking now. He didn’t have to remember the pain, or the threat of death hanging over his head, or the sick ways Alastor would invade his boundaries. He could tear this man beneath him apart with just his teeth and claws alone, before finally rupturing his heart with the power of angels bent on revenge. He could eat his flesh and feast on his intestines and see how Alastor liked to be on the other side for once—!

All the noise in his mind was so much, hypnotized by that red, by visions of blood and gore and viscera, that he didn’t notice the hands gripping his wrist. They had let go of the broken mic, pressed their talons into his fur.

Then there was the weight on his neck, the links entwined around Alastor’s fingers. They clinked together delicately, almost gently.

It was enough to terrify Husk out of his mind.

And the way the chain pulled him in, as it always did, to fall into that abyss where the smell of rotten meat came from. The way a hand reached up to grip at his cheek, drawing him further down into that same darkness where he can’t scream—

Stop. STOP.

Husk leaped back, his wings outstretched to lift him away from Alastor. Somehow, miraculously, the chain dissipated, like a fog. He stumbled once he landed, gripping onto the card that was still clean of any blood. His wings instinctively furled around his body, trying to forget the hands on him and how their touch skittered across his fur, leaving him confused and horrified at himself.

From such violent thoughts of bloodshed that only Alastor would revel at, to wanting to sink against him.

The red lights of the radio tower continued to flicker. There was a monotonous drone, one that wriggled inside Husk’s skull like a maggot, searching for his soul. He just barely lifted his eyes to see it come from that broken mic, the one that Alastor had gone back to holding tight.

Or had he ever let go? Had Husk just been hallucinating the entire thing? Yet another look at Alastor, at the eyes that bore right through his, made him want to shudder. His wings furled tighter around himself, but he already felt so exposed, right down to his very ribs.

“What did you do to me?” he finally asked, barely able to go past a whisper.

In the background, he thought he could hear soft music play—a piano ballad, one that was played in those old swing clubs from a time he could barely remember, along with a woman’s singing voice. It would then drown in that static, overwhelmed, but it was getting stronger. Alastor was slowly coming to himself.

And the demon laughed again, the filter over his voice lessening just enough for Husk to not mistake his words. “Nothing that you didn’t want for yourself.”

Husk remembered the bloodlust, the texture of Alastor’s skin against his hands, and he wanted to vomit once more.

He didn’t, swallowing any bile as he scrambled back, not caring when he touched broken glass. “Shut up! I can’t even do this now?! I…” His throat was tight. “You’ve ruined everything for me.”

Alastor let his tongue seep out, like a black leech that had found its way to land, before retreating to the dark. “No, I only came to pick up the pieces.” The chuckle reverberated out of him, deep. “Such a naughty liar you are.”

Husk’s claws pierced the floor. The sensation was awful. Any euphoria he felt before from fighting off the angels, from the smiles of his friends, from the very thought that just for once he would finally find freedom—gone.

Alastor wasn’t near him, but he remembered the feeling of his hand on his face, the stroke of fingers through the fur, (the vice-like grip over his mouth to keep him screaming) all as the leash kept pulling him and his will along with it.

“Oh, sweet Husker. You can’t kill what you love.” Said so easily, with such glee that it made Husk’s vision spin. Even so, Alastor’s face stayed imprinted in his memory forever. “But don’t worry. This’ll be our little secret, and don’t we already share so many by now?”

Husk glared at the Radio Demon, but he did so like a cornered animal, hiding behind a worthless shield, remembering the taste of blood on his tongue.

“No one has to know a thing,” Alastor continued. The static wrapped around them both, dripping with mercury. “Let’s make all our new friends so proud.”

Another deal, verbally made within the shattered tower. No one else needed to know of Alastor’s temporary weakness here, his close brush with second death, the loss of control he had, if only for a moment. And no one needed to know Husk’s true nature.

Secrets that would bind them together, strangling, choking, until the very end.

Husk felt a sharp sting on his right palm. He looked at the card he kept holding, at how he cut himself across the heart pattern over his fur. The front of the card was stained.

He gritted his teeth, felt tears prick at his eyes. He quickly put the card away in his pocket.

“Just hurry and fix yourself up,” he muttered as he got to his feet. His wings still stayed around him, gripping onto them like a tattered coat. “Charlie’s probably waiting for you.”

He felt the tears run down his cheeks. Great, now he was crying. For fuck’s sake.

Husk tried turning away, not wanting Alastor to see again how he had this hold on him, how easily he could do that while still bleeding out the floor. But the music kept playing, occasionally skipping a note, to the point that it was almost pleasant.

Sometimes, if he pretended, he could forget the awful things when a nice song played every once in a while.

Husk risked a quick glance, and saw that Alastor was no longer looking at him. Instead, the eyes of the Radio Demon were directed to the floor, to the broken mic cane, where the song echoed out from its tinny speaker.

An intermission.

Husk didn’t want to stick around any longer.

He found the stairs that led down from the half-standing tower. His hand gripped his wings still, before finally going down, and down, and down.

But before he left, he thought he saw familiar, convulsing shadows on the side. Their outlines were tinged in green, their teeth jagged and sharp. One had Alastor’s face, which stared right at him with the utmost glee.

And it winked.

#hazbin hotel #husk #alastor #radiohusk #fanfiction

24 notes · View notes

blogginthewind · 2 years

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It Isn’t About Cheryl

You are Cheryl Blossom’s best friend. She thinks you’re mad at her. Turns out you’re not. Sweet Pea x reader / sick!reader

You were Cheryl Blossom’s best friend. You had been since you had taken your very first ballet class as toddlers. Whenever Cheryl was lonely or needed someone, you were there right alongside Jason until… Until. When Jason had died, Cheryl’s whole world shattered. At one point, she even stood on the thin ice at Sweetwater River, hoping to join him. It was the only time she had seen you that angry.

“You are not going to leave me behind, you understand?” You had screamed, while Veronica and Betty tried to get you to be calmer with her. You had brushed them off in angry tears. “No. No! If you go, I go. Do you understand? We are a non-negotiable. You have to know that.”

She loved you dearly and could be a tad bit overprotective when it came to things such as say, dating. Cheryl had wanted you to marry Jason and officially be her sister, something you had thought of as well. Jason’s death had crushed you too, the boy that you loved for years had not only passed away but been engaged to another. You had a brief fling with Reggie Mantle, which Cheryl now wished she hadn’t allowed, then ended up with more tears. Yours. Not his.

So when she met you at your locker one morning, your vanilla swirl latte in hand, she was surprised to see you scrunch up your nose. But you took the cup anyway.

“Thanks, Cher. I just have a bit of a stomach ache. Mom made oatmeal for breakfast and made me eat the entire bowl.”Your mother was a notoriously awful cook and oatmeal was a bland, lumpy food already. Plus, you almost always had a bit of a stomach ache. Stress, nerves, too much dairy. It wasn’t that abnormal.

“My condolences. So we’re still on for the new stunts with the Vixens after school, yes? Then we can celebrate. I’m thinking of a movie musical marathon. Sing-a-long required. With cherry phosphates from Pop’s. My beloved can join us if she wish. If not, it will just be us but that has always been good, yes?”

You nodded. Cheryl smiled. Most people found her to be a bit…much. She worried about over-showering Toni with love, though she deserved every bit of it. You never seemed to get tired of Cheryl though. And you hadn’t hesitated to forgive her when she may have blown you off a few times at the start of her relationship. When she looked over, you were on your phone, smiling at a text message. Ugh. Sweet Pea.

Cheryl didn’t have a problem with the Southside Serpents, Toni was one, after all. She didn’t even have a problem with Sweet Pea, per se. He was a good friend to the girlfriend she adored and she trusted Toni’s judgment but you had taken quite a shine to the boy so she had to be cautious. After all your heartbreak, she had to be careful. Sweet Pea was known to get into fights and react emotionally. While you claimed you and Reggie were friends now and he hadn’t been able to help his feelings for Veronica, Cheryl had no problem allowing him to house all the blame. She looked at you again. Your cheeks were heating up. You were blushing. Were you pale behind the blush? It was clear that you were enamored with the boy. When Toni had asked you to help tutor her friend, Cheryl hadn’t been concerned but now? Her concern was high.

She shared her concern with Toni later that day, as they waited for you at their lunch table. The other Vixens would join them soon, you along with them. Toni shook her head, adorable but unable to see reason. “Babe, he’s a good guy. I’ve known him forever. Besides, it’s none of our business if they want to see each other.”

The conversation was ended when the others arrived. You picked at your lunch, your favorite salad, which Cheryl had the chef make specifically for you. She was annoyed at Toni’s lack of alarm and that caused her to snap at you in a way she immediately regretted but didn’t acknowledge to save face. “Do you still have a stomach ache? We have a very important Vixen’s practice after school.”

“I’m fine. Thanks for your concern,” you grumbled back sarcastically as you took a huge bite of the salad as though you were suddenly starving. This surprised Cheryl, as you very rarely snapped at the girl. Toni gave her a look but Cheryl felt herself prickle. She had taken the time to get your favorite latte, which you barely drank, and to have your favorite lunch made for you. So, even if she was a little snippy, she had earned some leeway. Usually, you would both brush these things off. Instead, you powered through your salad before loudly and pointedly announcing how much you loved it. Sarcasm. Since when were you so rudely sarcastic with her?

The prickles lasted throughout the day until Vixens’ practice. Cheryl watched you from the corner of her eyes throughout the day. When she caught you grimacing and rubbing your temples, she was going to brush everything off as a headache but then Sweet Pea said something to you and you smiled and laughed. Cheryl was your best friend and it was some temperamental boy you were smiling at? Ridiculous. Unacceptable.

“Let it go, babe,” Toni told her as everyone lined up for practice. The weather was finally nice enough for them to be outside. Kevin, Fangs, and Sweet Pea loitered in the stands. The football team practiced on the other end of the field. It should have been a good day. Something was going on with her best friend. Were you actually mad at her? Over a silly comment? You always had a stomach ache. It was a thing. Cheryl didn’t feel bad. Not at all. Really. “She’s been weird all day. Sweet Pea asked me if I knew what was wrong with her. Something about groaning or moaning or whatever.”

Immediately, she was filled with worried. Groaning? Moaning? About what? Her? Cheryl knew she should relax. Let it go. Talk to you. Instead, she stepped away from Toni and clapped her heads, calling the girls together.

“Alright, Ladies! HBIC is speaking. Our new routine is fire. Or it would be if you all would stop fumbling. So we’re running it until we get it right. Start from the beginning and go through until my solo. I. E. The only part of the number that is currently flawless.” The girls began the dance as Cheryl stood by the radio. It was a solid synchronized beginning that broke off. Toni and Lisa took the front while you and Veronica were lifted into the air. You were tossed and gently placed down and then the girls made a path for the soloist, who would be Cheryl, of course. The first run was shaky, which Cheryl informed the girls better be a warm-up. The second run was better but not good enough. Not perfect. Everything had to be perfect.

What surprised Cheryl was that you were dragging your feet. You never dragged your feet, dancing being your first love. Your mother ran the town's dance studio and you practiced your moves until they were perfect. Almost annoyingly so. Cheryl kept any jealousy she felt about your talent to herself because she loved her best friend. When Cheryl went to your dance competitions, she was filled with pride. She made everyone run it two more times.

“We’re getting better but still not quite there. Ginger, your arms need to be straight for the opening move, don’t flail. Veronica, adequate. Betty, try to look…I don’t know, interesting? And your kicks need to be higher and crisper. Get Veronica to help you if you can’t figure it out. And Y/N, get it together, please. We’re the River Vixens, not a charity team.” A stunned silence followed her words and no one moved. Cheryl never snapped at you, she never had to. Your face burned red and you moved into position to start the routine. The other girls followed you. You had a strange look on your face and Cheryl thought she saw tears in your eyes. Still, she hit play. She wasn’t even watching the girls, instead watching you give your all but still seem….off. When the girls tossed you into the air, you missed all your marks. When they caught you and placed you down, you froze causing Betty to bump into you. You stayed frozen in place until Cheryl paused the music. “Y/N! What is going on with you?”

Cheryl took a step towards you. Her commanding voice was gone. The tears were back in your eyes and you seemed to be shaking. “Okay, you’re officially freaking me out, Y/N. Is this about lunch? I’m sorry I snapped at you, okay? You’re my -”

“I’m going to be sick.” You announced before darting off the field. There was no sarcasm to your voice. No anger. Only a terrified certainty. You had never been angry with her at all. You were ill.

“Toni, take the girls through the routine again. I’ll be back.” Cheryl took off after her friend, prepared to hold back her hair like you had done for her so many times before. Before she rounded the corner, she stopped. You were standing next to a large trash can, gripping both sides tightly. But you weren’t alone. Sweet Pea was standing next to you, rubbing your back.

“This is mortifying,” You sobbed, tears streaming down your face. Instead of bounding in to take over, her first instinct, Cheryl stayed where she was, peering around the corner. “You do not have to stay for this. I should - I should - ”

You gagged and leaned over the trash can but didn’t vomit. Sweet Pea brushed a few tears from your eyes as you leaned back. “This is nothing. Fangs’ seventeen birthday? That was gross. Trust me. Like the exorcist.”

You laughed and then groaned again, placing one hand over your stomach. “I should have let you take me to the nurse in fifth period. You were right. I’ve been feeling sick all day. I didn’t even tell Cheryl, I just got snippy about her stupid salad. Ugh. That salad.”

You leaned over the trash can again and this time, everyone came up. Cheryl shuttered but watched as Sweet Pea stood by, brushing your hair out of your face and rubbing your back. It was sweet…in a disgusting sort of way. When you leaned back, he brushed the sweat from your forehead. He didn’t even flinch when you whipped the back of your mouth and spit. Instead, he pulled a water bottle out of his backpack and offered it to you. It was used, Cheryl noted, being half empty but it was a dire circumstance. You rinsed out your mouth and leaned again him, giving him your weight. “I think you have a fever. You feel any better?”

“I feel disgusting and queasy and embarrassed and I never want to show my face to the River Vixens of you ever again,” you confessed. Sweet Pea shook his head.

“Nah. That’s okay. You don’t need to do that. I’d miss your face.” Despite being disgusting and ill, you smiled at him. Cheryl felt her heart swell. It was so awkwardly cute. “I uh - I guess I’m trying to say that I don’t really care about my grades but I’ve been studying with you a lot. Like, I’ve been passing math for weeks and I’m still asking for your help. You know?”

“So you weren’t just in it for your love of learning,” you teased. Then your smile faltered and you brought your hand to your stomach. “I don’t know how I’m going to walk home. Ugh. I’m gonna lose it on the Cooper’s lawn.”

“I’ll drive you. Your mom gonna be home?” You shook your head. Your mother was rarely ever home. Often staying at the studio until 10 PM or later. It allowed you a lot of sleepovers but Cheryl knew you were often lonely, especially when you were sick. And Cheryl had been spending most of her time with Toni lately. “We’ll stop at the drugstore and I’ll grab a few things. I got you, okay?”

Sweet Pea wrapped his arm around your shoulder and guided you away from the foul-smell bin. Cheryl returned to her squad and grabbed her phone from her bag off the bench - she was the only one allowed to have her phone on them at rehearsal. Toni was leading the girls into a much smoother looking routine. “Ladies! I knew you had it in you. You are the Vixens I knew you could be. Take 5 - Nay, take 10. Then we’ll run it from the top and I’ll let you watch my solo.”

Cheryl joined Toni and wrapped her arms around her and kissed the top of her head. Toni hugged her tightly. When she pulled back, she asked “How’s our girl? You two make up?”

“Let’s just say, you’re much more intuitive and smart than the world gives you credit for. Mi amour, you deserve all the credit in the world.”

Cheryl kissed Toni firmly before pulling out her phone and texting you three words.

Seal. Of. Approval.

#riverdale #riverdale fanfiction #riverdale sweet pea #sick!reader #cheryl blossom #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x oc #sweet pea #fanfiction #riverdale fandom #fanfic #reader insert #x reader

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emmy-everafter · 7 months

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We're Gonna Need a Bigger Pentagram

I'm excited to finally reveal the fic I've been working on for this year's @grishaversebigbang --and just in time for spooky season! I was paired with four incredible materialki who created some truly excellent art to accompany the fic. You can check out their work here:

Art by @crypitick

Art by @polekands

Art #1 and Art #2 by @idkchatie

Art by @discountscoobyart

Without further ado, here is the first chapter of We're Gonna Need a Bigger Pentagram!

Fandoms: Six of Crows, Shadow & Bone (TV)

Rating: T

Relationships: Crows as found family (with minor Helnik, Kanej, and Wesper)

Modern/Housemates/Magic AU, Nina POV, Supernatural chosen family shenanigans with a side of humor

Ongoing (Ch. 1 of 6)

Summary: Nina Zenik is a vet med student who's almost done with her clinical rotations... but she's also secretly a very powerful witch. When someone brings a cursed, injured werewolf into the animal hospital, Nina decides to try to save his life, despite the bitter hatred that exists between wolves and witches. She enlists the help of her housemates, Jesper (who's also a witch), Inej (who's fae), and Kaz (who may or may not be a vampire). But breaking this curse requires more than Nina bargained for, and time is running out. Can the Crows save the werewolf before it's too late? More importantly, can they do it under the nose of their all-too-human housemate, Wylan? And--perhaps the most important question of all--will Nina finally get some decent waffles?

Read the first chapter (3k) below or on AO3.

Chapter 1: Why did it have to be werewolves?

(CW for non-graphic mentions of blood & injury, harm to an animal, brief references to drugs [anesthesia, weed])

The thing about werewolves, Nina thought, risking one more glance over her shoulder at the slab of fur trembling in her backseat, was that they didn’t exactly sedate easily.

Although that was probably a good thing, she supposed. If this particular wolf had gone down after the first two tranquilizers, then perhaps she never would have been called back to help, and then she would have been too late to do anything. Did you hear about the wolf? Park ranger brought him in. Hit by a car, probably. Too bad we couldn’t save him. So weird how his body seemed to reject every medication, every suture. Oh well, c’est la vie, back to the horses and the goats.

But he hadn’t gone down, and one of the techs had thundered past, shouting at her to come quick and give us a hand!

When Nina had arrived in the operating room, she knew immediately that this was no ordinary wolf. She could feel the prickle of magic tingling up her spine, could smell the supernatural on him. He was stretched out on a table, a mountain of silvery-gray fur, enormous and blood-soaked, still thrashing feebly even as three techs tried to hold him down.

She froze, staring at the shape of his muzzle, the slope of his ears—just a little off, nothing to notice unless you knew what to look for. His head had flopped over, and for a long moment the werewolf made eye contact with her. Nina let out a soft gasp despite herself, despite the fact that she’d seen shifted wolves a handful of times before. She knew that their eyes always looked so unbearably human, and yet—it caught her by surprise, the moment of recognition when he noticed her, the heartbreak and terror and pain in his expression, the shame.

Nina felt her heart shatter, just a little.

“Zenik, grab the tranq!” one of the techs had shouted at her as the wolf seemed to regain more of his energy, breaking away from her gaze to thrash more earnestly.

She hadn’t bothered to think it through. While there was still some part of her that recoiled like a hissing cat at the presence of a werewolf, some part of her that screamed danger! at the sight of his gleaming fangs that had probably killed countless witches in the past, those instincts had been overwhelmed by the pain in the wolf’s eyes and the knowledge that if she didn’t do something right now, she would have to watch him die.

Her decision was already made, one hand already surreptitiously weaving the spell as she picked up the syringe with the other. She needed to work quickly if she was going to have any chance at all.

She didn’t know much about werewolf biology. The packs were notoriously private, protective of any and all information regarding their own species, but what she did know was that it was incredibly dangerous—impossible, even—for outsiders to treat wolves in their shifted forms. Only pack healers had any hope of actually helping in these sorts of situations. And, of course, the fact that this wolf was shifted right now was another complicating factor in and of itself. It wasn’t a full moon, which meant that something had gone terribly wrong for this wolf to get shift-stuck—some kind of spell, she guessed, judging by the oppressive feeling of magic roiling off his body.

If her colleagues—regular, ordinary human vets who had no idea the supernatural world existed at all—tried to help the wolf, she was certain he’d end up dead in less than an hour. But of course, she’d reminded herself as her enchantment began to take hold, I don’t know how to safely help him, either.

The wolf had finally slumped down onto the table, unconscious… followed by all of the humans in the room, each pausing in the middle of whatever they’d been doing, still standing but otherwise out cold.

Nina had shaken out her wrists, cracked her neck, and started weaving the memory glamour. Her first thought was to make them forget the wolf had come in at all, but that would mean trying to account for the lost time, as well as finding the park ranger later to erase everything for her, too. Removing memories was always trickier anyway—you ran the risk of leaving a gap, an itch that the brain longed to scratch and scratch until it found an answer. Her coworkers might not remember the wolf, but some of them might have an unshakeable sense that something had happened, something strange and noteworthy they couldn’t quite recall, and that meant people might start asking questions, poking and prodding.

No, it would be easier to convince everyone that the wolf had died from his injuries not long after arriving, that his body had already been picked up by wildlife services, that all that anyone needed to do now was complete the requisite paperwork.

It would be quick, shoddy spellwork either way, and she’d probably have to fudge some records in the database during her next shift, but figuring out a plan to save the wolf came first.

The moment the glamour was complete, she’d whipped her phone out, putting the call on speaker so she could keep her hands free.

Genya picked up after three rings. “Hey, what’s up?”

“I need a favor,” she’d said without preamble, maneuvering a trolley over towards the wolf. It had probably taken four people to lift him up onto the table, but Nina had magic and gravity on her side.

“Okay…?” Genya sounded nervous, and given the wild sorts of favors she’d asked for in the past, Nina couldn’t really blame her.

