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kivino · 6 months

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I DON’T CARE WHAT’S IN YOUR HAIR || ROOMMATE!JOHN ‘SOAP’ MACTAVISH X GN!READER

Word Counter – 1.9k

Tags/Warnings – Some friendly banter, can be read as both platonic and romantic, fluff!

Summary – Your roommate Johnny comes back after his deployment and his hair looks like it needs a little trimming.

A/n – I AM ON MY ROOMMATE!SOAP AGENDA AND I WILL SPREAD IT FAR AND WIDE. let me know if you guys would like to see more roommate!Soap things on my blog, i'm very interested in different opinions!!!

ao3 link!!

Soap couldn’t wait until he was finally back home – several months had passed since his last leave and he was getting restless and antsy without the very much-needed rest. And, well, your company, which he missed more and more each day. You’d constantly be on his mind, plaguing his every thought with your presence, from a rather simple, passing “Oh, they’d like this joke” inside his head to talking the ears off of anyone who’d listen to him ramble about his lovely roommate, who he affectionately called “my dumbass back home”. Slowly, but surely, the number of people willing to lend an ear to restless Johnny became less and less, with each day of him staying on the base. So really, it was more of a favor extended to all the resident soldiers there.

Soap could almost feel the buzz of excitement itching under his skin, the commute back to your shared apartment was really long and tiring; the huge duffel bag filled to the brim with dirty laundry and a variety of clothes he shoved inside in a hurry didn’t help with the soreness in his body either. Soap, thankfully, didn’t forget to tell you earlier this week that his leave got approved, which you didn’t seem too excited about over the text, but he knew that you were screaming and jumping from joy. Maybe.

The last time he forgot to do that ahead of time he came back to an absolute disaster inside the apartment, with you trying to cook dinner while doing laundry, vacuuming, and cussing him out for not telling you earlier. Truth be told, Johnny didn’t mind if the apartment was messy, with undone dishes and whatnot, he’d help you do everything, but you were fixed on the fact that you should do it yourself and it’s absolutely crucial that everything has to be perfect by the time he’s back. Ghost joked that you had some military spouse mentality when Soap mentioned it to him (among countless other times he’d tell the big guy about you). Maybe there was some truth to this joke. Just maybe.

Regardless, Johnny could feel the bounce in his step and the same lightness in his chest when he was finally within a short walking distance of the apartment, and he just simply couldn’t wait to see you, even if you were a bit tired after all the cleaning you’d have to do in the apartment to keep up this image of a “perfect roommate”, despite being to him much more than just that. Seconds drag out unbearably long when he’s going up the steep stairs in the building that have certainly seen better times than the 21st century, and Soap thinks he could combust when he has to rummage through his pockets for the keys he hasn’t used in months. Johnny could hear the vacuum moaning from exertion from his place outside the door and an unintentional smile grazes his lips when he hears you cursing something out in your native language. Johnny finally fishes the key out of his pocket, hurriedly unlocks the door, and goes inside, as quietly as he can, which you can still hear even over the sound of a working vacuum.

“Johnny, you ass, you’re finally back.” You’re immediately distracted from the home appliance, as you turn it off and focus your attention solely on Soap, running up to him across the room and helping him with the giant duffel bag. “Thought you died out there with long they held up your leave.” You mumble with a chuckle that turns into a rough shriek, courtesy of Johnny squeezing the life out of you with a tight and warm embrace.

“Aye, there we go, bonnie, let’s hug it out!” If you could hear over his loud booming voice you were sure you’d hear your bones snapping from how tight his arms wrapped around your torso. You’d probably hug him back if you could free your arms out of Johnny’s hug too, but that didn’t seem to be an option at the moment.

“Johnny, for fuck’s sake, you stink!” You only hear a hearty laugh in response to your dramatic delivery. You tried to seem annoyed with Soap, which was a bit harder than you initially thought. You kind of missed him, the apartment felt cold and empty without his chatter.

“And that’s how you treat me after we haven’t seen each other for months? You wound me so deep.” The man says in a mock-sad tone. Deep inside of him, he felt that – you’re not being serious and just messing with him. So, he only continued squeezing you in his arms, without much thought. “When did you shower last time anyway?” you ask with a light groan. “Not in the past 24 hours, I’ll tell ya that.” Johnny’s chest rumbles with a low laugh and you can feel those vibrations going right through you, from how close you were.

“Oh, fuck off. And what’s with the hair? Decided to take some fashion advice from those edgy lads down the road?” You finally look up at Soap and he looks…Interesting to say the least. It’s obvious that someone probably helped him trim down the sides, since they didn’t appear much longer than they were several months ago when he left last. The longer part of the mohawk, however, made him look like he decided to go full mullet, with parts of his hair cut in certain places, like there was an attempt to make it shorter. It wasn’t bad-looking by any stretch of the imagination (in fact, you were sure, that Johnny can make look good just about anything if he managed to pull off the fucking mohawk in the first place), but you had to take the piss at him while you had the chance.

“Everyone’s a critic. Help me cut it then, will ya?” The man asks, slightly loosening his iron grip on you to look you in the eyes with an infectious smile.

“Only after you wash.”

“Naturally.”

And that’s how you find yourself in the cramped, tight bathroom of your apartment, Johnny sitting in front of the mirror on a stool, back hunched over the sink and you standing right behind him, with a pair of scissors and a clear goal in mind – sort out whatever mess was on his head. If it was up to you, you’d find a person who decided to make Johnny the next victim of their questionable fashion choices and cut off their fingers so they can never hold anything that can cut hair in their hands again. But for now, you just have to figure out what to do with Soap.

“You look like a feral rat on steroids, Johnny,” You say, as your fingers slowly drift through the longer, very grown-out parts of his mohawk. You look at his reflection in the mirror and your eyes meet, despite the weird angle his head was positioned at, just to rest on your stomach. Soap gives you a lopsided smile and closes his eyes with a relaxed sigh. That bath must’ve been good, you scrubbed the shit out of the bathroom yesterday.

“Well, somebody’s gotta be the pretty one outta the pair of us.” If you were meaner than you already are you’d yank his hair to teach his ass a lesson. But you don’t. And he knows you wouldn’t do that, which is why you can see one barely open blue eye staring back at you from the mirror. He’s such a pain in the ass, but you love him. The world will collapse the day you actually acknowledge that though.

“You’re butt-ugly.” You mumble instead, playing with the damp strands of hair that refused to stand up the way they did before his deployment. You didn’t know much about the military dress code but you’d be surprised if he wasn’t violating any regulations with how his hair looked.

“Yer mum would disagree.” Johnny gave another hearty laugh and leaned more into you with his back. It really felt great to be back home. He could’ve still lived with his parents and sisters back on that farm, but as much as he loved them, relatives were too much sometimes. Maybe he should visit them soon with you. That’d be great. Johnny just has to explain beforehand that you’re only roommates, so it doesn’t turn into a big mess, that he’d hate to sort out.

“You don’t even know my mum, you wanker.” You slap Johnny on the shoulder lightly and he doesn’t even flinch. “Come on, straighten up.” He reluctantly obeys and gets up from his unusual resting position, you hear no verbal protests from him. With a light, gentle motion your hand ruffles his hair in approval.

“I’m sure she’s a woman of refined taste.” This earns Soap another slap to the shoulder, to which he laughs like a damn schoolboy. Your eyes are glued to his hair, studying it carefully. You didn’t have much experience even trimming it on somebody else, so this was a bit nerve-wracking – you didn’t want to mess up and make Johnny look worse. Although not a lot of things could look genuinely bad on the man, you were willing to admit that. You finally take the scissors that have been sitting on the edge of the sink for the past half hour and pinch the longer stand that fell over Johnny's eyes between your index and middle fingers. “Well, what are you waiting for? Cut it.” He tries to hurry you, and you can’t even see the way he observes your expression - brows tied together in a thoughtful frown, Johnny thought it looked quite cute.

“Shut up, I’m thinking.” Your eyes rise to the mirror again and he playfully rolls his eyes. He doesn’t say anything though, letting you take your time, as you put down the scissors. You start ruffling Johnny’s hair again and you see the way he closes his eyes in the reflection, a warm smile stretching his lips. Your hand rests on the side of his face for a moment and not even a second passes, before you feel Soap’s palm rest over it in a gentle motion. But it doesn’t end on it, when he rubs his cheek over your skin, his stubble scratching you slightly. You let him have this moment though.

You look at his hair, as you ruffle and play with it using your free hand, and your realization makes you want to bash your head on the wall. You like it better like this. This is stupid and you feel like an idiot. At least you had an idea on how you can tell Johnny that you changed your mind about cutting his hair. Your fingers dive into his hair again, scratching the scalp lightly with the nails as you give your final verdict, looking at his reflection in the mirror.

“I don’t think I can make it any worse than it already is, to be honest. Somebody fucked you over real good with that one.” You lie right to his face. Johnny opens his eyes and gives you a mischievous smile when he hears that.

“So, what I hear is you’re chickening out?’ He asks with a light, airy laugh that makes even the cold bathroom feel warmer.

“Johnny, get out of here before I shave you bald”

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ms-demeanor · 4 years

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Some meandering thoughts about jokes about rape and cultural changes in the last decade and a half

Like, don’t get me wrong, I’m really glad we’re in a place now where we DO question rape jokes and it would be much harder to get away with “raping Jonah Hill is incredibly amusing” as the center of a scene the way that you could in 2007-2013 but I do kind of feel like we don’t talk about how sudden that change was enough.

People talk about how you should have always known that awful things are awful but if you’re surrounded by rape jokes and pedophilia jokes all the time and that’s what’s funny to the other kids around you and the adults in your lives and what makes up the jokes in the movies you watch then it’s hard to act like you always knew it was wrong.

Dead baby jokes were a HUGE thing when I was a teen and in my early twenties and sitting around swapping dead baby jokes was just a thing we did, and tossed in among them were things like:

A joke about incest with the punchline “Get off me pa, you’re crushing my smokes.”

This joke about a pedophile murdering a child.

Let’s not turn this rape into a murder.

And hell, look at the activity graph for “soap on a rope” on urban dictionary:

2014 starts a significant taper.

Letterboxd has their “sexual assault against men played for comedy page” and if you sort by release date there’s a downward trend with 2014 as a really stand-out year for rape jokes about men in popular movies:

2010 - 10

2011 - 12

2012 - 14

2013 - 12

2014 - 18 (jesus, which includes a prison rape joke in “Paddington”)

2015 - 9

2016 - 9

2017 - 11

2018 - 15

2019 - 4

2020 - 1

(this is of course with the caveat that this is only what has been documented so far)

Shock porn sites used to be a thing and they used to be a COMMON thing. A thing that would get remixed and have late night hosts make jokes about them and that got parody music videos.

So on the one hand I was really glad that in 2010 the hacker conference WASN’T asking me to make a rape joke on their tee shirt, but since Pool 2 Girl came up at every single “this is what defcon is about” discussion and some of the guys from the con had printed up “lemonparty.org” stickers to slap up around town it wouldn’t have been *surprising* if they’d been asking for that.

If you were a teenager in 2005 would you have known how much of a dick move goatse-ing people was? We didn’t have the same culture of trigger warnings (not that I disapprove of trigger warnings, they are good and I like them) and there was very much an attitude online at the time of “if you can’t handle it log off.”

I think the fappening was the turning point for a lot of this stuff - I think that was a big cultural moment that changed a lot of people’s attitudes really quickly and I’m seeing echos of that with what Chris Evans is dealing with right now: people are a lot faster to say “oh, that sucks, don’t be an asshole, report people for posting the pics” while I remember sitting and arguing in an imgur thread because there were a bunch of people saying “if you don’t like it don’t take nudes” about the celebrities who got caught in the icloud leak.

People look at Shane Dawson’s (admittedly gross and incredibly inappropriate) behavior with a poster of Willow Smith and act like it’s unprecedented***** but as someone who remembers not only Olsen Eighteenth Birthday countdowns but ALSO the jokes about fucking the Olsen twins that came BEFORE they were legal that’s just bizarre. Seeing people my age and older react to James Gunn’s pedophilic twitter jokes like they’re worse than Jay Leno’s jokes about Michael Jackson (which were made on TV! Across America! On a major network!) is just. It’s bizarre.

I’m glad we are where we are now, I’m glad that making rape jokes in public or jokes about incest or pedophilia (or murder or abortion) is less common and less okay (especially in children’s media, jesus fuck) and more likely to get criticized.

But I’m also pretty sure I’m going to get called a rape apologist by *someone* for saying “2010 was a different time, rape jokes were more common and we didn’t realize how shitty it was” when it really was a different time and rape jokes were more common and most people didn’t realize how shitty it was. I sure didn’t. I do now, and I’m glad I do now. But pretending that we should have ALWAYS known this, pretending that this was NEVER acceptable, pretending that it WASN’T a different time is ignoring the fact that for over a decade there was an entire genre of pedophilic rape jokes (that were frequently also racist) centered around one celebrity and that people told these jokes in public and in pop culture *all the time.*

Does that make it right? Fuck, I don’t know, shit is relative. It was still largely acceptable to electrocute gay kids and people tossed around the word “faggot” pretty freely. Mean Girls is full of jokes about how awful it is for people to think you’re a lesbian and Superbad is full of jokes about getting people shitfaced so they’ll sleep with you (so date rape) and there’s an entire “cute comedy” from the 80s starring Kurt Russel and Goldie Hawn that’s an extended rape-by-fraud joke. I think that as a whole we’re better now as people than we were in 2010 and the 90s and the 80s and the 50s and I don’t think that someone who made a sexist joke in the 80s is irredeemably evil and I don’t think people making rape jokes in the 2010s are rape apologists in 2020 and I wish there was a lot more understanding of both history and nuance in these conversations.

*****to be very, very clear Shane Dawson has been filmed kissing underage fans on the mouth and having explicit sexual conversations with his very young cousin - Dawson has done things that go beyond “inappropriate” and fall clearly into “wrong” “bad” “dangerous” “illegal” etc, which is all the more reason that it’s so strange to see people focusing on him fake masturbating on a poster of Willow Smith. YES doing that was gross but why is it even being compared to the way he’s been filmed interacting with fans? The lack of nuance, making “fake masturbating at a poster” and “creating a sexually abused puppet character” the same as “inappropriately touched and kissed minor fans and engaged a young child in explicit sexual conversations” is NOT GOOD. That is a bad thing. Two of those things are tasteless and two of those things are actively harmful and it’s the actively harmful stuff that we should be focusing on and part of why it’s really weird to see shit like “pizzagate conspiracist accuses James Gunn of making inappropriate jokes” like yes Gunn please don’t but can we maybe refocus and talk about the dude who can be pretty significantly assigned blame for a fucking shooting? https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/aug/01/james-gunn-alt-right-marvel-film-director-tweets

Actually, you know what, I thought I was done ranting, I’m not.

It’s purity culture.

YES you should attempt to do less harm with your language, YES you should attempt to not use slurs, YES you should try to avoid making rape jokes. But there’s an entire huge group of people who are willing to drag up rape jokes from a decade when rape jokes were REALLY REALLY common in order to say that nothing you say or do today matters.

And that same group is ALSO really interested in expanding the concept of what pedophilia is to include age differences in adults or liking the wrong style of drawing and it’s a purity culture silencing tactic and can we PLEASE stop pretending that gross, tasteless jokes are the same thing as actually sexually abusing people? Can we stop pretending that pointing out “rape jokes were more common fifteen years ago and I feel bad about it but that’s just the way it was and I don’t make jokes like that anymore” is the same as saying “rape isn’t bad and you shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.”

It’s always good to try to be a less shitty human but if you’re only allowed to grow and improve and be less shitty if you never fucked up in the first place then it’s all just calvinist bullshit and none of us could ever really be saved in the first place.

I dunno, dudes. We got so careful about disapproving of the wrong kind of language that we let a white supremacist concern troll Disney into firing a director who caught the attention of the alt right by shit-talking the president.

I think perhaps we need to reexamine some strategy here.

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a-cupof-jo · 3 years

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Spiritus Lenis

Paring: Potion Master!Jaehyun x Medicinal Herbalist!reader

Genre: angst, fluff, magic!au

WC: 1.7k

warning(s): language

Summary: A dark stairwell welcomed him as he started his descent to the kitchen. His feet scrunched as they met the cool tile leading from the stairs to the open kitchen. The glass he had left sitting on the counter earlier that week was full, but that’s not what had him standing speechless in the kitchen. Next to the water was a vial of medicine with your distinct penmanship labeling it.

Prompt: Soulmates 12 “We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies.”

Continuation of Dyspnea. I would recommend reading that one first, however, this might be able to be read without knowing what happens in the first one.

Shadows danced around the room as the oil lamp's flame flickered in the hidden room. He shouldn’t say hidden room, more like forgotten, but not to him. Oh no, the walls lined with long shelves and tables became so familiar to Jaehyun that he could tell you which board creaked when one stepped on the end and which wall had the most cracks running through it.

It was forgotten, because he was forgotten. That’s what it felt like. His heart had been ripped out, thrown on the floor, and stomped on. Isn’t that what he asked for, insisted on. He had created that damn soulmate indicator potion and you left, but again he was the one that told you you should go. The world became less bright. Flowers that he would buy to decorate the house no longer allowed their smell to cover up the old houses must. Brewed coffee no longer woke him up. The now dry cake in the fridge you had made that day…

Jaehyun yelped as his hand jerked away from the hot stove. Red spread across his hand and he hissed as the stinging pain increased. “Shit,” he raced into the house. The small bathroom that sat adjacent to the kitchen held his small medicine cabinet. You had made sure it was stocked and filled with every kind of medicine he could ever need. He pulled out a large box full of balms and vials of medicine. Using his uninjured hand he rummaged through the items. He lifted up the small can that read burn salve. Prying the open the lid he looked in to see an empty can. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he leaned forward, his head resting against the cabinet. The can dropped to the floor as a shaky breath escaped his lips. There’s only one place he can go to get more burn salve, “This has got to be some fucking joke.” Tears pressed at his eyes and for the first time in three week, Jaehyun wept. Sobs wracked his body and he buried his face in his arms.

“It’s okay,” an anguished sob ripped out of Jaehyun as the hallucination of your voice, your arms wrapped around him. The dim light of the bathroom lit fickers of shadows around the room. His eyes caught sight of a shadow hanging over him and kept him company as daylight faded away to a pitch black night. Another shadow joined them, reaching out to the one comforting him. Their hands connected and Jaehyun didn’t have the energy in him to look away as more tears escaped him. He leaned further into the cabinet as a cold and light pressured touch pressed on his burned palm. Soothing little circles encouraged him to close his eyes, to shut out the pain surrounding his heart, “That’s it. You're okay, Jaehyun. I love you.” He let the wet drops that hit the back of his hand and words whispered in the night lead him to a dreamless sleep.

Bright lights peaked through closed eyelids. Jaehyun squeezed his eyes tighter trying to fall back into darkness. Once he realized that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep any longer, he pried his eyes open to the sunlight shining down through the skylight in his room. His room, how he got here, he doesn’t know. Maybe he drug himself there in the middle of the night in a sleep induced haze or maybe he had gotten there sometime after the sunset. No, he remembers sitting on the bathroom floor with you- with a figment of you comforting him, “That’s a really shitty move to pull.” His voice came out in hoarse cracks. He turned his head into his pillow blocking the sun further from his sight.

A door creaked slightly and it took just a moment before Jaehyun realized that it was his door. Soft steps moved across the floor toward him, “Jaehyun.” Oh how he had missed that voice. It was so much clearer than the voice his mind had supplied for him the night before. “Honey,” a light touch moved his shoulder slightly. Jaehyun wanted to cry again.

He wanted to reach up and grab you and pull you into bed with him. To hold you in his arms and beg you to come back. To reject the soulmate bond, “Come downstairs when you're ready.” His arm moved slightly and he had to stop himself from reaching out and catching nothing but air.

Light moved further across his room and based on where it sat on his desk he had been laying awake staring at his ceiling for a few hours now. The light yellow of the walls had been your idea, so was the emerald green oversized chair sitting in the corner, and the fronds of spearmint hanging from the skylight. He sat up and glanced around the room again, catching more traces of you. Tears pressed at his eyes again and he pressed the palms of his hand into his eyes. He stopped as he felt thick wrapping press into the tender skin on his face. Confusion took over his thoughts before the pounding of his head had him leaning forward, hands flying up to his temples in an attempt to soothe the pain.

A dark stairwell welcomed him as he started his descent to the kitchen. His feet scrunched as they met the cool tile leading from the stairs to the open kitchen. The glass he had left sitting on the counter earlier that week was full, but that’s not what had him standing speechless in the kitchen. Next to the water was a vial of medicine with your distinct penmanship labeling it. He didn’t remember getting any medicine out last night, in fact he remembered being out of the medicine he needed. That didn’t stop him from unscrewing the little jar and typing the contents back. He stood at the sink looking out through the window in front of it. The sky was so bright and beautiful. The children and family strolling the streets were happy. He was envious. They have their happiness, but his was tied to another.

Wooden shutters rattled as the pale blue door shook in place. Jaehyun startled as he heard two sets of feet storm through the shop. “No,” he heard your voice carry through the door. “I can’t do it anymore. I can’t do this anymore.” He heard your voice get thick as you spoke to the second person.

“Please, listen to me,” Taeyong. Jaehyun braced his hands on the lip of the sink as he eavesdropped on the private conversation. “We are soulmates. We were made for each other. You have to get over this li-”

Your gasp slipped under the door. Jaehyun knew he should be listening but he couldn’t help it. It was you and his heart clenched as you stood on the other side of the door. “Don’t you dare say another word.” He could imagine you, hands clenching the hem of your shirt and eyebrows drawn together in anger. “Soulmates aren’t supposed to feel this way, Taeyong. I’m supposed to be happy but my heart hurts, and last night when we and he-” He knew you were crying now. The urge to race out and wrap you in his arms was nearly too great. He grabbed the handle ready to turn when.

“I know,” Taeyong’s voice was soft. “I know you're hurting, and I know that he’s hurting. What about me? Am I supposed to just let you go and hurt myself?”

“If you truly want me to be happy. Then yes. I need to be with him. The universe may have said that you and I were supposed to be soulmates. But how can we be if this, you and me, is what is killing me,” Jaehyun should really stop listening. The cool metal of the handle had warmed under his hand. Your voice had been broken, pleading. Jaehyun was ready to take you in his arms and never let you go.

“Well then,” Taeyong swallowed hard. “We can’t win. Either I have you and my soul sings but your cries, or we’re apart and your soul rejoices but mine dies.”

“I’m so sorry. I love him so, so much. I can’t give him up. They say my soul was made for you, but my heart beats for him,” her voice was firm and strong. Jaehyun was so in love with you. No amount of time short or long would change that.

Jaehyun heard a foot tapping fast on the floor. He held his breath, waiting for Taeyong to speak, “Okay,” a sigh of relief escaped Jaehyun and he clamped a hand over his mouth. “Maybe,” a loud swallow could be heard through the door. “Maybe we do this differently. Perhaps the universe didn’t want us together like this.”