“Can you get in touch with your contact in the Drüskelle pack? Someone brought in a wolf today—one of theirs, most likely—and I can’t do much to help him when he’s shift-stuck like this.”

Genya had taken a moment to process all of that—a shifted, injured werewolf, brought into the East Ketterdam Large Animal Hospital as if he were no different from the farm animals and racing horses they usually treated—then finally said, “I can try.”

“Good. I’m bringing him back to my place. Have them send a healer there.”

Genya hung up right before Nina’s spell slipped under the wolf’s enormous weight, causing him to fall the last few inches down onto the metal trolley with a loud crash. Even unconscious, the wolf whimpered in pain.

“Sorry,” she’d whispered, before turning her attention to the problem of getting to the parking lot without being seen.

And that was how Nina had ended up driving home as fast as she dared with a werewolf bleeding out in her backseat.

Her sleep spell was fairly strong, but she had no idea how long it would last on a creature this large, so she renewed the enchantment at every red light, just in case.

She also called Inej, the normally melodic timbre of her housemate’s voice sounding tinny and distorted when routed through the car’s speakers.

“What’s wrong, Nina?”

“What makes you think anything is wrong?” She drummed her fingers nervously on the wheel and fought the urge to look back at the wolf again. He was still breathing—she could feel it—but she wanted to check anyway. Just in case.

“If nothing was wrong, you would’ve just texted.”

“Maybe I wanted to hear my best friend’s voice.”

“Nina,” Inej sighed, “just tell me.”

Nina huffed in response. “Fine. Look, is everyone at home?”

“I think so? Well, Jesper had some meetings but he’s on his way back here. He said he was gonna stop and pick up pizza for everyone.”

“Okay, if he gets back before me, I need him to start weaving some soundproofing spells in the basement. Go ahead and grab my bestiary and bring it down there, and my potions kit, too. And we’re gonna need lots of towels, as many as you can find. You’ll have to keep Wylan upstairs somehow.”

Nina hit another red light and bit her lip to reign in a frustrated groan. This is taking too long.

“It’s Thursday. Wylan’s probably planning to do his laundry tonight,” Inej replied.

“You’ll just have to think of some excuse. Tell him the machine is broken or something. But he can’t be down there.”

“And why is that, exactly?”

Cars streamed past in front of her, racing endlessly through the intersection, their light still green, Nina’s still red.

Fuck it. She raised her hands over the steering wheel and mumbled the incantation under her breath, improvising the words a little to fit the magic to the stoplight—it was technically a spell meant for turning an ordinary light on and off, but she thought it might work.

For a moment, nothing happened, and Nina worried that perhaps the stoplight mechanism had too many switches and circuits or too many digital parts for her simple spell to have any effect. She’d never been great with technomagic—as a heartrender, blood and bodies were her specialty—and the more something was computerized and complex, the harder it was for her to navigate. But then…

One last flick of her wrist, and the light for the cross traffic went yellow.

“Nina?” Inej’s voice was sharper now, closer to a warning. “What’s going on?”

Green light. Fucking finally.

“Soooo,” she began, her car surging forward again, “I may or may not be bringing work home.”

“If this is another goat, Nina, I swear…”

Nina winced. Once, she’d snuck a dying goat out of the clinic when her coworkers had decided there was nothing left to be done for the poor creature. And when it came to a human understanding of veterinary medicine, perhaps they were correct, but Nina knew she could save him with the spells in her bestiary and the power of her blood magic. She’d known her housemates wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about the situation. What she hadn’tanticipated was Jesper getting attached.

So now, Milo the goat lived in the shed beside the greenhouse, to the immense displeasure of everyone in Crow House except Jesper. When he stayed in his pen, Milo was tolerable, even adorable, but when he escaped—as he did at least two or three times a month—he became a menace, eating anything he could get his nasty little hooves on. So far, Milo’s list of victims included some of Wylan’s sheet music, one of Nina’s astrological grimoires, a pair of Inej’s pointe shoes, three pairs of Kaz’s ridiculously expensive gloves, multiple waffles, an entire carton of wontons, and some of everything that Jesper and Nina grew in the greenhouse out back, including an unholy amount of weed.

“The good news is, it’s not a goat,” Nina said brightly.

Inej heaved a resigned sigh. “And the bad news…?”

“The bad news is that it’s a werewolf.”

“Nina!” Inej groaned.

“He’s dying! And shift-stuck! What was I supposed to do?” Nina took a turn a little too hard, and in the backseat, the wolf slid and hit his muzzle against the door. Shit.

“What can you even do? You can’t treat a shifted wolf.”

“I know!” Her fingers clenched around the wheel. “Look, it’s temporary, okay? I’ve already called a friend who has contacts in the local pack. They’ll send someone to help and then it won’t be our problem anymore. We just need to keep him stable until the healer comes.”

Inej was quiet on the other end for a long moment. Eventually, she said, “Fine. I’ll see what towels I can find.”

Nina blew out her breath, relieved. “Thank you. I’ll be there in fifteen. It might be good to have some blood on hand, if Kaz has any. And make sure Wylan…”

“Yeah, I’ll keep him upstairs,” Inej interrupted. “See you soon.”

The call disconnected. Nina pressed a thumb to her temple where a headache had already started to build, rubbing the pad of her finger into the skin and releasing a small thread of magic to chase the pain away.

She knew Inej was irritated with her, but at least Nina could trust that her best friend would be on board with helping an injured creature. Inej was kind like that—compassionate, always empathetic with the pain of others. She wouldn’t just let the wolf die, even if taking him in was inconvenient in a number of ways. And Jesper probably wouldn’t mind much either. He was always down for Nina’s wild and unexpected shenanigans, as long as no harm came to his friends or to his precious hats. If all went well, Wylan would never know anything was happening. But Kaz…

Kaz is going to absolutely hate this.

The situation ticked off almost every box on the list of things Kaz didn’t like: last-minute surprises, strangers in his space, unnecessary risks, sticking his neck out for other people, making Nina happy. And while most decisions in Crow House were made democratically, Kaz remained resolutely in charge of the chore schedule, which he enforced by subtly reminding his housemates that he could drain all the money from their bank accounts—and possibly all the blood from their bodies—in the blink of an eye. Nina had a feeling there would be a lot of toilet scrubbing in her future.

She was only a few minutes away from home when her phone rang again.

“I managed to get in touch with the pack,” Genya said when she picked up.

Immediately, Nina could hear something cautious in her tone, something grim. “And?”

“They’re not sending anyone.”

“Why the hell not?” Without meaning to, Nina found herself nearly shouting.

“Nina…”

She didn’t have to see Genya’s face to know what expression she wore in that moment—Nina had seen it too many times during her years with the Grisha to ever forget, not just from Genya but from everyone. Zoya’s infuriatingly calm voice echoed through her head, shaming her, as always, for being too fucking much, for acting recklessly from a place of emotion rather than trying to be reasonable. Slow down, Nina. Get ahold of your anger. Control yourself.

And as always, it only served to make her even more enraged.

“They’re the only ones who can help him! Are they really just going to let one of their own die?”

Genya sighed. “Yes, that’s exactly what they’re going to do. In fact, I think it was their goal all along.”

“What?” she screeched, stomping on the brakes in her anger.

Luckily, there was no one on the street behind her, although the wolf did slide forward a bit on the backseat, letting out another heart-wrenching whimper of pain.

“The guy I spoke to was being cagey about it, but I think I pieced most of the story together. The wolf is called Matthias Helvar, and the Drüskelle exiled him from their pack about a month ago.”

“Why?” Nina made no move to start driving forward again, not trusting herself to keep control of the car in that moment.

“I’m not sure. It sounds like he broke pack law, screwed up badly enough that they not only kicked him out but also cursed him.”

Cursed? Nina glanced over her shoulder at the shivering, unconscious wolf, covered in congealing blood that clumped in his fur and stained the fabric of the seat below him, and she suddenly understood.

“That’s why he’s shift-stuck,” she murmured, shocked by the cruelty of it.

“From what I gather, it’s some kind of… werewolf reversal? Where he’s only in his human form on the full moon and stays shifted the rest of the time, instead of the other way around. Apparently, he followed one of their hunting parties down to Ketterdam and was trying to sneak into their camp. When they chased him off, he ran onto the highway and got hit by a semi-truck.”

“So they already knew he was injured?”

Genya’s voice was quiet when she replied, “Nina, they left him for dead.”

Nina knew all too well what it was like to be betrayed and abandoned by the people who were supposed to be your family, but this… She shook her head, angry tears pricking at her eyes. This wolf—this Matthias—had been exiled, cursed, and left to die on the side of a highway by his own pack. Surely, no transgression against Drüskelle law was awful enough to merit that kind of punishment, right?

Faint memories of her lessons at the Little Palace began to trickle in—diagrams in textbooks illustrating the cold, draconian hierarchies of the Northern packs, lectures about wolf culture that devolved into tirades about the Drüskelle’s violent attempts to destroy not only the Grisha organization, but all witches everywhere, fueled by their hypocritical ideology that saw werewolves as the next step in evolution but witches as an unnatural abomination to be cleansed from the earth like a plague. The wolves are not like us, she remembered hearing, over and over. They did not come from the Other Realm but instead began as humans, and like humans, they cannot be trusted.

Nina had spent the past few years trying to unlearn the prejudice and cynicism instilled in her at the Little Palace, with varying levels of success, but now, she wondered if perhaps they’d been right about some things.

“What are you going to do?” Genya asked.

“I don’t know,” she replied, trying—and likely failing—not to sound too murderous. “I’ll figure something out.”

“Just remember that he’s a wolf, Nina.”

“Does that mean he deserves to die?” she snapped in response.

“No, but he probably thinks that you do, just by virtue of existing as a witch. He may not want your help, and even if you do somehow manage to save him, he might very well kill you in your sleep instead of saying thank you.”

Nina knew she was probably right, and yet… This is why I left—so I could help everyone, not just the people that the Grisha think are worth saving.

“I can handle myself. And I’m not going to sink to their level. Unlike some people, I’m not obsessed with only protecting my own kind.”

With that, Nina hung up and disconnected the phone from the car’s bluetooth, and then, for good measure, put her phone on silent and tossed it into her bag in the passenger seat. She knew she wasn’t being fair, especially since Genya was one of the only people in the Grisha still willing to help her now that she’d gone independent. But it was hard not to be angry when she could hear Matthias’s heartbeat fluttering dangerously just a few feet behind her, could feel his nerves sparking with pain, knowing that his own family had let it happen, caused it to happen, because of one mistake.

It was hard not to relate—even if that meant empathizing with a damn werewolf.

A sudden honk behind her reminded Nina that she was still stopped in the middle of the road.

“Alright, I’m going! Saints.” She finally lifted her foot from the brake and got the car moving again, squeezing the wheel tightly to stop her hands from trembling. Her headache was already coming back—she’d probably need to take one of those human painkillers when she got home and conserve her magical energy for… well, for whatever it was going to take to help this wolf.

Maybe Matthias wouldn’t want her help. Maybe he would try to attack her (although in that case, she could always sic Kaz on him). Maybe she wouldn’t be able to do anything at all and the wolf would die in their basement amongst the piles of Jesper’s dirty laundry and Inej’s sweat-soaked practice mats.

But Nina Zenik had never once backed down from a challenge. She’d been top of her class in vet school for three years in a row and was the best heartrender the Little Palace had seen in more than a century—even Zoya had admitted it. And if there was any chance at all of saving this wolf, nothing in this realm or the next could stop Nina from trying…

Not even her housemates.

#gvbb23 #gvbbfic23 #gang11 #grishaverse big bang #my fic #six of crows #shadow and bone #nina zenik #inej ghafa #matthias helvar #kaz brekker #jesper fahey #wylan van eck

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aalissy · 25 days

Text

Truth or Dare

I'm back with chapter 2! Hope you enjoy this bit of pre-relationship Adrienette fluff bc they're my favorite babies and I love them soo sooo much! Lemme know what you think <3

AO3

Marinette huffed quietly, blowing a strand of her dark hair out of her eyes. Her expression soured as her eyes narrowed towards where the sound of Alya’s laughter was coming from.

The laughter wouldn’t have bothered her at all. She frequently rejoiced in the sound of her best friend’s giggles (particularly if Marinette was the one causing said laughter.)

No, the issue was what Alya was laughing at.

Liela, whose pointed smirk was aimed directly at Marinette as she placed a hand on Alya’s shoulder.

She was taunting her. Berating her. Practically screaming haha, I was still invited to your best friend’s party even though you know that I’m a liar and have warned Alya about it countless times.

It was only supposed to be her, Adrien, Alya, and Nino. So how did Lila manage to get invited?

Marinette’s blood simmered as she crushed her hand around her glass so tightly she was surprised it hadn’t shattered into a million tiny shards.

“Hey, careful there,” a quiet voice murmured in her ear. “Don’t want to break that glass.”

Her eyes widened and she whipped her head around as the touch of a warm hand slid softly over hers.

Marinette squeaked softly, her grip instantly loosening on the cup as it began to tumble out of her hands. She winced, preparing for the loud crash of the glass exploding all over Alya’s hardwood floor.

But it never came.

Instead, Adrien grinned over at her sheepishly. His emerald eyes peered up at her apologetically as he extended the cup back out for her to take. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have startled you.”

“No, no!” Marinette quickly assured, rushing to take the glass back from him as their fingers bumped against one another. Her cheeks warmed and she quickly snatched her hand back.

Her head already felt dizzy from the mere two times her hand had brushed against Adrien’s. Which, honestly, was probably going to do even worse things for her clumsiness.

With a quiet, relieved sigh, Marinette carefully placed the glass on Alya’s center table, grateful that it was now out of danger of being harmed by her.

“Seriously, Adrien, thank you very much for saving my glass.” Marinette nibbled on her lip shyly. “I’d have hated to make a mess in Alya’s living room.”

All at once his sheepish grin turned more charming as he bowed with a flourish. She couldn’t help but giggle when Adrien leaned back up to wink at her. “Of course, Marinette. After all, what sort of gentleman would I be if I didn’t rescue the lady's glass from falling? Especially if I was the one who almost caused said fall.” He nudged her with an elbow adding that last part in a whisper.

Marinette snorted loudly as Adrien wiggled his eyebrows at her.

Wow. It was hard to believe not two seconds ago she had been ready to murder Lila. Trust Adrien to be the only one who could make her laugh when she had been two seconds away from a blinding hot rage.

With a delicate curtsey, Marinette grinned up at him. “Well, this lady thanks you for your service.” Upon standing up she gave an exaggerated sigh, draping her hand across her forehead. “Oh, if only you could be around all the time. Do you know how many broken glasses you would be able to save for me?”

“Well, I...,” he started before someone squeezed in between them.

Marinette blinked in surprise, taking a step back from the new arrival. She hadn’t realized how close she had been to Adrien and she felt her cheeks flush at the unexpected proximity. The giddiness soon faded away as she finally noticed who had slid in between them.

It was Lila.

She was smiling up at Adrien, her hand spreading out on his chest even as he grimaced, leaning away from her touch.

“Hey, Adrien. We were just about to begin a game of truth or dare if you wanted to join us?” Lila asked, her sweet voice grating on her ears.

Marinette rolled her eyes, crossing her arms against her chest. Of course Lila couldn’t even be bothered to greet her as her attention remained solely on Adrien.

However, once Marinette saw his panicked gaze dart over to her pleadingly she quickly snapped out of her annoyance. Reaching around Lila, she grabbed Adrien’s hand and tugged him out of her grip.

With a pasted-on sickly sweet grin, she said, “We’d love to join, Lila!”

She watched as Lila’s face darkened into a scowl for but an instant before it had disappeared, replaced with a copy of Marinette’s cheerful grin. “And we’d love to have you both but unfortunately there’s only room for one player. So sorry, Marinette, bu-”

Her lie was cut off as Alya joined them, sipping on her drink. “What are you talking about, Lila? I invited you over here to ask both Marinette and Adrien if they wanted to join.”

Marinette’s lips pursed as Lila’s eyes flashed with anger before she turned to Alya with a saccharine smile. “Oh, I’m sorry! I must have heard wrong. You know my tinnitus has been starting to act up again lately which just makes it so difficult to hear.”

Both Adrien and Marinette gave each other knowing looks as Alya nodded sadly, patting her friend's shoulder. “No worries, Lila. I’m so sorry to hear that. I hope it gets better again.”

Lila simply winced in return, rubbing at her ears as her lips transformed into a small pout.

“So, truth or dare then?” Adrien interjected, clapping his hands before rubbing them together.

Marinette glanced at Adrien, grateful for the distraction from Lila's presence. "Sure, let's play!"

“Great!” Alya grinned at them both before nodding over at the couch. “Let’s head on over so we can get started then.”

As the small group made their way over to the couch, Alya called out, “Hey, Nino! Truth or dare?”

“Dare, of course, babe.”

She snickered as a wicked gleam entered her eyes. “I dare you to do a head spin.”

“Done deal!” Nino jumped up and stretched his arms out. With a slowly released breath, he did a handstand before carefully lowering his head to the ground. He actually managed to spin for a few seconds before crashing onto the floor with a loud bang.

“Nice job, babe.” Alya gave him a quick kiss when he sat back up, rubbing his head. “That looked kind of cool for the first few seconds.”

He laughed softly, stealing her hand in his as he gave it a quick squeeze. “Just trying to impress you.”

“Shut up and pick someone else to go now!” She laughed teasingly, her eyes sparkling at Nino with amusement.

He chuckled before scanning their small group, his eyes landing on Lila. “Lila, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

Adrien and Marinette both couldn’t hide a snicker and she threw a fierce glare their way.

“Mmm.” Nino hummed, tapping his chin in thought. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “Ah, I got it! What’s the most embarrassing thing that has happened to you during the school year so far?”

Lila’s teeth dug into her lower lip as she lowered her head, her hair covering her face before she tucked it back behind her ear. Her eyes welled with crocodile tears as she placed a hand across her chest earnestly. “It had to have been when my Mendacii Syndrome acted up and I accidentally said that Marinette pushed me down the stairs and stole my grandmother’s pendant. You know I didn’t mean any of those things, right Marinette? And you must know how sorry I am that I said that.”

Marinette’s nails dug harshly into her skin as she tried to bite back the harsh laugh that nearly left her lips. Lila had almost gotten her expelled and she wanted her to believe she was sorry?!

Pfft, yeah right.

With anger simmering in her blood, she opened her mouth to shout that she’d never believe her lies again when a calming hand was placed on her leg.

Blinking in surprise, Marinette turned to look at Adrien who slowly shook his head at her. His gaze darted to Alya and then back to her until she understood. Her best friend had already put her arms around the liar, consoling her.

“It’s alright, Lila. Marinette forgave you for this a long time ago. Didn’t you, Marinette?”

Forcing out a bitter smile, she gave a stiff nod. “Yeah. Alya’s right. It’s all water under the bridge now, Lila,” she spat out.

Lila sniffled, swiping the palm of her hand against the false tear tracks on her cheeks. A tremulous grin lit up her face as she spoke earnestly, “You don’t know how happy I am to hear that, Marinette.”

“Of course.” She resisted the urge to roll her eyes, but only just.

“So it’s my turn now, right?” Lila brightened considerably as she turned to Adrien. “Truth or dare?”

“Oh, uh, truth I guess.” He scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“Boring!” Alya groaned, throwing her head back. “When are we going to get back to the dares?”

Adrien chuckled. “I promise to pick you next then.”

Alya looked over at Marinette, a devilish gleam lighting up her eyes as though she had just come up with a plan. “Deal!”

“So, who’s your biggest celebrity crush?”

Lila asked, twirling her hair as she smirked over at Marinette who shifted uncomfortably in her seat at the question. She really didn’t want to hear Adrien talk about whichever model he was crushing on at the moment.

“Honestly?” Adrien laughed quietly. “It’s Ladybug.”

“Amen to that sunshine!” Alya cheered, thrusting her glass in the air.

Marinette felt her cheeks instantly burn a bright red.

Ladybug was Adrien’s celebrity crush?

Ladybug?!

Her mouth dried as she instantly conjured up a fantasy of swooping into Adrien’s room one day and stealing his lips in a sweet kiss. Feeling suddenly hazy from the beautifully conjured scenario, Marinette shook her head as she snapped back into focus on their game.

Alya had just come running back into the living room, clutching a black marker to her chest. “Come on, Nino. You heard the man. Give me the funniest mustache you can!”

Pursing his lips in concentration, Nino plucked the marker from her as he began to draw an outrageously large handlebar mustache above Alya’s lips. When he was done, he pulled back and gestured to her face. “My masterpiece is done.”

The group giggled at the sight as Alya scrambled for her phone. After looking at it in her camera, she also burst into laughter. “Good job, babe! I look amazing!”

Wiggling her lips back and forth, Alya deepened her voice. “Now I better not catch you young whippersnappers staying up too late tonight!”

Their group roared with laughter at the sight and Marinette wiped a tear of joy from her eye.

“Alright, it’s my turn now, right?” Alya snickered, turning over to look at her with a giddy smirk. “Marinette, you haven’t gone yet! Truth or dare?”

She gulped in a deep breath, every muscle in her body tensing. She was unable to keep her gaze from darting over to Adrien.

Well, this was nerve-wracking. She either chose truth and had to reveal her crush to him or chose dare and had to do something embarrassing in front of him.

Alright, dare it was then.

“D-dare,” Marinette stuttered, nibbling nervously on her lower lip.

“I’ll give you two options for your dare then, alright?” Alya gave her a small, gentle smile. “I dare you to either text your crush and let us all see what you type...”

Alright. Nope. That was not happening. She was not gonna let everyone watch her type a message to Adrien. Option 2 it was then.

“...Or kiss the hottest person in the room.”

Scratch that! Rewind!

“T-Truth! I-I meant truth!” Marinette choked out.