“Thank you,” joy filled your voice and Jaehyun smiled as he heard Taeyong let out a small oof. “Thank you so much.”

“Anything for you,” Taeyong said lightly. His voice didn’t carry love or regret, but hope for something new, for something different. “I better go. I’ll talk to you later this week.”

Another moment passed, before the knob in Jaehyun’s hand started turning. Jaehyun finished twisting and pulled open the door. There you were light pants and a loose shirt hanging from your frame. You were so beautiful. He opened his arms slightly and you raced into them. The scent of homemade soap and spearmint lifting from your hair and skin. Jaehyun held onto you tight. The two of you stood in silence letting the minutes tick by. Jaehyun kissed your cheek, tightening his grip on you. A sob finally broke the silence and Jaehyun cupped your face in his hands, “You’re okay. I’ve got you. I love you.” You didn’t respond to him, opting to kiss him. Jaehyun didn’t mind the salty flavor of your lips or the way you clutched his arm in your grip as if your life depended on it. All he knew was you were home and he had a lot of time to catch up on.

tag list: @infnteen @stayctday @qianinterprises

Networks: @knet-bakery

#jaehyun fluff #jaehyun angst #ficscafe #k-dinernet #kbakery-net #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun x reader #soulmate au #magic au #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct angst

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heuristicallyinclined · 3 years

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Of Disks Lost and Cullings Interrupted

5.1k | Rating T for referenced gore and language

Summary: An unfortunate encounter somehow manages to not go quite as bad as it should have.

This is one of the self-indulgent drabbles I wrote last year for me and @theartisticapparition’s fantrolls meeting for the first time and how much of an absolute mess it would be. Enjoy.

It has three fucking months since you ordered that hexagonal disk and you still don't have a shipping notification for it.

You stare at the screen of your palm husk. It’s a single point of brightness in the store room you slipped off to while some other ship was docking. For supplies or inspection, you don’t know and you don’t care. All you care about it the fact that no one is going to notice a single rusty slipping away for all of two minutes to fuck around on a personal device and see if maybe something went to spam. Which you are looking at now. And apparently set to delete messages after thirty nights, so if it did go to spam, it was long gone now.

“Sh!t,” you quietly exhale.

It’s objectively not even a good movie, just something dumb and cheesy that you can use to break up an evening. But it's no longer even about that. You just want the garbage that you ordered because you fucking ordered it and paid for it using some of your very limited funds. Grunt work means grunt pay and you have to at least be olive to even be allowed to complain in the first place, so your bronze ass just isn't going to cut it.

It doesn't make sense for you to not have gotten anything. Like at least a, "sorry king, your package is delayed," thing should have happened. You work in this shit, you receive and ship and log and deliver until your pan feels numb and it’s just your body moving through the motions. You have been mentally trying to work out how to even fuck up bad enough that this kind of delay would even happen because even for a rusty, who expects very little, this is still a bit much. You’re drawing a complete blank.

The movement of a shadow catches your eye, snapping you out of your thoughts. It slowly shortens from its exaggerated length to a more proportional one as the figure draws closer, straight towards you. You don’t recognize the silhouette’s lean frame, horns or hair which seemingly fanned out to symmetrical points. You definitely didn’t hear them enter or move through the storage bay.

Swallowing, you turn.

You see his color before you notice anything else about him. Your blood runs cold as you immediately straighten to attention.

Violet.

Seeing sea dwellers through screens and on posters did not prepare you for the real thing. You had never seen one in person before and definitely had never had one slowly making his way closer to you. Everything about him was sharp. His fins, his claws, his teeth, they all came to a clearly defined point. His grin was especially sharp. Almost sharp enough to distract you from whatever the hell his spear thingy that he casually held over his shoulder like it weighed nothing was.

“S!r.” You address him, bowing your head slightly. “!s there anyth!ng ! can do for you?”

His smile widens when you acknowledge him. His golden bracelets jingle lightly against each other as he brings a hand to his chin, seeming to genuinely consider your question.

Oh goddamn it. This is going to take longer than two minutes.

“) is there anyfin you can do for me? (,” he repeats coolly. He pensively looks off to the side as he continues to move towards you. ") oh I don't know. i just wanted to sea what was back here ("

He walks just behind you and you stiffen. You can feel his eyes lingering on you.

"!t's mostly crates here s!r. Noth!ng too !nterest!ng"

Faster than you can register it, the hand not gripping his weapon quickly grabs your shoulder, turning you to face him. The points of his manicured claws dig into you. You keep your balance as best you can, but stumble a bit.

”) now, now. you're here too (,” he smiles at you cloyingly.

And just like that, he corrects your stance, getting way too into your personal space in the process. His grin remains shallow and doesn’t meet his eyes. It just isn't warm enough to distract from how cold his touch leaves you and in that moment, you have a realization.

So, you’re probably fucked.

He holds you for longer than is comfortable in what you’re guessing is a touchy little power play, before continuing to move past you, looking up and down the racks that surrounded you two. They were nearly as high as the ceilings and he was doing a pretty decent job of acting like he actually gives a shit about what's on the shelves. He moves by each of them methodically, occasionally picking something up like he was shopping before putting each back neatly into its place.

At least the crew coming in after to replace you isn’t going to have to reorganize anything after washing you off of the walls.

He keeps going and you know he doesn’t genuinely care about whatever soaps and meal packets are back here. You don’t either, not really. He isn't even going through the whole store room, just the area around you. It is almost like he i-.

Oh.

He’s circling you.

Is this a fish joke? You feel like this is a fish joke he’s making for himself. Or is he just adding another layer to his touchy murder dude bit?

His voice snaps you out of your thoughts before you can really try to work out what his angle on this is. You really hope he didn’t notice you starting to zone out there for a bit.

“) it all just seems rather dull (,” he draws listlessly.

“Wh!ch part?”

He glances back at you. His smile begins to falter.

“Wh!ch part s!r?” You correct quickly.

He chuckles and turns his body to face you.

“) the whole thing (” He gestures away from himself, at your general surroundings. “) i mean here you are, trapped on a run down ship, doing menial tasks for the rest of your unfortunate life. truly, i don’t know how you can stand to be here. i mean, I’d rather die than work in a place like this (,” he looks at you intensely, his pupils seemed much more narrow now that they were completely focused on you. “) what about you? (”

Ah. Yeah. You see what he did there, but he isn’t exactly providing you with any revelations about your life and you don’t exactly think boredom is what’s going to cull you.

“! see !t more l!ke a flavor d!sk.”

Your response stops him and he looks at you strangely.

“Even when !ts bad !ts good," you elaborate.

His gaze becomes harsher for a moment, and then it’s gone.

“) that is a rather crude way of looking at it, i seappose(.”

Alright. No mentally stable person seriously uses the word “suppose” out loud. You wonder how you’re inevitably going to beef it. The spear thing would be involved. It would be really fucking weird if he carried it here just to not use it, but he seems extra enough that you would not put him bringing a long a prop past him.

He notices you looking at it and smirks at you.

") so (,” he recovers and ambles towards you, focusing his full attention on you again. His weapon no longer was resting against his shoulder. He held it against the ground and casually leaned against it like it wasn’t one of the most threatening tools of questionable identity and mass murder you had ever seen. “) what are you doing back here with all of these very uninteresting crates? (”

“! just thought ! forgot someth!ng !n here and stopped by to check. S!r”

“) without telling anyone? (”

“Yes, s!r.”

He chuckles, all too pleased, “) whale, that was a poor decision on your part. there is just so much here that if anything happened to you (,” he lowers his voice, like he was graciously letting you in on a joke, “) who knows how long it would take anyone to find out (.”

A beat of silences passes. You swallow, You know he feels the tension. He looks too excited not to.

“!, uh, maybe should have told someone ! where ! was go!ng !n case someth!ng happened.”

“) i agree (.” He straightens and picks up his weapon, spinning it with ease before he points it at you and slowly starts to bring the to your neck. “) unfortunately for you (,” he starts, “) no one knows you're here (.”

Even as you move your arms, he makes no move to stop you. He grins wider, more manic, looking excited at the idea of you actually trying to fight back.

Ha.

Sucks to be him because there is no fucking way that the last thing you do before you get culled is putting in some more effort to make this more enjoyable for the extra dude culling you.

Because if this guy's going to cull you, you're at least going to be the one making a request and try to have some fun here while you can. Because what is he going to do about it? You’re getting culled anyways, might as well, right?

The ridiculousness of it all makes you grin as you shrug at him. "Well, sh!t. Alr!ght."

This acceptance gives him pause as he tilts his head slightly, considering you. A crease forms between his brows and he tightens his grip on his weapon. ") w-"

You cut him off. You’re going to die so you think you get to be rude. Him being mad about it won’t really be your problem for long anyways.

"Can ! d!e !n a cool way though?"

") i-" he starts to lower his weapon, which you now think is a harpoon. Maybe? You don't know man. You don’t know anything about fish shit and you’re understanding less by the second.

You continue looking at him with the same resigned optimism that carried you through most of the bullshit you did. It got you this far. Which, granted, is probably getting culled by a bored sea dweller, but there are probably worse ways to go.

") wait (,” he says.

"Yeah?"

It isn't exactly like you're going anywhere. You know what to do with fear, being a rusty, you learn that shit real quick. But the look he is giving you now just makes you uncomfortable.

"What's up my guy?"

") aren't you going to fight back or somefin? ("

"Uh." You glance around the room full of mostly crates and his eyes follow yours as you search before you focus back on him, confused. "L!ke w!th a weapon?"

") yes? (" His smile tightens, seeming incredulous that you even asked.

"Why would anyone g!ve me a weapon? ! mean, there m!ght be a broom somewhere. Actually wa!t, ! th!nk that got broken last w!pe. !t wasn't even me th!s t!me," you add with a side smile.

He doesn't seem to know how to respond. Neither do you, so you do what you normally do when you don't know how to react.

You keep talking.

"! did troll karate for a l!ttle b!t when ! was f!ve, but !t was k!nda lame so ! stopped going. Does that uh,” you hazard, “w!ll that work for th!s?"

") no (." He narrows his eyes at you. ") plus, I know fish judo(."

Your jaw drops.

"What the fuck. F!sh judo !s real?"

") of course fish judo is reel (." He quickly spits, looking offended by your ignorance. ") do land dwellers just think that you can fight the same way underwater? ("

"! mean !'ve l!terally never thought about !t."

") i'm not surfrised ( ."

"Okay, but ! feel l!ke !f a land dweller !s !n a pos!t!on where they need to know f!sh judo, !t means they're going to lose at f!sh judo."

") i mean, i guess? (," he replies, baffled before quickly refocusing on you again. His sharp thing is pointed back at your throat as he slips back into his previous cool demeanor.

“) you do reelize the danger you’re in right? (”

Your eyes dart down to his weapon and then at him, now being the one confused.

“Um, yeah?”

Was the whole mood he had going on not an intentional thing on his part?

He stares at you. So you go on, listing things on your fingers as you go, trying not to focus on his questionable object with definite pointiness.

“So you got the whole class!c stalk and lurk th!ng so you could follow me somewhere ! would be alone where no one can hear me scream. !t’s pretty standard,” you emphasize.

You can’t read his expression.

“There was the whole slow dramat!c enter, nefar!ous d!alogue, and, uh," you glance down, "harpoon?”

“) harpoon (,” he repeats.

“That’s what ! thought !t was, but ! felt !t would be we!rd to ask.”

His mouth opens slightly and his fins flare out more, now openly seething.

“) do you know what i could do to you? ("

A lull drags on.

"Et!vor."

") what (."

"My name !s Et!vor." You continue, "! thought you were draw!ng out the you th!ng because !t's l!ke. We are a good b!t into th!s whole th!ng and !t's kinda awkward to ask for names now, so ! am just, you know, putt!ng !t out there."

He blinks. "I don't give a fuck about your name Etivor."

He still used it though.

Taking a very deep breath, he resumes. “) i am going to take immense pleasure in cutting your tongue out and slowly flaying you alive (”

He moves closer to you, slowly, predatory, circling you again. One of his icy hands brushes by your arm in a mockery of comfort as he continues to muse more to himself than you.

“) maybe I’ll slice off each of your joints, starting at the ends and slowly work my way to eventually gutting you. perhaps I’ll simply behead you. although, i think you’ve said enough to have earned far worse, don’t you think? (”

His face being this close to you is definitely starting to put you on edge more than what he is saying. But what’s really bothering you most of all is that one of those sounds a bit too familiar.

“Wa!t. That second on-”

“) you don’t get to fucking choose which one,” he hisses at you as his claws start to dig in to you.

“! wasn’t done. Damn.”

You’re honestly surprised he hasn’t just stabbed you from sheer frustration. It’s kinda funny. It would be way more funny if he wasn't going to cull you though, but you’ll take what you can get.

“!sn’t that second one from that one comedy with troll Tob!hn Bhelle?”

“) you’ve sean that? (” He raises his brows. “) no. i added a little twist with the gutting at the end instead of letting them bleed out (.” Almost hesitantly he asks, “) did you like it? because i thought they were trying too hard where they ha-.”

He catches himself and raises his weapon at you again, “) STOP. This is NOT what is taking place right now (.”

You narrow your eyes. He's the one who kept talking.

“Then !t !s from that mov!e. You can’t just say, no !t’s not and then be l!ke,” you motion with your hands, “but w!th a tw!st! You l!fted !t.”

He bemusedly stares at you.

“) are you purposefully trying to infuriate me? was your egg dropped? do you not understand what happens when you piss off royalty? (” He snidely adds, “) i am going to get so much satisfaction out of flaying you (.”

He is literally the one holding the weapon, and holding you hostage, and also did physically hold you a few times. What the fuck does he think you’re trying to get out of this?

“! have never purposefully done anyth!ng !n my ent!re l!fe dude. ! am not about to start mak!ng an effort just when !’m about to get culled,” you respond, surprisingly defensively.

Wait, this has gotten off of the fucking rails and you don’t know where you guys actually stand.

“You are going to cull me r!ght?”

“) well, uh. yeah (.” He’s tense and glances around the room, taken off guard by your question.

"Cool." You nod at him. Worth a try you guess.

His harpoon is less looking like a weapon to be used against you and more like a barrier to keep you away from him. Silence again draws on and he stares at you expectantly. You glance around. His frown gets deeper and he looks more frustrated as time goes on. You have no idea what he is waiting for.

You never thought being culled would be this fucking awkward. Guess the torture’s already started.

") aren't you going to plead for your life? (" he demands, bringing his harpoon closer as he does so.

You’ve never been great on the spot. You try to muster something decent up.

“Uh, don’t cull me?” You said it as lamely as you felt.

He looks at you blankly. “) are you getting off on this? (”

“Dude. No. Gross.” Your face twists. “!t’s just like. !’ve never pleaded for my l!fe before. !t !sn’t sh!t you really get to pract!ce and ! feel l!ke !t won’t actually matter since !’m getting culled anyways. So. Yeah.” You slowly nod to yourself before looking up at him.

He is still waiting. Goddamn it. You sigh.

“No. Please don’t cull me. !’ll do anyth!ng.”

While that covers all your bases, it came out a lot drier than you thought but you’re too over this shit to feel any kind of way about it.

"!s there any chance plead!ng would even work?"

His disappointment was broken by a sharp laugh, ") of course not (."

“Then what do you even want from me?” you ask, getting kinda exasperated at his apparent high standards and prereqs for the randos he culls. Like it is one thing to play some kind of sadistic game with your prey, that’s normal, whatever, but it is a whole other thing to get weird about them not being good at it.

"Why ask unless y-. Oh." Your face falls as you get bitch slapped with the realization of what is really happening here. "Oh fuck."

You step back.

Your fear has apparently slam dunked him right back in his comfort zone because his grin is back full throttle and wider and sharper than ever like he was making up for lost time. ") you finally understand the weight of the seatuation you're in? ("

He slinks towards you and you feel the edge of the blade graze your neck.

"Yep," avoid his gaze and swallow.

You were going to get culled in the weirdest way possible.

“) and what is that? (,” he asks lowly, getting right the fuck back into your personal space. His smile almost splits his face and you want to crawl out of your skin.

"Th!s !s l!ke. A th!ng. W!th you."

He lowers his harpoon again, looking completely done. “) what the fuck is THAT supposed to mean? (” You half expect him to throw it across the room or through your torso.

You can’t stop yourself from speaking now that you're actually nervous and stressed and he is yelling and also way too close to your person and his harpoon isn’t doing either of you any favors.

“You had the whole k!nda fl!rty touchy th!ng going on and then you got really p!ssy when ! d!dn’t f!ght back. And you also got super d!sappo!nted w!th my sh!tty plead!ng l!ke you were really look!ng forward to !t or someth!ng.”

“) i’m disappointed because this is the least satisfying cull of my life! (,” he hisses.

You visibly cringe at the word “satisfying” and take another step back from him. There is some fear there but mostly you’re just really fucking uncomfortable. Troll Jesus Christ this dude is into some shit and you are not playing into it.

He also takes a step back too, now into a defensive stance. ") what? it doesn't look like that! ("

You suck in air in through your teeth and are looking anywhere but at him as you reply, "!t k!nda looks l!ke that."

") oh my cod ("

He just slumps down, his harpoon clattering in front of him. His mouth is in a straight line and his head rests between his hands. You stand there, unsure for a moment, before slowly lowering yourself a decent distance away from him. You honestly thought that getting culled would be less uncomfortable than it was being here while he has whatever the fuck it is he has going on going on or at least uncomfortable in a different way.

You continue trying to avoid looking at him. It’s kinda expected that a highblood was going to cull you at some point. That was just how it tended to go for rusties, but you could not have guessed this, and now just kinda want to get this whole getting murdered thing over with.

You try to give him a moment, glancing around the room, mentally taking inventory of everything there twice. The awkward silence is weighty and the longer it stretches on, the worse you are feeling about this whole fucking ordeal.

“Would cull!ng me help you uh, not be l!ke th!s?”

He gives you a dirty look.

You sigh, "!t's not l!ke anyone gets to th!nk that for long, !f !t helps.”

“) if it helps? ( ” He spat each word, getting louder as he went on. He whipped his head at you, indignantly, “) this is your fault! ("

"What?"

") getting culled is so fucking basic. how did you fuck that up? ("

You stare at him, trying to figure out how the fuck to even respond.

Slowly, in what might be one of the last things you do in your existence, you serve this royal what you are assuming is the stalest tea of his life in the form of the lukewarm take, “you know, be!ng bad at dy!ng !s a good th!ng actually.”

These are real words. These are real words that you are saying to the guy who was leaning way too hard into the thirsty part of bloodthirsty.

You continue. "L!ke you don’t get to pract!ce th!s. ! mean, do ! look l!ke someone who has been culled before? Because ! haven’t. Have you?" You add.

He looks like he is about to have a conniption or the sea dweller equivalent. Can sea dwellers have conniptions? Because this guy is about to have a big one.

") you did not just seariously just ask me if i've ever been culled before. that is the dumbest question anyone has ever asked me! (," he practically shrieks.

"Well you're acting like ! should just know th!s sh!t. We have the exact same amount of exper!ence gett!ng culled!"

“) whale i’ve never encountered any TROLL who is so miserable that they just accept getting culled from the fucking get go (.”

“!’m not m!serable! !’m real!st!c! ! don’t have a weapon, ! can’t fight for sh!t, f!sh judo !s apparently fuck!ng real, and plead!ng does noth!ng. !’m gonna end up at the same place no matter what ! do so why drag !t out? L!ke, come on.”

You slump against the wall, exhausted from this whole interaction. “!t wasn’t great, but ! don’t see much of a po!nt !n gett!ng so worked up about sh!t ! can’t control. ! just wanted to go out !n a cool way s!nce noth!ng ever fuck!ng happens here. The reason ! was even back here !n the f!rst place was to see !f ! had an update on a stup!d hexagonal d!sk ! ordered three months ago. But that sh!t !s apparently !n the vo!d," you gripe.

You pull out your palm husk and check again. Jack shit. You groan.

You’re surprised to hear him chuckle.

“) sucks to be you (.”

“Yeah." You shake your head. "And then a few seconds after ! found out, some guy showed up to cull me.”

He actually laughs. This is so fucking ridiculous so maybe that’s why you are too.

“) it’s a lot more fun to be doing the culling (.” He eyes you again and you don’t want to crawl out of your flesh this time, and you feel like that’s a real development here. “) you seam like you’d lose a fight (.”

An accurate assessment.

“Yeah. Troll karate didn’t do sh!t for me.” A beat passes. “Drones actually burnt !t down l!ke two w!pes after ! qu!t.”

He snickers and a moment passes.

“) one month for a disk? that is fucking bullshit (.”

“Three.”

“) fuck (," he raises his brows. Moderate inconvenience seems to repulse him more than anything you've said tonight. ") that sucks, i get my shit next night with cullazon prime (.”

"N!ce. !'d probably try that if ! had more than twenty seven whole caegars."

Broke bitch disorder also seems to do it for him in the humor department and the two of you continue chilling in silence. Less uncomfortable this time. You almost feel bad for thinking he was a sadistic creep.

He breaks the silence. “) give me your palm husk (."

“What?”

“) i don’t repeat myself (," he replies tersely, holding his hand out to you.

What the hell.

You type your code in and pass it to him. He glances at the massive crack on the center of your screen with disgust. He looks at you and shakes his head before he starts typing.

He didn't ask, but still, you answer. “! cracked !t do!ng a k!ckfl!p on a doll!e.”

He doesn't look up. ") you can't do a kickflip on a dollie (."

"Not w!thout a cost."

He spares you a side glance. ") why the fuck would you even do that? ("

"Because !t !s bor!ng as sh!t out here and there !s much better to do !n the ma!lblock."

He hums noncommittally.

"Were you just spaced?"

") and what if I was?(," he asks, a touch defensive.

"Noth!ng. ! was just wonder!ng !f !t sucks th!s bad at your level too?"

") of course not (," he snaps. ") do you genuinely believe anyone could be doing worse than you? ("

"Well yeah." You tap your sign. "But not by much."

He huffs and rolls his eyes before he looks out for a moment.

") i'm abshellutely krilling it out here (,” he states resolutely before continuing, “) but taking orders is a reel pain (.”

He sullenly joins you in leaning back against the wall.

Damn, This might just be the first time he's ever had anyone above him. Well, above him and specifically giving him orders you mean, judging by the way he is basically pouting over it. Everyone loses agency when they ascend. Guess it just sucks more when you have more to lose, not that you’d really know.

"!t doesn’t get better, but you do get used to !t," you say, not looking at him.

He glances at you, frowning deeper before exhaling.

You keep not looking at him when you ask, "So. Are you go!ng to cull me?"

") no. there is no salvaging that. you completely ruined it (." He replies bitterly while returning your palm husk.

The cullazon app has been downloaded and opened to an account page. You raise an eyebrow at him.

He announces, “) okay etivor, i shared my cullazon prime with you. you’re still going to be a sorry excuse for a troll, but you might get enough out of it that culling you acshelly becomes entertaining (.”

This is a joke. This has to be a joke.

“Thanks, but there !s l!terally no way for me to pay you back for anyth!ng ! buy on th!s.”

“) do i look like i need your fucking charity? (” he sneers.

He is actually serious about this. He looks too pissed not to be.

“Nope, you’re way too bl!nged out for that,” you grin. This dude is wild. “What’s your number?”

He looks at you suspiciously.

“!s th!s really where you’re gonna draw the l!ne? You gave me access to your Cullazon, but won’t g!ve me your number? Ser!ously?”

He doesn’t ask this time. He just swipes it out of your hands.

“) i am ievahn mordax, probably the best thing that has and will ever grace your miserable fucking life and i will brutally cull you if you mention any of this ever happened to anyone (.”

He hands it back, but still holds onto it. “) i’ve made myself clear? (”

“Yeah,” you nod and he finally lets go. This is way better than a shipping notification.

Oh.

You check the time.

"Fuck!" You leap to your feet and he quickly grabs his harpoon.

") what? (" he shouts.

"! was supposed to be here for l!ke a m!nute to check on the d!sk." You look at your palm husk again. It has been way more than a minute and you have the feeling someone definitely noticed by now. You completely forgot about having some work work to do considering you thought you were going to die. "Sh!t." You look at him again. "Do you have anywhere to be?"

") what? (" He squints.

“! mean you just had some free t!me and you seem bored and apparently don’t believe ! can do a k!ckfl!p on a doll!e. ! have to defend my good name. You get !t.”

“) what good name? (” he snickers. “) and if i did, why the fuck would i want to spend anymore time with you? (”

“Because you can’t make fun of my Cullazon orders !f my boss culls me for tard!ness. You be!ng around means she can’t say sh!t.”

He seems to consider, “) a compelling argument. and i do get to watch you maim yourself in the dumbest way possible which is a definite bonus (.”

You grin as you start walking. “Or have your pan be blown when you see what trollk!nd can really do when there is l!terally noth!ng else to do. !’m push!ng l!m!ts here !evahn.”

“) you’re pushing your luck (.” He leans his harpoon against himself as he follows.

“Maybe.” Quickly, you face him and add. “But ser!ously, be cool. !f my boss f!nds out about any of th!s, she w!ll absolutely cull me.”

“) she can’t cull you (,” he huffs. “) i already called dibs on that (.”

You grin returns.

“Damn. !’ll let her know.”

#Homestuck #Hiveswap #Fantrolls #Ievahn Mordax #Etivor Petris #My writing #Do you ever just get someone thrown so off guard and uncomfortable that they don't cull you?#Ievahn has his whole villain persona up and Eti's generic lowblood one goes out the window when he feels there's not much to lose #It just goes so off the rails that there isn't really much of a social script to stick to or much familiar territory here #Basically an unstoppable force meets an extremely strange object #Anyways they chill out over time and form a weird friendship to moiraillegence because they're a similar kind of stupid #They just happen to be on opposite ends of the spectrum

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drawlfoy · 4 years

Text

Wonders of Ohio - P.7

masterlist (catch up with the series here!)

request guidelines (yes i am taking them!)

pairing: draco x reader

request: no! this is my original idea

summary: american high school senior is in for a surprise when her family takes on a foreign exchange student with a mysterious past.

warnings: teen drinking, mentions of an armed robbery, language, a brief hospital visit, and descriptions of illness

a/n: hey. so. this is definitely where stuff starts to go down. thanks so much for waiting...i have so many more things planned for this series and i’m thrilled to see it come together the way that it is right now. thank you very much for reading and thank you for your patience!

taglist: @gruffle1 @missmulti @cleopatera @hahaboop @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @eltanin-malfoy @war-sword @cams-lynn @itsivyberry @ayo-cowbelly @nerd-domland @yesnerdsblog @shizarianathania @evanstanfanatic @strawberriesonsummer @hariosborn @night-ving @straightzoinked @imintoodeeptostop @icintliviinyiniilsiji @erisdogwood @loveissupernatural

word count: 6k

song recs:

murders - miracle musical

pink in the night - mitski

always, forever - cults

ice dance - ashton gleckman

enjoy!

Y/N should’ve felt cold when she awoke on the wet pavement. Despite a figure looming over her and blocking out most of the rain, the back of her neck and body was drenched in the cool water from the puddle to her right. It was easily in the mid 40s at this point in the evening, something that would ordinarily make her toes curl and her figure tremble, but it felt...different.

She felt like her insides had been scorched, like she’d downed an entire pitcher of boiling hot water. Every movement she made hurt--right down to wiggling her fingertips and her eyes. Her body was exhausted. If she hadn’t known any better, she would’ve thought that she’d just finished running a marathon in hell.

“Can you hear me?” A posh British voice cut through her musings as the figure above her came into focus.

Draco.

“Yeah. Was there a fire?” Her words left her throat painfully, scratching their way up her vocal chords.

“Er...what do you remember?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. The memories of the night slowly began trickling back--she’d done Draco’s tie, told him to watch his drink, argued with Chad about how funny he was, and walked to...Oh, yeah. The antique store. The box. The stars inside of her.

She flinched. “I fainted. I’m sorry. That was really stupid of me.”

“What?” Draco shifted back, the light from the front of the antique store catching his face. There were lines in his forehead that she’d never seen before. “Why?”

“I didn’t eat enough today,” said Y/N. Speaking was starting to feel less and less like lighting her trachea on fire. “I was really nervous and I lost my appetite. I’m an easy fainter.”

He cleared his throat. “Er, okay. Yeah. That was it. Anyways, we have to get home. You need to, uh, eat.”

“Okay.”

Y/N allowed herself to be hauled up onto her feet, swaying slightly once her full weight was on her feet. Her sense of gravity felt like it had been loosened. With every step, she felt pulled to the ground from a different part of her core.

“Steady. Don’t fall.” By some miracle, once Draco’s hands were gently guiding her shoulders, she was able to make her way to the backseat of Heather’s car before she collapsed.

“Where are we going?” asked Y/N. Despite no longer feeling like she was near death, her head was still cloudy.

“Home,” was all Draco said as he slid in on the other side of the car.

She didn’t bother putting on her seatbelt--she still felt like she was about to keel over--and rested her head on the car window. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Draco open the passenger car door for a moment, pause, shut it, and instead tug open the door across from her and slide in.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“My insides feel like they’re on fire.” Y/N winced as she tried to shift and get the weight off of her neck. “I think I’m sick.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” said Heather from the front, her eyes catching Y/N’s from the mirror. “You were just laying down in the middle of a rainstorm. Go home and take some Zi-cam or something, jesus.”

Y/N tried to chuckle in response, but it came out as a sorry squeak instead. No one made a move to further comment on the evening’s events as Heather pulled onto the freeway and began to gain speed. The sudden lurches and changes of speed in the car set Y/N’s stomach into a churning frenzy, her head growing light again.

“Draco.”

Her voice was so soft it was hardly audible--the syllables jumbled together on her lips in a quiet mess--but he immediately snapped to attention.

“What is it?”

She took a deep breath. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

“For the love of god, at least try and hold it until we get off the freeway.”

“Shut up, Heather,” said Draco. Y/N couldn’t help but feel the slightest twinge of satisfaction as he rolled his eyes and turned his attention back on her. “Is it the motion? Are you sick from that?”

“I don’t know,” she managed.

He sighed. “Helpful.”

“Dick.”

Draco frowned at her, but she could see the slightest twinkle of amusement in his eye. “Can you move into the middle seat for me? Do you need help?”

Once Y/N had scooted over from her side, he leaned away from her and pointed up to the sunroof above them. “Go ahead and count all the lights that you can see in the sky. I promise it’ll make you feel better. Just keep your head pointed up.”

She tilted her head back. The night sky was largely gloomy, but the flickering lights of the planes that dove in and out of clouds provided some glowing dots. As she counted, Heather hit the fog strips and nearly threw her back into her original seat. She felt a warm hand wrap around her wrist and gently grip, the long fingers completely encircling it.

Y/N blinked. The nausea was gone. “What are you, a sorcerer or something?” she joked, not expecting to see Draco so frozen at the comment. “Kidding. I just feel better already. Thank you.”

He nodded and turned away to look out the window. His soft grip on her hand was long gone, and Y/N took Heather’s slightly uncoordinated driving as a cue to slide back into her seat and buckle up.

“If you really need to puke,” said Heather, “I have a Target bag back somewhere under the passenger seat. Please avoid the seats. They’re authentic vegan leather.”

“I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Just don’t throw up, okay?”

Y/N was in Art History when it happened. The chills began, so intense and teeth-chattering that her teacher took one look at her and sent her immediately to the nurse. Sylvia offered to walk her, but she was only allowed to under the condition that she avoid all physical contact with her and sanitized each surface that Y/N touched. It was a wonder she made it to the first floor office--each step felt heavier than the last, and from the beginning she felt moments from simply passing out.

A temperature check revealed that she had a mild fever--100.3 F, to be exact--and a call home resulted in her mother’s full voicemail box and the remembrance that her parents were out for the week.

“Can someone else drive you?” Nurse Hazelwood asked as she stepped away to douse her hands in hand sanitizer. “I don’t think you should get yourself home in this state.”

After some deliberation, it was decided that Sylvia would take her home and call someone for a ride back. It was a bit overkill--but she didn’t know what else to do.

“And can you make sure Draco has a ride home today?” Y/N asked as they pulled into the driveway of the Y/L/N home.

“Stop stressing so much, dude.” Sylvia took the keys out of the ignition to give her an expectant look. “You’re sick. Go inside and make some soup or something. I’m sure your boyfriend will figure it out.”

“Now I really am gonna be sick,” said Y/N as she rolled her eyes.

The rest of her afternoon was a blur. Y/N tried to force down some chicken soup, but it took all her might to keep it from coming right back up. It was safe to say her appetite was gone.

After a failed attempt at walking up the stairs to crawl into bed, she collapsed onto the couch. The last thing she remembered was the sound of footsteps outside the front door.

Y/N hadn’t been to the hospital since she had to get stitches in middle school. Then, all she did was lie back in the chair and try to shut her eyes as the needle wove in and out of her torn thigh (bad bike accident, in case anyone was curious). But now was different.

Her eyes hurt to open, like someone had thrown soap in them and the very line where her two lids met were lined with knives. Everything inside of her was on fire--a manic, all-consuming fire that made it impossible for her to keep anything down.

The nurses and doctors were no help--not like Y/N actually had her eyes long enough to see any of them--but their voices were enough to let her know what was going on.

“Fever of 104--”

“Can’t keep anything down--”

“Severely dehydrated--”

“Tested negative for everything we tried--”

“Never seen anything like this before--”

“No viruses were detected--”

“Not mono--”

As she wove in and out of consciousness, one fact stuck in her mind: I think I might die here. Something is very wrong.

When she did dream, images of the box she picked up plagued her mind. The symbol, etched lightly into the black top, glowed menacingly in her hands. Open it, open it something around her urged, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t.

It was during one of these dreams that her world suddenly shifted back to her hospital room. She was suspended above her body, looking down at the tangle of IVs and various other wires that imprisoned her...but she wasn’t alone.

The dim lighting and darkness outside confirmed her suspicion that it was indeed late at night. A figure, tall and slim, was sitting to her left. It was whispering something unintelligible as it gently took her hand and squeezed.

If Y/N could scream, she would’ve. The sudden pull back to her body was so strong that she was yanked across the room so she just barely hovered over her corporeal form. She could feel a grip, steady and firm, wrapped around her hand as a rush of cool ran through her. Each breath, each pulse, each heartbeat pulled her back to herself. It felt like a bucket of water had been poured over--into--her, extinguishing the flames that were eating away the inside of her.

The figure’s whispering finally came to an end as she settled back into her physical body. Before she drifted off to a peaceful slumber, a familiar voice rose above the quiet whispers.

“I’m sorry.”

“Y/N!”

Her eyes shot open to see her mother, heavy eye bags and all, standing over her bed. “Hi Mo-”

“You scared me half to death!” Mrs. Y/L/N interrupted, placing her hand on her forehead. “No fever. Thank god. You know, when you were a baby, you were horribly ill with…”

Y/N sat and pretended she was listening as she relinquished in the fact that she was awake, she was here. The fire inside of her was long gone, replaced with the familiar...whatever was there before. Nothing? Maybe. Nothing was good, or at least better than the painful fire. It struck her with a sudden urgency that she had no idea what day it was, much less time. What about her homework? What about her UChicago application? Her counselor was supposed to submit her letter of rec a week ago...or a week ago from whenever she was brought to the hospital.

“Honey, are you even listening?”

“Uh, yeah,” she said.

“That’s what I thought. The food here is horrendous--of course you’re excited to go home.” Mrs. Y/L/N took her glasses off to wipe at the lens in a gesture that seemed more habitual and less effective. “You poor thing. Your father is still in New York--John simply couldn’t have him leave--but he’ll be back as soon as he can. Let’s get you out of here.”

The next few hours were a strange blur of paperwork, changes of clothes, and a bag of medication. The nurses and doctors were bewildered at her miraculous recovery and expressed this at every chance they had on her way out, reminding her to immediately seek attention if she feels anything similar again.

“What day is it?” Y/N finally asked once they were on the way home.

“Wow, you really were out of it.” Mrs. Y/L/N flicked her blinker on as she merged onto the freeway. “Sunday. You were there almost a whole week.”

“Huh? What about school? Do my teachers know? How did Draco get to school? Is he ok?”

“Of course your teachers know, hun. They’re all being very forgiving with their late work policies. As long as you’re putting effort into learning the material you missed, they have no problem letting you skip out on the homework. As for Draco...I think he’s fine. Sylvia’s family took him under their wing for the week. He’s still alive.”

And such a statement was proven when Y/N walked through the front door. Draco shot up from his seat at the living room couch the moment they locked eyes, his hands wringing back and forth.

“You’re okay.”

“You’re okay too,” she responded airily. “When I wasn’t dying I was worrying myself about how you’d do without me. I see my fears of you walking into moving traffic didn’t come true, thank God.”

His lips, tight, offered her the slightest upturn.

“Y/N, dearie, no need to harass the boy,” her mother said. “Up to your room. I’ll bring you some soup in a moment. You need to rest, young lady.”

She sent one last teasing grin at Draco before she was ushered up the steps, her mother fussing over her the entire way.

“So,” Sylvia said, crossing her legs over the other and giving Y/N a wicked look, “Consider this your last formal invitation to my Halloween party. It’s this Friday. It’s not even the night before the ED deadline. You should go.”

“I don’t know, Vy,” said Y/N. Her art history notes lay untouched in front of her as the teacher droned on about something related to how mannerism as an art style came to fame during the...Reformation? She didn’t know. “I’m kind of tired. I feel bad about leaving Draco alone, too.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Will you just do us all a favor and admit that you like him? It’s getting exhausting. Just ask him to come with you.”

“You’re absolutely off your rocker if you think I’m gonna do that,” Y/N said.

“I’m just saying, you’ve done weirder things. Like almost dying from...literally nothing.”

“Hey, hey, don’t be rude. I’ll think about it but no guarantees. I don’t really think Draco is the partying type, though.”

“I’d be careful about making such a wild assumption. You never know what goes on in those posh private British schools for rich kids or wherever he went.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

Her friend laughed. “No. Just an optimist.”

Y/N swung the sleeve of her cardigan at her, whacking her pretty good on the bicep. If Sylvia was bothered by it, she didn’t show it. “Fine. I’ll ask him as a friend.”

“Pansy.”

Y/N was never the type to enjoy background noise as she worked, but there was something nostalgic about hearing the identical voices of her local news anchors in the room over as she sat at the kitchen table and worked on a last minute Physics review set.

“Hey loser,” she called out as she saw a head of blond hair pass by her to get to the kettle. “Care to join me?”

Draco turned, his mouth open and ready to issue a retort before he appeared to change his mind. He’d been oddly distant lately, avoiding her in the common spaces they often saw each other and choosing to get breakfast and his evening tea at times that he knew she wouldn’t be down in the kitchen for. Perhaps that was the reason why she was sitting at the kitchen table at present, but of course she’d never admit that. Not even to herself.

“Can’t. I’m a bit busy with work.”

“Draco,” she chided. “What work is it? I can help you, you know.”

He paused for a few seconds, taking in the scatter of papers on the table and the nearly complete review sheet. “The Physics review is taking me a bit of time,” he said, his tone forced and resigned.

“Go grab it!” She grinned as his scowl deepened. “If you’re nice I’ll let you copy.”

She lost track of time as they went over his work, his pencil marks filling the page with symbols that were unfamiliar to her.

“Your handwriting is really nice,” she noted. “Like, so nice that I feel like you could really make it as a study youtuber or a study blogger or whatever. You have that potential if you want to tap into it, dude.”

“I have no idea what that is,” he said neatly as he punched an equation into her calculator.

“Fair.”

She sat still for a few more moments, watching as her study partner’s chest rose and fell with each breath he took. Sylvia’s Halloween party was just a few days away, and she needed to ask him at some point. Every time she mustered up the courage to open her mouth and hitch her breath, the words would die on her tongue.

The silence weighed heavy in the air as the words of the news anchors floated over…”multiple reports of an armed robbery….suburbs surrounding Cincinnati...cautioned to lock doors...potential link to the missing persons case…”

“Draco,” she said finally. He jolted up from his work to gaze at her. His eyes were probably the prettiest things she’d ever seen--all pale and metallic and silvery. “Uh, I’m going to this Halloween party this Friday. You should come with me, it sounds like it’ll be fun. I think that Heather will be there.”

Y/N mentally groaned at her admission to Heather’s attendance but didn’t know what else to say. She wanted him to come--even if it was so he could spend the whole time being woo-ed over by her.

“Er,” he began, twirling his pencil around his fingers. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Homework, you know.”

“Just finish it before--That’s what I’m doing.”

“I think I’m go--”

The slam of the front door made both of them jump, scattering Y/N’s long forgotten work and threatening to knock Draco’s mug over.

“Hi kids,” Mrs. Y/L/N greeted as she entered the kitchen, an armful of grocery bags in tow. “Studying?”

“Yeah,” Y/N answered. “By the way, Mom, Sylvia invited me over to her house on Friday for a sort of Halloween get together. Can I go?”

Her mother was silent for a few moments as she methodically unpacked the paper bags on the counter.

“I don’t see why not. Is Draco coming too?”

“No,” he replied before Y/N even had the chance to open her mouth.

“I don’t think you should be home alone at night, my dear,” said her mother. “Have you seen the news? There’s someone on the loose. I’d feel much better if you were with Y/N--Robert and I are going to an auction that night. We won’t be around.”

“I’ll be fi--”

“If Y/N is going, you’re going,” Mrs. Y/L/N said as she finished unloading and brushed her hands off on her thighs. Her no nonsense demeanor rarely showed itself, but when it did, she was difficult to argue with.

Y/N shrunk down in her seat as Draco sent her a sour look.

Sorry she mouthed. If he noticed, he didn’t show it.

“Remind me again why we’re walking?”

Draco’s snotty tone carried through the crisp fall air as they neared the street that Sylvia lived on.

“Because,” said Y/N, “Quite frankly, I don’t think I can get through being in an enclosed space with Heather for an entire night without being at least a little buzzed. And I’m not gonna have you drive us home.”

“Hmph.” His dress shoes, odd pointed tips and all, kicked at the fall leaves below them. His costume was literally nothing different than what he wore when he arrived--a crisp white dress shirt, an oddly cut blazer, and a weird looking green and silver pin attached to his lapel.

“If anyone asks,” she had told him from the hallway as they were getting ready to go that afternoon, “Just say you’re a corporate rat or something.”

He’d snorted at her choice of clothing--a completely dark brown set up with a picture of a shoe taped to her chest.

“I’m the shoe that that Iraqi reporter threw at Bush,” she had explained.

He just stared.

“If you aren’t having fun, please just let me know,” Y/N said as they turned one of the last corners. “We can tell her our fish died or something. Sylvia would totally understand.”

“We don’t have a fish.”

“I know, genius,” she teased, giving him a little punch. Instead of balking, he just crinkled his nose. “But she doesn’t.”

“I think she does.”

“You’re missing the point. You’ll tell me if you want to go back home, promise?”

“I want to go home.”

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

He grinned as they waited for Sylvia to open the door.

The next few hours were a bit of a blur. Y/N didn’t drink much at first--maybe the equivalent of 2 or 3 shots, spaced out in between a couple of sips of water--but the energy in Sylvia’s home definitely had her more buzzed than usual. There was something about her home that always felt twice as spooky, a type of underlying energy that pulsed at the seams.

To her surprise, Draco actually took a cup of whatever Sylvia offered him and downed it. She laughed when she saw him finally lower the cup as he furrowed his brow at her.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

His features looked softer in the dim lighting of Sylvia’s living room--all the tension that he carried in his shoulders and face seemed to be gone. When he smiled at her, it was all she could do to keep herself from disintegrating into the couch.

As the night wore on, Y/N felt herself getting progressively more tipsy, and, in her haze, she could see that Draco was going down a similar path. He was touchier than she would have expected--hanging onto her elbow or sleeve whenever Sylvia or Y/N said anything funny, not moving his leg when her thigh was pressed against his, stretching his arm out behind her and resting it on the back of the couch--and she found herself wishing she was sober enough for it to feel real. Maybe she was so drunk that she was imagining it all. Maybe she was actually asleep next to her toilet at home after throwing it all up and was just dreaming.

“Fuck!” Someone exclaimed, prompting her to look up. Abby, a girl she kind of knew from her grade, had spilled the entirety of her drink on the coffee table.

“Y/N,” Sylvia whined, “I’m too tired to get the paper towels. Will you and Draco go?”

Despite the half-hearted protests from Draco, she managed to haul him up by his arm as she pushed back the pleasure that Sylvia saw them as a sort of team, a sort of unit.

“I think she keeps the extra paper towels in her pantry,” she told him as they made their way over to the quiet part of the house. The light hanging over the kitchen island was on, but the rest of the room was bathed in darkness.

“Right he--”

Y/N froze as she saw it--or, as she would come to discover, them.

Heather and Chad stared back at them, looking much more disheveled than one is permitted simply sitting on the kitchen counter. It was hard to make it out clearly, but Heather’s cheeks looked flushed. Chad’s matched.

“In a fucking kitchen? Chad, I thought you were better than this,” Y/N said, turning and grabbing the paper towels from the cabinet behind them. “Get a room, you weirdos.”

Chad laughed, a short lived and awkward sound.

Once they were back out in the living room, Y/N tossed the paper towels to Sylvia. “I think we’re gonna head back. We have to walk, you know.”

Sylvia dramatically threw herself back onto the couch. “I suppose. Thanks for coming guys, it was nice to see you outside of class again.”

“Likewise!” Y/N called over her shoulder as she walked out of the door with Draco by her side.

The walk home was silent for the first few moments. Despite the fact that it was late October, the night was pleasantly crisp and not too cold. The only sources of illumination were the scattered street lights, casting a soft orange hue on the two.