“Ooh, too late for that I’m afraid.” Alya tsked, shaking her head. “You chose dare and those are your two options.”

Lila’s voice interjected before she could continue to plead for her case. “I don’t know, Alya. Marinette has seemed pretty shy and scared this whole night. Maybe you should let her do a redo.”

Marinette glared over at her. Well, now she was absolutely doing one of Alya’s dares. No way was she going to let Lila call her a coward!

Mustering up all the Ladybug courage that she had, she turned to face Adrien. Drawing in a deep breath, she slowly leaned towards him.

As Marinette leaned in towards him, her heart raced with both nervousness and excitement. Adrien watched her, his emerald eyes wide with curiosity and just a hint of what seemed to be anticipation.

Marinette began closing the distance between them, her lips hovering just inches away from him. Very, very softly, she closed her eyes and brushed a kiss against his cheek. His skin was warm beneath her and she fought the urge to linger.

Before she could do something stupid, like bring her lips closer to his own, Marinette pulled back. Not wanting to look directly at Adrien, she didn’t open her eyes until after she faced the rest of the group. “A-alright then, w-who, um, wants to go next?”

The room was silent for a few beats and she squirmed uncomfortably in her seat before Lila spoke up, “You can do me next, Marinette!”

Bemoaning the fact that it was Lila who saved her from the awkward silence, she cleared her throat. “Okay truth or dare?”

While waiting for her answer, Marinette snuck a glance over to Alya who mouthed call me later over to her.

Feeling slightly confused, she gave Lila an easy truth after she responded. She already knew she wouldn’t get an honest response anyway.

Marinette raised an eyebrow at her best friend, wondering what she was talking about. Alya glanced pointedly at Adrien before her gaze flicked back over to her.

Carefully, she snuck a peek over at the boy sitting next to her. Her own cheeks lit up as she noticed that his entire face had turned red. Her stomach fluttered giddily at the sight. Had she caused that?

Oh, Marinette was definitely calling Alya later tonight. Now she was just dying to know her perspective! She had to know when Adrien started blushing!

#adrinetteapril2024 #adrienetteapril2024 #adrinetteapril #adrienetteapril #adrinette #adrienette #pre relationship #pre s5 #lila #truth or dare #ladrien #cheek kiss

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ell-vellan · 1 year

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I know it's a function of the game to let the player take back a choice they didn't want to necessarily make to initiate a romance, but I find it narratively interesting to think about a Lavellan that immediately agrees with Solas that yes, their kiss in the Fade was ill-advised and a relationship was not a good idea. He’s hesitant, but obviously he let himself go for a few minutes there, and now he’s back in reality where this should definitely not happen. I like to think about a Lavellan that would read that as “okay, he’s not actually interested” and back off.

Solas, who tried to do the right thing and pull away from a growing and very surprising affection for this person that he didn't -- and shouldn't! -- even really consider a person, patting himself on the back when he successfully puts her off pursuing him, even when a little gnawing ache wears at him at the same time. But it’s a small pain, in the long life he’s lived, in the grand scheme of things, and he has to stay focused on his ultimate goal.

And this Lavellan, hurt by his insinuation that her affection is unwelcome, hides it by agreeing to keep things professional. They shake hands and continue as friends.

But Solas continues to pine in private.

Fighting beside a person he plans to betray to save a world he knows he is going to end. Growing in surprised admiration of her abilities and her Dalish ways, misinformed and simplistic as they may be, but still valuable and precious. Letting her open his eyes, with small and mundane moments of beauty, to the value of this world -- which he has to push pointedly away, time and time again.

Seeing the way the world starts to respond and change in response to her choices. Becoming the most powerful elf in generations, possibly with the ability to fix more than the Breach. She listens to him, surprises him, helps him in ways he never expects.

I love imagining them growing close as friends but only that. Lavellan keeping that careful line he'd drawn, at his request, and being respectful of it. Ignoring any attraction she might once have had, because it wasn’t reciprocated.

All the while he's growing more secretly more obsessed with her, painting her story in his rotunda, his constant daily thoughts filled with her and what he must do to her. Watching her grow closer to another, and having to sit by while she falls in love with someone else. Smiling tightly, all the while.

And burning up inside while thinking more and more about that one kiss in the Fade. What he turned down. What could have been, if he'd only let himself have her. Letting it taunt him in the dark hours of the night, while he proceeds with coldly destroying everything she holds dear.

Turning her down may have made it easier to face the shattered anguish of betrayal in her eyes when he had to reveal his true nature and walk away, knowing he hadn’t let her fall in love with him. He contents himself that at least he spared her that much, but it didn’t make walking away easier for him.

He knew she’d chase him, once she knew. Try to stop him. He’d learned that was who she was -- someone who would always try to save those she cared about, stand against any evil that would threaten the world.

He’d become that evil.

This way, at least, she could pursue him without love getting in her way.

If love wouldn’t stop him, it shouldn’t stop her, either.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #Solavallen #solas #dragon age meta #solasmance #lol this got away from me #but i've been thinking about it so much #unrequited love solas #mutual pining solas #angst #does this even make sense who knows #my headcanon world state is a solas who loved Lavellan from afar while she romanced someone else #my posts

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elenarodriiguez · 2 years

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if the pain is endless how can i live? | w.d. & j.s.

summary: jemma always hoped that one day will would come back to her. she never thought she’d have to stipulate alive or dead.

pairing: will daniels x jemma simmons

cw: drug addiction, character death

word count: 1479

read it on ao3

Will is dead.

Funny how three little words, ten whole letters, could shatter someone’s world like it was nothing. Like it was the easiest thing in the whole entire world. She doesn’t know what’s worse: the vehement denial she lived in when the police were at her front door or seeing his lifeless corpse on the autopsy table.

Will had never been dull, or lifeless for that matter. He’d always been so bright and lively, joking with everyone he met, teasing Jemma just to make her smile. Even when he got hurt at work, he’d never lost his spark. It had waned somewhat, but it wasn’t gone completely.

Jemma feels terrible as she stares at him, a silent procession of tears streaming down her face, because he looks so wrong. It isn’t just the lifelessness that comes with corpses, he’d changed drastically since she’d last seen him. His eyes were sunken in, he was far too skinny, his stubble was too long and untamed and his lips were horribly chapped.

She didn’t want to remember him like this. The good times, before the accident, hell even for a while after, those are how she wants him to appear in her mind. Not like this. The ultimatum hadn’t been enough for him to live, and in a way she’d known that for months now, but here he is, dying proof of the fact.

In a selfish way she wishes that the divorce papers had made their way to him. This way she wouldn’t be next of kin, she wouldn’t be in the police station identifying his body, it would be his mother’s job. God, his mother. They’d kept in touch, after the separation, but never did she think this would be the end of their obligations to one another.

“How did he die?” She asks the chief medical examiner, a tall blonde woman with warm eyes she couldn’t make contact with.

“The toxicology results haven’t come back yet, but our preliminary findings indicate it was a fatal overdose. Detective Hunter from the Drug Unit and Lieutenant May from the Suspicious Deaths Unit will want to speak to you later, if they haven’t done so already.”

“Yes, I know. They were the ones who did the notice.” Jemma says, her voice barely louder than a whisper as she stares at her dead husband. “Is this my fault?”

“Mrs Daniels-” Dr. Morse says, only to be interrupted by Jemma correcting her, her voice hitching as she tries to maintain composure. “Dr. Simmons, excuse me for talking out of place but there was nothing you could have done to save him, from his addiction or his death. The fact that you’re here right now is testament to the relationship you both had before your separation.”

“Okay.” The medical examiner pretends not to notice the brunette harshly scrubbing her tears from her cheeks, hovering a step behind her. “Am I free to leave? I already spoke with them, I really would like to go home now.”

“Of course, is there anyone I can call for you, anyone who can drive you home, look after you?”

“I already called someone, he’s waiting outside. Please, help them catch whoever gave him the drugs, I don’t want his death to be in vain.”

“It won’t be, thanks for your time Dr. Simmons.”

With a terse nod of her head, she follows Dr. Morse out of the precinct, a cardigan wearing man stretching his arms out wide for her the moment she clears the metal detectors. She falls into his arms, her soft sniffles turning into heartbroken sobs as she lets out a wail, barely muffled by the soft fabric. He clings to her even tighter, ignoring the looks the both of them are receiving by the crowd of civilians and police staff alike milling around them.

As the guy escorts her out of the building, she turns to head back downstairs, pressing the down arrow on the elevator before pressing the up one a second later. It wouldn’t do any harm to bug Hunter with her findings and encourage him to hurry it along a little. She just hopes that his death didn’t have to be for nothing after all. If not for his sake, then the widow who was now mourning two versions of the same man.

A week later, Jemma gets another call from the police district, asking that she come to collect his personal belongings as they release his body to the funeral home. When Fitz hears of it, he offers to go with her, not taking her halfhearted refusals for an answer, and together they make their way down to the precinct. Ever since she’d had the notification, Jemma had been wrought with guilt, blaming herself for not being able to fix him or save him from himself.

What ifs had been coursing through her mind, keeping her up until the earliest hours of the morning, her dreams filled with twisted versions of her favourite memories with him, and his body haunted her mind every time she shut her eyes. If it weren’t for the fact that his mother had already flown back to Toronto to prepare his funeral, she would have insisted that she collect them for her, but here she was. Just about standing on her own two feet, wearing his old NASA shirt and a pair of leggings, her hair a matted greasy mess.

Her dishevelled appearance only draws the attention of the civilians in the building, the staff much more accustomed to the sight of grieving family members, but Jemma can’t find it in herself to care all that much. Next to Fitz, who was dressed in his work clothes as he’d been about to leave for the university when she got the call, she looks even more pathetic, probably why she gets more pitying looks than scathing glares of disapproval. One of the desk officers, a man named Officer Davis, offers to take them up to the Suspicious Deaths Unit floor to meet with Lieutenant May, but they politely refuse his offer, having both been up there multiple times in the past week and knowing how to get up there.

The elevator takes far too much and too little time to reach the floor, and when they walk in, Lieutenant May is ready and waiting for them both, ushering them into her office without saying a word. His belongings easily fit into a brown box, and Jemma mourns who he used to be, knowing that before his accident he’d had a life with her, that they’d had a house together and were planning on getting a dog or a cat together.

And he’d wound up here. Not even a filebox worth of things. She doesn’t hear the older woman step out of the office, all she can stare at is the wallet in the box, a prepaid phone, his favourite hoodie and a pair of trainers she’d bought him for his last birthday with her. Pulling the wallet from the things, she thumbs through the various sections, a choked out sob coming out the second she sees one of their wedding pictures, creased and worn from folding it over and over again.

Clutching it to her chest, her sobs increasing in strength tenfold, she flings the wallet in Fitz’s direction, not noticing when he opens the coin section and empties it out on the desk. Before them are dozens of chips from NA and AA, citing days, weeks, even months of sobriety. The highest value one was a 90 day one, and Fitz flips it across his knuckles while Jemma rocks back and forth in the chair, very nearly creasing the picture further.

As her tears slowly subside, she looks up to see the chips and starts crying again, this time slow but steady tears that she can’t stop, her distress silent rather than loud enough for the whole world to hear. When the older woman slips back in, a solemn look on her face, Fitz gently shakes Jemma’s shoulder and starts to place all of Will’s things back into the box, allowing the widow to hold onto the picture while he sorts out everything else.

“Dr. Simmons, Jemma.” Lieutenant May says as they’re both walking out of the office. “If I could offer you some advice.”

“Sure.” She whispers, not looking away from the picture for one minute.

“Live for him. Live the life he’ll never get to have. Don’t let your grief consume you. He obviously loved you a lot, don’t let all of that love go to waste.”

“Thank you.”

As the pair leave the squad room, Jemma still clinging onto his picture tightly while Fitz rubs her arm, May hopes the young woman manages to climb out of the grief spiral, before it’s too late for her to do much of anything at all.

#marvel #agents of shield #willjemma #will daniels #jemma simmons #agents of shield oneshot #agents of shield imagine #daisy writes

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wallflowerimagines · 3 years

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Hello! Um... I don’t really know how to start this but say I love your hc! I think you do a fantastic job on them, there all very sweet but being the s.o.b I am I’m here to ask for some angst. How would you think the lords act if their S/O died?

...I'm feeling mean. 😈

Warnings: Angst, Death, Horror Game villains making bad decisions/not coping with tragedy, suicide.

Alcina Dimitrescu

Denial, Denial, Denial

You can't be dead. There has to be something, anything that she can do to save you. Alcina scrambles for a solution, attacking the problem from all sides, despite the reality of the situation staring her in the face.

Immediately injects your body with Cadou in a desperate hope to save you. Any possible chance that he has to save you she's going to take it.

It's not likely that your corpse reanimates, but it does mutate. At the end of the process, what's left of your body hardly even looks like you anymore, and she can't bring herself to look at it.

She builds a gilded crypt for your body-- it's stunning. It's inspired by you, all your favorite colors, styles and hobbies are incorporate to make the room feel full of your spirit. Alcina is an artistic woman, and she throws herself into the project like she's possessed.

It might take years, even decades to complete. It has to be perfect. When it's done she feels accomplished, but twice as empty. It might be one of the most beautiful dedications she's ever made, but it can't replace you. She has the room sealed off with no way to get to it, so she can't be tempted to visit. She just needs a piece of of you still in her home, or she can't get through the day.

...If your corpse does reanimate, it's actually worse for Alcina. Whatever she brought back was a shambling, horrifying mess of mold wearing your face. It couldn't think for itself, or even follow commands--it just wanders in circles and attacks anything that gets too close.

She keeps your reanimated corpse in a cell, unable to bring herself to destroy it completely. Sometimes, she'll go down to the basement and talk to the thing like it is you, telling it about her day, having one-sided conversations and thinking of all the wonderful memories the two of you shared.

When its dead eyes meet hers, her lungs seize in her chest and tears gather in her eyes. Alcina doesn't cry often, but when your corpse meets her gaze she starts to sob. Those eyes used to look at her with life and love and now...

Still, she can't stop herself from visiting it. It's a compulsion she can't stop, and it tears open the wound every time, but some irrational part of her deep, deep down thinks that one day, she'll descend those steps and you'll be there to greet her with a warm smile.

In either scenario, she will never have another partner. You're impossible to replace, and she feels truly, genuinely empty without you. Rest well, Darling. You'll never be forgotten.

Donna Beneviento

There is such a thing as a last straw, and this is it for Donna.

Please remember: this is a woman who has lost everything. Mother Miranda might have given her a new "family", but Donna is not nearly as attached to these new members as she is to her original family. And the loss of her original family has shaped her in such a way that if you died? She would be absolutely devastated.

It's not fair to put this kind of pressure on you, but in a very real way you were her last hope for normalcy. She had all these plans to fix her family with you. You were so instrumental to her hopes for the future that now that you're gone, it feels like she has no hope at all. You were her missing link, her one true love, and now that you're dead...

Donna screams until her throat is raw when she finds out you're gone. Angie can't help her, nothing can. She just can't cope with reality anymore.

She'll build a life sized Doll of you to try to help herself cope, but the minute she tries to implant of piece of her Cadou in it, she is filled with such a vehement hatred of the thing that she starts scream-crying before she takes an axe to it's face and hacks it to pieces. How dare it pretend to be you?!! It's not even close to the real thing, she shouldn't even have tried--

She might try to induce a hallucination of you to help her get through the day to day, but it's not the same. She can't perfectly mimic your laugh, or your smile, or the way you tuck her hair away from her face. It's so obviously not you, and Donna is... alone.

I do hate to say it, but she will absolutely try to kill herself if you died. You were the one person who understood her, empathized with her, and you were her best friend. You were her support system, the one person who could carry her through the worst times in her life, but you're gone. Donna can't believe that anyone else could be there for her like you were.

Salvatore Moreau

Absolutely, irreparably broken.

When the two of you were in a relationship, you busied yourself not only with smothering Salvatore in all of the love and affection that you could, but you also did a lot to help his self-esteem and mental health.

You made sure he knew that he was loved, that you could never hate him, and even on your death bed you make him promise never to forget how wonderful he is.

Once you're gone, though, Salvatore cracks.

He clings to every bit of you felt behind. All of your jewelry, clothing, pictures and sentimental items are preserved to the best of his ability. Your living space is transformed into a shrine dedicated to you.

It's not healthy, but he also deifies you in his memory. Mother Miranda is no longer the only person that he worships-- the memory of you is now sacred to him. You become something holy and perfect in his mind's eye. It doesn't matter how many flaws you had in reality, your death has turned even your worst flaws into traits to be admired and praised. His perception of you is totally twisted.

Speaking of Mother Miranda, he regresses a lot. His adoration of Mother Miranda was something you were helping him work through, but now he's right back at square one, and even worse off than before.

Moreau can't make a decision on his own anymore--from what to say, to what to do, and sometimes even what to eat. After all, it's his fault that you died, isn't it? You were his partner and he used to be is a doctor. How could he possibly trust himself with anything when he couldn't manage to save the most important thing in his life?

To the rest of his family, he's more pathetic than before. His obsession with his Mother was usually limited to when she was in the room, but now it's constant.

If he ever hears the quote "It's better to have loved and lost, then never loved at all," he gets supremely, violently angry. No. No, that's not true, it's bullshit, how dare you even say that to his face.

If he hadn't loved you, you would be alive. He would be alone, but you would be safe. You would be happy.

Now he's alone, and all you are is dead. He can't ever come back from it.

Karl Heisenberg

Rage. Unending, earth shattering Rage.

Whatever killed you better start to fucking pray, because Karl Heisenberg will not quit until it's suffering.

He doesn't kill who or whatever it was. He let's it sit there, mangled beyond belief, and uses his knowledge of mechanics and biology to keep it alive in constant, unending pain.

It's cathartic for him, but not in a healthy way. The more he hurts it, the better he feels, but at the end of the day, you're still gone, and he's still alone.

He's... lost.

Heisenberg should be angry, fuck he wants to be angry more than anything, but the longer he keeps the thing alive... emotions seem like they're too far away anymore. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants... you.

He keeps something of yours in his pocket at all times, just to run his fingers over it and remember you. Your eyes, your laugh, your smile... It's almost like a stress ball, and these days sticking his hand into his pocket to wrap his fingers around the thing is the only way he can calm down.

Sometimes he turns to ask your opinion on something, or tell you a joke with a big smile on his face because this one is going to make you laugh for sure-- and then he freezes when the reality sets in once again. You're not here.

Remember, Heisenberg has idealized the two of you as this perfect partnership. You were the first person who looked at him and loved everything that you saw. You weren't just his first real relationship, the first person that he implicitly trusted, but you were also his very first real friend.

He wasn't the most friendly person to begin with, but he did get better because of you. He was still spoiled, a little socially awkward, and maybe his dark sense of humor would slip and get a little too much, but he grew as a person.

Now that you're gone, he can't even remember what it's like not being a cruel, empty shell of rage. All he has left is his hatred of Mother Miranda.

After a while, it doesn't matter if he's ready to take her on or not. He's going to face that bitch head on and kill her, or die trying.

If he wins, he's finally free. If he doesn't... that's not so bad either. Karl doesn't really believe in an afterlife, but there's something appealing about joining you wherever you might be.

#angst #death #alcina dimitrescu x reader #donna beneviento x reader #salvatore moreau x reader #karl heisenburg x reader #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #donna beneviento #salvatore moreau #karl heisenberg #re8 #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil #dead reader #tw: suicide

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mochegato · 3 years

Text

Even the Losers

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Bruce watched Lucius, or more specifically his hands, with a well concealed hostility. If you didn’t truly know Bruce or weren’t well versed at reading suppressed emotions, you could believe it was just another artificially polite expression. But Lucius had known Bruce since he was a child and Marinette hadn’t spent years fighting an emotional terrorist for nothing. “I haven’t seen you all night and now I find you coopting this beautiful young lady’s time,” Bruce observed, his mouth tight.

Marinette eyed him apprehensively, subconsciously taking a half step back. Her whole body stiffening. Lucius took note of the change and moved slightly between the two of them and laughed politely. He wasn’t sure what caused the change in demeanor but he still wanted to try to cultivate a business relationship with the young lady. When they got the fabrics working, they would need a designer and she was not only clearly the perfect candidate for the position, they had already been considering her before everything she’d said during their dance.

“Sorry, Mr. Wayne. I assure you I was not avoiding you in favor of a prettier face,” he chuckled. “Although I’ve been informed elusiveness seems to be a quality I exude unintentionally.” He winked at Marinette who smiled weakly at the attempt.

Bruce chuckled with him, tight and short exhales, his eyes never softening. “I wouldn’t blame you at all. She certainly is lovely.”

Marinette’s chest hollowed out, all the breath in her evaporating out of her chest as though it had never been there. “Kind of you to say,” she rasped out just barely looking up to meet his eyes.

“Just saying the truth,” he assured her with more sincerity. His eyes finally managed to soften as he looked at her, but immediately hardened again when he returned his gaze to Lucius. “I’m sorry if Lucius has been keeping you captive. I know he likes to talk and it can be hard to get him to stop, especially when he’s taken a particular interest in something… or someone.” His eyes sharpened on Lucius as he spoke. Lucius only raised his eyebrow in response, leaning back slightly as if to see Bruce a bit better.

Marinette immediately straightened back up, her eyes hardening. All evidence of uncertainty and unease shattering as she did. She had been the one to approach M. Fox. She had been the one to coopt his time. She had been the one manipulating the situation. And now M. Wayne was going to try to twist this on M. Fox, who had been nothing but gracious and kind. “I was just discussing innovation and the application process with M. Fox,” Marinette responded coldly before Lucius could. “He was polite enough to entertain my questions. He has been quite polite and charming and professional.”

“Were you thinking of working for WE?” Bruce asks perking up slightly.