As they turn the corner onto the main street, Y/N’s shoe caught on a crack in the pavement in a movement that would’ve sent her sprawling face-first into the cold concrete if it hadn’t been for Draco’s hand grabbing her own and yanking her back up.

“Thanks,” she said. His hands were warmer than usual despite the coolness of the air.

He just sent her a small smile as he untangled their fingers and placed his hand back into his pants pockets.

“Weird to see Chad and Heather, right?” Y/N nudged him with her shoulder. To her surprise, he nudged back.

“I guess. I thought it was obvious, though.”

“What?! No way.”

“Are you blind? Heather’s been all over Chad,” he said.

“Are you? I thought she was obsessed with you!”

“No, definitely not.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked, turning to look at him. The dim glow of the streetlights made his hair look almost like a halo. “She wouldn’t leave you alone.”

“Dunno.” Draco shrugged. It was then that Y/N remembered how much he’d had that night.

“I’m sorry. I know you’re probably not in the right mindset to be analyzing other people right now,” said Y/N.

His lips twitched upwards. “No, no, it’s ok. I’m fine. I just couldn’t be bothered over the whole ordeal. Entirely uninspiring, I think.”

“You’re such a nerd, even when you’re drunk,” teased Y/N. “It’s honestly a wonder that you spent the first month near failing physics.”

“Sod off.” He nudged her again, hard enough to make her sway. “You’re the one who’s still an insufferable smartass. I figured drinking would make you more tolerable.”

“Don’t be a dick,” she muttered as she shoved him back. “You know you love me.”

He froze in the middle of his retaliatory shove, his hand rested on her forearm.

“Sarcasm, king,” said Y/N. “I don’t mean it. I wouldn’t blame you if I were right, though. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m quite the commodity.”

“Oh, yes, most certainly.” His tone was dripping in faux genuity as he gave her a gentle push.

As he was doing this, Y/N grabbed the offending arm and took him down with her, landing in the soft garden bush in poor Ms. McCoyle’s front yard.

“Gotcha!” she cheered as he frowned from his spot on top of her. It took all her might to ignore the fact that his face was inches away. “It’s just my smart physics brain at work.”

“Your neighbor is gonna kill us.”

“She can try.”

Draco sat up, grabbing her hand and hauling her to her feet. She took the opportunity to hang onto the sleeve of his coat as a sneaking suspicion overtook her that things wouldn’t be like this again without the clever excuse of intoxication.

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

Y/N let go of his sleeve to look up at his face in confusion. She followed his eyes, suddenly hardened with an emotion she couldn’t quite place, to their house at the end of the street.

“You shut the door behind us, right?” Draco asked.

“And locked it.”

Their front door, hanging wide open and swinging in the breeze, told a different story.

Sobering up was easy once the police sirens showed up and searched their house. Y/N could tell the responding sheriff knew they’d been drinking, but since they weren’t driving and were speaking clearly, he didn’t mention anything.

“We’ve searched the house,” he told them as they sat together outside on the curb. “It looks like it fits the profile of the other armed burglaries in the area, but nothing was taken this time. The bedroom that looks out into the garden is completely trashed--it seems like the suspect was looking through your things for something. The bedroom across the hall was displaced a bit, but nothing compared to the first.” He took another look at his notes, adjusting the thick rimmed glasses that were perched on his nose. “You kids are lucky. Whoever this is means business. There’s unfortunately not much we can do except set up a patrol to watch over the street for now. Please give us a call if you see anything or hear anything.”

They nodded. Y/N had placed a call to their parents while they waited a safe distance from the home for the police to arrive. She’d been shaking as she pressed their number into her phone, and Draco, to his credit, rested his hand on her thigh.

“We’ll be fine,” he’d said before retracting it. “Don’t worry.”

Draco seemed considerably calm for someone experiencing a home break in in a foreign country as they made their way into the house. The first responders had left the lights on, and the wash of LED bulbs did nothing to hide the disturbance of her bedroom. Everything of hers was thrown into the middle of the room from her drawers, closet, and dresser. Her laptop, open and plugged in, was left completely untouched.

“Draco,” she said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Depends, what is it?”

Y/N noted that he was getting considerably paler as they stood in her doorway. “I don’t think I can sleep here. Knowing what happened. Especially when it’s still a disaster.”

“Understandable.”

His features looked hardened again, like he’d gone through a filter of seriousness. She decided that this was probably her last chance to ask for any act of intimacy before the effects of alcohol dissipated in his system. “And I don’t want to sleep alone.”

“Er...Oh.” He stared at her. “What?”

“I know that this is really awkward, but can I, like, sleep on your floor or something? Just for tonight.” When she swallowed her throat felt painfully dry. “I don’t snore or anything. It’ll be like I’m not even there.”

Draco sucked in a long breath, casting his eyes up to the ceiling. Y/N wished she knew what he was thinking about. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Thank you thank you thank you,” she sang, darting into her room to grab a blanket and a pillow as he watched wordlessly by the doorframe.

The walk to his room was dead silent except for their sounds of shock when they saw the broken glass in the middle of the floor.

“I think that was from the picture frame,” Y/N said as she carefully walked into the middle of the room. Sure enough, a framed photo of her and their late dog that had been left on the wall was face down on the carpet.

“Is this when you ask me to sleep in my bed, too?” quipped Draco as he sidestepped the wreckage and sat on the opposite side of the queen mattress.

“Um...we can make a pillow barrier so we don’t touch.”

He rolled his eyes and tossed his blazer over his chair as he took off his shoes and buttonup, leaving nothing but his undershirt and dress pants. “I’m going to get changed. If you’re asleep before I get back, this is me saying goodnight.”

With that, he grabbed something from his dresser and walked into his bathroom, Y/N ripped off the picture of the shoe and placed her phone on the bedside table. Before she knew it, she was completely passed out.

It was barely dawn when she next woke up. Her head was heavy--no doubt the beginnings of a hangover--but she’d never felt more electrified.

A small huff prompted her to look to her left where Draco was just a few movements away from her. He was very clearly still sleeping, each breath leaving his lips with a whisper. His hand, draped over the covers, was millimeters away from touching her. The pink of the sunrise made his hair, now ruffled and sticking up in the side, glitter in the light. She resisted the urge to reach out and brush it away from his face.

Y/N lay there, admiring the boy sleeping next to her, until the urgency of her situation struck her. She was absolutely parched, and if she wanted to mitigate the damage she’d already done, it was in her best interest to drink a glass of water and take 4 Ibuprofen.

With a sigh, she quietly slid out from under Draco’s covers and made her way to her room, careful to avoid the glass scattered all about. She knew she had a packet of Ibuprofen somewhere in one of her dresser drawers.

The pile in her room was bigger than she remembered. She began by just throwing her clothes that had been on the ground onto her bed, sorting through everything in rough categories. When this proved unhelpful, she turned to the mini pile by her door which, to her surprise, had a few sweatshirts that definitely weren’t hers.

Draco she thought absentmindedly as she combed through the pile. Aha. A small green pouch, just like the one she kept her over the counter medications in.

Her hands struggled to undo the tie--Did she normally knot it like that?--as she admired the lining. She never noticed that the edges had silver thread stitched in.

Once she finally opened it up, she grabbed her water bottle and prepared to be faced with a variety of pill bottles as she tipped it over; however, what came out was very different.

A collection of letters. Namely, Draco’s. She knew it was wrong, but he was sleeping, and every letter looked official, stamped with a seal and etched with some sort of crest. They couldn’t have been that personal.

After a bit of bargaining, she decided to open one. If it was personal, she made the deal with herself to put it away and never speak of it again.

The parchment was heavy and clearly expensive. Her hands were shaking as she unfolded the first one, feeling guilty the whole way.

Foreign words flooded her vision. It wasn’t like the letter was written in a foreign language--but there were so many terms she didn’t understand.

Death eater...Voldemort...Crimes against the ministry...Conspiracy against Dumbledore...Hogwarts-sanctioned punishment...

She read on until a word popped out that made sense--Magic. And there it was again--Magic. Wizard. Magic.

Swallowing hard, she shoved the letter back into the envelope and opened one more. This one was much more coherent.

“Dear Mr. Draco Lucius Malfoy of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy:

It has been made apparent to us that, while serving the punishment of your accused crimes, you have unlawfully used magic (namely, a Glamour spell) in front of a muggle. Consider this to be your first strong warning. One more slip up and the Ministry will be forced to reconsider your dropped sentence of Azkaban.

Sincerely and warmly,

The Ministry of Magic -- Justice Sector”

What. What the fuck. What the fuck.

Her racing mind was put to a screeching halt at the sound of someone clearing their throat behind her.

#draco x reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x oc #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x oc #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy #draco lucius malfoy

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echo-three-one · 3 years

Text

Chapter 32

THE ROAD SO FAR

Mr. and Mrs. MacTavish

Francine "France" Winters

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow Scotland

3:46 AM

Francine squinted her eyes as she checked her phone, the bright light illuminated her whole visage. No new messages. John promised her he'd text her as soon as the mission was over. According to their briefing, the recon mission should've ended about four hours ago.

She shifted her position and turned to Maxine who looked sound asleep. A soft smile escaped her lips once she realized that Maxine was safe within her reach.

She forced her eyes to close again but couldn't quite get the sleep she needed. She wondered if John ever got tired running in her mind. After failing her last attempt to get some sleep, she slowly got up and made her way to the kitchen for some milk.

Much to her surprise, the kitchen lights were open and Samantha sat on the dining table, her chin rested on her arms as she stared on her phone.

"Can't sleep?" France asked and it shocked Samantha a little.

"Yeah. He's supposed to text me three hours ago. Now I can't help but worry." Samantha groaned in frustration.

"John promised that too…" she slowly placed her phone on the table and it beeped. The womens eyes widened as France excitedly unlocked her phone.

Her smile almost reached the heavens but soon after reading the notification, she suddenly went back to her frown.

"What was it?" Samantha asked, raising her head and looked at Francine.

"A software update notification." Francine sighed and went to grab a glass of milk.

"Say, France… has it ever crossed your mind that John would be the one you'll end up marrying?" Samantha asked. Francine's cheeks burned immediately at the idea as she envisioned herself living in a house with three children with mohawks running around. She wasn't ready for all of it but she's blushing at the sheer idea of it as if she liked it.

"Umm… uh.. I'm not sure. Sam." her tone was really suspicious, as if hiding something and making up blatant lies. She just wished Samantha couldn't see through her.

"Sorry for that kind of question. It's just that… I think that Alex is the one for me… that's why I'm this worried about him. I couldn't sleep knowing he's not beside me…" Samantha explained while pondering her situation. If that was the case for her, then France's insomnia could also mean that she's…

"I guess it's normal to feel that way…" France defended, downing a half full glass of milk.

"You've been with him for quite some time and you both admittedly loved each other, that's why you showed concern toward him." She continued.

"So, that goes to you too? Right?" Samantha asked. France once again got cornered by her own train of thought.

"Look. Yes. I'm concerned about John too… he's…" she smiled.

"He's something else… I'm far too ready to reopen myself to a relationship and he actually told me he was willing to wait and be a friend in need." she continued, now her heart was beating slowly but fluttering at the idea of her thoughts. John was willing to wait. That meant that she could have all the time at her disposal until she was ready to love again. But such time needed was already up, as she was already denying the inevitable feeling of love she was projecting toward the Scotsman.

"Sounds like you're already ready." Samantha teased.

"No I'm not!" France immediately dismissed her, grabbed her phone and went back to bed.

"As a matter of fact, I'll sleep right now!" She said as Samantha just laughed and waved goodnight.

France slowly paced in front of John's room. She felt as if there was a huge magnet pulling her towards it and the longer her phone doesn't ring, the more convinced she was to get in. Succumbing to temptation, she pushed the doors open and sneaked her way in.

His room was always her favorite place in the house. It showcased a lot of his personality that no one could ever see in him. Landscape drawings and sketches filled the room. Football jerseys with autographs were framed on the walls along with photos with his favorite athletes.

At first glance, everyone would say that John MacTavish had it all, but when you're staring at his eyes while having a heart to heart talk, you would know that that isn't all true. He didn't have it all.

France saw his black journal by the bed. It was strange that he didn't bring it for his mission. Last time you asked him what's inside, he just chuckled and said "mission details", showing a sketch of Price labeled 'caterpillar moustache'.

France was then again tempted to open the page where he left off, showing a beautifully sketched face of her, occupying the whole page.

"Tough on the outside, soft in the inside. Just like me." was written on the corner of the page.

"I knew that you saw through me the moment we met…" She whispered as she closed the journal and yawned, crashing on his huge bed they both shared days ago when she needed someone to talk to. Covering herself with the thick covers, she inhaled the signature MacTavish scent which still lingered on his bed and it was actually effective enough to lull her to sleep. It's as if he was there beside her.

France woke up as soon as it came to her senses that Maxine would be looking for her. Throwing the covers away, she immediately rushed back to her room. Pulling the door open and sneaking her way back.

The silent clattering of the plates and casual conversations filled the kitchen. Jack was talking about some of his experiences while Samantha and Maxine were giggling. Much to her curiosity regarding the two unknown voices, both male and female, she slowly descended the staircase and peeked.

Aside from Jack, Samantha and Maxine, there was a man and a woman, possibly married, who sat together by the table. She actually felt nervous once her sight landed on the man. If he was younger, his resemblance with John would be almost accurate. And judging by that look, Francine leaned to the idea that this was John's father.

John's father had the physical qualities of a Scotsman but the appeal of a western businessman. His accent was almost not Scottish.

"Ahh. I miss my home so much. Do you mind if I let loose a little?" Mr. MacTavish asked and his wife, judging by the body language of holding on his hands, chuckled at his idea.

"Don't worry. It's your home. You should feel comfortable." Jack replied with a smile.

With a deep sigh, Mr. MacTavish actually let loose and exhaled a very deep ramble in s heavy Scottish accent. His wife replied with the same energy and everyone cackled. France was amazed at how easygoing his parents were and it told a lot about John's upbringing.

"Ooh! Looks like our other guest woke up!" Mrs. MacTavish mused upon making eye contact with France.

"So Maxine, this is your sister?" Mr. MacTavish.

"Yes, Mr. Jonathan. It's Francine." Maxine answered and France waved and smiled at the MacTavishes. Her whole body felt awkwardly nervous. She felt like this was the 'Meet the Parents' part, except they weren't really a thing… yet.

"Nice to finally meet you, Sir Jonathan and Ma'am…" France shook his hand and paused at Mrs. MacTavish.

"It's Julianne." She smiled and shook her hand. For a moment, Francine actually felt her heartwarming touch as she slowly eased the nervousness away.

"Don't be scared of us dear. We don't bite." She smiled and Francine smiled back. When John told her about how serene he felt around his mother, he wasn't joking. Her aura was powerful.

"Honey, looks like there are a lot more women in the force nowadays. Have you ever wondered if our boy John has liked any of them?" he asked playfully while France was trying her hardest not to choke on her orange juice. It looks like Max and Samantha were just giggling on their own.

"Well dear, why don't we leave it up to John to introduce us to her." She chuckled and held her husband's hand.

"Where is he anyway?" Jonathan looked back by the door.

"He's still on a mission." France answered and everyone else looked at her.

"What I mean is, they are still on their way home." She corrected, stuttering as she replied.

"Well, it's such a shame we had to leave now. Duty calls!" Jonathan stood up and everyone followed them to the front door, waving their goodbyes. France shyly followed behind them and joined the group as they sent their goodbyes to John's parents.

As soon as the car left their sights, everyone else eased and released the pressure they felt.

"Woooah. Soap has some nice parents. I thought they'll get mad at us for crashing in!" Maxine said, sitting beside France.

"Well, Soap just proved to us that not all businessmen are evil, despite what television suggests." Jack added and yawned. It was still early and he already planned on sleeping.

Samantha sat there and stared at her phone. France checked hers too and called her attention.

"I didn't get any texts from him. But I assure you, they'll be here soon."

"So, tell me how worried you were when I didn't text." John smugly asked France while he emerged from the showers, a clean white towel was the only thing wrapping his body.

France just sat by the bed, her whole body facing opposite John. Her brows still furrowed at the idea that he wasn't able to text her that they finished the mission without harm.

Their arrival earlier was not quite the arrival she expected. Her heart was supposed to flutter at the sight of John, but instead sadness filled the whole house. Alexandra Ryder was gone, and it would be too rude to reach for his embrace at the time of mourning.

"I wasn't worried one bit." She spat and crossed her arms. He could hear John laughing a little and she wanted to look at him, but his stubbornness needed to be fixed, that is if she could.

"Really? Then how come I heard from Samantha that you were up at three-" France quickly turned to her back in an attempt to stop his trail of thought, but she was surprised that John's face was already close to hers as he was crawling towards her while he talked.

France's world paused for a little as her eyes met his, gaze locked on his icy blue stare as her heart started to beat differently and her ears started to heat up, and lips slowly formed a smile.

Her eyes trailed down to his lips, where it also happened to curve differently. He was smiling and it never occurred to her that John had smiled like that before. Her lips involuntarily pouted as she felt John's face inch closer to hers, as she slowly closed her eyes and let the Scotsman take over her lips.

The first kiss was quick, their lips just met each other for a short while and they both backed up, eyes locked on to each other, both sparkling and wanting for more.

"Fine." France whispered and reached for his cheek.

"I can't stop worrying about you, dumbass." she added and John let out a soft chuckle, leaning in for another kiss, but this time it was more than they both wanted. This time it felt like they were released from all the things constraining them. France actually gave in to him for the second time, and she was glad that she did this, because John sure was a very good kisser.

Next Chapter : The Broken Ship

Notification Squad my Beloved

@beemybee @samatedeansbroccoli @enderio @smokeywhalee @whimsywispsblog @ricinbach

#horrayfic #john soap mactavish #alex echo 3 1 #codmw #john price #gary roach sanderson #simon ghost riley #whateverittakes

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lovelylogans · 3 years

Text

honey, you’re familiar (like my mirror)

see other chapters, notes, and warnings here!

chapter four: symbiosis

symbiosis: interaction between two different organisms living in close physical association, typically to the advantage of both.

VIRGIL

“Uh,” Virgil says, scrambling in the face of his mother—hair wrapped for the night, blinking the sleep out of her eyes, her arms crossed, “My—myself?”

Technically true, he guesses, according to some of the sensate’s personal beliefs about the connections they share with their clusters, according to Logan according to Dot. Like having other selves scattered across the world.

Andisiwe frowns. “At this time of night?”

Virgil shrugs weakly.

She frowns deeper. Then:

“You know,” she says, looking at him very intently, “your grandmother used to talk to herself at all times of day, too.”

Virgil stays silent. His mother crouches to sit with him on the floor, settling with a long sigh.

“About anything at all,” she continues. “She’d talk about the snow when this country hadn’t seen snow for ten years. She’d laugh when no one told a joke, cried when nothing sad had happened. She’d make recipes I’d never heard of before. You remember her pitha?”

Virgil nods, confused. Of course he remembers her pitha. They’d have it at every large family gathering.

“That’s an Indian dessert. She’d never left South Africa in all her life, but she knew how to make pitha and speak Tamil like she was born in Bangalore. Just like you were speaking a language other than Xhosa or English just now.”

Oh, Virgil thinks, then, oh.

“So unless you started taking language lessons while studying for your doctorate,” she says, staring at him.

Virgil chews at the inside of his cheek.

“No,” he says hoarsely. “No, I didn’t.”

She nods, accepting this. “How long…?”

“I don’t know,” Virgil admits. “A week and a half? Two weeks?”

“Not long at all,” she murmurs. “ I suppose it might skip a generation. She told me once it started when she was a child. A horrible headache struck her, and once it let up she had seven new friends all around the world. When they were all ten, maybe.”

Ten, Virgil thinks, mind whirling. God, to deal with all this at the age of ten?

“Sensates,” Virgil croaks. “We’re called sensates.”

His mother offers him a smile.

“I know,” she says. “Tell me about them.”

“One’s here,” Virgil says, and he looks at the big, tall, tattooed man. “I don’t think I got your name last time.”

The man walks from his plush apartment rug to sit on the hardwood floor.

“Patton Taumata,” he says with Virgil’s mouth, offering a bright smile to Virgil’s mother, sitting beside him. “Māori, New Zealander.”

And then Virgil feels what Patton does next—pull seems too strong a word, but it’s the closest he has.

Sitting across from him, looking vaguely disgruntled to find himself on the ground, yet still sitting at his desk in his home office.

“Janus Slange,” he says. “London.”

He slides out of Virgil’s body to find a spot to sit that’s a bit more refined.

Patton turns his head, and Virgil turns his gaze to follow.

“Roman Regio,” the actor says, looking up from his script to gesture beside him. “And my brother, Remus. Who is currently on his way to Mexico City, which he should have done as soon as he got accused.”

“This is such a dumb plan,” Remus groans, resting his head simultaneously against the bus window and Virgil’s bed. “I want all of you batshit hallucinations to know that I don’t come up with plans this stupid. My plans are refined in the way they cause utter chaos.”

Sitting in his bed in the barracks and beside Virgil, so close their thighs almost touch, giving Virgil a thrill that shoots all the way to his fingertips—

“Logan Zieliński,” he says to Virgil’s mother, careful to sound respectful. “I was just here. I’m Polish, but I’m currently studying in Antarctica. Space research.”

They’re here. All of them here. But Virgil sees Patton reach again—

EMILE

—and Emile beams at the sight before him. Patton turns to grin at him.

“Well done!” Emile says, filled to bursting with pride.

Patton! Reliably being able to pull them all in to visit together! That kind of skill—coupled with the fact that Patton, back in his apartment in Auckland, is peaceably planning lessons with a sitcom in the background—can take other sensates months of practice to truly achieve.

“Is this your mother?” He asks Virgil.

Virgil says, “Um, Mom, my—cluster parent?”

Emile makes an eh handwavey gesture followed by a thumbs-up. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, I’m comfortable with!”

“—is here right now. His name’s—”

He speaks at the same time as Emile does.

“Dr. Emile Picani, hi there—!”

“—and he’s American.”

Virgil’s mother’s brow wrinkles in distaste, but she does a good show of trying to hide it.

“That’s fair,” Emile says. “Americans are—well, y’know. You’ve seen the news.”

“This is my mother, Dr. Andisiwe Nkosi. My grandmother was a sensate too, apparently.”

“Oh, that’s lovely!” Emile exclaims. “There are sensates within biological families, of course—” he gestures to Roman and Remus, “—but things are still up in the air about if and how being homo sensorium passes down.”

“Dot said the number of sensates is rising due to epigenetic factors,” Logan says.

“Oh, you’ve met Dot!” Emile says delightedly.

“She answered many of the questions I have,” Logan says, and for a blip, they’re all sitting in the barracks in Antarctica as Logan reaches for a notebook and pen. “But I still have many questions.”

“Entirely understandable,” Emile says.

“Wait, you got your questions answered?” Roman demands, and they’re all sitting on Roman’s apartment’s massive balcony overlooking Mexico City. “I just got this one—” he points accusingly at Janus, “telling me hey, surprise, you’re not actually losing your shit!”