“You couldn’t pay me enough,” Marinette scoffed out before she could stop herself. She immediately mentally face palmed. This wasn’t the time for this. Now was about Max, not her. The mission had been successful she wasn’t going to blow it now by letting M. Fox see her overreactions.

She let out a breath and looked back up with an overly wide smile. “As I mentioned to M. Fox, I’m not really interested in technology. I couldn’t imagine anything more boring than staring at numbers and code all day long,” she laughed in the way she’d seen Adrien laugh at events like this, an empty, meaningless laugh meant to indicate a lack of interest in the topic rather than actual entertainment, leaning toward Lucius as she said it, hoping to pull him into the conversation and rescue her from.

“It’s not my favorite part of the day either,” Lucius smiled graciously. “I imagine you would still be good at it,” he assured her, “but I can’t say I blame you. I would likely react the same if faced with bolts of fabric and thread.”

Marinette smiled politely, grateful to him for the reprieve. “Well that sounds interesting,” Bruce interjected. “Perhaps we can discuss what would interest you during a dance.” He motioned toward the dancefloor and held his hand out toward her.

Marinette glanced down at the hand, a weight settling in the pit of her stomach. If she gave in he’d have her for the duration of the song. One-on-one. No escape without creating a scene. Trapped by the same societal conventions she’d used against M. Fox. “Surely you must have more important guests to attend to,” she offered instead.

“I do not,” he assured her, sincerity radiating from his eyes.

Marinette opened her mouth to say yes, resigning herself to her fate when she felt a hand on her hip. “There you are M’lady. I lost you in the sea of people for a moment.” Adrien prompted her to turn slightly so he could look her in the eyes. “You okay?”

Her shoulders, she hadn’t even realized had worked their way up to almost touching her jaw, instantly relaxed. She gave him a relieved smile and squeezed his hand. “I’m good, Kitty. Thank you.”

“Is this your date?” Bruce inserted, eyeing him coldly, but held his hand out to him. “Bruce Wayne.”

Adrien gave him his practiced, social smile, perfect for galas with strangers and potentially hostile associates. “Nice to meet you, sir. This is a very nice gathering. Very kind of you to do this for the orphans,” his tone was bordering on openly hostile but keeping to the socially acceptable side of the border. Marinette choked at the statement. She hadn’t really thought about the intent of the gala since she’d made the plan. When she’d made it, the purpose hadn’t had any bearing. But now…

“Thank you. It is an important cause to my family and myself.” He missed the way Adrien squeezed Marinette tighter at his words. “You mentioned talking to Mr. Fox about innovation at Wayne Enterprises. Perhaps you would like a tour of the building. I can arrange one personally for you.”

Adrien pulled his lips into a tight, sickeningly artificial smile. “How very generous of you. Unfortunately, we won’t be in town that long. We are scheduled to leave town Tuesday.”

Bruce looked between the two, forcing his body to not stiffen at Adrien responding for Marinette. “Tell me about yourself, son,” Bruce smiled stiffly, noting that he had artfully left out his name, not that Bruce didn’t know it already, although the physical proximity to Marinette was unexpected.

It took almost all of Marinette’s experience as Ladybug to keep a poker face instead of letting her jaw drop in offense. “Why don’t you let these young people dance, Bruce,” Lucius interrupted, detecting Marinette’s increased discomfort. “After all, it’s cruel to make the young have to endure making conversation with the old guard like us.” He turned to Marinette and Adrien with a kind smile. “Make sure you don’t miss your opportunity to dance tonight.”

Marinette smiled at him gratefully. “Not at all, M. Fox. I found our conversation very fascinating. Thank you very much for sharing your time with me. It was much appreciated. But I will take you up on your advice.” She turned to Adrien and motioned to the dancefloor. “Shall we?”

“Always,” Adrien smiled. “Gentlemen.” He nodded to them and guided Marinette across the dancefloor, taking great care to escort her as far from them as he possibly could. He glanced around to make sure the men couldn’t see them and pulled Marinette into a comforting, all-encompassing hug. “How are you really?”

Marinette held him tightly and buried her head in his chest. “I’ll be okay. I just… Thank you for the save.” She laid her head on his chest as they swayed to the music. Her breath slowly shifted from shaky to more steady. She lost track of the number of songs that passed while she found her voice again. When she could breathe normally again, she stood straight and smiled at Adrien. “It worked.”

“It worked?” Adrien asked excitedly.

Marinette nodded and had to stop herself from doing an entirely inappropriate victory dance. “He wants to meet Max on Monday. Well, me too,” she cringed slightly, not looking forward to being involved beyond what she had done already. “But! But, he was floored by Max’s invention. Like completely floored! And knows about Rabler now. He did not look happy at all about the news.” Her grin widened as she remembered the encounter. “I think Max is really going to be taken care of. It went so well!” she squealed.

Adrien grinned back and hugged her. “We have to let Max know.”

Marinette nodded. “He’ll call us when he’s done. We just need to stay up until then.”

Adrien nodded. “Coffee it is then. Do you want to leave now or look around?” Marinette looked around quickly. By the time she looked back at Adrien, her eyes had lost their light. She looked exhausted suddenly, drained by the experience. Adrien gave her an understanding smile and squeeze. The mission was over. She didn’t need to be in mission mode anymore, or at least not high alert. She just had the meeting on Monday and she was done. Now she could stop blocking any potentially interfering emotions and actually let herself feel again. “Let’s get out of here and find a coffee shop then. We can take it back to the hotel and watch bad movies until Max calls.”

Marinette gave him a weak smile. “Maybe popcorn and candy and drinks instead,” she offered. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Sooooo many drinks and ice cream.”

Adrien laughed and slung his arm over her shoulder to help guide her and comfort her at the same time. They wound through the crowd making their way to the exit and freedom, where Marinette could finally breathe freely. They had almost made it to the doors when they heard someone call Adrien’s name. Adrien looked around and cursed under his breath. “Hey again.”

“Leaving so soon?” Tim asked. He looked between the two with a concerned expression. It was awfully early in the night to leave already.

“Yeah, I think so. It’s a nice event but I think we’re ready to go home, take off the stuffy clothes, and drink,” he gave him a charming, conspiratorial smile. Nobody their age wanted to be here and they all knew it.

“Oh that sounds like a brilliant plan,” the blonde woman next to Tim grinned. “I wish we could do that. But we have to at least wait until the announcement. And we can’t drink. But it would help handle events like this.” She gave them a wide smile and held out her hand. “I’m Stephanie. Nice to meet you.”

Adrien smiled politely back. “Adrien. Hi.”

Marinette smiled civilly. “Marinette. Nice to meet you.”

Stephanie’s smile widened. “Oh Timmy, make sure to keep this one away from Bruce. Black hair, blue eyes, looks beautiful but haunted. He’ll adopt her in an instant.”

Tim laughed and rolled his eyes, drawing Stephanie’s attention to him, both of them missing the way Marinette and Adrien balked and Marinette’s entire body went rigid again. “Bruce’s breaking that habit with today’s announcement.”

Adrien paled slightly. This could go nowhere good, but it was like watching an akuma hit someone when you’re too far away to help. It was going to happen no matter what. The damage would be inestimable and all he could do was watch as it got worse and worse. “Oh?”

“Yeah, our new brother… or rather their new brother, I’m not officially adopted, just unofficially the favorite child,” Steph winked at them. Tim huffed playfully but didn’t contradict her. It was easier to just let it go. “Anyway, the new Wayne doesn’t have blue eyes. Does have black hair, is beautiful and looks haunted, so maybe it’s just the blue eyes that don’t matter so much anymore.”

“N…new brother?” Adrien stuttered, struggling to keep his voice even and polite. The normal reaction to such news would be interest and happiness. Well, they certainly had his interest. The happiness part though… He pulled Marinette tighter as he sent her a furtive look. She was doing an admirable job of masking her response but he knew her. He knew the signs. He knew her lips were a bit tighter than usual. He knew her jaw was clenched harder than was normal. He knew her breathing was harder than average. He knew he shouldn’t be able to feel her pulse from here.

“Yeah!” Stephanie enthused. “Duke.”

“We were supposed to wait for the announcement,” Tim chastised with no real heat behind his words. “But yes. That’s what this gala is really for. To officially announce the adoption of Duke Thomas. So, yet another ‘poor orphan’ joins the rest of us,” he joked. “I swear Bruce just can’t help himself. He sees a kid and instantly feels the need to protect and help.”

“So thoughtful,” Marinette rasped out, pretending like her entire chest wasn’t breaking apart and disintegrating in front of them. “You must all be so excited.”

Tim looked at her for a moment but before he could analyze her tone or body language, they heard someone tapping on a microphone. “That’s our cue,” Stephanie squealed. “Looks like you might make it for the announcement after all. It was nice to meet you if I don’t see you after.” Tim and Stephanie waved before making their way to the stage.

Once the two were gone, Marinette’s eyes bulged as Tim’s words reverberated in her head. This whole thing was to introduce a new child, another new child he took in, another addition to his family, another child he wanted and brought into his life instead of throwing them out. Her eyes darted among the family members as they all made their way up onto the stage. All standing behind the new member, smiling at him, hugging him, eyes shining in acceptance for him. One big happy family, not wanting for anything… or anyone.

Marinette didn’t realize she had stopped breathing until her body forced a deep gasping breath, knocking her out of her stupor. She tore her eyes away so violently, she stumbled back, or maybe it was just that her resilience had disappeared with the words. They should not be here. They… she should never have come. This was a stupid, terrible plan. She had no right to intrude. She had no right to be here… for this.

Her heart raced out of control. Her whole body started shaking. She couldn’t breathe. Why couldn’t she breathe now? But suddenly there wasn’t enough air in the room. Why wasn’t there air? There had been air before, hadn’t there been? She remembers being able to breathe earlier. She thinks. Maybe she made that up. Maybe she hadn’t been able to breathe since she stepped in the room.

She stumbled again and reached out for support, never doubting it would be there for her. Adrien responded instantly, bringing her into his chest and quickly guiding her out of the gala. He whispered comforting and reassuring words as they moved, throwing empty smiles at anyone who bothered looking their way, as though helping his drunk date home, nothing scandalous or even unusual, nothing to look twice at.

They missed the eyes searching the crowd for them and the quickly covered up frown at finding them missing.

Chapter 3

Tags:

@maribat-bdbwm @jayjayspixiepop @redscarlet95 @alice-hazelwood @deathssilentapproach-blog @unoriginalmess @alyssadeliv @emotionalsupportginger

#maribat #bio dad bruce wayne #bio!dad bruce #roynette #Even the Losers #mbdbwm2021 #prompt - family/friends

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rocorambles · 3 years

Text

Home Schooling

Pairing: Stepdaddy!Meian x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, Pseudo-Cest, NSFW, Invasion of Privacy, Overbearing and Controlling Behavior, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Non-Con/Rape, Degradation, Overstimulation, Humiliation

Summary: Why would Meian let you go to college in Tokyo when he can teach you everything you need to know right here in Osaka?

A/N: Happy birthday @iwaasfairy ! Of course I need to dedicate my first ever Meian fic to you on this very special day~ I hope this fic manifests a real life DILF Meian for you!!!

Meian has always been protective, even before your mother’s untimely demise. You remember how uncomfortable you had been about this handsome man waltzing into your family home one day, acting like a father figure almost since day one. Only your love for your mother and your desire for her to find happiness again kept your mouth shut, although when she wasn’t in view, you not so subtly found ways to keep your contact with the older man as minimal as possible.

There’s nothing necessarily “wrong” with Meian. In all honesty, if he weren’t so overwhelmingly involved with your life, you’d even argue that he’s a great guy. You can tell he truly cares for your mom, maybe even loves her— although you gag at the cheeky winks and flirtatious touches they generously dote on each other in front of you. And you’re happy for her! You really are. It’s been a long time since you’ve been forced to rely only on yourselves, only on each other. You’ve seen how hard she’s tried, keeping a strong front whenever you’re around, working twice as hard as anyone else to try and fill the aching hole in both your hearts from the loss of your father. If anyone deserves happiness, it’s her.

But there’s something unnerving, even aggravating, about the way Meian interferes with every aspect of your life. You can’t help a strange foreboding feeling twisting inside of you as a heavy gaze trails after you wherever you go, as he begins to rope you into every conversation he has with your mother, almost demanding and insistent about not letting you withdraw to your room despite your well-meaning wishes to give them their privacy.

You try to be on your best behavior, not wanting to be the reason your mom’s new relationship is ruined, especially when you can see just how much she likes him. But every time he opens his mouth and questions everything you do, everything you wear, and everything you say, you can feel your temper rise, wondering where his audacity to act as a father figure comes from.

It’s easy enough to retreat to your room, closing your door and sighing in relief as you escape those sharp eyes. You find comfort in the fact that you have at least one safe place he can’t breach, finding false security in the hope that he’d never invade an adult woman’s bedroom. Except he does, and your heart drops when you notice the miniscule adjustments in your room — your underwear drawer slightly ajar with some pieces missing, your bedsheets slightly rumpled in a way you know you hadn’t left them this morning. Things you know you could never bring up to your mother without sounding like a madwoman. So without irrefutable proof, you keep quiet, knowing that at least there’s not much more time left before you can truly run away from all of this.

Being an adult comes with many responsibilities and adventures, and together, your mother and you pore over myriads of college pamphlets, debating which locations make the most sense, planning how you’re going to make the finances work, and thinking about which colleges have the courses best suited for you. It’s a fun and stressful rollercoaster, but you beam when your mother proudly ruffles your hair, when you both agree on you leaving Osaka behind and adventuring out, creating new memories and beginnings in a different city.

(“Plus, I’ll be able to visit you and play tourist”, your mom excitedly says, and you giggle, letting her affectionately hold you as you stare at the universities you’ve narrowed your choices down to.)

The future seems bright and exciting as you studiously sit down and scan over textbooks and practice exams, dutifully attending your tutoring sessions, cramming for the college entrance exam. It’s all going to plan, except Meian has different opinions. And this time, you can’t hold back the scowl when he yet again goes on and on about how he doesn’t understand why you can’t just stay in Osaka for college.

It’s not a new argument by any means. Just the same few questions being twisted and worded differently and tossed back in your face on a daily basis.

“Don’t you think your mom will be lonely if you move away and only come back for the holidays?”

“Isn’t that what you’re here for? To keep her company?”

“Don’t you feel bad about spending your mom’s carefully saved money on room and board when you could just continue living with us instead and just pay tuition?”

You silently thank your mom when she steps in, firmly telling Meian that she doesn’t mind, that this is exactly why she’s saved up.

But the arguments keep on coming, and you can feel the tension growing in your household, your own stomach churning with guilt and worry, wondering if you’ll end being the cause of their breakup after all as you constantly hear their raised voices going back and forth about you leaving or staying in Osaka.

So despite your discomfort and wariness towards Meian, you can’t help the relieved grin that stretches across your face when your mom comes squealing to you, flinging her arms around your body and shoving her gorgeous engagement ring in your face. You even muster up a slightly tight smile, that only feels a little forced, as you look to the tall man who leans in the doorway, muttering congratulations before directing your attention back to your mom, fondly smiling as she continues raving about her new piece of jewelry, ignoring the way Meian continues to loiter around the both of you.

Your mom is the most beautiful bride as she walks down the aisle and you stare in awe at how she glows, hoping one day you’ll look even remotely as mesmerizing as she does. And while you look on, star-eyed and in wonder, at the woman who had raised you, you miss the way dark eyes intently gaze at you, eyes that should be on the woman he’s about to publicly vow to be with his entire life.

Maybe if you had been more aware, more cautious, you wouldn’t have so eagerly waved both of them off on their honeymoon, wouldn’t have been so excited to shove your mom towards the airport, giving her one last hug and kiss before sillily demanding that she enjoy herself and have the best time of her life.

Maybe then your heart wouldn’t be shattered into a thousand tiny pieces as you collapse in Meian’s strong arms, sobbing uncontrollably and shaking your head in denial when he returns by himself and breaks the news of your mother’s passing.

You delay going to college in Tokyo for a year, allowing yourself time and space to grieve. Or so you had planned, but it seems that Meian has no intention of letting you have your privacy. You share the house with him after your mother’s funeral, unable to argue against him completely moving in when he now owns the property.

He’s still up to his usual overbearing ways, although his tone is softer as he treats you like a wounded animal, carefully handling you as he rouses you from your sleep in the mornings, startling you the first few times he sits on the edge of your bed and wakes you up by tenderly stroking your cheek, preparing all your meals for you and scolding you when he thinks you haven’t eaten enough. It’s almost frightening how easily you fall into his rhythm, not even flinching after a while when his large hand finds itself on your face, your shoulder, your back, your hand, your thigh. Tiny, seemingly platonic touches border the line of what’s appropriate for a guardian and their ward. Although, deep down, you know the two of you are diving in dangerous territory when you feel his knuckle brush against the swell of your ass briefly, his calloused fingertips quickly skimming your breasts, his palm squeezing just a tad too high up your thigh.

But you seek any remaining softness your mother had instilled in your heart for a man who’s lost his wife of just a few days, letting your new guardian (you don’t dare call him father) do as he pleases, not wanting to deal with any more conflict when your heart is still mending. And maybe, just maybe, you find some solace in his touches, in the love he forces upon you, seeking even just a hint of the parental affection your mother had bestowed upon you.

Time heals all wounds, or so they say. You can’t agree that it resolves everything, but you can admit that you’re feeling much better now that a year is almost up, ready to move on, live your life, and make your mother proud. You start re-looking into Tokyo housing, comparing the expenses of living off-campus versus living in the dorms, typing and reworking budgets over and over again in your Excel sheet until your eyes burn and you let out a huge yawn.

Coffee now. Budgets later.

You trudge to the kitchen, brewing a fresh pot of dark caffeinated liquid, letting out a pleased sound when the aroma fills the air, happily making your way back to your room to revisit some of your calculations, mug in hand. But you freeze when you see Meian sitting at your desk, clicking through the different tabs of apartment and dorm options you had been looking at, scrutinizing your planned expenses.

There’s no reason for the guilt that claws at your chest when you see the way his jaw clenches as he turns to look at you, hurt in his eyes as he silently demands an explanation for what he’s looking at. But it’s guilt that has you slamming down the mug on your desk and planting your firsts on your hips in a confrontational stance, that has defensive angry words spewing from your lips as you yell at him for invading your privacy, that has you storming towards him and trying to shove his much larger and stronger frame away from your computer.

But it’s futile and you gasp when you’re pulled into his lap, his hands easily pinning you to him and holding you still as he holds you in a mockery of an embrace, your back against his toned chest, his mouth right against your ear.

“You were just going to leave for Tokyo without telling me?”

You want to stay angry, want to continue twisting and fighting against his grip. But the vulnerability you hear in his words has you staying still, has you anxiously biting your lower lip as you try and find the right words to soothe the man clutching you.

“I- I didn’t think I needed to tell you anything. This was always the plan. You knew I only put off attending college for a year to take some time for myself. But I’ll come back and visit during the holidays-”

Your words are cut off by a pained gasp as thick arms tighten their hold on you, but the growled threat in your ear has your anger bubbling over, masking any other feeling.

“You’re not leaving.”

The matter of fact tone, the final decisiveness of the words, the way Meian leaves no room for discourse or arguments, has you lashing out at him and before you can second guess yourself, the position you’re in, or the difference in power between the two of you. In a matter of seconds, you’re snarling right back at him.

“You’re not my father! You can’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”

Righteous pride swells in your chest and you spare him a sharp, wicked grin, haughtily tilting your head up condescendingly, basking in the viciousness of your words. But what you aren’t expecting is the hearty laugh he responds with, something dark and gleeful swirling in his eyes as a cruel smile cuts across his face.

“You’re right. I’m not your father, not even your guardian. So this is fine, right?”

You scream as the arms still wrapped around you haul you up, your limbs thrashing and flailing as you try to force your way free from his iron grip to no avail. Fear and anger make you hysteric as you register the fact that you’re quickly approaching the room that once belonged to your mother, the room Meian now resides in. Disbelief and nausea overtake you when you’re assaulted by the familiar four walls as you’re haphazardly tossed onto the bed, sobbing as memories of your mother surround you and invade your thoughts while calloused hands easily tear your clothes off your body.

But you’re immediately silenced, sobs turning into choked whimpers as a large hand grabs the bottom half of your face, fingers digging into your cheeks, a palm suctioning your mouth shut.

“Where are all those manners your mother taught you? What would she think if she heard you throwing a temper tantrum like a child?”

The callousness of his words hits you like a ton of bricks. Meian smirks at the new round of fat, watery drops that stream down your face, mockingly cooing down at you, calling you a good girl, praising your newfound silence as his hand slowly drags down until it's wrapped around your neck, where he lightly squeezes, reveling in the adorable whimper you release.

But as pathetically amusing as you are, sniveling and choking under him, there’s more that he’s keen on seeing. You feel like a slab of meat under his observant gaze. Prized meat, but meat all the same as he runs his hands across your figure like a butcher testing the firmness of his livestock, pinching and prodding almost methodically, coldly. Only the amusement and hunger in his eyes are indicative of how much this is truly affecting him. Yet it’s tolerable, barely, if you just stare up at the ceiling, pretending you’re at an incredibly invasive medical exam.

He’d be offended by how hard you’re trying to ignore him if it weren’t for the telltale signs of your arousal that you desperately try to deny. He grins at how your nipples harden from just a few teasing circles, how your clit stands to attention, your pretty folds already beginning to glisten as he pets your velvety walls. You’re even more beautiful than he had imagined after watching you prance around the home in your skimpy loungewear. And suddenly, his pants are far too tight, cock straining uncomfortably against the fabric he’s quick to rip off. It’s music to his ears when you shakily say his name over and over again, as you try and resist the way he forces himself between your legs, hands spreading your thighs apart, toned body pinning you down, something hard nudging at your tight entrance.

“Meian, please. Please! Please, Meian.”

He ignores your tears, ignores the other words of resistance that slip past your mouth, head dipping down to your mouth and neck, kissing and marking every part of you he can reach, murmuring for you to call him by his first name. And when he loses patience with your whining, you finally acquiesce as he forcefully shoves himself balls deep inside you, a sneer ruining his handsome face as he lightly slaps your face in approval when you wail his first name, “Shugo” howled in an agonizing exclamation as you try to somehow dislodge him from ripping you in two.

“Look at that, the little slut can behave when she wants to. I bet your mother would be so proud.”

You hate how he drags your mom’s name in the ground as he defiles you, violates you in the bed they had once shared. You hate how his large frame feels crushing you, overpowering you, making you feel so incredibly helpless and weak. But mostly, you hate the slick lewd sounds your pussy makes as he pounds hard and fast into you, the undeniable proof that your body doesn’t hate this nearly as much as it should. Hot angry disgusted tears roll down your face as you glare up at him, desperately fighting back the rising moans threatening to humiliate you even more.

Your little defiant attitude is punished by Meian thrusting even harder into you, practically bending you in half as he pushes down on the back of your thighs, forcing you into a mating press. And he laughs at your wrecked face, hungrily taking in the way your eyes roll back in your head, the way your jaw drops wide open, your tongue and rivulets of drool trickling down your face, wanton moans loudly filling the room.

“For all your whining and complaining, you sure do look like you’re enjoying this, sweetheart.”

You wish you could deny his words, retort back with a scathing remark, do anything really. But when he reaches a hand between the two of you and rubs rapid circles against your erect clit, hips still pistoning against yours, cock stuffing you full, your mind blanks and an animal-like howl tears through the room as your body convulses, pussy walls clamping down and quivering as you cream all over the shaft still dragging against your sensitive walls, only heightening your peak.

Meian briefly wonders if this is what heaven feels like (or as close to heaven as someone like him is going to get) as he groans at the way your velvety walls milk his cock, gritting his teeth to not be dragged over the edge with you. He’s not delusional to think that any of this is right, the photo of his ex-wife, your mother silently watching you from the nightstand only emphasizing just how wrong this all is, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when you’re a fucked out mess underneath him, so obediently and submissively slurring his name over and over again, drowning in pleasure and bliss.

There’s nothing more he wants than to just lose himself in the feeling of your tight walls, to fill you, mark you, claim you with his seed, but he’s not quite ready for a full house just yet. He has a few more years alone with you all planned out in his head before he breeds your pretty little womb. So just as his control teeters on the edge, he pulls out of you, casually sitting back and spreading his legs, slowly stroking his cock as he orders you to come and suck him off.

He’s almost proud of the little fight you still have left in you, lips quirking upwards at the way you try to ignore him, trying to look anywhere but at him. But his balls are almost painfully tight, his cock aching for release.

“Suck me off like a good girl or I’m going to cum inside of you over and over again until you’re knocked up. Bet your mother would have loved that for you. Her precious college-bound girl turned into a pregnant uneducated whore.”

It’s an empty threat, but you don’t ever need to know that, not when it has you obeying so well as he threads his fingers through your hair, groaning as your hot wet mouth sinks down on his cock still covered in your essence. All it takes is a few harsh shoves of your face, his hand pulling you up and down like a warm fleshlight, and as he finally reaches his end, he completely pulls you off, arching your neck back in a way that leaves your mouth open as he spurts thick white stripes all over your face and in your orifice.

You make to wipe your face, grateful at least that this is all over, but before you can move even an inch, you yelp as you’re shoved back down on your back, hands instinctively trying to push at broad shoulders as your legs are once again forced open. You’re a quick learner though, and with one dark warning look from the man whose face is now hovering over your spent hole, you instantly bring your hands down to your sides, clawing and fisting the ruined bed sheets instead as Meian ravenously licks and laps at your dripping cunt. The disgusting wet sounds echo in your ears as pleasure and shame swirl inside of you, a crescendo ascending too quickly, too high.

But your thrashing and blissed out pleas to stop, to let you rest, only serve to whet Meian’s appetite even more. Time becomes surreal and meaningless as you drown and float in a mixture of pain and pleasure, brought to climax over and over again until you feel boneless, your pussy and body ceaselessly twitching, mind broken beyond repair as you babble incoherently, unsure of anything except the lips and tongue at work between your thighs.

You cum one last time, body barely moving aside from a slight shudder, too worn out, too dazed to even comprehend the fact that Meian unravels himself from you, wiping his face of your arousal and taking a few swigs of water before making his way towards your desk and dialing the admissions office number he finds. And as the phone rings and he leans back in your chair, he adoringly gazes at the sinful display you make, looking like the epitome of debauchery as your body splays out, a stupid blissed out expression on your face, reeking of sex and sweat.

He strokes his cock as it rises back to life, raring to go again as he licks his lips, tasting your sweet juices on his tongue, never stopping even when a voice finally comes through the line. He only pauses slightly to bite back a laugh when something shatters in your pretty eyes, a sliver of realization piercing through your dazed look as you hone in on his conversation.

But you do nothing to stop him, unable to do anything but listlessly stare and watch as he cancels your enrollment in front of you, hangs up the phone, and casually makes his way back towards you as if he hadn’t ruined years of hard work and decimated your future plans in mere minutes.

“There’s no need to go all the way to Tokyo for education, sweetheart. Not when I can teach you everything you need to know right here. Now open up your mouth so we can get your first lesson started.”

#haikyuu smut #meian x reader #meian smut #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #yandere meian #tw: noncon #tw incest #tw: yandere #tw: rape #haikyuu x reader

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angelguk · 3 years

Note

omg so i sent in an ask re angst jock jk n oc ! but then i also realized its highly possible these 2 break up at one point while in uni mostly bc of the "are we dating bc its convenient" kinda dilemma and then it just pushes them apart bc they think theyre losing theirselves while being in such a close relationship,,,cue save ur tears by theweeknd BUT i just know when they grow up a lil bit more, theyll end up together <3

here we go! (the beginning of the end....may be...)

didn’t include save your tears as the soundtrack but may haps for the follow-up :3

pairing: jock!jk and oc

warnings: angst, yes the break-up scene, jaykay being an ass (a very huge one motivated by his own insecurities and selfishness – translation: he’d rather break her heart and carry that weight than be the heartbroken one), chayoung is no longer Seed of Doubt but something else (still up for debate but she’s fairly nice here), not edited but hey atp that’s part of my branding (also i would like everyone to consider that oc is not the greatest gf ever like guys don’t hate jk alone!!)

soundtrack: bags, clairo + stay, gracie abrams + say you know, alina baraz

(titled — honeymoon fades)

Jeongguk’s contact name hasn’t lit up the screen of your phone for six days now and you haven’t seen his face for just as long. It’s weird to go from constant incessant communication to complete and utter radio silence. Not a single meme deposited in your Instagram inbox, no random notification from his Twitter. Just silence, quiet brewing silence.

It breaks two days later when Chayoung finds you coddled under your duvet, mouth stuffed with the saccharine sweetness of mint chocolate. (Jeongguk kept a stash of it at your place but who was around to eat it anymore apart from you?).

“And why do you look like you live in a dumpster?” She’d hummed, ripping open the curtains you’d involuntarily welded shut.

“Because that’s how I feel inside,” you’d retorted, pushing aside your laptop. The screen is stuck with an image of an idiotic character named Nabi kissing the spawn of Satan. You hope for her sake it works out. Chayoung had huffed at your response, fondly whacking your head with a stray pillow.

“Well get over that feeling cause we’re going out tonight.” A declaration, the fierceness in her feline eyes a warning that you’re not allowed to even think of saying no. That doesn’t mean you hadn’t tried – sorrowful eyes and pouted lips as you begged her to spare you. But Chayoung is a force of nature, one that could easily wreak havoc on your delicateness. And she does though, with a string of comments that propels you out of the miserable burrow you’d dug up.

“You’re killing everyone, you know?” She’d supplied, yanking open your closet. “You’re sulking, Jeongguk is shutting down. He’s said like five words since this whole...thing...you have going on.”

You couldn’t help but scoff at that, toying with the corner of the large grey shirt donned on your body. Jeongguk’s shirt. One of his favourites actually. You’d thought about stealing it after spying it on his obsessively neat laundry pile, but after seeing your wandering eyes he’d given it to you instead.

“He always does that,” you’d said after Chayoung had whipped her head in your direction, curved eyebrows perplexed. “I mean, shut down. It’s his emotional response to things that bother him. Complete detachment so it hurts less.”

She had just stared at you, a long meaningful look at left your skin prickled.

“Huh.”

“What do you mean ‘huh’?”

A measured step forward, her body weight sinking into the edge of your mattress a moment later. “I mean, you know him so well.”

“Of course I do he’s my best-friend,” you’d said, indignation coating your words

“No–No you're not getting me. You know him. You know he wouldn’t make the move to reconcile–”

“But he should!”

“You told him to go away! He’s trying to listen to you even though he’s hurting!”

And maybe that was it, that simple implication that you were causing him pain that had you pausing, reviewing the things you’d said to him – the things you’d felt.

“But,” a timid rebuttal, “I just–I just need him to show me that he cares.”

“He does,” Chayoung had returned. “So much. And he misses you. He’s probably just afraid that you don’t feel the same.”

“But I do! He knows this.”

“Does he?” A question in her eyes, one that you’re afraid you know the honest answer to.

You say things and never mean them, he had said, eyes hard.

That had hurt you but perhaps he was right, there are things you hadn’t told him, feelings you hadn’t truly expressed. And Jeongguk had always been good to you, so understanding and caring, trying to fill the places were you lacked. Wasn’t he the one who planned the majority of your dates? Remembered all the important milestones of your relationship while you contributed the bare minimum. You hadn’t even told Chayoung about the surprise he had planned for your one-year anniversary, the shame of your own choice hanging heavy over your head.

So that’s why you’re here, staring at the back of his head forlornly as the music drifts around you, flashing florescent lights bathing him a hazy glory. He hasn’t seen you yet (something you’re thankful for because oddly enough you feel sick to your stomach). It feels like you’re skating on thin ice, waiting for the impending crack to sound through your heart, ice water swallowing you whole immediately. Chayoung is the one who pushes you forward, gingerly plucking the idle drink from your hand, Jimin aiding her efforts with a soft smile your way.

It’s time for you to try the way Jeongguk has, put aside that bumbling ego that oversees your actions and adopt the humility he’s always granted you.

“Go,” she murmurs. “He misses you.”

And God you hope he does because you’ve missed him too.

Except the moment his honey eyes land on you you know he hasn’t.

“Jeongguk,” you mumble. Yoonoh is frozen beside him, concerned gaze flicking between your faces. Your own eyes are stuck on him, the shape of his nose, the curve of his lips, the subtle hint of the dimple in his cheeks.

You’ve missed him, and it slips from your heart and brims in your eyes, vision blurry as your blink those stray tears back inside.

“Hi,” you add, when his silence doesn’t break.

“I should probably go,” Yoonoh lets out, awkward words bumping into the wall of tension standing firm between you to. He settles a hand on Jeongguk’s shoulder, sending him a look that feels loaded. “See you guys later, right?”

You nod, finally noticing the lump clogging your throat. “Yeah, sure.” Jeongguk just hums, the edge of his cup caught between his lips. Yoonoh flees within seconds, leaving you to wade through this alone.

“I–I know you’re not happy with me right now, but please, can we just talk?” He blinks at you, it feels like a premonition. “Please?”

“Okay.” The simple word fills you, like a hollow you weren’t aware of finally found the cure needed.

“Okay,” a small smile on your lips. Jeongguk’s face is still unreadable. He guides you up and away from the deafening sound of the song bleeding from the speakers, into an empty room, the door closing behind him muting the music and giving way to the own pounding in your head. Nobody says anything for a second, both of you navigating this uncharted territory of animosity. Until Jeongguk sighs, melting into the bed at the centre of the room. You follow suit, allocating enough space between the two of you. You’ve ever had to do that before.

“You said you wanted to talk?” Jeongguk finally cuts through it, eyes unforgiving when he glances at you.

“I did! I do–Just Jeongguk,” you can’t help it drifting out. “I miss you.”

Nothing, not even a flicker in his eyes. He eyes shift to the floor instead. “Okay. I that what you wanted to say?”

“No–No not just that! I’ve missed you Jeongguk and I’m sorry. I’m sorry that i went off on you like that and I’m sorry I haven’t been the best towards you and I’m sorry that I’ve made you feel like I didn’t care about you–or made you feel like the things I said or did had no meaning behind them. Because they do–they do because I love you. I love you so so much and I’m sorry if I made it seem like otherwise.” You automatically extend out for him, hoping to grasp on his thing floating to fast away from you. Jeongguk shifts and you hand tumbles down to the empty space between you instead, halted by his hesitance.

His head drops into his palms a second later, a broken exhale leaving his lips. The motion cause the silver bracelet on his wrist to slip down the length of his arm. It jolts something in you. Jeongguk had given you a matching one but you’d ripped it off after the last argument and hadn’t considered putting it back on. But Jeongguk was still wearing his.

“Do you really?”

“What?” He’s staring at you know, doe eyes cloudy.

“Do you really love me?” There, that stupid evil vile question that you thought you had the answer to but the words vanish in your head the longer he looks at you.

“I do–what? What are you implying? Of course, I do.”

“Of course, you do,” Jeongguk echoes. His eyes turn to the window located over his shoulder. You can see his head working through something, and you’re suddenly terrified fingertips itching to wander through his curls and coax those thoughts from his head.

“Jeongguk? What the hell are you talking about? Talk to me, please.”

He sighs again, at it feels like your heart splinters. A sudden shake of his head and Jeongguk twists back to face you, a silent tear falling down his cheek.

“You don’t love me.”

“Wh–What are you talking about? I do! And how can you decide my feelings for me?”

“No. You don’t love me the way you think you do–the way you should.” It feels like he’s saying it to more than you, like he’s saying it to himself. “Maybe this the wrong choice to make. You know. Maybe we shouldn’t have done this.”

You shatter just like that, shards on the floor as you stare him, this person that you thought you knew. And maybe the feeling is mutual because Jeongguk is staring at you in a similar way, searching for the courage to say the words you know lie in his heart. Like a loaded cannon, waiting for the match to strike and leave you lying in pieces.

“I think we should break–"

“No,” you cut him off with an adamance that you didn’t know existed until right then. “No, you’re not gonna say that and we are not doing this.”

His eyes narrow then, jaw set. “This is not about ‘us’, I’m doing what’s right for me.”

“How is that right? Huh, Jeongguk? Don’t you care about this? Don’t you care about me?”

He looks away then, ignoring your questions, his throat stuck.

“Jeongguk...” You reach out again, and he allows it, shoulders sinking with the weight of your hand on them. “Don’t you care about me?”

Another heavy exhale, his eyes blinking hard. “I do. And that’s why this won’t work, not the way it should at least. I really think we should end this, or at least reconsider the reasons why we’re together. You say you love me–you say you always have but really–really think about it. About me and us and what we are. I’m sorry, I really am but I just can’t do this anymore.”

He rises then, your outstretched hand tumbling down to the empty space he’d left behind. You can’t move it, can’t breathe, your heart hurtling out of your chest and onto the ground where it lies, fragmented beyond repair and bleeding bare. You glance up through tears, watch him open his mouth and then it and look away.

“Do you mean it?” You finally ask, and his eyes snap to you. He knows what you’re saying. There’s a pause that stretches out for eternity, coloured by the sound of the ringing in your head.

“Maybe.” It cuts right through you, lodging itself deep with intent. And then you just have to nod, swallow the scream clawing at your throat. He murmurs one more apology before his feet carry him away, and you watch, forlorn as you burn his frame into your memory, as your whole world walks out the door.

#jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #au: jock!jaykay #i really abused the hyphen in this but oh well

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 3 years

Text

For the First Time (What’s Past Is Past)

Pairing: Neighbor!Hoseok x f!reader

Summary: After your eight years relationship comes to a brutal end, you don’t really see yourself getting back into dating — ever, probably. And then, your new neighbor who has the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen needs to borrow a corkscrew, and you don’t realize it just yet, but your resolve doesn’t stand a chance.

Also available on Ao3.

Word count: 15.7k

Genre: Fluff, (light) angst, eventual smut

Warnings: heavily discussed/referenced cheating, cursing, soft and gentle smut, penetrative sex, some pining, alcohol consumption, reader is not great with feelings, hoseok is good with feelings, the boys make cameos

A/N: Woohoo, first work in this fandom! This is actually the longest one-shot I’ve ever written (by my standards it’s LONG). Enjoy!

He doesn’t beg you to stay. He doesn’t tell you that “it’s not what you think”, doesn’t tell you that “it didn’t mean anything”, doesn’t ask for your forgiveness, doesn’t tell you that the two of you can work it out, that you can get through this together.

Instead, he tells you that he loves her, and when your entire world shatters in front of you, there is nothing you can do. You are completely and utterly alone.

When you first meet Jung Hoseok, he’s coming out of his apartment right as you’re getting into yours. He looks a little startled at first, but then he smiles at you, and you just stare.

You’ve never been good at interacting with people, especially strangers, especially when you’re not expecting it. You have to prepare yourself for those things, and right now, you’re very much not.

“Oh,” you say, looking at him.

The thing is, you recognize him — sort of. You’ve seen him around the building, and you immediately noticed him. You think it would have been impossible not to, frankly. You have ever seen someone who shines as bright as he does.

There is no other word for it. Hoseok shines.

It’s everything about him, and nothing at the same time. It’s his bright smile, first and foremost, and the way his brown eyes sparkle. It doesn’t hurt that he looks the way he does, all tall and thin and muscular, carrying himself like a dancer, but it’s his smile that you can’t get out of your mind. You’ve barely seen it, he gave you a quick, polite one when you passed him by in the parking lot, and yet you’ve thought about it more than you should have.

You’re surprised to see him here, though. You’ve been here for a month now, and you had never met the person who lived right next to you. You certainly never even considered that it could be the man with the bright smile and kind eyes you saw around, though the laugh you got used to hearing through the walls certainly completes that picture beautifully.

His smile widens a little, and he has a silent chuckle at your reaction.

“Hi,” he says.

You nod. You forget to reply, or to smile back, and you only realize that after you’ve closed your door behind you and Hoseok is already in the elevator.

You decide, firmly, to push that encounter out of your mind and to forget it ever happened.

(You can’t.)

There’s a gentle knock on your door, and you go to open it, surprised and a little confused. Your friends don’t live in the area and aren’t the type to drop by unannounced, and you don’t know anyone in your building. You wish you could add ‘yet’ to that sentence, but you are quite terribly antisocial, so you doubt you’ll ever get there, unless someone actually wants to get to know you. Which is not going to happen.

Hoseok’s smile greets you, and you blink. You note that his cheeks are slightly flushed, that he’s wearing a nice shirt, and that his hair is a little ruffled. He looks good — very good.

“Hi!” he says, when you forget, once more, what your lines are supposed to be in such a situation.

“Hi,” you remember to reply, but you’re late and offbeat, so you actually interrupt what he’s trying to say next, and you know you would be furious at yourself if you cared.

It’s been a long time since you’ve last found the energy to do that though.

“Sorry,” he smiles again, “I— I was wondering if you had a corkscrew I could borrow?”

You look back at your kitchen, mentally making an inventory of what you own. You know for sure you’ve never bought a corkscrew, you wouldn’t have the use for it, but there is a distant memory of—

“Just a second,” you say, walking to your kitchen.

You rummage through your cupboard for a few moments, before emerging victorious, holding a corkscrew you’re pretty sure Hyejin bought you when you first moved after The Break-Up, telling you that you would need it. You hadn’t, but you didn’t like throwing things away, so you had kept it, even after you had changed apartments a second time.

“Ah, you’re a life savior!” Hoseok rejoices when you hand it to him. “I’ll give it back to you as soon as possible, okay?”

You want to say that he doesn’t have to. You don’t.

“Sure,” you say, lifting a corner of your lips in a poor attempt at a smile. “Enjoy yourself.”

He seems a bit taken aback by the comment, but then he nods, and something strange twists in your stomach because of how he looks at you. Fondly.

God. You must be terribly deprived of affection if that is all it takes.

“Thank you, I will! Have a nice evening!”

The “Thank you” you reply with sounds awkward to your ears, and you grimace as you close the door. You’re pretty sure you’ve handled that interaction terribly, and you half regret not telling him to put the corkscrew back into your mailbox when he returns it, to save you the embarrassment of going through something similar again.

But you also don’t regret it that much, and that’s something.

Hoseok catches you again a few days later. This time, he pokes his head out of his apartment as you’re turning the key into your lock. You’re not that surprised. If he can hear you half as well as you can hear him, it’s no wonder he hears you coming in.

“I have your corkscrew!”

The weirdness of that sentence, out of context, amuses you. You wait for him to reappear, and when he does, he gives you the corkscrew back with a strange reverence, like you did him a huge favor.

“Thanks,” you say. “Did it, uh, did it help? Was the— was what you drank good? Was it wine?”

That’s too many questions.

“Yeah— Yeah, it was good!” Hoseok lightens up, like he hasn’t even noticed that you can’t, for the life of you, have a normal conversation with someone. “We had some wine. I don’t have wine often, but I thought it was good. Not that I know much about it, though,” he laughs, and the sound is extremely nice. “You drink wine?”

You shake you head.

“No, the— the corkscrew’s a gift from a friend. I barely use it. You can keep it, actually.”

His eyes widen.

“You’re sure?”

You nod.

“I probably— I shouldn’t accept that. It’s yours. And it’s a gift.”