Janus shrugs, and they’re all surrounded by monitors, blinking with so many different points of data it makes Emile a little dizzy. “He just showed up in the mirror while I was shaving.”

“Well,” Emile says, and they’re all in Emile’s apartment at home. Emile puts a kettle on the stove. “I’m here now. So what questions can I help you answer? Or, at least, activate the Archipelago to get some kind of answer for you. If you can think of some kind of subject, there’s probably a sensate that knows something about it, but I suppose we should probably start with the sensate-specific questions.”

Remus puts up a hand and asks, loudly, “Can I use the psychic connection with other sensates to have some kind of insane worldwide orgy?”

ROMAN

Sasha is out for a key art photoshoot, so Roman has the whole apartment to himself. Which is good, because he got a bit busy last night with the whole explanation of what exactly it is that’s been happening to him, and then yelling in disgust when Remus asked gross questions about it.

Roman’s considering if he wants to paint his nails—it’s not like he can keep it, if solely for movie continuity—just to have something to do with his hands when the door cracks open.

And in steps Remus—absolutely filthy, staring at Roman incredulously, a fake mustache plastered above his real mustache that he immediately rips off.

“It worked,” Roman says gleefully. “It worked!”

“First of all, cops ain’t shit, I probably should have expected literally every police officer to sleep on the job when seeing someone suspicious board a bus, but Jesus fuckin’ Christ, your security munches ass,” Remus declares, “They let a murderer get into your apartment.”

Roman bursts out laughing.

“It’s not funny!” Remus says, pulling off the fake beard he’d donned. “It took five pesos of stolen fake beard and mustache to fool everyone, are you fucking kidding me—?!”

Roman slides off the couch, gripping his stomach, he’s laughing so hard.

“What?!” Remus demands, throwing off the overly large trench coat he’d been huddling under.

“You,” Roman wheezes, then, “you said the plan was stupid and it wouldn’t work—!”

“It is stupid! I come up with way better plans than this, you’re telling me that you came up with the stupid kid movie plan and I didn’t?! And it shouldn’t have worked—Roman, stop laughing, your fangirls are fucking batshit crazy, could you imagine what kind of weird Wattpad shit they’d get up to if they knew how easy it was to break in here?!”

Roman is screaming with laughter, because literally all they needed was a fake mustache and beard, and ooh Roman can tell that Remus is pissed that Roman came up with this plan first because it’s such a perfectly Remus plan. He isn’t sure how much of it is a sensate thing versus a twin brother thing, but all the same, Roman knows that Remus is absolutely fuming, which makes it even funnier.

Remus storms off, shouting, “Just for this, I’m going to use up all your fancy shampoo! I’m going to take the biggest, nastiest shit in your bathroom! I’m—I’m going to eat all your soap! I will! I’ll do it! I’m eating all your soap!”

LOGAN

It’s still a little startling to look over at his notebook and suddenly find himself in South Africa, but he’s gotten a little more accustomed to it since the night before. He’s been feeling a pull to South Africa all day, like an ache deep in his chest. He isn’t entirely sure why.

Virgil glances over at him and smiles, just a little. Logan smiles back. Virgil clears his throat and returns his attention to the textbook before him.

“Roman’s plan worked,” he says.

Logan huffs, shaking his head. Honestly. It’s like those American movies when three children stack on top of each other and wear a large trenchcoat and a fake beard to gain access to the movies, but it actually worked.

In retrospect, Logan’s sure that Remus would have foregone his escape into the wilderness if he’d known that donning a disguise and having his rich brother pay away the arrest troubles and their psychically connected lawyer argue before the court would have worked so neatly.

However, considering that nearly every aspect of that plan is absolutely off the rails ridiculous, the escape into the wilderness must have seemed like a prudent measure to take at the time.

“How’s your research?” Logan asks, sitting down on Virgil’s bed.

“Pretty good,” Virgil says, his tone very casual. “I think the fact that abrus precatorius—”

“The scientific name for rosary peas,” Logan assumes. He is rewarded by a nod from Virgil.

“—isn’t native to Mexico and the fact that Remus hasn’t traveled for years on end is a pretty good basis for Janus to go on. Plus, abrin—”

“The toxin?” Logan clarifies and receives a nod.

“—is incredibly toxic, to the point where anyone ordering rosary peas would probably get pinged under some kind of monitoring system. So there wouldn’t really be a way for Remus himself to get them. Miguel Contreras, on the other hand—”

“The murder victim?” Logan says, startled.

“Yes—on the other hand, he went to Florida very recently. He got back three days before his death, in fact.”

“I thought they were native to Asia and Australia?”

“Yeah, they are, but rosary peas are an invasive species, and they’ve been clocked in the pine rocklands there,” Virgil says. “Symptoms usually occur pretty quick, but it can take up to five days to show up, depending on the method of ingestion. And considering the seed of just one pea could be fatal…”

“Then the cause of death could very well be found in Florida!” Logan says. “And the only thing they have on Remus—”

“—Are threats, exactly,” Virgil says enthusiastically. “And considering the way Remus is as a person, Janus could probably get those hand-waved away as being under jest, rather than an actual threat to kill him.”

They smile at each other again, Virgil’s lips twisting wryly.

“I’ve been wanting to visit you all day,” he says abruptly, and Logan feels that flutter in his stomach again, the one he’s been feeling since they first met; he’s willing to admit to himself that it most certainly isn’t unease, now. It is a near antonym of unease.

“I have too,” Logan admits, trying his very best to keep his voice informal.

Virgil’s smile softens, a little. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Logan affirms, and the flutter in his stomach intensifies.

They stare at each other. Virgil’s eyes, Logan notices abruptly, are objectively beautiful. Framed by long lashes, his eyes are so dark a shade of brown they’re practically black, so easy to stare at, admiring the way a sudden shift in the lighting would illuminate the subtle honeyed depths of them.

For a moment, Logan gets a flicker; he’s looking at his own eyes, blue and framed by his glasses, but the emotion in him doesn’t change, the fleeting thought of look how gorgeous, and suddenly he is back to looking at Virgil, and, as one, they look away.

Virgil coughs awkwardly. “This sensate thing—weird, huh?”

For the first time, Logan wonders if the feeling in his stomach is not entirely his own. If it is something shared.

But, Logan thinks, sneaking a look at Virgil taking notes, twirling his pen idly over the backs of his long fingers, he supposes that neither of them would be able to tell that, anyways.

REMUS

Remus is bouncing his leg so much that the cop near him is giving him a disdainful look.

Or maybe the look is because the cop thinks he’s a murderer. Whatever.

“Are you sure this is gonna work,” Remus mutters out of the corner of his mouth because he hasn’t gotten the hang of visiting someone in his cluster and going about day-to-day life like a normal person, the way more experienced sensates can.

“Positive,” Janus says. He’s sitting crossed-legged beside Remus in his holding cell, where they’re waiting to be transported to the courtroom. Remus is pretty sure most lawyers shouldn’t turn up to court in pajamas, but considering that to the rest of the courtroom Remus is going to play at being his own lawyer, it’s all fine.

“All they have on you is proximity and threats,” Janus continues. “And considering the voice in your novels, along with the parts in your dust jackets’ where you literally threaten your readers, I can get that set aside no problem.”

Remus inhales heavily and exhales just as noisily.

“Right,” he says. “Right.”

Roman flickers into sight just long enough to shoot Remus a thumbs up, and as Janus resumes spitting legal jargon, Remus feels his shoulders relax.

PATTON

“Be careful with our bezzie Buzzy Bee!” Patton says brightly. He’s crouched before Sophie, having helped untangle the string. “Let’s make sure we don’t tangle him up again, eh?”

“I will, Mr. T!” Sophie shouts, already on the run with the toy, and Patton huffs ruefully. It’ll probably be tangled up again by the end of the day.

A brief chill across his skin, and Patton shivers before he refocuses on the sunny afternoon, here, in Auckland.

By the time he’s stood upright, Logan’s beside him, in a white lab coat.

“Do you really need that much air conditioning down there?” Patton says. “Seems a bit overkill, mate.”

Logan shrugs, closing a door, hiding away some kind of equipment that looks very finicky and complex. “I’m not the one in charge of the facility.”

“Fair enough,” Patton says. “I’m pretty sure I’ll be asked to join in on some kind of game, soon. You like rugby?”

“It’s not exactly popular in Poland.”

“Hm. Guess not,” Patton says. “Probably should’ve known that already.”

“The whole sharing knowledge aspect of this does seem to be rather dependent on a variety of factors,” Logan says thoughtfully. “I don’t think I automatically know the minutiae of New Zealand history and culture just because you might; I think we have to be doing something to trigger that sharing of knowledge.”

Patton huhs thoughtfully.

“If you didn’t know how to drive a car, for instance,” Logan theorizes, “and I did, and you sat behind a wheel and needed to drive somewhere, I would probably be able to impart that knowledge to you.”

“I can ask Emile,” Patton says, ready to turn and look in on Florida, but he’s stopped by Logan’s frustrated, “how do you do that?”

“Hm?” Patton says, turning to look at him.

“This seems to come so effortlessly to you,” Logan says. “You drop in and seem totally at ease, you could control if we all came to see Virgil a couple nights ago, and by the reactions of those around you, you don’t seem to be talking to thin air—”

“Well, we’re mostly, surrounded by five-year-olds, they wouldn’t be too phased by the concept of me having an imaginary friend,” Patton points out. Logan doesn’t seem particularly amused by this.

“I don’t know,” Patton admits. “Emile thought I was just very communicative, for a sensate. That might be it; I’ve always been pretty chatty. It also might be because Māori have beliefs about how we are all connected—people, nature, all living things—so maybe I was a little more prepared to accept that I was literally connected to other people because I grew up with that as a sacred ideal.”

They watch children run and play for a few minutes; Manaia, diving to catch a football in the game of rugby that had assembled; Sophie, racing between everyone with her Buzzy Bee clack-clack-clacking behind her; Oliver, shyly joining in on a game of hopscotch.

The grass sways in the light breeze, the sun had peeked out from behind its clouds, leaving the entire playground awash in light and warmth. The laughter of children carries on the wind. Patton’s coworkers occasionally look up from their tiny charges to smile and wish him a good day.

“It’s really rather nice here,” Logan says quietly. “I’ve never been remotely near this continent. Coming to research in Antarctica is the most travel I’ve ever really done.”

“Do you miss home?” Patton asks.

Logan considers this.

“Some things,” he says. “Kluski, makowiec, honey mead. Newspapers written in my native language. The coffee shop I studied in throughout all of university. Proper herbata góralska. My mentors. The ability to go to a grocery store. My mother.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“But I love the research I do here,” Logan says firmly. “It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be able to study down here.”

“It sure seems like it,” Patton says, his admiration clear in his voice.

“This whole situation threw a bit of a wrench in the works,” he says.

“I think it did for all of us,” Patton says. “Not all bad, though. Remus would probably still be on the run if he hadn’t connected with Janus.”

“No,” Logan muses, a soft flush touching his cheeks. “Certainly not all bad.”

Unbidden, images flash in his mind; black coffee, an expanse of wide sunny road, the sensation of dirt under his fingernails, purple jacaranda blossoms.

Patton tries his hardest not to grin. But—

“What,” Logan says defensively.

“Nothing,” Patton says, not hiding his smile, and Logan huffs irritably.

“You know,” Patton says, “Emile’s been dating someone in-cluster for, like, nine years? They were the first people that they saw, of the people in-cluster. In-cluster relationships are apparently pretty common, which I guess makes sense. Sharing feelings, knowledge, everything—it sure can bond two people together.”

Logan’s flush deepens.

“Just sayin’,” Patton offers cheerfully, and he goes off to join a game of hopscotch, leaving Logan with his thoughts.

JANUS

The language is different. The procedure is different. The situation is, most definitely, different.

He’s used to English, English law, English crimes. He’s been a barrister for years, jumping from one firm to another because the latter had seen partner potential in him; it paid much better, too, which certainly hadn’t been a negative. Janus had become a well-polished lawyer, a viper in the courtroom, a boomslang to his rivals.

He’s good at it, is his point. He’s always been good at it.

He stands, surveying the judge. A different uniform, but a similar dime-a-dozen judge. He’s seen this type dozens of times. He could debate them in his sleep.

But as he looks to the side—Remus sitting, Roman beside him, the rest of the cluster in a line past them, just peeks of their profiles past the twins—he remembers why he started to study law, too.

Because he wanted to be able to get himself and his brother out of any and every sticky situation they could ever stumble into.

Janus stands when he is bid to. He takes the oath, Remus’s mother language tripping off his tongue like it’s his own. It is now, Janus supposes.

Roman reaches over and grips Remus’s hand. Remus pinches Roman as hard as he possibly can, but Roman doesn’t flinch.

Janus begins smoothly, “Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the court...”

#my fic #my fanfic

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crazy4myself · 4 years

Text

No Harm List Pt.2

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Violence or threats of violence, explicit language, charicter death, implications of murder, mentions of blood, mentions of nudity, blow job jokes,

Summary: You live in a city where crime runs rampant. One day, you save a young boy’s life, not knowing that he is the most powerful crime lord's heir. And you have just been put on the no harm list.

a/n: sorry for the tragic backstory I didn’t mean for Hobi to get that dark, but whoop here we aree

--------

To both your relife and dismay, your life immediately returned to normal after receiving the shoes. While you were a bit wearier about walking home from work, you found no reason to hang on to the adventures of that night or the three charming men you encountered, so you told yourself to forget about it and put it behind you. And you did.

Until a few days later, when you met your best friend Hoseok for lunch.

"What the hell happened to your face" he demanded in the way of greeting.

You sighed, knowing you were going to have to tell him sooner or later, but in defense of your face, it was only peppered with a few scratches and a small yellowing bruise from when you fell. It was otherwise fine.

"You should have seen the other guy," you teased as you set your backpack down in the spare seat. Hoseok already ordered your usual for you like the angel he was, and you immediately shoved a bite of the sandwich in your mouth.

"No," he snapped, swiping the plate from you, "explain first, eat second."

"Hobi, please, I've been in class all day I'm starving," You whined in protest, reaching for your plate, but he set his lip in a firm pout, his dimples framing his upper lip and you lost the battle before it began. With a sigh, you caved, giving him a thorough retelling of the night with all the details you dare give him without, in turn, giving him a heart attack.

"He called you Cinderella and bought you new shoes," he asked with a smile brighter than the sun stretching across his face.

You groaned, "Please don't romanticize this. I'm never going to see him again, and can we mourn the fact that I have to find a new dealer. Mid Terms are around the corner, and Organic Chem is kicking my ass."

"I'm not mourning any of your bad habits."

"Oh my gosh, you're the one who told me about it," you defended in disbelief.

"At the time, I didn't think your ass was dumb enough to go for it. I had a high opinion of you back then," he huffed before handing you back your plate.

Your argument died on your lips as you stuffed your lunch in your mouth and ravaged it. Hobi watched you eat an expression of disgust and mild fascination on his face as you near deep throated a 6-inch sub.

"Stop acting like a hoe in Subway. I think the cashier is about to pop a boner," he chastised.

You looked up to see the man was, in fact, staring at you as you ate. You shot him a flirtatious wink as spinach fell out your mouth. "Let him."

"Why do I hang out with you?"

"Because I make a great company and have hot friends," you responded cooly as you licked your fingers clean.

Both were very true, but not the reason for your friendship. You were roommates with Hoseok's little sister, your freshman year of college. She took you under her wing since you were an international student, and you met Hobi that way.

Your weekends were often filled with the smiles of the Jung siblings and mischief that always came with it. You and Dawon grew incredibly close, she even offered to let you stay with her and Hobi over the summer while you were still apartment hunting come the end of the spring term.

Dawon's friendship was that one in a lifetime bond you can only get from enduring college together. The two of you were going to watch each other grow into badass boss bitches after graduation, stand in each other's weddings, be the godmother to each other's children. It was a friendship written in the stars, so you were devastated when she passed before the spring semester even ended.

The authorities claimed that Dawon was shot in a robbery gone wrong. A loss of life over something as petty as a chunk of change in her wallet. The murder wasn't caught the night of the attack, and for a time, the lack of closure ripped you apart.

You didn't even know the first day after it happened. She was shot during finals week, you were nearly camped out in the library the whole week. When she stopped responding to your texts, you just assumed she was buckling down on studying like you were. You were so caught up in your own life that you didn't get worried enough to reach out to Hobi until 18 hours after her death.

You don't remember what happened after ending the phone call or what you did, you went into shock and next thing you knew you RA was letting Hoseok into your dorm room after she received the news.

What you didn’t know what that the call never ended.

Hoseok never hung up.

Hobi stayed on the phone with you the whole time, murmuring gentle reassurances, not knowing if you could hear him or not, but knowing he could only hear your shallow breaths. He stayed on the phone with you even as he arrived on campus and entered your dorm, asking for the person on duty to find someone to let him in.

He stayed on the phone with you as he explained to your RA what happened, and watched her shed tears over his sister and struggled to give her condolences. He didn't hang up until he was in your room and wrapping his arms around you. Gently removing the phone from your ear as you stood frozen in place, before he sat you on the carpet.

The dam of emotions had burst at his touch, the feeling of comfort confirming the reality that your best friend was gone. He rocked you like a child until you nearly exhausted yourself and stayed with you through that night.

You don't remember much about the days following. You were a ghost of yourself as you finished your last two finals and packed up your belongings along with Dawon's to move out of your dorm.

There was a small service you attended that was filled with mostly strangers. Which only reminded you that you were only in her life for 10 months, a small fraction of the time she blessed this world. It only took a week for her to become one of the most important people to you, but to everyone else that ever knew her, you were just her roommate.

You do remember that summer, though. Hoseok honored his sister's wish and allowed you to stay with him while you looked for a place to live. You were a comfort to each other. The first two weeks you spent most nights sitting out on his balcony and letting him tell stories of him to his sister. On occasion, you exchanged one of your own; each seemed to paint the picture and make it seem like she might have been there sitting with the two of you.

Then something changed in Hoseok, the authorities got a lead on the identity of the murderer, a member of the notorious gang the Razor Gulls. After that, Hobi started going out at night and not coming back until early in the morning. You didn't know what he was up to, you never asked.

You got worried when his boss reached out to you because he stopped going to work for a week, you covered for him and told him that Hobi needed some time off to mourn. After that, you started to insist you eat dinner together each night before he went out. You prepared a decent meal and sat at the table and talked about mundane things. He smiled for you, but you could see the light dimming in his eyes. You could see the mask he put on for his family and friends who came to mourn her weeks ago, who still called on the occasion to check in on him, start to crack.

You began to put off your apartment hunting to prolong your time with him simply so he wouldn't be alone. Simply, to make sure someone knew he came home safe each night. What you should have done for Dawon. The only thing you could do for her now.

You don't know what happened that night on June 13th, you never asked, but you had a good idea. It was a hot and humid night, like most summer nights in the port town, but this one was especially miserable.

You couldn't keep the sticky feeling of the sweat off your palms, no matter how many times you wiped them dry. You were sitting in the living room watching shitty TV, hoping maybe this would be one of the nights that Hobi would come home early when he stumbled through the front door. At first, you thought he was drunk, but as you got closer, as you saw the blood on his clothes, you knew it was something different.

You called his name repeatedly before you got any kind of response. When he looked up at you, his eyes were vacant. There was no joy, no smiles. It made your chest tight how he seemed to look past you. It stirred up memories of the night he came to the dorm to check on you.

"Hobi, wha-" you took a look at the blood on his clothing to make sure it wasn't his own before leading him to the bathroom. You started the shower for him and stripped him of his shirt and pants leaving him in his boxers with small but firm orders to get cleaned up. You put the soiled clothing in a full trash bag shuffling around the take out containers and to shift it closer to the middle of the bag before taking the trash out to the apartment complex's dumpster.

When you got back inside, you went to his room and grabbed some boxers, sweats, and the first t-shirt you could find before heading back in the bathroom.

Through the marbled glass door of the shower, you could see that he somewhat followed your directions. He was standing under the running water of the shower, still dazed. The drained water was still tinged a slight rust color from the filth on his hands.

With a sigh, you pushed back the door and crawled in the shower with him, your shirt immediately sticking to your back as it went under the jets stream. If Hoseok was aware of his company, he remained unphased as you soaped up a loofa and began scrubbing down his back and arms and squatting down to get his legs. This was not the first time seeing the man naked, you skinny-dipped with him in the hot springs outside of town more than a few times this past winter.

Still, you kept your eyes high as you turned him to get his chest and neck as well as gently rub at the flecks of blood dried on his cheek. The toned muscle of his body showed that dancing used to be more than just a hobby for him. And you admired the careful strength wrapped in his unblemished golden skin.

It wasn't until you lathered your hands with shampoo and reached your arms up to wash his hair that a broken sob escaped his chest.

"I know," you murmured to him as you massaged his scalp with your fingers, his entire body rocking with his tears. You didn't know, you didn't have a clue, but Hoseok felt himself clinging to confidence in your words. You weren't dismissing his cries you saw and felt each one.

He tilted his head back at your gentle guidance and focused on breathing as the warm water washed through his hair.

He nearly composed himself as you conditioned his hair, quickly only letting out soft whimpers by the time you turned off the water. You toweled the two of you off quickly, dressing him in his sweats before deciding you needed the shirt more than him and traded your soaked tee for his. It fell just above your knee, and you wore shorter things in the club, so you deemed it an appropriate nightgown for the night before leading Hoseok to his room where you joined him in bed.

The silence was only broken by small sniffles as he hugged you before you finally asked in the darkness, "Do you want to talk about it?"

His body shuttered with another sob as he let out a broken no in response. You didn't push after that; you only began stroking your fingers in his hair, pushing it back from his face, like he once said his mother used to.

"Do you want me to go?" you asked softly, he shook his head buried in your shoulder, and that was that. You stayed with him, letting him mourn and process and slowly reel himself back together again as he desperately tried to fill the void in his chest. You held him as his sobs became sniffles and slowly drifted into soft snores, and even when your own eyes drooped, you held him through the night.

The next morning you woke up alone in Hobi's empty bed to the smell of bacon. When you wandered out of the room, you saw him dressed and smiling as he placed a plate of food on the table.

"I thought we could eat breakfast before I head into work," he offered as an explanation pulling the juice out of the fridge.

You tried not to be too thrown by his sudden change in mood and instead basked in the glow of his smile, as you joined him for the quiet meal. You insisted on doing the dishes so he wouldn't be late, and he thanked you before hurrying out the door.

You turned on the TV as you scraped the grease from the pan and into the trash, hearing the morning news drone on until something caught your attention. The reporter went on explaining how Kim Martin, the robber responsible for Jung Dawon's murder, was found dead in an alley in the 7th ward last night.

---

"So when is your next day off?" Hoseok asked as he stole a kettle chip from your bag, pursing his lips at the salt and vinegar. It was his least favorite flavor, but the fucker insisted on eating your food.

"Umm today might be the only day for a while, I'm scheduled for like every day this week, why?"

"You didn't take off for a while to lie low?" he questioned in disbelief.