He looks genuinely worried, and you find it extremely endearing. He seems so worried about whatever rules are to be followed when it comes to accepting gifts from a neighbor you’ve met twice and— You think it’s sweet, is all.

“It’s fine, I don’t really drink. And when I do, it’s usually beer.”

And mojitos. You’re a big mojito fan. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, if you’re sure…”

The corkscrew changes hands. Again.

“I’m Hoseok, by the way,” he says.

You don’t tell him that you know that. You do, because you’ve looked at the mailbox to see what your neighbor’s name was — when you moved in, mind you, not after finding out what he looked like — but you think that maybe that’s not the type of things people normally do.

Instead, you tell him your name, and Hoseok’s eyes seem to twinkle when he smiles at you.

You part awkwardly, the awkwardness mostly coming from you, as usual, and you think that’s the last you’ll see of your neighbor, outside of the occasional run-ins that you should be able to escape without having to talk to him. So that’s a relief.

(But it’s also just a tiny bit disappointing.)

You don’t drink, but Hyejin does. Especially wine, especially after a break-up, which you guess explains the corkscrew gift. When she arrives at your apartment, you’re first worried that she’s going to get offended you don’t have it anymore, but it quickly becomes clear that she doesn’t remember giving it to you. That doesn’t stop her from sending you out to get one from one of your neighbors. Usually she’d do it, because she knows how much you hate asking strangers for things, but she’s not herself tonight. The relationship was nearing the six months mark, something she had been really excited about, so you want to do what you can to help

That leaves you in an uncomfortable situation, though. You could ask another neighbor, but there’s the risk that they wouldn’t have a corkscrew — you’ve thought of that word way too much recently and it’s starting to lose its meaning in your mind — or that they wouldn’t want to give it to you, or that they’d slam the door in your face, or—

That’s irrational. You know that’s irrational and unlikely to happen. Still, knocking on Hoseok’s door is going to be awkward, but at least you’re pretty sure that he will be nice about it. So you do.

“Yeah— Oh, hey, (Y/N), what can I do for you?”

He does have a truly beautiful smile.

“Well, I have a friend over, and she actually drinks wine, and—”

Hoseok lets out a loud laugh that has you freezing like a deer in headlights first, then brings a careful smile to your lips.

“I’ll give it back,” you mumble sheepishly.

“It’s fine, it’s yours,” he chuckles, stepping back in his apartment, but leaving the door open behind him. You wonder if you should follow, then decide against it. Instead, you stand in the hallway, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. About as uncomfortable as can be.

You do take a peek inside, though. The rooms seem to be laid out pretty much the same as in your own apartment, with the kitchen on the left when you walk in, and you guess the bedroom door is the one you can see facing you, after the lounge. The interior design is simple, but stylish, and you notice movie posters on the walls. It’s nice and, though you barely know him, you can’t help but thinking that it’s a distinctively Hoseok place.

You haven’t really done anything to decorate, apart from bringing in your plants. It’s not your thing. At all. Maybe Hyejin will do something about it tonight. Wouldn’t be the first time she decorates your place while drunk. Last time, she’d ordered wallpaper. You’d forced her to come to help you put it on, and she had found it hilarious.

That was probably why she’d told you you were ‘better than therapy’.

“A-ha!” Hoseok exclaims before quickly returning to you. “There you go,” he says. “Is the wine your friend brought any good?”

You honestly have no idea. You don’t know the first thing about wine. Hyejin does, but you doubt that is something she feels very concerned with tonight.

Right as you’re thinking that, she opens your apartment door, calling out your name, way too loud, and seems satisfied when she sees you so close.

“Got one,” you tell her, waving the corkscrew. “Thanks, Hoseok, I’ll—”

“You look like you need a drink too,” Hyejin says bluntly, eyes set on him. “Wanna join?”

You look at him, surprised. You didn’t notice anything. You thought he looked fine. A little tired, maybe, and not quite as nicely dressed as he was that first night he had knocked on your door, but not any different from when you’d see him around. Hyejin is good with those things, though, so you suppose she’s probably right, but you don’t want Hoseok to feel pressured.

“You don’t have to—”

“You know what? I think I’ll take that invitation,” he says, and Hyejin nods in approval. “If it’s fine with the hostess,” he adds politely, giving you a wink.

As if. You already can’t deny Hyejin anything, so there’s no way you can deny him, especially when that wink has you weak in the knees.

“Sure,” you smile. “Let’s get you guys drunk.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hyejin shouts, raising a hand for high-five, which Hoseok gives her enthusiastically, a light-hearted laugh leaving his lips.

You shake your head, but you’re grinning.

As you expected, Hyejin passes out on your couch, drunk and sad and tired. Her and Hoseok had an amazing time, talking about their love life, while you sat on a stool by your kitchen island, sipping the same glass of wine for the entire evening. You don’t drink, you don’t even like alcohol that much, but you want to be supportive, and you’ve noticed it makes people feel better when you at least have a glass in your hands.

You listen to them, though. They have the same type of chaotic energy, and they get along immediately, in a way you could never dream of getting along with a stranger. Hyejin talks about her break up, and she’s as devastated as she always is. Hoseok nods along with just the right amount of intensity, at just the right times, and punctuates her talking with gasps. When it’s his turn to share, he talks about ‘people who don’t know what they want’, and his bitter tone worries you a little. You guess things didn’t go that well with whoever he was sharing that bottle of wine with. It comes as a surprise, because you certainly heard that it was going fine, that night.

After Hyejin falls asleep, Hoseok looks around your room, and, as soon as his eyes lock with yours, he walks over to you. He’s a little tipsy, and there’s a red tint to his cheeks. He sits across from you, then leans on the island and rest his chin on his hands.

“So, what about you? Any terrible break-up you want to talk about?”

The question almost makes you jump, but you manage to keep your composure. Still, you can feel a cold hand wrapping around your heart and squeezing it. You hate that you’re still so affected by any mention of it. You should be over it by now. You certainly don’t have any feelings left for Minsu, so you don’t understand why this is still so hard.

At the same time, it feels kind of refreshing to hear him asking that without sugar-coating it. You friends have been walking on eggshells around you ever since The Break-Up, and none of them know exactly what happened. They just know that Minsu has a new girlfriend now.

“It’s been almost a year,” you tell him, keeping your voice light. “I’m okay. You two look like you need to talk a lot more than I do.”

“That depends,” he says, frowning, though you’re not sure if it’s because of what you said or because he has a hard time focusing with all the alcohol running in his blood. “I wasn’t serious. Were you serious?”

Ah.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I was.”

You don’t date someone for eight years unless it’s serious. Sure, it started when the two of you were in high school, and a lot of people probably didn’t think you would make it that far, but you felt— you felt comfortable with Minsu. You felt good around him. You liked talking about your work with him, liked hearing him rant about video games, liked how you goofed around when you did the dishes. You hadn’t seen anything coming.

A third of your life. When he’d broken up with you, you had spent a third of your life with him.

“Then you probably should be drinking some more,” Hoseok says decidedly, grabbing the bottle of wine to refill your glass. You remove it just in time, and he stops in time not to spill anything Looks like his reflexes aren’t too bad, even after drinking. He pouts at you, and it’s, actually, adorable.

“What about you?” you ask, trying to change the subject, trying to push aside memories you want nothing to do with anymore. “Things didn’t work out with the girl you had over the other day?”

His face falls, and you feel bad, but at least you’re not talking about yourself anymore.

“I thought it was going good. I mean we— You probably heard it, right? I can hear you walk around at night. At ungodly hours, by the way. Your rhythm of sleep must be fucked.”

You laugh.

“I did hear you,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from grinning. “So I thought it was going good too.”

“Well, she ghosted me,” Hoseok sighs dramatically. “I couldn’t even get a nice ‘it’s not me it’s you’!” He tilts his head. “Wait. No.”

“You’re drunk, Hoseok,” you say affectionately. “You should get back to your apartment.”

“I’m not drunk,” he protests. “Hyejin’s drunk. I’m doing great. Could a drunk person do that?”

The second the words leave his mouth, you get ready to stop him. Every single time you’ve heard those, disaster followed. You’ve seen drunk men fall into bushes of nettles with their pants down, watched several girls faceplant, and, once, witnessed someone breaking a wrist. He’d been lucky, though, because his bike had never been the same after that.

You get out of your stool, worried both for Hoseok and for your apartment, and then he breaks into some elaborate dance moves. You can only stare in disbelief. You couldn’t do that at your most sober. You can’t take your eyes away from the graceful, efficient way his body moves, like he has absolute control over every single one of his muscles. When he shoots you a satisfied smile at the end, there’s only one thing you can think to answer.

“Wow.”

“Exactly.” He makes finger guns at you with his right hand, clicks his tongue, and winks. In doing so, he somehow upsets his balance, which was perfect only seconds ago, and has to catch himself on your table, but he doesn’t fall. That is, possibly, even more impressive. “So I’m not drunk,” he says, shaking his head to push some hair out of his eyes and leaning against your table like he’d planned for it all to happen exactly that way.

You look at him, and an unexpected softness blooms in your chest. Hoseok’s hot, you knew that already, but that’s not what you marvel at right now. No, you’re impressed by how endearing he is. How lovable.

All thoughts of Minsu are long gone. If you noticed it, you would probably hate the impact any mention of the break-up has on you, even though Minsu is such a small part of what you think about.

You would also realize how easily Hoseok takes your mind off it.

“You’ve convinced me,” you nod, hoping he’s too drunk to pick up on the sarcasm. “But I’m sure you’re tired.”

He tilts his head, considering it.

“This time, I think you have a point.”

He’s so serious that you have to laugh, and that makes him smile. It’s not one of those wide, bright smiles that you’ve gotten used to. It’s much more subdued, lifts only a corner of his lips, and yet it feels… intimate. It’s not performative. It’s just for himself, and it takes your breath away.

“I’ll get going,” he tells you softly. “Thank you for tonight. Your friend was fun and it was nice of you to let us bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me,” you answer honestly.

Hoseok smiles and looks down at his feet, and you wonder if he believes you. It’s true, though. You like listening to people talk. You don’t mind that you weren’t included. Him and Hyejin needed to vent, and you were happy to be there for it.

“If you ever want to talk to someone about that again, I’ll be here,” you find yourself saying, hoping it doesn’t come off as strange. “And Hyejin won’t mind either, if she’s around. I think she liked you.”

Hoseok laughs, and you feel relieved. You’ve noticed it before, but he does have a nice laugh, and you’ve gotten used to it since you’ve moved in. It would suck if you couldn’t hear it anymore.

You walk him out, then wait for him in his embrasure until he gets to his door. He sends you a mocking glance while turning his key into the lock.

“I’m not going to collapse in the five meters that separate our apartments, you know.”

“I don’t. What if you fall asleep between our doors and you spend the night there?”

He laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and you nod. Yup. He’s definitely drunk, and you’re definitely making the right choice by waiting for him to be back in safely.

“Say goodbye to Hyejin for me!”

“Don’t forget to lock the door behind you!”

Another laugh, but no reply. You smile, then close and make sure you lock your door behind you.

Inside, you cover Hyejin with a blanket, clean up around your apartment a little and then, after brushing your teeth, let yourself fall into bed. You’re exhausted, and you know you’re probably going to regret that one glass of wine in the morning — you can’t do alcohol.

It was a strange night, all in all. Fun, by your admittedly low standards, but strange. You don’t know where you stand with your neighbor now. You like things to be clear-cut, otherwise you risk getting lost in the awkwardness of the in-betweens, and they’re definitely not — are you friends? Are you neighbors? Were you too cold? Too friendly? Does he think you’re weird?

“G’night, (Y/N),” a sleepy voice says from the other side of the wall, and you smile. He’s drunk, and you’re sure that’s why he says that, but it’s still nice.

“Goodnight, Hoseok.”

Maybe, for once, the in-between you’re standing in is not that bad.

Hoseok has another date. You know, because he asks for the corkscrew back. He looks as excited as the last time when you open your door, and you can’t help but compare him to a puppy. You note, again, the nice white shirt, which does marvels for his arms and shoulders, with the top buttons open, revealing some skin. Hoseok looks— he looks good. You knew that, of course, and yet it still hits you.

You find yourself a little jealous of the girl who’s in his apartment. Not just for that, but because, from what you’ve seen of him so far, he’s a pleasant guy to be around. He’s nice, energetic, funny, he has a great laugh. There’s simply nothing not to like.

For the first time since— For the first time, you think that maybe you should date again. Not him necessarily, he’s probably way out of your league, but someone. Surely, you could find someone. You don’t think you’d look as happy as Hoseok does now, but maybe you could have some fun.

You give him the corkscrew, wish him good luck.

“You don’t need luck when you look like that,” he says, putting a hand under his chin and winking, and it makes you laugh. “Thanks,” he adds. “I’ll invest in one of those so I don’t have to keep annoying you, by the way. I promise!”

That night, you spend a lot of time with your headphones on, and you end up sleeping on your couch, in a weird attempt to give him some privacy.

(You hope he doesn’t keep his promise.)

You’re surprised to see Hoseok at your door the next time. Not because of the promise, though you remember it — you doubt that he does. You’ve learnt through time that people often forget things they don’t find important. You never do, and you wonder if it’s because your brain has trouble separating what matters and what doesn’t.

No, you’re surprised because it’s too early for him to have a date, and because he already has your corkscrew.

“Hey,” he says, and the smile he gives you is a little droopy and tired, “does your invitation still stands?”

Your eyes widen and you nod, pushing yourself out of the way so he can come in.

“Of course, but I don’t have alcohol. Do you want me to call Hyejin?”

He laughs, and you wonder if that was a weird thing to say.

“If she’s available, absolutely. I don’t know how I made it without a Hyejin in my life until now.”

That makes you chuckle, and you whole-heartedly agree. Hyejin’s indispensable.

Unfortunately, it turns out she can’t make it that night, but she sounds excited by the idea. She asks you to tell Hoseok you’ll invite him next time she’s around, so you do, and he’s as happy about it as she is. The two of them make an obvious pair, and you’re sure they’d grow to be good friends if they spent more time together.

After that, Hoseok gets a pack of beer from his apartment, and you grab one, which you keep in your hand while he downs several others. He talks about things that are happening around him. His job as an accountant — “Can you tell me why I thought that was a good idea?” —, the dance lessons he takes on the side — “otherwise I’d go crazy“ —, his friends — “Idiots! All of them! They’re lucky I love them so much!” —, and also, your taste in music, which he’s very aware of given the complete lack of soundproofing between your apartments — “Listen, sad ballads are well and good, but have you considered listening to something happy?”.

At this point, he gets on his feet and starts to dance, and just like the last time, you think he’s amazing at this.

“C’mon!” he says, dancing his way to you and grabbing your hands. “You have to join me!”

You try to protest, but you know you’re not going to be able to resist him. When he makes you spin, you let out a loud laugh, and you try not to think too much about the way his hand naturally falls to your hip to help you keep your balance. You’re sure he hasn’t noticed, that it’s normal behavior for him, and you don’t want to look too affected. Your cheeks likely betray you, but Hoseok doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he lets you go after rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, once.

“You need to enjoy yourself sometimes!” he says, almost threateningly. “If you don’t, I’ll come over and make you!”

You wish he would.

“So,” you say after he’s fallen back into silence, staring at his beer bottle with a little too much intensity, “things didn’t work out with the girl you had over last time?”

Hoseok sighs.

“No,” he mumbles. “She said I was moving too fast for her.”

“Were you?”

He looks taken off-guard by your question.

“I don’t think I was,” he replies after giving it a second of thought. “I didn’t pressure her or anything. I think she didn’t want a relationship, and she didn’t want to tell me that.”

“That sucks,” you say, shaking your head. Hoseok seems pretty calm about it, if a little dejected, but you feel annoyed just thinking of that girl that you’ve never met. “She put the blame on you instead of being honest.”

“Better now than later, though,” he says, sounding deep in thought. “I’m disappointed, but I’m not hurt. If she realized after the date that we weren’t a good fit, she did the right thing.”

For a fleeting second, you wonder when Minsu knew, how long he’d had doubts, what he could have done differently to hurt you less, but the thought quickly vanishes. You still think the girl should have been truthful about it. You’re about to say so when Hoseok lets out a little laugh.

You’ve come to realize that there is a lot of depth to both his smiles and his laughs. They don’t always mean that he’s happy. He does them even when he’s sad. You’re not sure why, but if you were to guess, you’d say he doesn’t like giving in to the sadness, and the smiles and laughs are ways of fighting it off.

“The thing is— I get it. I know I can be… a little too much,” he says sheepishly, and you can tell that the words are painful to say, even if he’s acting nonchalant. He might have heard them one too many times.

Hearing that makes you feel bad. It makes something deep inside you ache. Maybe because the corners of his lips are falling, or maybe because, for the first time since he’s walked into your apartment, he looks like he’s about to cry. Maybe it’s because of how unjustified it seems to you. You love Hoseok’s energy, his enthusiasm, but you’re not sure how to tell him that.

So, instead of trying to come up with something, you reach over the table and grab his hand gingerly. The gesture is not the most smooth, because you’re pretty bad at physical demonstrations, but Hoseok immediately squeezes your fingers in his.

“That’s fine,” you tell him, doing your best to smile at him. “I can be… a little not enough.”

“You?” he protests immediately, shaking his head, “No way! I refuse to believe anyone’s ever told you that!”

His offended tone makes you chuckle, but you don’t miss how relieved he seems by the distraction, and you don’t blame him.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you tell him conspiratorially, “but I can be a little awkward, and I’m not the best at making conversation.”

At that, he bursts out laughing, but when he stops, the look he gives you is so soft that you feel yourself melt under his gaze.

“But you’re the best listener,” he says, and his tone is gentle and fond and you don’t know what to to do with yourself. You feel rooted to your spot, unable — and unwilling — to escape. You have the feeling your hand is burning up in his. You’re sure you’re blushing. There’s no way you’re not blushing right now.

“I don’t think you’re too much,” you blurt out. “I think you’re just the right amount.”

You really, really wish you were even just a little better at speaking to people.

Hoseok’s eyes widen at your statement, and then he smiles at you. It’s a genuinely happy smile that you couldn’t have imagined on his lips a moment ago.

“Thank you,” he says.

He doesn’t add anything. He doesn’t have to.

After that night, after you made sure once more that Hoseok got back to his apartment safely, even if he was far less intoxicated than the last time, and after he wished you goodnight from his room again, Hoseok and you start making small talk when you see each other. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s a huge victory for you. Before that, you’d stayed years without exchanging more than a nod with your neighbors.

There are a couple more times at your place. Him and Hyejin meet again and, like you’d predicted, get along perfectly. Sometimes, your stomach twists a little when he puts his hand on her knee, or when she wraps an arm around his shoulders for a brief hug, but you try not to think too much about it. You don’t want to think about it, even if deep down, you know what is happening.

You’ve been through it before, after all, and it didn’t end well for you.

You blink when the lights turn back on, trying to adjust to the light. Next to you, Hyejin stretches.

“Well, that was something,” she says.

You feel too awestruck to reply just now, so you nod.

“Hoseok really is that amazing, isn’t he?”

“He is,” you say, and you let out a soft chuckle. You remember him dancing in your kitchen, completely wasted, and you remember how impressed you’d been then. You hadn’t realized then how much better he would be when he was sober.

“We owe him one for inviting us,” Hyejin continues. She’s used to making the conversation for the two of you anyway. “Think he could introduce me to one of the other dancers?”

You laugh and, in an unusual demonstration of affection, link your arm with hers. It’s not like you, but you’re feeling great after watching the performance. Hyejin’s right, of course. It was really nice of Hoseok to give you tickets to his dance group’s show. He’d looked so nervous, and after seeing this, you absolutely cannot imagine why. He has to know how incredible he looks, right?

You and Hyejin wait around for a little while, until Hoseok comes out. You’re not the only ones here to see him and the other dancers, and though Hyejin would happily call out to him, you manage to make her wait until he approaches you. His smile is bright and blinding when he finds you, and you feel your heart flutter. Hoseok’s smile has the strangest effects on you.

“So,” he starts, rubbing his hands together, “what did you guys think? Did you like it?”

“You were incredible,” you say, and the way his eyes shine when he looks at you disarms you completely. For a second, the world fades out around you. The people, the noise, the voices — gone in an instant. It’s just the two of you, and the affection with which Hoseok looks at you has you frozen in your spot.

You’re familiar with the feeling, have tried your best to dismiss it in the recent months, but this time, you don’t shy away from it. You like how Hoseok makes you feel, and even if a part of you is whispering in your ears that you’re taking a risk in letting anyone make you feel like that again, you ignore it. You’re willing to take that risk, and that realization makes your head spin.

You can’t look away from Hoseok, and he isn’t looking away from you either.

Then Hyejin starts to talk about the show, and the spell is broken. You don’t mind the interruption, and in fact, when you hear her speaking, you quickly find yourself interested. Hyejin is good with visual arts, in a way you aren’t, and it’s fascinating to hear her commentaries. Hoseok seems sucked in, too, but there is a strangeness in the air, a feeling, between you and him. You feel it in the briefest of looks, the softest of touches, his hand brushing against yours, in a smile that’s much softer than the ones he usually gives. You’re aware you could very well be imagining it, but there is also a chance you aren’t.

(God, you hope you aren’t.)

You weren’t too happy when Hyejin told you about the party. Now that you’re here, you want nothing more than to run away. You’re seriously considering it when Hyejin grabs your arm, and you know that she knows you were about to bail on her. Usually, you’d feel bad, but not tonight.

Minsu is here.

With his new girlfriend.

The one he cheated on you with.

You knew it was only a matter of time, because you have the same group of friends, and because it’s not like anyone knows what he did to you — you’re not sure they would pick your side even if they did —, but you still aren’t looking forward to seeing him again. In fact, it could never happen, and you would find it to be too soon. It’s not like this is still a gaping wound. It’, You don’t think you will ever forget about it, about the feelings you experienced then, sure, but the love you felt for him is long gone. Now it’s more like a phantom limb that throbs every once in a while.

Part of you is somewhat afraid that seeing him will revive it, though, and you never want to go through that again.

But it’s been over a year now. You need to be over this, and you guess tonight might as well be the acid test for that.

You expect Hyejin to berate you, but the look in her eyes is one of pity, which you hate. When she leans to whisper in your ear, you think she’s going to say some encouraging words. Instead, she hits with something else entirely.

“Hoseok’s by the drinks.”

…What?

“I invited him, I thought it would be a good idea.”

Right.

“You should go keep him company!”

Then she quickly vanishes, but not before you can throw her a piercing glance. You know your friend. You can tell when she’s trying to set you up with someone.

She’s lucky you don’t mind, but you’re pretty sure she knows that. You don’t tend to be the best at hiding your feelings, no matter how hard you try, and you’ve been in the situation before when she knew you liked someone before you did.

You guess the set-up merely confirms something you had felt building up for a while now, all while avoiding the obvious conclusion.

You like Hoseok.

You find him quickly, making small talk with some of your friends, and some more people you don’t recognize. The group isn’t what it used to be. Over the years, some people left, others brought in friends of theirs, and while there are still a good portion of your high school friends — well, of people you went to high school with — you definitely don’t know all of them.

For a second, you wonder if you should interrupt. Hoseok’s a natural when it comes to all this social stuff, a real extrovert. He looks amazing, right now, in one of those shirts you’ve seen him wear on dates, his hair nicely done. Everyone he’s talking to looks absolutely charmed, and for the second time tonight, you consider running away.

Then Hoseok sees you, and his smile widens, and he waves you over. You give polite nods and introductions, finding out that you actually do know some of the people you originally didn’t recognize, and grab yourself a glass of wine to feel a little more included. Hoseok puts his hand on your shoulder at first, and then if falls to the small of your back. You find yourself relaxing a little, standing by his side. You don’t know what it is about him and his touch that you find so grounding. You’ve never disliked physical contact, even if you don’t tend to initiate it, but with him it’s— different. Everything is.

That doesn’t stop you from feeling relieved when the group moves on and you find yourself alone with him. Maintaining a conversation with a lot of people is exhausting.

“Is everything going okay?” you ask. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Well, it’s not a party until I walk in,” Hoseok grins cockily, tilting his head towards you. “Why, are you tired of seeing my face everywhere you go?”

“I don’t think that could ever happen,” you laugh, and there it is again, on Hoseok’s face, that look he gives you from time to time, for a reason you haven’t figured out yet. His eyes widen, and his lips curl into that smile that’s not as bright as the one he usually gives, but just as sincere. It makes heat pool in your stomach.

“That’s good,” he says softly.

There is probably something more there than you realize, and you want to ask about it, but you see Minsu and his girlfriend from the corner of your eye. Before you can think about it, you’ve grabbed Hoseok so he can serve as a shield between you and the rest of the room. The move surprises him, and he grabs onto you to stabilize himself, fingers wrapping around your arms. He’s close, but you can’t think about this right now.

“My ex is here,” you mumble when he shoots you a questioning look.

“Oh,” he says, and you miss the hint of disappointment in his voice. “The one you were serious with?”

You didn’t think he would remember that.

“Yeah,” you reply with a grimace. “With his new girlfriend. I just— I don’t want to speak to them.”

A decided expression settles on Hoseok’s face.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he whispers at you.

You barely have the time to blink at him before he starts leading you towards the exit. You don’t know if it’s that much more discreet, not with the way he keeps his back turned to the room and his shoulders squared, taking his role as your human shield very seriously, but you’re still grateful.

The second you’ve set foot outside, you burst out laughing, and Hoseok quickly joins you.

“Thank you, Hoseok,” you smile once you’ve caught your breath. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Walked out the door, I guess,” he replies, lifting his hands to arrange your hair.

You stay still for him. You don’t mean just that, though. You can’t express how much you appreciate his support right now, instead of the pity you usually get. You like that Hoseok turned this into— a joke. That he made you laugh about the way you’re hiding from your ex, instead of making you feel pathetic.

Just as you're thinking that, a wave of affection for him bursts in your chest, filling you with warmth, and you have no idea what to do with it. Especially not when he’s standing so close to you, biting his lower lip with concentration as he runs his fingers through your hair.

You kind of want to kiss him, but something tells you the timing isn’t right.

Finally, Hoseok takes a step back with a satisfied smile.

“There. Perfect.”

“I’ll have to let Hyejin know you’ll replace her as my personal hairdresser,” you chuckle.

“Oh, I’ll fight her for that spot!”

And there it is again. You’re laughing. You just saw Minsu again, and yet you’re laughing. The very idea would have sounded ludicrous a few months ago. Not because of Minsu per say, but because you didn’t think there would be anything to joke about. Or anyone to laugh with.

But Hoseok is here. By your side, in your life.

In your heart.

Someone clears their throat next to you, and you know even before turning around.

Minsu’s standing there. He looks good, if you’re being honest. He doesn’t have the dark circles under his eyes that you had gotten used to when you were dating, from the all-nighters he pulled when he was in college, and he’s clean-shaven. He’s wearing his favorite jacket, and that might be what you’re most taken aback by. The fact that you know this jacket. He used to put it on your shoulders when you got cold.

You suddenly feel an unexpected hatred for it.

“(Y/N),” he says, softly, and you can only look at him. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect that he would say your name so gently, with such affection. It wasn’t— It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. You’d told yourself he hated you, that he would make fun of you, that he was such an asshole. This is so much worse, and yet you can’t say you haven’t thought about it. This is so much worse, because if he’s not an asshole, how could he do that to you?

What kind of person would you have to be to deserve to go through that?

“Hi, I’m Hoseok!” Hoseok exclaims next to you, filling the uncomfortable silence. He extends a hand to Minsu and, while doing that, wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you feel a little better.

“Hi,” you say, belatedly, while Minsu shakes Hoseok’s hand and smiles genuinely.

“Minsu,” he tells Hoseok before turning his gaze back to you “This is great,” he comments, pointing at you and Hoseok, and you don’t get it. “The two of you— You look great together. I’m so happy for you.”

You’d like to say that you snapped, that you lost control, that you didn’t know what you were doing, but that would be a lie. Sure, in that moment, you feel burning, seething rage running through your veins. Sure, you consider murder for a hot second. But you’re in control of yourself when you dismiss the idea, just like you’re in control of yourself when your hand makes a circular movement, splashing Minsu’s face with the entirety of your glass of wine and, hopefully, ruining that stupid jacket of his.

Minsu looks at you in disbelief. You look at him in disbelief, as wine drips from his chin.

Then you run. Hoseok’s hand slips from your shoulder, and you’re all too aware of the way people stare at you as you beeline towards the exit. You hear Hyejin, and perhaps Hoseok, call your name as you put your glass back on a table, but you’re out before either of them can get to you, and as much as you love them, you think it’s probably for the best.

You get home at 7 am, which is late, even for your fucked up sleep patterns. You feel a little better. You spent a good chunk of the night outside, walking, before finding a café that was open. You didn’t want to go home.

When you arrive at your door, and find a sleeping Hoseok leaning against it, you think you may have made a mistake. He looks peaceful, but he’s still sitting on the floor in the cold hallway, in front of your door, and guilt spreads through you. You kneel in front of him, and try to gently shake him awake.

He barely budges. You try again, and he lets out a sleepy groan, head rolling to fall on his shoulder. He looks adorable.

“Hoseok, hey,” you call out gently. “You can’t stay here. We need to get you to bed, okay?”

The only reply you get is another groan. With a sigh, you pull on his arm, trying to lift him up. He’s heavy, way more than you would have thought with his figure, but you guess muscle weighs a lot. You’re about to give up when you feel him straightening a little. Not enough to walk on his own, but enough for you to half carry him. You make it to his door, fish the key out of his pocket while trying not to think about his muscled thigh under your finger or— anything else, then struggle to open it and get the two of you through.

Inside, you bump against his couch, and you swear between your teeth. You’ve always met at your apartment, and you’ve only been in his for a few minutes at a time, so you’re not familiar with the lay-out. You make it to the bedroom, unsteady under Hoseok’s weight, and are delighted to be able to push him down onto the bed.

That delight lasts for less than a second, though, because as he falls, the arm that you’d put around your shoulders to carry him drags you down with him. Your exhausted brain manages a ‘fuck’ before you collapse into Hoseok’s chest. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, feeling rather hard under you, but that doesn’t change anything to the fact that your heart is beating like crazy. Your nose is pressed against his neck, and you breathe in the smell of his after-shave, and you want to stay here.

But, as tempting as the idea is, you can’t do that when Hoseok doesn’t even know you’re here. Gathering all your willpower, you push against his chest to get up.

And then Hoseok rolls over, suddenly covering you with his body while all you can do is squeak.

This is the dumbest thing ever, you think as you vaguely try to push him off, already knowing that this is a lost cause. There’s no way this is happening.

Yet, as the minutes pass by and Hoseok shows no sign of moving again, instead wrapping an arm around your waist with a contended sigh, you have no choice but to accept your fate. You’re trapped, in Hoseok’s bed, underneath him, he’s probably drunk — that would explain why you can’t wake him up — and tomorrow morning is going to be unbelievably awkward.

It should be hard to fall asleep, in those circumstances. In fact, you shouldn’t fall asleep at all, just wait patiently until he lets you go to slip away. But right now, engulfed in Hoseok’s warmth, you can’t manage to stay awake and, as you drift into sleep, you cannot find it in yourself to regret it.

You wake to the feeling of hands gently moving up and down your back. The second you stir, though, they stop, and the warmth they provided you disappears. Whatever you’re laying on also tenses, hardening under you, and you want to protest. Fortunately for you, even in that state, you realize that mattresses and pillows can’t harden, which helps you piece together that you’re not laying on a mattress, which means you have to be laying on—

Oh God. Your eyes snap open, and you sit up way faster than you probably should have.

“Careful!” Hoseok protests, sitting up as well, reaching out to steady you. He removes his hands quickly once he’s sure you’re not going to fall over, burying them under his blanket.

“You— you’ve been awake a long time?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.

“Um, a little while,” he admits, shifting under your gaze. “I assumed you needed the rest. You must have come home very late.”

There is a hint of reproach in his voice, laced with something else that you cannot identify, and you grimace. You take a second to rub your eyes, but even once that’s done, you find you can’t look at Hoseok.

“I did,” you mumble. “I’m sorry about last night, by the way. It must have been very— very uncomfortable. Especially after I left you with— I’m so sorry.”

Hoseok lets out a soft laugh, but you get the distinct feeling that it’s to make you feel better. You’re getting good at telling what his laughs mean.

“It’s fine. Your, erm, your friends told me about you and Minsu. I didn’t realize you guys were that serious.” Silence. “Eight years, huh?”

You press your hand against your forehead. Talking about you and Minsu’s long relationship always makes you feel weird. The fact that he was in your life, practically everyday, for eight years, and that he disappeared from it without a warning and now he’s gone and everything is practically the same is unbelievably confusing to you. Maybe you should miss him, and you do miss some things about the relationship, like being in love, and sharing an apartment, and having someone to come home to, but you don’t miss him. Not anymore.

You know Hyejin’s worried you moved on too fast, after him. That she thinks you didn’t take time to heal. Truth be told, it hurt for a lot longer than she knows, but it was still relatively short, compared to what you’ve seen her go through after some of her relationships. You don’t know what to say about it. After the break up, you couldn’t find it in yourself to still love him, or to miss him.

“Eight years,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is that all they said?”

“…Not exactly, no.” Hoseok sounds so different from his usual self, all serious, looking at his hands, anywhere in the room but you. You can’t blame him, though, considering you’re doing the same thing. “They said you were high school sweethearts. That you were basically— perfect for each other.”

You want to scoff at that. It’s true that you got together in high school, and it’s true that people thought you made a nice picture. They were surprised that you would have gotten a boyfriend, usually, but the surprise vanished once they saw Minsu. You two clicked, in so many ways. The two of you worked. You made sense.

But you don’t believe there is such a thing as ‘being perfect for each other’. The two of you always had to try to make the relationship work.

Until one day he stopped trying.

“So I wanted to say— I get it. It must have been hard to hear him say that. You should try to deal with your sadness in other ways but—”

What? What is he talking about?

“—but I know what it’s like to see an ex you still have feelings for with their new partner, and it sucks, though, again, next time you could—”

“That’s not it,” you blurt out, and Hoseok stops in the middle of his rambling to finally look at you.

“What do you mean?” he asks, tone cautious, almost guarded.

You can’t believe what you’re about to tell him. You haven’t told anyone before, not even Hyejin. If she finds out, she’s probably going to kill you for not telling her and for telling someone else, and yet, in that moment, you can’t not talk about it. The thought of Hoseok thinking that you did that out of jealousy, that you still have feelings for Minsu is unbearable to you.

“What did they say about the break-up?” you ask.

Hoseok blinks, then frowns as he tries to remember it. He drank a lot last night, especially after you left. More than he had intended to.

“That no one knew what happened.”

“And Minsu didn’t have anything to say to that?”

“…I think he was cleaning his jacket at that point.”

You hope you stained it and he wasn’t able to get them off.

“We didn’t just— break up. I— We lived together back then. In an apartment. Because— That’s not important. What I mean is that— I walked in on him. And her. In our bed.”

You hadn’t made a noise for a few moments, so you’re not sure how they noticed you, but next thing you knew she was shrieking, covering her chest, and Minsu was walking towards you, awkwardly pulling up his pants.

“He— He told me he was in love with her. And that was it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Hoseok isn’t saying anything, and you don’t want to look at him for now.

“That’s why I got angry. It’s not that I was jealous, it’s that— He doesn’t get to say that to me. Not after doing that.”

Hoseok grabs your hand, intertwines his fingers with yours.

“You didn’t tell that to anyone?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

You stare in the emptiness for a while. Reliving the story had been unpleasant, even if you don’t feel anything for Minsu anymore, but it’s the answer to that question that brings a choked sob to your lips.

“Because— How can you do that to someone? How can you— how can you do that to someone you’ve been with for eight years? Someone you said you loved?” You feel small and the weight on your chest is painful, unshakeable. “What kind— what kind of person would they have to be for you to feel that it was— that it was okay to do that?”

At that point, the tears are rolling down your cheeks and your sobs make it impossible to talk. Not because of Minsu, but because of the fear that is building in your stomach even now. The fear that you deserved that. You hiccup loudly, and then you’re pressed against Hoseok’s chest and he’s holding you tight, hand gently caressing your hair.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells you softly.

“You don’t know that. M-maybe I’m a terrible person.” You don’t believe that, not when you say it out loud. But… what if?

“(Y/N),” Hoseok says, almost sternly, “you’re not a terrible person. Sure, you listen to Taylor Swift at two am, and you cook at two am, and you take your shower at two am, and— Actually, you could fix all of those issues by going to bed like a normal human being.”

That has the benefit of making you giggle.

“None of that makes you a terrible person,” he continues, satisfied with that small victory. “And I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I have never thought you were anything close to terrible.”

You let a long breath out. It doesn’t quite rid you from your fears — Minsu knew you for over ten years, he had much more time to discover all of your ugly parts — but it still helps.

“You know, I was doing really bad, the night you and Hyejin invited me to join you for a drink.”

“That was mostly Hyejin,” you say with a sniff. You’re not crying anymore, thankfully, but you don’t want to leave Hoseok’s embrace just yet.

“Because you’d rather die than talk to a stranger unless you absolutely have to,” Hoseok laughs, and you think that he’s gotten to know you quite well. “But you were really nice to me that night and I think I needed that.”

He lets go of you carefully, like you made of porcelain and he’s afraid you’re going to break if he’s too brusque. You don’t, obviously, but the world suddenly feels cold, without his arms around you. He grabs a box of tissue from the night-stand and hands them to you.

“Minsu’s an asshole for what he did to you,” he tells you, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. “He should never have put you through that.”

“But—” But if he didn’t love me, he was right to leave me. He had the right to fall in love with someone else, even if it was going to hurt me. Sure, he could have done it another way, but is he to blame here?

“Not buts!” Hoseok protests. “Look, I know you must have loved him. I know that it’s not easy to reconcile that image of him with his actions, but you don’t have to look for excuses for him. You don’t even have to forgive him.”

You stare at Hoseok and, without a warning, you feel the absolute need to kiss him. You’ve thought about kissing him before, certainly, but it’s never been such a powerful urge. You can’t think of anything other than his lips against yours, his body pressed against your own, and it takes all your willpower to resist it.

Because, of course, kissing him as you’re talking about your ex would be a terrible idea and send all the wrong signals.

“You understand that, right?” he insists. He leans towards you so that his eyes are on the same level as yours and you think you really shouldn’t be looking in his beautiful brown eyes right now.

“I do,” you reply, glancing away.

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t blame yourself for—”

“I get it, Hoseok. I promise.” Then, still without looking at him: “Thank you.”

He sighs.

“I’m so angry you had to go through that,” he says with a pout. “If I see him again, do you give me permission to break his nose?”

It should worry you that you actually consider the proposition.

“He’s not worth it,” you decide. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“What if I accidentally kick him in the shin?”

“Well, if it’s an accident…”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, and you’re utterly and completely in awe at the sound.

“You can count on me!” he winks, and he doesn’t know how he makes your heart flutter, how in this moment, you realize how utterly head over heels for him you are.

(It’s a pretty nice feeling, actually.)

Hoseok has another date over. You sleep on your couch again, and you try your best not to think about it.

(You take it back. It sucks.)

You run into Hoseok after coming back from doing your laundry. He’s in a good mood, and you hate that pang in your chest at the thought that it’s because of the girl he saw the other day. You should be happy for him. That’s the least you can do.

“Hey!” he greets you cheerfully. “Need some help with that?”

“Not really, I—”

But he’s already taken it from your hands. You shake your head with a smile as he gestures for you to get into the elevator before him. God, you like him.

“I can do that, you know,” you tell him at the doors close.

“Sure, but I can do it better.” Hoseok winks at you, then regains some seriousness. “How are you doing?”

From his tone, you know he doesn’t mean ‘in general’. He’s probably worried because of how you cried in his arms the other day, which you find a little embarrassing, but you still like that he asked.

“I’m doing great,” you tell him honestly.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Then you nudge him playfully. “Thanks to you.”

He has a little laugh, sounding unsure what to make of that, but you mean it. Talking about the situation did more good than you would ever have expected, and you’re… you’re just happy you did it with him.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m fine!” he says, one second too late, like he’d been lost in his thoughts — except he wasn’t, he was looking at you. “Work, neighbors keeping me up, you know how it is.”

“Ugh, neighbors are the worst,” you grin.

“You’re telling me!”

The doors open with a ding, and the two of you step out, slowly making your way to your door. It’s silly, but you don’t want to leave his presence. You linger at your door for a few more minutes, talking about the weather, of all things. Finally, when all the small-talk you can muster has left your mouth, you hold your hands out to get your basket back.

“I feel like I’m constantly thanking you, these days,” you chuckle. “I wonder how I ever got anything done without you.”

“I think that deserves a kiss!” Hoseok exclaims, and your heart stops, but when you look at him, you see he’s tapping his cheek. He’s probably not serious and not expecting you to do anything.

But you get on your tiptoes and plant a brief kiss right where he was pointing.

“Thanks!” you say quickly, slamming the door behind you as fast as possible so you don’t see his reaction. “Have a nice day!” you yell from behind it.

Hoseok looks at your door. You’re leaning against it on the other side, dying to look through the peephole to see his reaction, and yet not daring to. Because of that, you miss the way he rubs his cheek, the amused smile that follows it, and the way he skips away. You do hear his happy whistle, though, so you decide you can’t have gone completely wrong, and you’re happy with that.

You hesitantly knock on Hoseok’s door. Things didn’t work out with the girl, and he texted you to come over for one of your usual pity parties, but he didn’t seem as down about it as he usually is. Still, you stopped at a grocery store to pick up some wine while coming back from the publishing house where you work as a proofreader. You usually work from home — hence your ridiculous schedule — but you had needed to drop by to discuss some things. The conversation had been difficult on your end, taking a lot of energy from you, and you were definitely happy about going home and blowing off some steam with your neighbor.

From inside, you can hear Hyejin’s voice, but also several others, and that makes you recoil. Talking with strangers is not something you want to do tonight. But before you can choose to run off, the door opens, and you’re greeted by Hoseok’s beautiful smile, so of course, there is no way for you to leave.

“(Y/N)!” he exclaims happily. “And you’ve brought wine! That’s great, Hyejin was worried we might not have enough. Come on, I have some people I want to introduce you to.”

You don’t even try to escape when he puts an arm around your shoulder — you have to remind yourself that it’s Hoseok and that’s just a thing he does, that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything — and leads you into the apartment.

There, you find Hyejin sitting next to a tall, dark-haired guy you recognize from Hoseok’s dance performance.

The introductions and the smiles they give you almost make your head spin, and once they’re done, you’re relieved to be able to fall on a chair next to the one that’s been the most quiet so far — Yoongi, if your memory isn’t playing tricks on you. That relief only grows when he doesn’t try to talk to you. Instead, you give each other a silent nod, and you both seem very content to let the others do all the talking.

As it turns out, they don’t limit themselves to talking. They clearly all have a lot of energy to spend, and you can merely stare at it, mesmerized. The blonde guy standing by the kitchen sink — Jimin, you remember, forcing yourself to recall their names — starts to demonstrate some dance moves with perfect grace, and it doesn’t take long for Jungkook to abandon his spot next to Hyejin to join him, not as precise, but very enthusiastic. Hoseok jumps in, too, and suddenly there’s a dance crew in his living-room. These three have no business being this good.