"No, why would I? They aren't after me or anything they're after Bambie," you said, choosing to stick with the code name you gave Jungkook.

If he wasn't going to reveal your identity to his friends, you wouldn't tell yours, besides you were fairly certain Hoseok was involved in some gang shit and you were not about to give him the motive to dig into anything deep. Especially when people were getting assaulted for it.

"Y/N, you don't know how guys like this work they hold grudges," he warned.

"Look, this was nearly 5 days ago, I technically did lie low. And besides, I'm trying to take off for Mid Terms next month, I need to be able to pay my rent to do so,"

His face fell immediately "Y/N, you know if you ever need help you could always-"

"Hobi, what is rule number one of living in Alcor?"

"Don't eat the chili fries at Dax's."

You gave him a knowing look, and he slumped in his chair with a sigh, "Don't borrow money from anyone."

"Exactly, those were the exact orders you gave me my first week of living here, and I intend to stick to it,"

"Yeah, but I would like to think I'm different, that you could trust me to not hold that against you,"

You turned away from the hurt in his eyes with a sigh, "Look, I'll be extra careful, and besides, I should be done with the night shifts by the end of the month if the scholarship for med school goes through," you said with a smile. At the reminder, Hoseok immediately lit up.

"We need to plan your graduation party."

"Hobi, I don't want a-"

"I was thinking I could maybe rent a private room at the new club in BP" he continued ignoring your protest.

You graduate undergrad in 56 days. Then the two weeks later, you immediately start summer classes for Medical School. Alcor University's medical program was intensive, and one of the best in the world. And while the tuition for your bachelors was covered entirely by scholarship, you were still scrambling to afford the cost of living in the city.

Medical School was a whole different story, you just got your acceptance letter for the fast-tracked program last month. This program took your four years of schooling before residency and shoved it in about two and a half years of non-stop classes, no summer or winter breaks the only school.

You can't imagine having to work while going through such intensive studies, so you have been applying for scholarships and grants non-stop since your acceptance. Hoping you can scramble enough money to meet your living needs, so you only have to work weekends at 929. You even debated on moving into an apartment with a few more roommates just to lower your rent a little more.

Hobi continued to lay out his plans for your graduation party, it started sounding like a 3-day event. Still, maybe you were in need of a little fun before you entered your academic hell.

---

Min Yoongi parked his bike on a side road, securing the helmet to its lock before making his way down one of the main streets in the 6th ward. After reviewing some of the footage on the few surveillance cameras in the area, he found that the two thugs who snuck up on Jungkook that night were members of the Black Tips, a gritty gang from the 6th ward itching to expand their territory.

It was likely the thugs just saw Jungkook and decided to act out on their own to help pull them up the ranks, but to be safe, Yoongi has Jin, their best spider after Taehyung, keeping an ear out to make sure it wasn't a direct order from their higher-ups.

The city of Alcor was the large and filthy port city that served as the capital of Kros, a small merchant nation that was ruled by capitalism. In Kros, the market was more powerful than any politics making the two interchangeable when it came to state affairs.

Alcor is formally split into 11 wards, but most would say the city is clearly divided in two, the East and the West. The scumball that is the West was made up of Wards 4-9. The 4th and 5th warehouse districts make for a slow gradient through the ghettos and underdeveloped, impoverished areas, until you reach the 9th ward. The Pleasure Ward. A place of gambling halls, raunchy street vendors, and brothels.

No single gang owns the massive tumor that is the 9th ward, but neighborhoods and territories could be claimed. While BTS's stronghold lay firmly in the 7th ward, they had a handful of investments in the 9th, the most prominent being The Bulletproof Casino, the largest and most successful gambling hall in the Westside.

Bulletproof had undergone three expansions since its opening seven years ago. And thanks to the smart guidance of the founder and the gang's leader RM, it has quickly put a handful of half-assed lesser halls out of business. One of them being the Golden Drop, the Black Tips old club. Things have been tense since they sold their business to a Mr.Kim Namjoon two years ago, only to find the businessman had turned around and immediately sold the plot of land to BTS. The poor bastards didn't have a clue that the whole transaction was done by RM the entire time. He's done well to keep up his alias in his upcoming years.

Suga wished that Jungkook would do the same.

It sure would keep him out of a hell of a lot more trouble, incidents like the other night wouldn't have happened if the runt knew how to keep his head down, but the younger generations were not fond of street names.

Only Taehyung, who went by V, kept his because RM required that dealers have them to make it harder to get busted by cops in case some doped up idiot ever gets caught. But Taehyung has nearly grown out of the name as he's proved himself to be much more than a dealer.

The boy was cut from the same cloth as his cousin Jin and proved himself to be an excellent spider. A position not too far from being a spy, a collector of secrets and information from any person around the city. Possibly an even better one as Jin continues to slowly become the public face of The Bulletproof Casino, dealing with investors and stockbrokers of higher society has made it harder for him to blend in with the lowlifes of the West Side. Taehyung, however, has found himself able to worm his way in and out of the upper and lower class seamlessly and always dug up the dirt BTS needed.

What sets RM apart from the other scum of the lower West was he had an eye for all the currencies in life and invested in each of them; coin, knowledge, talent, and secrets. It was the secrets he held on nearly every big name in the city that slowly made BTS untouchable. Helping them live to their claim of being bulletproof.

Maintaining the dignity of the gang was how they ensured they lived up to that claim. That was why Suga was here to track down the two punks that tried to take out one of their own.

A member of their inner circle no less. BTS's civilian network was massive, every employee at every business they owned or invested in was loyal to BTS either willingly or out of obligation.

RM was known for helping relieve people from their debts, give them a second chance at life and allow them to pay him back at a much reasonable pace than any collector would allow. And they could do it financially, through their labor, or their services. Taking small jobs offered by a darker clientele. Slipping poison in a cup, being a lockpick in a heist, cutting the breaks in someone's car. These risks helped clear a large portion of the debt they may owe.

BTS also had members, their Army, people who would take the tattoo on their arm knowing it acted as both a shield and a target, but it gave them a place and a family to belong to when they lacked either. Being an Army of BTS ensured you a job, shelter, and a full stomach all luxuries on the west side.

Finally, within the members was their inner circle, people with titles who sat at RM's round table, because the corny bastard actually had a round dining table for family dinner which was scheduled to take place once a week, but happened most nights organically because his brothers liked to stay together.

Suga has been part of the inner circle since BTS was born from a gang raid gone wrong. He and Namjoon were just two bastards who came out of the rubble fighting and built the empire they had now over the past 7 years. He served as Namjoon's second before there was even an option for a third.

And if the day ever comes when Namjoon is ready to step down and hand JK the reigns, a thought he entertains with Yoongi and Jin on quiet nights at the Den, Yoongi supposes he will serve as Jungkook’s second too. If the little brat would have him. He can't imagine himself walking away from the life he lives now.

He holds nothing against Jin and Namjoon for wanting to leave. Holds nothing against them for wanting to live a quiet life with their partner, where they don't have to put their life, or someone else's on the line. Yoongi just can't imagine himself doing the same. BTS has always been his purpose; he loves his brothers and the world he's built for himself. He even likes it on days he has to clean up after snotty-nosed bunny teethed brats.

Jon Waters was such a mundane name. Suga had to believe that the man covered himself in tattoo's to compensate for it. Especially as he entered the rundown pawnshop with bars on its windows and door to see how tacky they were in person.

"You got a lotta nerve comin' into my shop," Jon growled the moment the bell alerted him of Suga's presence.

"You have a lot of nerve coming after my kid in the middle of the night. Tell me did you cry when you got your ass handed to you by some college girl," he mocked

Jon's eyes narrowed as his hand reached under the cabinet for his gun, "I'll kill you."

"1421 Lilac Drive" was his Dull response. Jon's eyes widened in shock.

"That's your sister's address, right? I gotta say you did well when your mom ditched you guys, joining a gang to provide for her. Quite noble. Sending her off to university, she didn't graduate, though," he sent a taunting smile. "Who needs your masters when you can get your Mrs. I'm sure it was easy for her to marry rich with an ass like that."

"Watch it," he snapped.

"Oh, it's hard not to. But not for long I hear she is carrying, things tend to sag after having a baby." Suga mused lazily.

"What's your point, you think knowing who my sister is, is going to scare me?"

"It should. Especially since I have someone stationed outside her house right now, and if I don't walk out of here. Hell, if I come out with my hair a little ruffled, they have orders to shoot."

"You're fucking bluffing."

"Do you really want to test me?" Jon's lips became a thin line as he made a point to take the magazine out of his gun and set them both on the counter between them.

"Goodman," Suga taunted as he locked the door of the shop and flipped the sign to close. "Now let's talk,"

---

Your day was much less interesting after your lunch with Hobi, you had one more lab before you dragged yourself to the library to get some studying done.

You were returning to your mundane struggling college student mindset as you stepped onto the elevator to take you to the fifth floor, the quietest and therefore, your favorite floor, in the library.

You were so caught up in responding to a friend about going to see her art exhibit in a few weeks that you almost didn't notice someone standing in front of the elevator doors as it stopped on the third floor.

You glanced up mindlessly and locked eyes with a familiar set of brown, doe eyes.

Which was fitting since Jungkook very much looked like a deer caught in headlights. He stood in front of you, wearing all black, which led you to think that was his usual attire. His backpack was slung over one shoulder, and you noticed the hand that gripped it was bound in a black brace.

You were his mirror as you both gaped at each other, for an unreasonably long amount of time, not knowing what to do.

You opened your mouth to break the silence when the doors began to slide shut, seeming to break Jungkook from his trance as he backed away from the elevators and sped towards the stairs deciding he could use the cardio anyways.

Jungkook felt a myriad of confusing emotions as he descended the stairs to the library. But he knew he sure did feel stupid.

He felt stupid for trying to board an elevator with the up arrow lit up when he wanted to go down to the first floor. He figured his lazy ass would ride it up and back down a few minutes and save himself the effort.

He also felt stupid for walking away. Getting in the elevator with you would have been awkward, but now that he walked away, he probably made himself seem like a creep. You seemed a little suspicious of him the night you met, but now you were definitely going to think he was in some sketchy gang shit.

And of course, he was, but he didn't want you to know that.

Jungkook also felt stupid for being worried about what you might think of him. While he was now charged with making sure your life was never at risk in the 7th ward, he wasn't supposed to ever really see you or talk to you again.

On a campus of 15,000+ students, he was certain he has never seen you in his life, but of course, he sees you now. In the library of all places.

But most of all, Jungkook felt stupid for being excited to see you. To see that the bruise on your cheek had faded to a healthy yellow and that your leggings were tucked comfortably in the black boots, he got you.

Either you didn't have a lot of shoes, or you actually liked his gift. He smiled to himself at the second thought.

Jungkook's thoughts were filled with you as he made his way back to the Den. He wondered if he might happen upon seeing you on campus regularly, or if he blew his one time chance.

He would like to think that he would say hi next time he stumbled across you. He wondered if you were graduating soon and leaving town or if you would be in the city for a while longer. The part of Alcor you were in wasn't the nicest, but he liked the thought of you getting to move uptown some after you graduate and maybe seeing you in your favorite coffee shop.

You were kind and funny and didn't completely freak out at the fact that Jungkook was mugged, and that they tried to chase you and possibly kill you for helping him escape. He liked the thought of having a friend outside of BTS who didn't care about what he did like you might.

Jungkook was thinking about you even as his phone buzzed with a text from RM with orders for a family dinner tonight.

a/n: So this isn’t quite what I wanted to be, but I really wanted to get something out for you guys to read. I already started pt.3 and have BIG plans. Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it. Please comment and let me know if you want to see more. and what you liked, loved, or hated about it. I can only learn from feedback :)

-> pt. 3

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oneboxofmatches · 3 years

Note

Hi!!! May I request a HP romantic and friendship matchup on both eras? (Preferably male), thanks in advance! 💞

𝗕𝗔𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗦 + 𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗘𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗘

19, Libra, Neutral Good, enneagram is 4w5, Ravenclaw, and my patronus spirit is swan. Bi Pan Genderfluid girl using pronouns of She/Her or He/Him. A friend of mine told me that I (kinda) look like Marinette from 𝗠𝗶𝗿𝗮𝗰𝘂𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀 𝗟𝗮𝗱𝘆𝗯𝘂𝗴, Musa from 𝗪𝗶𝗻𝘅 𝗖𝗹𝘂𝗯, and Alexandra Trese from 𝗧𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲 (a Netflix animated series), but the exception is I'm short (5'1.2") plus sized Southeast Asian woman with Spanish descent that has messy/wavy brunette medium hair, chocolate brown eyes, oriental skin and a small beauty mark on the forehead. My sense of fashion is in between emo and boyish plus korean glam.

𝗣𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗢𝗡𝗔𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗬

Distant and shy at first cause' I dunno how to initiate a conversation, but a total opposite if I open up---friendly, ambivert, witty, laughing loudly on a daily basis, talkative, awkward, daydreamer (I got embarrassed from knocking at the door even I'm inside the classroom 😂), EXTREMELY clumsy, secretly likes affection, easily overwhelmed, prone to melt over any wholesomeness, flusters on compliments, lightly blushes on cheesy banters, sarcastic person with a lowkey crackhead energy citing meme references, and talented girl who can be your no. 1 supporter and unashamed to be true to myself. In terms of leadership, I only educate and guide than being a prefect (I might take the role seriously), and will lift my group when there's lacking/incompleteness. About doing projects in school, I become too extra and prepared for efforts, but I'll forget the process in the end.

People thought I'm a demure self-effacing woman that looks "idealistic" or "one of a kind," (due to my protective parents, a reason why I've never been in a relationship) but the truth is, I'm eloquent, warm-hearted, willig to help, kind, intelligent, supportive, nice, creative, enthusiastic, determined, tough, competitive, and feisty outside, but a real softie that can be childish and dramatic crybaby filled with doubts, frustrations, and insecurities with fear of failure that pushes off the limits to to please everyone, yet I still managed to be stronger than ever, even it's a slow burn process. I can be intimidating, sassy, and a douchebag if I receive ends. Immature, headstrong, perfectionist, demanding, hesitant, jumpy, very indecisive, overthinker, quick-tempered, sensitive, and anxious (no joke, my nervousness makes me think worse scenario will arrive or I might break a belonging due to my carelessness). Though can be procrastinator and arrogant, I raised as a religious 𝖺𝗇𝖽 diplomatic person, willing to fight what I believe (including my dreams) 𝖺𝗇𝖽 what is right. In addition, I have a habit of staying up late and doing sign of the cross to ease nervousness.

Blunt but the loudest idiotic feeling-brokenhearted and bitter friend in the group who fangirl a lot, swears like sailor, will act like a silent backstabber on people that we loathe, will crack up over your stupid antics before helping, and bring gossips, but a hopeless romantic who tends to banter with sarcasms or pick up lines as an endearment (but gets grumpy if I received sappy or offensive one), still generous and concerned in a subtle way.

𝗛𝗢𝗕𝗕𝗜𝗘𝗦

My hobbies are singing, drawing, roleplaying, listening to music, chatting/browsing on social media, conceptualizing, writing, and reading some stuffs. 𝖨'𝗅𝗅 𝗂𝗇𝖼𝗅𝗎𝖽𝖾 making corniest jokes/puns, 𝗌𝗅𝖾𝖾𝗉𝗂𝗇𝗀, and dancing when nobody's around or walking like a model if I feel so bold (even I'm terrible at both xD).

𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Loves kittens, eating a lot, cartoons, watching YouTube videos (mostly pageants, ASMR, edit audios, and mukbangs), also enjoys playing games on my sister's PSP. Sucker for arts, choir, night sky, makeup, fun/deep/dumb conversations, Christianity, documentaries (about saints, real crime stories, and inspirational people), reading interesting stuffs, talking about social issues, and writings, chilling both indoors and outdoors. Beside that, my music taste are like late 90s-2000s songs (mostly rock, pop, and country) sometimes kpop and ppop, chocoholic, and a sweetooth as well.

𝗗𝗜𝗦𝗟𝗜𝗞𝗘𝗦

Things that I hate are stereotyping, HUGE creepy crawlies (spiders, toads, snakes, and cockroaches), firecracker sounds, being left out, loneliness, heart break, blackout, and judgemental people. One random fact about me is, I 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 vent out EVERYTHING I despise in my entire existence---from bad soap operas to toxicity and worse scenarios in real life, because it's a big deal for me, and I consider forcing me to do what I'm not into and manipulating me as my major pet peeves.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗚𝗘𝗥𝗦

In terms of triggers...I only have two which are ta𝖨king about divorce/annullment/separation because I came from a generational broken family and religion/beliefs discrimination, cause' there are reasonings that doesn't makes sense because some are too hypocritical.

𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗩𝗜𝗔

My best assets are smile, eyes, personality, singing voice, artistic skills, writings, intelligence, and oratorical skills...so I can consider myself as a singer, artist, orator, and a top student who's a former active campus ministry member with three roles (choir leader, psalm singer, and reader). Currently an incoming college freshman, learning how to cook and have so many interests, to the point I don't know what I'm into because of my dreams to become a popular Filipino YouTuber, a novelist, and being part of a successful chorale competing internationally...I also consider joining pageants at school too once the pandemic ends, but maybe.

Thank you so, so much for requesting! I had a lot of fun with this one (as you can tell by some of the really long answers lol) and I hope you enjoy!!

In the Golden Trio era, I romantically pair you with…

CEDRIC DIGGORY

One of the most beautiful things about Cedric is that although he may show some introverted tendencies, he still manages to have a natural gift for connecting to others and allowing them to feel comfortable enough to open up. Really, your initial distance and shyness don't last nearly as long towards Cedric as they would with most other people.

Hearing your laughter brings the widest, cheesiest grin to Cedric’s face. Not only does he adore seeing you happy, but he also recognizes that your anxiety, insecurities, and strong emotions can sometimes cloud up your demeanor. Therefore, it brings him comfort knowing that (for the moment) you’re finding joy. He thrives when you thrive!

However, as much as he loves seeing your more energetic and happier self, it goes without saying that he’s the best comfort for when you’re not having the best day.

Cedric is an excellent listener, so he’ll most likely let you talk without interruption for as long as you need before even saying a word. He wants to make sure he truly understands your current state before acting. He may take a few seconds to process everything after you finish speaking, but then he’ll help you tackle whatever problems you’re facing. He’s especially talented at giving words of affirmation.

Cedric’s listening also comes in handy whenever you talk about your interests! He genuinely loves hearing about the things you’re interested in solely for the fact that you’re interested in them. Side note: you can count on him to be at any music performances, pageants, etc. you may have -- this guy is truly your #1 supporter.

Cedric’s a very good student (though I suspect he’s somewhat of a procrastinator himself), so I can also see you two supporting each other through schoolwork and celebrating each other’s successes.

Like you, Cedric has a strong urge to do the right thing. Talking to him about social issues stirs up a need to help, and I could see you two doing volunteer work together in your spare time.

I like to believe one of Cedric’s biggest love languages is quality time. Don’t get me wrong, this guy loves staying involved and busy. But taking a couple hours to be with you in small ways (even if that means just being in the same room while you scroll through social media) gives him a nice balance.

Overall, this kind boy will be there unwaveringly through the bad times and will laugh just as loud as you through the good!

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LUNA LOVEGOOD

You wanna talk about the best conversations, relentless support, and overall the most wholesome friendship you could ask for? Luna’s your girl.

Being unashamed to be true to yourself is one of the biggest reasons why Luna is so drawn to you. While she’s very friendly and insightful towards everyone she meets, it can get a bit repetitive for her to constantly interact with people who try to shelter their unique characteristics from the world. In her mind, these unique characteristics are what make people so fascinating! Why should anyone hide who they are?

Luna’s creativity is endless, and I can see it blending well with yours. Collaborating on a personal project outside of school (ex: novel, blog, etc.) together is definitely something I could see you two doing.

Speaking of creativity, finding creative solutions to everyday problems (both in school and in life) is your specialty as friends.

Admittedly, Luna isn’t usually drawn to louder individuals. However, the complexity behind your personality makes it easier for her to know you are much more than what meets the eye.

Speaking of, Luna has a difficult time standing up for herself -- whether it’s because she doesn’t feel a need to or she just doesn’t recognize the meaning behind certain phrases. She NEEDS a friend like you to stand up for her sometimes, and I know you wouldn’t hesitate!

Ranting to Luna is therapeutic to say the least. While her aloofness at times may make it seem as if she isn’t fully paying attention, that couldn’t be further from the truth. She’s actually catching every word, and once you’re done she’ll leave you with a philosophical solution that may seem borderline insane/irrelevant when you first hear it, but it strangely makes sense.

Overall, the lack of judgment from either of you is what draws you together. As a result, you build a unique bond that couldn’t be broken even if either of you wanted it to.

In the Marauders era, I romantically pair you with…

REMUS LUPIN

Let’s be honest, it would take you two so long to ask each other out. You were probably already really close friends, but the insecurities and “what if?” questions from both of you delayed an actual relationship.

When you finally started dating, you were both so relieved. You still share a laugh at how almost nothing changed in the way you interacted with each other.

While with mutual friends, Remus sometimes likes to sit back and just watch you, especially when you get really talkative because this is when you become the most expressive. He has the softest smile when you’re actively cracking jokes, discussing something you’re passionate about, or even calling someone out. Sometimes you may be too distracted to notice, but other times you’ll catch him.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” (While that same soft smile never leaves his face.)

You both hold really high standards for yourself in terms of school, so expect late-night study/work sessions to be your best bet for quality time.

Though the occasional instance of walking through/lying on the grounds becomes a favorite for both of you.

Remus listens when you’re particularly struggling through anxiety or strong emotions, but he has to consciously stop himself from interrupting because he can’t stand how he feels knowing you’re going through a tough time.

All he wants to do is soothe you during these moments. If you’re comfortable, he’ll hold you while speaking to you in a soft voice. Remus, the intellectual that he is, is also your best chance at finding a reasonable solution. So if you're not in the mood for calming words, he's also a great person to turn to for answers.

As for your ambitions, no matter what you choose to pursue, you already know Remus is going to be your biggest source of support every step of the way. He’s more than happy to help in any way he can!

Overall, Remus appreciates you, and he’s always going to make sure you know it.

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

LILY EVANS

Lily especially connects to you because you manage to be determined, competitive, and intelligent without sacrificing your kindness, which is something she can relate to.

You and Lily are the C.E.O.s of doing the right thing. Neither of you hesitates to back the other up when it comes to confronting someone because you know it’s justified.

As perceptive as Lily is, you never need to tell her when something is bothering you. All it takes is a quick glance before she puts whatever she’s doing on hold to check in with you.

The reverse works as well. Typically, Lily really doesn’t internally struggle too much, and when she does she tries to hide it. You’re one of the only people who can see right through whatever she tries to pull.

The constant banter between you two is unmatched, but you both know it's because you really care about each other.

Overall, you and Lily have each other’s backs through anything, even when the other isn’t actively asking for help.