“Jin, aren’t you going to join them?” Yoongi yells to a guy who has carefully moved out of the dancers’ way.

“Do you want to fight?” Jin shouts back, and Yoongi chuckles, clearly delighted he got a rise from his friend. “Why don’t you join them?”

Then Taehyung — fluffy brown hair — seemingly comes out of nowhere and tackles Jungkook, Namjoon — tall guy with glasses — who’d been pretty quiet so far gets up and tries to separate them, everyone picks a side and— It’s chaos.

It’s kind of like watching a car crash happen, except you’re having a lot of fun.

“They’re always like that,” Yoongi says next to you. His expression is perfectly stoic but his voice betrays his fondness.

“I guess now I understand where Hoseok gets all that energy from. He just doesn’t have a choice,” you smile, and Yoongi sighs.

For a moment, you don’t speak, happy with simply observing the others’ antics. You’re not sure how or why it happened, but Jin and Jungkook are the ones fighting now, and Hyejin, who’s clearly in her element here, is shouting some encouragements from her seat, which she hasn’t bothered to leave.

“Hoseok’s doing well,” Yoongi comments suddenly.

“I was thinking that, too,” you admit. “Usually, after things go wrong with a girl…”

“Is something happening between the two of you?”

You… had not been expecting that bluntness.

“Um,” you say, taken aback. Yoongi turns to look at you, and the way he glares at you makes you feel compelled to answer. He looked harmless a second ago, but now you’re thinking if looks could kill, you would be seconds away from getting murdered. You’re not sure what you did to deserve that, though. “I don’t think there is.” You tilt your head, thinking. “There definitely isn’t anything official.”

“I think Hoseok likes you,” Yoongi says without batting an eyelid.

You’re pretty sure telling you that breaks some kind of code, but, with the wonderful warmth spreading in your chest, you don’t think about complaining. Not for a second.

“I think I like Hoseok too,” you reply instead. You don’t know why you’re saying that to a near stranger, but when Yoongi nods, you feel that there is a deep understanding going on between the two of you.

“Hurt him and I will kill you,” he says matter-of-factly.

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“Hurt him and I will steal your doormat.”

Yeah, that sounds more reasonable. If you hurt Hoseok, you’ll deserve to get your doormat stolen.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else on the subject, so you’re happy to drop it. You bring your attention back to the room to discover that Jungkook has wrestled Jin to the ground.

“How…”

“Don’t ask. I stopped trying to understand a long time ago.”

But, despite what he says, when Jin calls him, Yoongi jumps to the rescue. Namjoon takes his place next to you, making polite small talk, and it doesn’t feel as difficult as those things usually are for you. You’d even go as far as to say it’s… pleasant.

When you look up, you meet Hoseok’s worried eyes, and he smiles at you, silently asking if you’re okay. You smile back, and it’s like something melts inside you. It’s because of him, you piece together. You feel comfortable because you trust Hoseok to make you comfortable. And because those are his friends, and he wanted to introduce them to you… You feel safe.

Yoongi’s words replay in your mind. You have a hard time believing them, if you’re honest, but something has bloomed inside you, something you haven’t felt in quite some time, and something you don’t want to get rid of so quickly.

Hope.

“Will you be okay, Hobi?”

“We could help you clean!”

“I’m sorry about your lamp…”

Hoseok is quick to dismiss his friends’ concerns.

“It’s fine! (Y/N) is staying to help me, so you guys get home safely, okay? Namjoon, we can figure something out for the lamp.”

The tall man grimaces at that, and self-consciously rubs the back of his neck. You haven’t known him long, but something tells you it isn’t the first time something like that happens to him, which might explain why Hoseok is so calm about it. Then again, Hoseok always makes the best of every situation, so you can’t be quite sure.

“Here are your keys!” Jungkook says, handing them to you. He had just half-carried Hyejin to your apartment, where she’s going to spend the night. It’s for the best — she’s too drunk to get home by herself.

“Thanks,” you smile. It’s obvious that him and Hyejin have taken an interest in each other and, well, you think it wouldn’t be that bad if something happened there. He’s nice.

“So you guys are good?” Jimin insists, sounding worried. “You don’t want us to help?”

Hoseok firmly shakes his head.

“You get a good night of sleep!”

Greetings are exchanged, and then the door finally closes behind them, and it’s just you and Hoseok. He lets out a little sigh, then smiles at you.

“They’re a lot, aren’t they?” he asks, proudly.

“They’re great,” you reply, and you mean it. Sure, you feel tired, but you actually had fun tonight, which is not something you can say about most of the parties you go to. “Namjoon knows a lot about books. It was nice talking to him.”

Hoseok hums, moving past you to start cleaning up.

“I’m glad you liked them! They were really looking forward to meeting you. Yoongi said I was talking about you too much and that it made him curious.”

“I think Hoseok likes you.”

“You were only telling them good things about me, of course,” you joke, picking up the dishes that are laying on the table to put them in the sink.

“Well, there’s nothing bad to talk about,” Hoseok replies with the same tone, but there’s an underlying note of honesty to his voice.

“That’s simply not true.”

Hoseok laughs. You wonder if he means it, even a little. There are bad things to say about you, no doubt, but you wonder if he at least thinks the good outweighs the bad.

You’d take that.

You do some more cleaning while talking about his friends, and you end up perched on a worktop next to him while he does the dishes. The rest of the room isn’t spotless, and you doubt that lamp can be fixed, so Hoseok will need to get rid of it, but you think you did a pretty good job, all in all.

Hoseok starts humming to himself, and in that moment, you feel— satisfied. There’s nothing in particular to produce that feeling, and yet it’s exactly it. Cleaning a room at one am with him and being by his side while he does the dishes… You’re happy like that, you realize. It’s a strange thing to think about, and maybe that’s why it gives you the courage to talk.

“Hoseok?”

“Hm?”

When you don’t reply immediately, he looks up at you.

“What is it?” he asks. You take in a deep breath, run your fingers through your hair.

“What would you do if I kissed you?”

His eyes go wide, and his movements stop completely. He just stares at you, and in that moment, you really, really hate yourself for asking.

“That’s— That’s cheating,” he manages to say after what feels like an eternity. “You have to try it to find out about that.”

That’s fair, you decide, and before you can question yourself further, you lean forward, choosing to take that as an invitation. You’re slow in your movements, in case he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t. He stays perfectly still as your lips part, centimeters from his, as you put your hand on his shoulder to stabilize yourself, and he’s still perfectly still when you finally press your lips against his mouth.

He tastes salty, like the snacks you had earlier. You don’t mind it.

The first thing to move is his mouth, pressing back against yours, and it’s the softest kiss you’ve ever experienced.

Soon after that, his hands come out of the water and he quickly removes the gloves he was wearing. The second his right hand cups your cheek, the kiss turns urgent, passionate. His tongue darts into your mouth, and you wrap your arms around him with a pleased sigh, running your fingers on the back of his neck. A shiver runs through him, and next thing you know, he’s positioning himself between your legs, one hand firmly pulling you closer to him.

His body’s warm, toned, everything you’ve wanted for the past few months. He feels so good, and you’re quick to pull him in, hooking one of your legs behind his knee. He buckles, catches himself on the worktop and his lips stretch into a smile against yours. He tilts your head up ever so slightly, kissing you like he’s starving and wants to devour you whole. You respond with the same energy, fisting your hands in his shirt. It’s like you can’t get him close enough.

“How dare you,” Hoseok finally whispers when he pulls away from you, out of breath.

You shake your head, confused and a little dizzy. He’s grinning widely and looking at you like you’re one of the seven wonders, so he’s definitely not mad at you, but you have no idea what he means by that.

“How dare you make the first move?” he says, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “You’re the— the most infuriating person I know.”

You laugh at that, let him kiss his way down to your neck. You trail your foot up his thigh to wrap your leg around him, beckoning him closer.

“Yoongi said he thought you liked me,” you admit to him, with one hand in his hair, softly caressing his scalp.

“Seriously? I feel like I should beat him up— but right now I kinda want to buy him flowers.”

“A cactus.”

“Joke’s on you, Yoongi loves cacti. Hey—” He stops kissing you, straightens, and looks into your eyes. Affection is dancing in his, but you can tell he’s being serious. “I like you. Like, really like you. So, um, if you’re not— if we’re not on the same page here…”

He can’t think that.

“I’d just— I’d just appreciate if you could let me know. Because I don’t think I can have something with you if you don’t— don’t really want it.”

He sounds worried, genuinely so. He’s looking at you, and you know he’s baring his heart out to you in that moment. It almost shatters you, this moment, this honesty, his fear. Somehow, the idea that you could hurt him, without meaning to, is the most terrifying of them all. Your mind flickers to Minsu, and you wonder how he could hurt you like that, if he felt that way about you even for a second — but you don’t care. All that matters is that you know you would never hurt Hoseok like that.

You kiss him and he closes his eyes, hand tightening on your waist.

“I really like you,” you whisper. “Really like how you smile,” He smiles softly against your mouth. “really like how you laugh,” You start unbuttoning his shirt. “really like it when I see you in the hallway and you always take the time to ask me how my day has been,” You run your fingers over his chest, enjoying the feeling of his skin underneath yours, “really like the way you shine.”

“I shine?” he asks, stopping your hand to bring it to his lips, placing soft kisses on your fingertips.

You hum.

“More than anyone else.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but decides against it. He can’t find the words to respond. Instead, he kisses you.

“Bedroom?” he asks. As much as he would love to have you, right here, it’s not the most comfortable setting for the first time, and he wants to give you an opportunity to back out, if you don’t want that now.

But you very much do.

“That sounds perfect.”

It’s a small miracle that you make it to the bedroom when you can’t keep your hands or mouths off each other. On the way there, which is extremely short when you actually look where you’re going, you manage to bump into the table, several walls, and to kick down a plant.

“We’ll blame it on Namjoon,” Hoseok mumbles into your mouth, and you laugh. You’ve been doing a lot of that, ever since meeting him.

He pulls away from you to take off his shirt, and you’re quick to get rid of your pants, discarding them on the floor. You’re about to do the same thing with the top you’re wearing when Hoseok’s hands stop you.

“May I?”

Of course he can. He pulls it over your head, and kiss you when you emerge from it. First, his hands settle on your naked shoulders, then, slowly, he trails them down your arms, intertwining your fingers with his. He’s taking his time, savoring the moment, and you yourself get lost in the sensations, in how he’s towering over you, in how his hair brush against your temples, in the heat that radiates from him.

You inch closer to him, and he lets out a soft moan when you press yourself against him. You reach behind to get rid of your bra, and when it falls to the ground, your finally feel his skin against yours.

“Fuck,” Hoseok whispers in a low voice.

You pull him towards you as you climb onto the bed, and he follows, just like he follows when you lay down. Everything, his kisses, his touches, his body on top of yours— it all feels slow. Intimate. His long fingers run over your side, and you shiver. You want so much more than this, and yet it already feels overwhelming.

“Are you sure?” Hoseok asks you.

You look up at him. He’s kneeling between your legs, still wearing his black pants, draped over you. His pupils are wide, his body is so hot it could be on fire, and you can definitely feel his hardness pressed against you. He’s perfect.

“I’m sure,” you say, and when you kiss him again, his response isn’t slow anymore. Instead, he rolls his hips into you, and the friction forces a low moan out of you. That makes him smile.

One of his hands runs over your thigh as he gently spreads you open.

“I want you so bad,” he tells you in an urgent whispers.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“You’re impossible.”

But he listens, and after that, you don’t know what to focus on. His lips and his tongue, making their way down your neck, kissing your breasts, teasing your nipples, or his hands, as his thumb rubs against your clit and he slides a long finger inside you.

Your fingers dig into his hair and you bite on your lower lip harshly. You’re not usually loud in bed, but you know that moans and whimpers and pleas will come cascading out if you don’t stop them. You wouldn’t normally have a problem with that, but Hyejin is sleeping in your apartment, and you would appreciate it if she didn’t hear you.

Hoseok easily pushes another finger inside you, scissoring you open, and your entire body arches into him. You close your eyes, quietly calling out his name.

“You’re doing so good,” Hoseok whispers to you, voice so full of affection you feel that your heart is going to burst. “You look so, so beautiful for me.”

You’re so wet, so tight around his hand, and you want him so badly, want more than that, but there is no way you can stop him right now. You feel at his mercy and, fortunately for you, he’s the kindest tormentor there is.

“Fuck,” he says one more time, eyes roaming over your body, the way you’ve completely abandoned yourself in his arms, head thrown back, eyes closed. He wants to give you everything.

He increases his pace and wet sounds fill the room. You can’t think of anything other than him, and your mind is filled with Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok!

You come when he adds in a third finger. You tighten around him, letting out a high-pitched moan over which you have absolutely no control. Hoseok lets you ride your orgasm before removing his hand, still whispering praise in your ear.

It takes you a few moments to come down from your high, and when you do, you’re only too aware that he hasn’t gotten much from this at all, still painfully hard against your hip. You reach out to cup him through his jeans, and he groans, burying his head in your neck.

“You don’t have to,” he says, despite bucking against your hand. “I’m fine with—”

“Hoseok, trust me, I want this as much as you do.”

You kiss him, fumbling around to unbutton his jeans, and he joins you in pushing his pants down. He moans, louder than you did earlier, when you wrap your hand around him. You stroke him at a devilishly slow pace. His body is tense as a bow, his kiss turning sloppy when you tighten your grip ever so slightly. You love it, love the way he moans for you, love how vocal he is, love how his hips jerk to meet your movements even though you’re pretty sure he’s trying to keep still.

“If you keep that going, I’m going to—” Hoseok starts, small gasps breaking off his sentence, and you regretfully take your hand off him.

He’s thankful for it, because he desperately wants to have you, but he still can’t help the moan of disappointment that escape his lips. Someone else might feel embarrassed at how it makes you giggle, and maybe he would, but he sees adoration in your eyes when you look at him, when you lift a hand to stroke his cheek, and he simply doesn’t. He can’t when everything about you screams how much you care for him.

You slide your drenched panties down your legs and wait not so patiently as Hoseok reaches in the nightstand for a condom, then struggles to open the wrapper. Your foot rubs against his calf as he struggles to open it up, working as a painful reminder that you’re there, so close, so wet, so ready…

“Not helping,” he mumbles, fucking finally opening it. You join in to roll it on, your hand feeling so damn good around him, and when you lay on your back, there’s impatience in your eyes. He kind of wants to tease you about it, make the moment last, but he doesn’t have the strength to do that right now.

Instead, he lines his cock with your entrance and slowly pushes himself inside you. Your moan sounds loud, even with you trying to muffle it, and he replies with a groan. You push yourself on an elbow, shifting to find a more comfortable position, and you end up sitting on his thighs, straddling him. One of his hands comes rest on the small of your back, stabilizing you, while he puts the other one behind him to support his weight.

It’s overwhelming already, you around him, your breasts pressed against him, the kisses you’re peppering against his mouth.

And then you start moving. At first, you roll your hips experimentally, making sure you’ve adjusted to his cock inside you. When Hoseok throws his head back, though, you start bobbing up and down. It’s not a movement you could do for too long, but you don’t think you’re going to need long.

You wrap your arms tightly against him as you find just the right angle. You barely know what you’re doing, hips moving almost uncontrollably so he keeps hitting that sweet, sweet spot. Your thighs’ muscles start burning, but Hoseok’s moans, the desperate way he repeats your name like a mantra, keep you going.

“(Y/N), I’m— I’m gonna—”

You reach down to touch yourself, fingers rolling over your clit so you get just what you need to get over the edge.

Hoseok comes seconds before you do, with a loud moan. His fingers dig into your hip, and it’s probably going to leave a mark, but you’re doing the same thing with his shoulders. You chase your second orgasm of the night frantically and find it as he’s starting to soften inside you.

You collapse on top of him, both your bodies sweaty and exhausted but so, so deeply content.

It takes a while before either of you speaks again.

“Shower?” Hoseok asks, sleepily, and you nod. You feel good. You feel good against him, and you feel good when the two of you stumble towards the bathroom. You feel good when your body is pressed against him inside, all tensions gone, and you feel good when you rest your head on his chest in bed, drowsing into sleep next to him.

That’s all him, you realize. That’s all Hoseok.

And you’re more than happy with that conclusion.

As you’re getting ready for the marriage of two of your high school friends, you idly wonder how it’s going to be, to see Minsu there again, and then it hits you. You haven’t thought about him in a long, long time.

It’s not like he was always on your mind, after the break-up, but it did feel like you took a piece of him everywhere you went, a pain that never quite disappeared, a constant thorn in your side. You had tried your best, fully aware that it wasn’t doing you any good, but it was hard, after eight years, to get used to a world without him again. You wonder when you became okay with it again.

There’s a knock at your door, and you find Hoseok waiting for you when you open the door. He looks amazing. Perfect. Like all you ever wanted. You've been together for months now, and yet you can't seem to get used to it. You don't know if you really want to, either. You like being dazzled every time you see him. He flashes you a smile and leans in to give you a quick peck on the lips.

“You remember that you have a key, right?”

“Oh, I do remember, I just like knocking here. Brings back some memories I like.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, eyeing your dress, and you humor him with a little twirl.

“Hyejin helped me pick it.”

Hyejin is probably the reason you’re invited to the wedding, actually. She had never cared about your outburst against Minsu, but some of your friends definitely hadn’t appreciated it, and you understood why they wouldn’t want that kind of crazy to their wedding. However, after you’d told her about how the break-up went down, she had pleaded for you, and gotten you off the persona non grata list.

She would probably have murdered you for not telling her sooner, but you used that same conversation to tell her about you and Hoseok, and that had overshadowed the first half of that discussion entirely.

Yes, you’re aware, that was a little manipulative, but it was that or being killed by your best friend, so you have no regrets.

“Hyejin has great tastes.”

“Don’t tell that to Jungkook, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, something akin to pride shining in his eyes. He loves that his friends are your friends now, loves that his favorite people all enjoy each other’s company.

He extends his hand to you, smiles when you take it. He initiates physical contact more often than not, but you never decline it.

“All good to go?”

You nod. You don’t tell him that honestly, he’s all you need to face the rest of the world.

It doesn’t make it any less true.

You don’t like weddings. You know, shocker, considering how sociable of a person you are, but seriously, the more weddings you go to, the less you enjoy them. It’s not that you don’t love your friends and don’t want to see them happy, because you do, and they’re the only reason you put yourself through that. You guess you’re put off by how many people there are, and how big it all is. Hyejin’s a bridesmaid here, so you heard a lot about the planning, and it sounds like something straight out of your worst nightmares. It’s simply not for you.

Hoseok puts his hand on the small of your back, palm open, and it immediately ground you, calms the anxiety that had been bubbling inside you. Your anxiety is such an old companion when you’re in a public setting that it’s almost weird to feel it disappear. It’s not like Hoseok is a magical way of making it go away, it doesn’t always work, but it definitely helps. Just another one of the many perks of being with him.

“Everything okay?” he asks gently, and your heart explodes with the love you feel for him.

Without thinking, you push yourself up to kiss him. It’s a chaste kiss, appropriate for the situation, but Hoseok closes his eyes, loses himself in it. When he opens them, he looks a little surprised, like he always does when you’re the one to initiate a kiss.

“Everything’s fine,” you say.

His eyes glide to stare at something behind you, and you turn around before he can stop you.

There, of course, are Minsu and his girlfriend. It looks like it’s working well between the two of them.

You can’t say this doesn’t make you feel anything. That would be a lie. You don’t think you can forgive Minsu, don’t think you want to, and you certainly don’t want to be his friend, or even to talk to him, but you’re not angry anymore. If he did come over, you’d probably handle it better than you did last time. Hyejin might not, though, and judging by the way Hoseok tenses next to you, he might not either.

But instead of walking over and throwing a glass of wine at Minsu’s stupid face, Hoseok wraps an arm around you and you put your head on his shoulder.

You definitely like that better.

“They—” He clears his throat. “Your friends told me they thought he was the love of your life.” You snort at that. “That you guys had so much in common, and that they didn’t know how you’d ever find someone you were as compatible with.”

It’s so strange to you that Hoseok is the one who has insecurities about your relationship. As if he let you any choice but to be completely and utterly taken in by him.

You put his hand over his, which is spread over your stomach.

“They were wrong. He’s happy without me,” you tell him quietly. “and I’m definitely happy without him.”

At some point, maybe Minsu was the love of your life. When you were sixteen and you thought you would never love anyone else, or when you were twenty and moving in together, or even when you were twenty-four, the day before he shattered your heart.

But he isn’t anymore, and you can’t even imagine what your life would be if you had stayed with him, can’t imagine what your future would have been like. Can’t imagine your life without Hoseok.

“I love you, Hoseok,” you say, and he takes in a deep breath. “I don’t care how compatible I was with him— clearly, it didn’t change anything in the end. You’re the only one I want.”

“We’re not very compatible,” he comments.

“That’s true.”

“Your schedule is the absolute worst.”

“I think it’s fine.”

“You like horror movies.”

“Horror movies are great, but I promise I won’t make you watch them.”

“You refuse to ask the landlord to break down a wall between our apartments.”

“That is objectively a terrible idea.”

“Then we should find a place where we can live together.”

That quiets you for a few seconds as you think about it, before turning towards him. Hoseok has a cautious look on his face, but hope is shining in his eyes. No matter how scared he is, he is always willing to try. That’s only one of the many things you love about him, but that’s exactly what gets you right now.

“We should,” you say.

Minsu disappears from your mind, goes back to the oblivion where he belongs, and you only focus on the present, on the man you have in front of you.

“I love you,” he says before kissing you, and in that moment, everything feels perfect.

As long as Hoseok is by your side, you know you can take on anything.

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