#matchups #fandom matchups #harry potter matchup #harry potter #cedric diggory #luna lovegood #remus lupin #lily evans #lily potter

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rons-hermiones · 3 years

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Come Find Me

by rons-hermiones

Summary: Unplanned, Hermione is forced to spend Christmas at the Burrow due to her grandmother falling very ill. After being ignored by Hermione for weeks, Ron is determined to show her how much she means to him. Just before he gets the chance to tell her, Bellatrix Lestrange shows up with other plans for Hermione. Can Ron get to her before it's too late? (Ron/Hermione Half-Blood Prince AU)

Rating: M for language & dark themes in later chapters.

Chapter Four

Not even realizing it, Ron had wallowed in self pity and hatred the rest of the ride. Eventually, the train came to a halt as he hurried to leave Lavender’s compartment, not being able to stomach another talk with her.

Scrambling, he walks down the corridor against the mass of students and eventually retrieves his trunk, stepping from the platform later then most.

The mass of redheads is easy to spot despite the crowd.

His Mum is embracing Ginny as he sees Harry shaking his Dad’s hand. Fred and George have also come, he watches as they step forward and tenderly embrace Hermione. The act is out of character for the pair, but he figured that this gesture coincided with the McLaggen stint.

The three begin talking in what seems like hushed whispers, no doubt about what transpired, well that is until Ron gathered the courage to join his family.

As his mother called his name and embraced him, Hermione went silent. Slowly, she slinked back, away from the twins, away from the Weasley’s.

She was never supposed to even be here. Hermione had told herself that she needed to separate herself from them in order to ensure Ron had the holiday he deserved without her bothering him.

Ron seemed to notice this, heart breaking a little. He wanted nothing more than to hug her himself and assure that he wanted her here, that he was so happy she was.

He couldn’t though, not yet anyway, not when he was still reeling from his half breakup with Lavender not long ago.

Instead, he grabbed onto the Port Key his father got from work, jolting slightly as Hermione’s fingertips gently brushed his as she grasped the old scarf they were using.

Once the dizziness had subsided and they landed on the grass in Ottery St. Catchpole, he was disappointed to see Hermione already retrieving into the Burrow, ahead of everyone else. Alone.

He can’t help but groan aloud.

“Did you do it?” Harry asks as he offers a hand and helps Ron from the ground.

In response all the youngest Weasley brother can manage is a groan.

“Sort of.” Ron whispers slightly embarrassed.

“Sort of?” Harry questions rather loudly, warranting a glance from Ginny who is only a few paces ahead.

“Shush,” The ginger starts, “and I mean the words ‘I’m breaking up with you’, certainly left my mouth. More than once. In a variety of ways.” He explained, his anger bubbling back up at the recollection.

“Alright so you did it?” The Boy-Who-Lived asked, confusion evident in his tone.

“Yeah I told her that and she definitely heard but all she said was no,” at this point he’s stopped walking, “that’s completely mental! I told the girl it was done with and she said no!” He was yelling now.

At this point, Ginny had come to a full stop, the twins were lingering by the front door, and Hermione had thankfully disappeared inside along with his parents. Harry was faced with horror stricken on his features.

“You keep it down!” The dark haired boy staged whispered.

Ron twinged as red as his hair, “sorry,” he said lamely, “she even started on Hermione. By that time I had already told her it was done twice, maybe three times.”

A low whistle escaped the chosen ones lips, “so let me get this straight, you broke up with Lavender at least three times, and all she said was no?” This sounded like something out of a Muggle film.

He nodded, a sour look on his face, “And after all this, she kissed me on the cheek, called me ‘sweetheart’, and wished me a Happy Christmas!” He recapped sounding beside himself.

“You’re right,” Harry said after a moment, “that is mental.”

At this the pair started trudging along the grass again, taking it slow as they wanted to finish the conversation away from prying ears.

“Good news is you did break up with her.” The green eyed boy tried optimistically, a rare thing from him these days.

Harry was really trying to be a better friend.

“Bad news is I don’t think Lavender broke up with me.” He notes.

The pair seemingly sigh in unison, both frustrated, one more so then the other.

“So what? I just tell Hermione I’ve broken it off with Lavender? I’m sure by now she’s owled all of England that we’re still together.”

Potter contemplates the situation for a moment before answering, “well you can tell Hermione you’ve told Lavender you’re done but she didn’t seem to accept the fact. Even though that may be the case, when we head back you’ll be implementing this break up full force. Avoiding Lavender even more than before, as if we thought that was possible!” He tries to joke.

Surprisingly a small laugh sounds it’s way past Ron’s lips, “I suppose.” By this point they’ve reached the front door, “it’s kind of mad to be thinking about all this with everything going on isn’t it?” He thinks aloud.

Harry shrugs, “I know your life may feel like a bad soap opera but it’s quite nice for me to focus on something else for a bit. Especially if it helps you and Hermione out.” He pushes open the door and finally steps inside.

“A soap what?”

...

Hermione really wished there was a spare room in the Weasley home. Not that she’d ever ask for it, being she would never want to upset Ginny. But an escape would be nice.

Surely Ginny will try and get her to talk about everything that’s transpired lately, especially with the red heads new found confidence her brother wants to try and patch things up.

It didn’t matter though, Charlie and Bill were returning for holiday for the first time in years apparently so there was no available room to escape to. And being Fleur was joining as well, Percy’s room was off the table.

Hermione supposes she’ll just have keep Ginny at bay as long as possible. Which should be easy enough considering all the action within the Weasley household.

Even now, unpacking her trunk a floor above them, she could hear the hustle and bustle of the Burrow.

The twins were no doubt sounding off somewhere. Ginny was probably yelling at them to keep it down. It’s very likely Mrs. Weasley was cleaning the house to prepare for Charlie and Bill’s arrival. Mr. Weasley was somewhere consoling said stressed out wife, resulting in more screams. And as previously mentioned, the twins were probably sounding off to Harry and Ron.

And right now as she considers all this play out, she can’t help but feel a little empty.

For the first time since she’s been a guest at the Burrow, does she feel like a true guest. Hermione doesn’t feel like she’s at home. Not like she normally does.

She knows exactly why too.

After the run in with Lavender and Ron this morning, she decided she’d back off. Ron was probably better off without her constant nagging and knowledge of useless facts. Hermione would do her best to stay out of his way, starting with holiday. She’d hate for him to feel uncomfortable in his own house of all places. And after, she supposes she’ll do the same at Hogwarts. For him.

It’s kind of twisted isn’t it? Even after all the times she’s felt hurt by Ron, she still cares about him more than anything else.

Even now, she can still feel her heart clenching, breaking, as he agreed to the terms earlier in the compartment. The feeling alone may kill her, yet, here she is, willing to make that sacrifice for him. For his happiness.

All this coupled with the pain of her grandmother's condition has been borderline unbearable. She wishes she still had Ron to help her through this. She needs his strength.

Too bad she’s ruined that.

As much as she’s yearning to blame Ron for their divide she knows it’s entirely her fault. Because despite being the brightest witch of her age, she is surely stupid for thinking he could ever love her back. To even think he thought of her like that in the slightest.

Asking him to Slughorn’s, it had taken everything for her to do. To him it meant nothing.

And if the past few months have taught her anything, it’s probably that Ron just stuck around for Harry and as an extension, Hermione. All the taunts and jabs Lavender was constantly throwing her way must be true in Ron’s eyes, she isn’t exactly shy about the whole thing.

And part of her brain convinces herself that Ron thinks she’s an insufferable, ugly, no good know it all. But part of her knows that isn’t true.

Ron, who saved her from that troll her first year.

Ron, whose voice rang in her head every night while she was laying petrified.

Ron, who defended her mercilessly during their confrontation with Peter Pettigrew, despite having a torn up leg.

Ron, who comforted her to no end when the nerves struck before the second task.

Ron, who gently would rub dittany on the backs of her hands after detentions with Umbridge.

Harry hadn’t been there for any of that. Surely that must mean something.

And deep down she knows it does, but whenever the rational part of her brain pushes that forward, images of him wrapped around Lavender flicker in her head. These thoughts quickly bring back unwelcome ones of the possibility of Ron loathing her.

She really wishes things were simple. Harry spent summers and holidays with Sirius at Grimmauld place. That Neville could talk to his parents and they’d recognize him. That Ginny would stop tossing and turning, mumbling things about a diary in her sleep. That she didn’t fear for her parents lives everyday. That her grandma would be magically healed and she’d take Ron and Harry up to France one summer to meet her.

She wishes that Ron was her friend again. If not more.

But that’s the problem, these are all just wishes. Figments of her imagination, something her heart longs for. Something that’ll never come true.

And just like that, her thoughts are becoming too much. She’s supposes it’s a bit of a curse to always have your mind working this way.

Tears begin stinging the backs of her eyes and Hermione wants nothing more to immerse herself within a book. To forget for a little while. Maybe even let her mind wander to a brighter future.

But instead, she makes use of her whizzing brain by beginning to unpack her trunk. First she checks for the black book, that’s now a lifeline to her. Once she spots it, she relaxes a little and silently begins preparing a letter to her parents in her head.

Surely that letter would evoke more unwelcome emotions.

Happy holidays to her.

...

So far life at the Burrow has been rather uneventful. Sure, they only arrived here three hours ago, but deep down everyone had this silly little notion that upon their return everything would change.

Of course it didn’t.

The twins were still taking the mickey out of Ron and Harry. Ginny still yelled when their fighting reached her in the living room. Molly still fussed over preparing the house for her eldest sons as her husband tried to calm her.

In a way it was nice though, that things were the same. Sure, everyone wishes they could be better

There was one notable difference.

Normally, Hermione could be found sniggering behind Fred and George or defending Ron and Harry from their taunts. If not, she was curled up on the sofa with Ginny as she complained over her Quidditch magazine. Oftentimes, the witch was offering Mrs. Weasley assistance with household chores or was explaining a Muggle appliance to Arthur.

Instead, she was just gone.

And no one noticed her absence more than Ron.

“Ginny, be a dear and fetch Hermione for supper would you?” Molly’s voice didn’t leave much room for argument.

Ron peered up from where he had been setting down the utensils to see his sister rush up the steps leaving a flash of red.

Upstairs, Ginny tapped on the door lightly, waiting a moment before pushing it open. There, she found Hermione slumped over the youngest Weasley’s desk, writing mercilessly on some parchment. She was honestly shocked to find her nose not in that odd, coverless book.

“Hermione.” She called out, the brunette hadn’t noticed her presence.

Startled, Hermione jumped a bit before relaxing at the sight, “yes?” Her voice cracked.

“It’s time to eat.” Ginny told her.

“Gin,” The bushy haired girl sighed, “I hate to be rude, but could you tell your mother I won’t be joining you guys tonight.”

The ginger shook her head, “Hermione if this is about,”

Granger wouldn’t let the name pass her friends lips, “it’s not about him.” Not a total lie. “I just want to get this owl out to my parents as soon as I can. I have some questions about...” she trailed feeling the tears prick her eyes. Clearing her throat she went on, “anyway, I ate on the train. I promise once I’m finished here I’ll explain everything to your Mum.”

Ginny began to open her mouth questioning the use of the word ‘everything’. Hermione, being brilliant, seemed to sense where this was going and bear her to it.

“Everything about my Grandma.” She amended.

Noticing the sad look in the sixth tears eyes, Ginny conceded, “alright but I’m saving you a plate and you best eat it later!” She scolded, sounding just like Molly.

At this, Hermione was able to muster a true genuine giggle, “thank you Ginny.” She called as the girl vacated the room.

The last thing Ginny heard Hermione say was a quick ‘thank you’ before she descended back downstairs.

As she re entered the kitchen she noted everyone seated already, waiting for her. For them.

Molly however, was standing, hands on her hips and stern look on her face.

“Now Ginny I asked you to fetch Hermione.” She scolded with a wag of her finger.

Sighing, the girl plopped down, “she isn’t hungry.”

All the younger Weasley and Harry, had exchanged knowing glances. Ron however, decided to bow his head, focus his eyes on the floor boards.

“Non sense!” Her mother started.

“Mum honest, I told her we’d save her plate.” She pauses as her mother frowns, “look Hermione’s got a lot going on right now.”

Concern struck over Molly instantly, “oh Merlin! Is she okay? Are her parents alright?” Then she swiftly turned to the twins, “have you two done something to her?” The older woman asked sharply.

“We didn’t do anything mother.” Fred starts.

“Yeah it wasn’t us who did something.” George says next, emphasis on the statement as he looks to Ron.

“Not us!” They sound off in unison.

Noticing Ron’s fist clenching beneath the table Ginny jumps in, “it’s nothing like that, it hasn’t got to do with the Burrow.” Her eyes found Ron’s as if to tell him that Hermione wouldn’t spill to their mother about Lavender Brown, “Hermione and her parents are alright. It’s best if she explains.”

Molly opens her mouth to protest before Arthur cuts her off, “it’s okay Molly, the girls fine, remember? We saw her hours ago. Come on let’s eat.” He reasons.

Nodding to herself Mrs.Weasley finally calms down as they start their meal.

And dinner was going fine. Ron had done little talking, thankful that Harry was the one recapping the Quidditch season thus far.

Again, everything was fine. Until Arthur asked his twin boys about their business.

“So boys how are things down in the alley?” The older man asking, earning a scowl from is disapproving wife.

“Wicked dad.” George says.

Placing his fork down Fred jumps in, “absolutely wicked. Witch weekly wants to do an article on our love potions, it’ll be great for business.”

Shockingly, a proud smile crosses Molly’s lips.

“Yeah we’re thinking of making scented ones, something girls will like. What do girls like?” George wonders, sarcasm underlying his words.

“Yeah Ronnie, what do girls like?” Fred repeats facing his younger brother.

Mrs. Weasley not understanding, interjects, “flowers.”

At this Ron grips his knuckles on the table. His brothers are smiling like it’s Christmas morning. His mother just unknowingly set her troublemaker sons up for a joke to make Ron twitch.

“Hear that Freddie? Flowers.” George grins like the Cheshire Cat.

“It’s perfect. I wonder which ones though, there are roses.” Fred responds

“And daisy’s.”

“Orchids.”

“Jasmine.”

The pair switch off before Fred’s eyes light up, “wait I got it, how about...”

“Lavender!” The two exclaim in sync.

Ginny does her best to surprise a chuckle. Harry looks like he wants the floor to eat him. Ron is about to punch something.

“Yeah how about it Ronnie, Lavender. You’d know all about that, wouldn’t you?” George says leaning in closer to his baby brother.

A look of anger passes Ron’s face, his Mum surveys the scene with a curious expression, “what would Ronnie know about Lavender?” Molly questions.

“Oh mother!” George says scandalized.

“Ickle Ronniekins didn’t tell you?” Fred asks, already knowing the answer.

She shakes her head, “on with it.”

“Your baby boy has a girlfriend.” George announces, loving the luck of disdain across his youngest brother's face.

“Ronald Weasley!” His mother says standing from her chair and wagging her finger at him.

Merlin he wishes You-Know-Who would kill him right now.

“I don’t have a girlfriend Mum.” He defends gruffly.

“You don’t?” Ginny says with slanted eyes.

“Not anymore.” Harry mumbles loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Not anymore?” Molly starts, “and you knew and didn’t tell me Ginny! You boys knew too!” She points to the twins.

In defense the pair throws up their hands as the red headed girl starts to explain, “it wasn’t really my place to tell. Anyway Mum, it’s not like we were the only ones. Bill knew too.”

Angrily, Ron stomps on his sister's foot.

“You told Bill and not your own mother!” She screams, ignoring the yelp that left Ginny’s mouth.

“Molly...” Arthur warns, trying to tug gently at her sleeve.

She rips her hand away and places both on her hips, “I am very disappointed in you Ronald! All of you actually.” The woman huffs.

Ron squirms, “it doesn’t matter. She’s not my girlfriend anymore.”

“Well...” Harry can’t help but say.

All eyes land on him. He thinks Ron may strangle him.

“‘Well’ what Harry Potter?” Ginny asks, tone matching her mother’s.

Now it’s the chosen ones' turn to squirm, “well,” he repeated, “I don’t think it’s my place to say.”

At this, all eyes fall back onto Ron. Sighing in defeat, “well you see, the thing is, Lavender is,”

“Annoying.” Ginny finishes.

“Loud.” Harry cringes.

“Pathetic?” George tries

“Desperate.” Fred corrects.

And to Arthur and Molly’s surprise, their youngest son nods in agreement, making no move to defend this girl.

At this, the couple exchange a look. If the twins so much as look at a certain bushy haired witch the wrong way, Ron is up in arms, ready to curse anyone who crosses her.

“Alright,” Ron says, stopping whatever they were going to say, “let’s just say I chucked her.”

“That can’t be true! I heard her telling Parvati about how she won’t survive a month without snogging you when we got onto the platform.” Ginny calls out.

Her brother groans, “Lavender is not my girlfriend anymore, but I might still be her boyfriend.” He explains.

There’s a silence.

“I don’t know what you mean son.” His dad finally speaks.

“What I mean is that when I broke up with her she just said no.” He admits exasperated, pushing back his chair and digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

One of the twins lets out a low whistle. As the room enters a tense silence until Molly breaks it.

“Ronald,” she sounds disappointed, “this Lavender wouldn’t have anything to do with why Hermione didn’t join us at dinner would it?” Her voice is growing louder.

And there it is.

Of course his mother would know.

He had been painfully obvious over the years.

Ron told himself when she didn’t come down that it was because she was probably writing her parents. But, he also knows, Hermione is capable of constructing a letter in minutes.

“Why would you think that?” He chokes out sounding pathetic.

The twins and Ginny laugh at this.

“Ronald Weasley I am very disappointed in you. Look at the mess you’ve made! Your father and I raised you better than to go around treating women this way!” She screams.

Losing it, Ron stands up angrily matching his mother’s tone, “why are you assuming any of this has got to do with Hermione?” He screams.

In all the ruckus, he failed to notice the new presence in the doorway.

“Hermione.” Ginny says loudly, rather soft.

Annoyed, he turns to his sister, “Ginny I’ve just said,” before he can finish, Harry is pulling on his shirt and bucking his head to the doorway.

As all eyes fall on her, she shrinks away, looking almost to tears, “I can come back, I just wanted to talk to...” she doesn’t get the words out, lamely she points to Mrs. Weasley.

And just like that, any anger washes off the older woman’s face, “of course dear,” she steps over and places a hand on her shoulder, “why don’t you wait for me in the living room while I clean this up.”

Hermione nods vaguely in response before sauntering out of the room.

“Way to go Ronnie.” George whispers.

And just like that, Molly is seeing red again, “all four of you, dishes.” She says to her kids.

The twins are ready to complain when they realize they can just do magic.

“And no magic!” She berates.

“What did we do?” Ginny retorts, “you’re mad at Ron remember?” She reminds.

“You three didn’t bother to tell your mother anything!” She stops, “and you.” She turns to Harry.

“Me?” He asks, scared.

“Yes you, Harry Potter. You are to stay and make sure not one wand is flicked or else all five of you will be working in the gardens until all the gnomes are gone.”

“But Mum it’s freezing.” Ron groans.

“Well then you better do as I say, and being that I have no more house duties for tonight, I’m off to talk to Hermione. Goodbye.” At this she stomps away.

Sympathetically, Arthur pats his youngest son's shoulder before walking off to his shed.

A tense silence falls over the group as each of the Weasley’s exchange glares.

“Well time for dishes!” Harry tries to break the tension.

Scowling, they all work in silence.

#ron x hermione #ron weasley #rons-hermiones come find me #ron and hermione #hermione granger #romione fanfic #romione #hp #sixth year

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victoria-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Something’s Gotta Give

Chapter Three: Tea for Two

AN: Honestly, I should be asleep as I post this chapter, but if I delay this any longer I think I might rip my hair out (not really). If there are any mistakes, I’m sorry, it’s 3am and I’m bleary eyed. Anyways, thank you to everyone who has supported this story! I really didn’t think anyone would enjoy it but myself.

Chapter Four: A Frightful Dinner

Summary: What should’ve been a fun and simple dinner between Livia and Booker takes a dark turn when she discovers a startling secret about him.

Having a cup of tea with each other became a weekly ritual for Booker and I.

And from tea, sometimes we swap over to coffee, where I discovered that Booker makes the best coffee known to man. He always made my cup of coffee sweet, rich, creamy, and added a dash of cinnamon to top it off. It's so perfect, I'll never look at coffee served in cafes the same anymore. Regardless of the beverage we were drinking, Booker and I always made sure to bring food for our little get-togethers. When its my turn to bring the food, I usually buy pastries like eclairs, macrons, pain au chocolat, etc. I couldn't help myself, I've got quite the sweet tooth which Booker commented on clearly amused once he noticed the trend. While Booker opted to bring sandwiches and quiches, which were a lot healthier than my choices.

At first, our little “tea parties”, as I liked to call them always took place in my apartment, but as the weeks passed and Booker grew more and more comfortable with me, he invited me to his apartment for the first time for a cup of coffee. To my surprise, when I entered Booker's apartment, it was not shrouded in darkness like I previously believed, the space was actually well lit.

Unless, he had the lights on and blinds opened for my benefit.

But you know what, I wasn't going to complain about it. The mere fact that Booker felt he could trust me by letting me into his personal space brought me indescribable joy. Each week over tea or coffee, a new subject was discussed. One week it's about books, the next about traveling, the following about daily life, and so on. Truly, it was a very gratifying experience to see how our relationship had blossomed. Not too long ago it felt like I had to pull teeth to get Booker to speak to me or I had to decipher his body language to determine if he was even comfortable speaking to me.

But now, conversations between us flowed naturally.

However, I have noticed that other things have changed between Booker and I. Well, at least for me it has. As of late, I would feel my heart start racing and beat like thunder whenever I would spend time with him. I would find myself studying Booker's features instead of listening to what was coming out his mouth. My eyes would move from down his nose, across his cheeks, around his jaw line, and at his lips. Heat would always flush my face and down to my neck when Booker called my name to snap me out of my daydream.

I couldn't help it, from the jump I said the man was handsome, but I didn't think I would catch feelings for him.

It certainly didn't help that our hands would innocently brush against each other when doing simple tasks, for example, doing the dishes together. Or the way he would lightly place his hand on my mid-back to usher me into his apartment after we've came back from the market. I always felt like I was set aflame every time Booker and I made contact with each other. I began to wonder if Booker had caught onto my growing feelings for him, he hadn't said anything or treated me differently. But, at times I would feel Booker's gaze linger on me when he was supposed to be reading, like the time when I was detangling my hair or when I was drawing in my sketchpad.

There's also the fact that Booker brought me flowers one day when we were having tea. They were roses, yellow roses to be specific. He told me the roses reminded him of me because of their warmth. And don't get me wrong, I damn near gushed over the beautiful, sun-colored bouquet of roses because I hadn't received such a gift in god knows when, but I also had mixed feelings about the flowers. Yellow roses symbolize friendship and I was left wondering one single question.

Did Booker just politely friend zone me?

~~~x~~~

"When I invited you over for dinner I was hoping you would actually help me make it," Booker quipped, looking over his shoulder.

I chuckled a little, "Hmm," I hummed, as popped the last bit of cracker that had fromage fort spread across it. "It seemed like you had everything under control," I replied, a smile on my face.

If someone had told me that by the end of this day I would be having dinner with Booker, I would tell them they were crazy, hell I might even laughed at them. Having a cup of tea with Booker is one thing, but to eat dinner together, it's different, more intimate. When Booker invited me over, I had just finished putting away groceries and was about to make dinner myself, but in stepped Booker. It was quite adorable when he asked to have dinner with him, in my opinion. He was clearly nervous, he stumbled over his words a few times. Whether it was because Booker is still a slightly reserved man, which meant doing this was uncharted territory for him or it was the possibility that he also had feelings for me was unclear.

I hoped for the latter.

"Do I now?" Booker asked, turning around and folding his arms across his chest.

My grin widened, "Undoubtedly," I said, with a laugh.

Feeling a bit of cheese on the corner of my mouth, I took my thumb and wiped it off before placing the speck of cheese onto my lips. Booker's eyes darted down to my lips and I had to force myself to keep a straight face as I felt a slight increase in my heart beat from Booker’s lingering gaze.

"Maybe it was just involuntary," I thought.

I picked up my wine glass, "But since you're begging me so much, I guess I have no choice but to help," I joked, standing up from the kitchen chair and taking a sip of the dry wine.

Booker faced the counter again, "Your kindness knows no bounds Livia," he deadpanned, resuming his work on slicing the mushrooms up.

I walked up to him and placed my hand on the back of shoulder, at first his body tensed before his muscles relaxed.

"What would you like me to do Chef Booker?" I questioned, my lips curving into a smile.

He rolled his eyes at the title, but still a smirk made its way onto his face, "Can you chop the broccoli please?" he asked, motioning to the vegetable to the side of him.

"Gladly," I replied, removing my hand from him and placing my glass down.

I moved over to the sink and turned the faucet on, pumping soap into my hands I placed them underneath the warm water, giving them a good scrub. Drying my hands on a towel placed on the sink, I took my place next to Booker and began chopping the stalk of broccoli.

"In the month and a half that I've known you, I've noticed a difference in you,” I stated, still cutting the broccoli up.

Booker glanced over at me, "Like what?" he asked curiously, dumping the mushrooms into a pan on the stove.

"Well for one, you don't look so haggard," I commented, placing my knife down and picking up the cutting board.

"Haggard?" Booker repeated, breathing out a laugh. "Wow, Livia," he chuckled, taking the board from my hands and tipping the broccoli into in the pan as well.

"Wait, let me finish!" I said, laughing myself now. "There's a glow to your skin. I can sense a newfound joy in you, an emotion that you believed would never return," I continued, and from the corner of my eyes I saw Booker still. "And your eyes," I breathed, shaking my head. "Your eyes always conveyed to me of a man who lives in silent misery. Your eyes would say what your mouth would not," I explained, my voice taking on a softer tone. "But now, I can see a small shine, a little glimmer twinkling in your eyes," I finished, turning my head slightly to look at Booker, who seemed to be stock still.

Silence swept over the small room, apart from the sounds of the vegetables in the pan sizzling and the wind outside softly rustling the colorful leaves on the trees. My heart began hammering in my chest, the elongated silence from Booker made me nervous. God, I hope I didn't say anything that offended him.

I cleared my throat and brushed the bangs of my hair away from eyes, "I don't know, maybe I've been reading too many of those poems you suggested," I guessed, chuckling while shaking my head.

A warm, rough hand covered the top of mine and my head snapped up to look at Booker.

"I guess, it's kind of hard to remain gloomy when you have a neighbor that is the personification of a ray of sunshine, annoyingly persistent as she may be," Booker teased, looking down at me with sincereness in his eyes and a small smile gracing his lips.

I playful bumped his arm with my own, "You love it though," I teased back, sticking my chin out.

"I do," he agreed softly, stroking his thumb back and forth across my hand.

The gesture sent shivers down my spine and goosebumps raised on my arms. Booker's exquisite blue eyes were locked with my rich brown orbs. The proximity between us was making it hard to breathe, all Booker had to do was lean his head down a little further and—let me not get ahead of myself.

"More wine?" I squeaked out, trying to regain my breath subtlety.

Booker smirked, almost as if he knew the effect he had on me, "I would love some," he answered, giving my hand a squeeze before removing it to work on the garlic bulbs.

I turned around, a grin on my face as I held my hand against my chest. I made my way back over to kitchen table, a slight spring in my step, to where a bottle of unopened wine was located. Grabbing the corkscrew, I jammed it into the top of the bottle and began twisting the knob a few times until the familiar and gratifying loud pop of a wine bottle being uncorked echoed throughout the room. It startled me, but at the same time a satisfied smile grew on my face until I heard Booker swear loudly behind me. Immediately, I placed the bottle down and turned around to see little red droplets dripping from Booker's fingers and onto the floor.

"Oh my god Booker!" I exclaimed, rushing to his side.

"It's nothing Livia!" he insisted, cradling his bloody hand as he moved towards the sink.

"Nothing?" I repeated, disbelief clear in my face. I moved in front of him and grabbed his wrist to show him the severity of his wound. "Booker, your palm is split wide open!" I pointed out, my tone turning frantic "We need to go to the hospital!" I stated, releasing his wrist and turning around to grab the towel from the sink.

"Livia-"

"Here!" I began, spinning back around to face Booker. "Use the towel to...." I instructed, but slowly trailed off as my eyes widened at what I was witnessing.

My breath began to quicken, becoming shallow as I watched the skin on Booker's palm draw itself back together. The towel fell limply from my hand and onto the floor with a soft thud. Slowly, I raised my hand and covered my mouth in horror as I watched tendon by tendon mend itself, and at that moment I felt my stomach lurch and a strong wave of nausea hit, forcing me to place a hand on my stomach in order to calm it down. The deep laceration on Booker's palm inexplicably became a mere scratch before the scratch itself simply disappeared.

As if Booker never injured himself in the first place.

"What the hell!" I whispered, my eyes still glued to Booker's his hand. The image of his palm knitting itself back together flashed in my mind, making me slightly gag. I lifted my eyes to Booker's who's face had gone ashen and was contorted with unease. "What the hell was that?" I asked, my voice once again not above a whisper, but the panic laced through the question couldn't be clearer.

"Livia, I can explain," Booker stated slowly, reaching his bloody hand out to me and taking a small step in my direction.

My eyes slightly widened again and I recoiled backwards, my back running into the cupboard. I tightly gripped the counter as I watched Booker's shoulders deflate like a balloon losing air, hurt was evident in his eyes at my reaction to him and a sad frown formed on his face. The silence was deafening in Booker's apartment, the only thing I could hear was the blood pounding in my ears. I slid my body along the cupboard, reaching down to snatch my coat from the chair that was next to it.

"I-I need t-to go," I announced shakily, avoiding Booker's stare.

Hurriedly, I moved to the door and made haste of the lock on the door, nearly yanking the door of its hinges as I left.

"Livia, wait!" Booker called, and I thought I heard movement behind me. "Please!" He pleaded.

My hands fumbled around in my coat pocket for my keys, but finally managing to grab them. I nearly sprinted towards my door even though it was only a short distance away. My hands trembled as I inserted the key into my door and jerked the key hard, twisting the doorknob and pushing my door open. I entered my apartment straight away and as I went to shut the door I paused, glancing at the apartment door across from me. Out of nowhere, the sound of glass shattering across the hall made me jump back, causing the door to slam shut louder than I intended it to. I slid the deadbolt lock into place and did the same with the bottom lock, leaning my forehead against the door, closing my eyes.

I flipped around with my back against the door, slowly I slid down the door and covered my face with my hands.

"What the fuck did I just see unfold in Booker's apartment?"

Chapter Five: Avoidance

#the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #old guard fanfiction #black fanfiction #black original character #black!oc #black!female character #booker #sebastien le livre #old guard #booker x oc #booker x reader #the old guard imagine

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currantlee · 4 years

Note

You mentioned awhile back that you think Felix has some autistic traits. I'm curious to know what traits you think he has? And, to make it interesting, how you think that would affect his relationship with Sylvain?

Before I answer that, I want to clarify for people who don’t know me and might read this that I am an autist myself (Aspie to be completely clear), so I know what I am talking about here. Also, please keep in mind it’s a spectrum. No two autists are alike, not in regards of their symptoms or personality. I know several other people with my diagnosis and some of them show symptoms I don’t while others don’t have symptoms I’m showing.

Update as of the current day: it seems that I have been misdiagnosed with Asperger’s and actually suffer from hospitalism (which does have some of the same symptoms as Asperger’s does) due to years of emotional manipulation and abuse from my mother. I sincerely apologize for falsely saying that I have Asperger’s. I didn’t know any better.

Alright, buckle up, because this is going to be a long post.

Felix’ Aspie Traits…

First up, I think Felix shows signs of Asperger’s Syndrome. Americans will likely know this as high-functioning autism, since it’s as far as I know not an official diagnosis in the US (it apparently used to be, but it was merged into autism spectrum a while back). In Europe and Asia however, it still is it’s own diagnosis.

As for the signs of the syndrome Felix shows: the most obvious one is his dislike / inability to make direct eye contact, which he even admits himself. This is a very common trait of especially aspies and everyone has a different way of describing how it makes them feel uncomfortable. I personally find it impossible to focus on what a person actually says if I do make eye contact. That is because making eye contact for too long actually freaks me out a little, for reasons I can’t explain. It’s just… Scary.

Another obvious trait is Felix’s focus, which borders obsession, on swordfighting. You can clearly see that he is hesitant to do anything, unless it benefits his swordsmanship in some way. For example, he asks Byleth why he should learn magic. If they reply that it will benefit his swordsmanship, he will regard that as a good answer. Another example is Flayn asking him to chop wood and vegetables for him. He only does it once she points out how this would serve as a great exercise for him.

This ties in with another thing about him: dissociation. No, I don’t meant the personality disorder. It is merely the process of getting completely absorbed into something (like a task or a daydream). It is a way to deal with all the information that floods our brains because our perception filters don’t work properly.

You can clearly see in several of his supports that Felix gets so lost in training that he doesn’t realize when people try to address him anymore, even if they are standing right next to him, most notably his support with Dorothea.

A less obvious trait is the fact that Felix can possibly not tell if someone is joking or not (and yes, that actually takes me some time as well every time someone in that game jokes). While he plays it off with his snarky attitude, which makes it seem like he is simply annoyed, there is more than a few examples in which he takes a joke deadly serious. An indicator for that is that Sylvain is always quick to tell him that he was joking with something, possibly because he knows how hard it is for Felix to recognize a joke (I mean, it is kind of obvious if you have grown up with an Aspie even if you didn’t know they have this condition - at least I have been told so by a childhood friend of mine). Yes, he does it with others as well, but he is never as quick with it as he is with Felix.

This also shows in the fact that he is unable to understand metaphors. A great example of this can be found in his support with Bernadetta, wherein she tries to explain him why she isn’t scared of him anymore by telling him that ghosts are only scary because you can’t see or talk to them (however that is supposed to explain it…). Felix immediately mistakes this for Bernadetta thinking he is a ghost.

A far less noticable result of this trait is the fact that he tries to make sense of anything. While this may not be seen as a result immediatly, let me explain. Aspies have two ways of dealing with their natural non-understanding of social stuff. They either back off and isolate themselves (mostly children do that) because they are scared or they start to observe and ask questions.

In Felix’s support with Annette for example, Annette just sings something because she feels like it. Felix however immediately tries to find the logic behind her lyrics, questioning them because they don’t make any sense to him (since he doesn’t understand Annette is just singing for fun and not trying to put a message into her lyrics).

This also shows how Felix finds it difficult to empathize with others. Unless something is very clearly explained to him, he just can’t make sense of it because his brain works different from others. Another example for this is his support with Lysithea: when he catches her eating cake, he just thinks nothing about it. Lysithea however immediately starts interpreting his reaction (like… “Normal” people do this so often and I cannot state how confusing and annoying I find this) and thinks he might go tell everyone. Therefore she gives him the cake in an attempt to keep him from doing so (even when Felix never intended that), which is something he finds absolutely confusing. First up, he doesn’t understand why she thinks he’s going to tell everyone (showing that Felix has no idea how a complex social concept like reputation works) and second, he doesn’t understand why she gives him the cake and assumes she wants to annoy him. Which is not the case: to Lysithea, her cake is something really important, even precious. That is why she gives it to him and it is also why she tries to teach him the value of cake later on. Anyone else, even if they hate cake, would probably acknowledge this gesture as something very sweet.

Another thing this support also shows is how Felix also has problems adapting to a new, sudden situation. He absolutely refuses to try her cake, which she made for him and him only. I mean, he gives in eventually, but before that he is pretty insistent. I know he doesn’t like sweet stuff, but out of being polite, anyone else would probably at least have it given a try without all the arguing. While this is also a good example for how Felix doesn’t understand the concept of politeness (I mean, he is very blunt anyways), it also shows how he finds it hard to adapt to new situations. I mean, he probably tried cake before, but never Lysithea’s cake. Also, she made it specially for him, so she probably thought about how he doesn’t like sweets.

Speaking of politeness though: I often hear that all Aspies / autists in general are very, very polite. This is not true though. Many of us are indeed more polite than “normal” people because first, basic rules of politeness (like not talking with your mouth full of food) is something you can easily learn. Most autists will be happy to, because those rules are actually very, very clear and not open to interpretation. It means it is something we can easily do right. Some other basics (like you don’t tackle people in the subway) are also something that comes naturally because… Ever tried tackling an autist? Please don’t.

However, as I mentioned before, it is a spectrum. Not every autist is alike. There are also enough autists who do either question or not understand those rules. As for bluntness… I think almost every autist will agree that we don’t get lying for the sake of being polite. Which results in the famous pointing out how terrible you friend’s new hairstyle looks (and not even understanding what you did). Felix’s bluntness is similar to that.

Felix is also shown to not interpret additional meanings into words and therefore come up with unconventional things in his support with Ingrid: aside from the fact that he leaves early (another example of him being unable to understand social rules as long as no one explains them), he suggests stuff like stealing the enemy’s horses (which is actually a logical thing to do), meaning something outside of the battlefield. Everyone else apparently assumes they are talking about strategies on the battlefield, when actually only strategy in general is mentioned.

There is something I want to make clear about all of this: autists, and it doesn’t matter if high-functioning or not, are not dumb. They simply lack the instincutal knowledge about social interaction normal people have.

A little quirk: Aspies tend to collect things, even if it is absolutely senseless or even very, very strange from a rational perspective, even to themselves. For example, I know someone who actually collects DLCs, including those they don’t even own the game for. I used to collect soaps because I liked the smell, but never used them. Eventually they got bad and I had to throw them away, but recently I started collecting Copic markers (don’t worry, I actually use those). Felix has a little more of a sensemaking collection: he collects swords. And yes, not all people collecting stuff are automatically aspies. It is just a quirk that is very present within the spectrum.

And now another quirk: Felix is bad at harmonizing. This is actually a common thing: aspies do not have a good control over their voice. While this doesn’t mean we’re all bad singers, it means we tend to talk too loudly, too quietly, very monotone (though this mostly affects Aspie children) and yes… It is hard to talk and sing when others are doing it as well. For example, I never had a problem with singing in front of a class and always had great marks on that. But as soon as it came to choir singing or choir speaking (baaaaaad memories of some language classes here by the way), I really struggled with it. Because while I’m not exactly bad at singing or speaking, I absolutely suck at harmonizing. Funny thing: it is the same with most Aspies I know except one who has sund in the church choir her entire life. So yeah, I can feel Felix here.

Also, Felix is a great example on how autists are never the same: he can keep it short. I obviously can’t.

… and how they could affect his relationship with Sylvain

Alright. You asked for headcanons, you get headcanons.

Getting Together

I think Felix and Sylvain might have a hard time getting together to be honest. Like… It is a constant dance around each other, constantly backing off as they try to adjust to each other.

I think the biggest issue in any autist-nonautist-relationship is recognizing and adjusting to each other’s wishes, needs and boundaries. For example, you can’t expect an autist to cuddle with you every day, just like that. On the other hand, “normies” usually yearn for exactly that: physical affection, be it in form of handholding, cuddling or sexual contact.

So at the end, both sides need to make compromises. Sylvain would have to come to terms with the fact he can’t (immediately) get what he wants, while Felix would have to metaphorically descent into the cold water, meaning doing something he isn’t exactly comfortable with (at first). If you have ever stepped into a cold lake or pool, you know you should rather take the stairs than jump… At least, that holds true for me. You have to adjust to the temperature, which takes a while. It’s the same with adjusting to new situations for Aspies, really.

Like… Once they are actually together for the first time, the first thing Sylvain does is dragging Felix away from the training grounds since Felix doesn’t quite understand that being in a relationship doesn’t mean being alone next to each other. Which leads to Felix breaking up for the first time because “I don’t need a relationship then”.

I think he comes to Sylvain again after like a week because he wants to give it another try. But only if he doesn’t have to spend all of his time with Sylvain. He spends more and more time with Sylv than with his sword though as time goes by.

So yeah. I think it would be a very slow burn between them, a constant dance around each other. They might also break up a few times because Felix isn’t ready or Sylvain notices he is getting too impatient before getting together for good.

Being Together

I think each of them still has their own room at the Officer’s Academy and also when they’re in the army after the timeskip. Doesn’t mean they don’t sleep in the same bed though. However, Felix absolutely refuses to let Sylvain enter his room in the beginning because Sylvain always, always puts something where it doesn’t belong in Felix’s opinion.

Felix is a side sleeper and also refuses to not sleep with his swordhand free. Sylvain usually sleeps on his back and takes up way to much space on the pillow for Felix’ taste, so Felix usually abuses Sylvain as his personal pillow when they share a bed. I think Sylvain likes that though.

Also, when they’re sleeping in different rooms, they usually swap their pillows around, so they are at least able to smell each other. I think that one develops from Sylvain stealing Felix’ pillow as a joke when the latter refuses to sleep in his bed once - Felix actually breaks up after that once more because he feels pressured. Once Sylvain has cleared the misunderstanding and they’re together again though, Felix decides to respond to Sylvain’s joke by stealing his pillow as another joke.

When they’re doing stuff together, they are often comprimising or trading favours. Like… If Sylvain trains with Felix, they go into town together afterwards.

Or they snuggle under the starry sky together because Sylvain wanted to cuddle while Felix just wanted some quiet time for themselves and maybe talk a little. They speak about different constellation’s names (Sylvain probably knows them all because he used to impress girls with those) and how Felix thinks constellations are an absolutely stupid thing because he sees different things in them. In the end, they end up thinking of their own constellations (like the Sword with a Strange Grip or the Horse that Feels a Little Nausy).

Another headcanon: Felix actually hates other people laying hands on his hair / head, because he is pretty sensitive there. However, Sylvain practices to be carefuly only for the chance to do Felix’ hair. So sometimes, he lets him and just grits his teeth while Sylvain is busy. However, I think Felix loves Sylvain washing his hair.

They also like to take each other out for lunch / dinner or spending time at the library in the evenings once the training grounds are closed. Also, Sylvain is a romantic sap who likes to drag Felix to watch the sunset at the fishing pond. He might even get Felix to play some boardgames.

Alright, the next section is something I’m usually not so fond talking about and I really went back and forth on if I should add it to this post for quite a while, but I decided to give it a go because this is something normal people might actually find a little comedic (note: I don’t really mind if Aspie traits are used in a comedic way in media, as long as the figure having those traits is not warped into a total joke through that or heavily stereotyped. If you are, then that is fine, everyone feels different about it). I personally didn’t understand the comedy of this until it was explained to me by some frineds. I think I can empathize a little on why people think it’s funny by now, even though it’s definetly not my kind of humor, so I decided to give it a go.

Basically when Sylvain suggests having sex with him, Felix is like “Why? If you want to have a baby, you would need a girl to do that!”

The background of that is that while many Aspies gain some understanding of the emotional component of sexual contact, most Aspies I know (including myself) struggle with understanding this nature, especially if they have zero personal experience. Rationalized, it is merely a tool to get babies and that is exactly how many Aspies I have met think about it, at least before gaining experience.I figured Felix might share this view at least initially, before he gains some experience.

Alone Together

However, I think that they not only have separate rooms, but also live separate lives. Like, they never really get married. That’s not entirely a Felix thing though. I think both value their independency too much to make themselves depend on someone, Sylvain perhaps a little less than Felix.

I think there would be countless examples of being alone together, like when both are reading books in the library. They’re technically together, but they aren’t interacting.

Felix does especially need space when he experienced a sensoric overload or after he was arguing with Sylvain. I think when either is the case, Sylvain always finds him at the stables later on, where his horse is. Sometimes, Felix is asleep, sometimes he is awake but barely approachable. I also think Sylvain’s horse often lays down next to him and Felix likes to pat it. In any case, Sylvain always gets him a blanket and waits until Felix comes to him again (because he will, it merely takes him some time).

Due to this, Sylvain probably gets him a cat some time. Felix mentions in his support with Bernadetta how he “doesn’t dislike” cats, so I think he is fine with that. The cat usually also follows Felix if he needs space.

Animals and autists often get along very well. We have a natural or developed liking for them, as they are easier to communicate with than humans and know when to leave us alone. Also, they actually communicate to other humans when to stop, which is often helpful for both sides. So yeah, I think the cat would do that as well. And of course, it would take up the entire space in the bed when Sylvain wants to sleep there (which might actually be something they argue over).

And yeah… That’s actually all :3 Thank you for the ask!

#Fandom #Fire Emblem #FE3H #FE Meta #FE3H Meta #Character Analysis #Analysis #Sylvain José Gautier #Felix Hugo Fraldarius #Sylvix #Autism #Headcanons #theeeveetamer #SeaSi answers

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typewriterghcst · 3 years

Text

Title: But For Me It Was Tuesday Rating: also G-ish, but some allusions to probably what we would consider child abuse in the modern day lbr Characters: one (1) OC, Baron, Natori, Yuki Summary: The events of The Cat Returns, but told through the eyes of the smallest-- oh, sorry, my mistake— the youngest kitchen maid in the service of the Cat King. No romantic pairings. A crush or two may be mentioned, though. Notes: Written for the 2020 TCR Birthday Bash, even though I emphatically missed the deadline rip. This one was for the prompt of ‘Movie Extra’, which I took to mean, well, pretty much just what I wrote— the events of the movie as a backdrop to another character’s everyday life, lmao This is another one that isn't Entirely Finished, but I've been working on it since June-ish and I've just lost all motivation to finish it. Though, unlike the last one I posted that was unfinished, the only part missing from this one is the ending. There's also a part in here involving Natori that needed to be changed, but I liked the wording and imagery of it, and never did get around to figuring out where else to put it, so some of the pacing in here is Off rip

&&&

She oversleeps. That's the first unusual misfortune that happens to her on this particular day. Opens the day, no less, she thinks to herself as she forlornly stokes the ovens' gently smoldering fires. Her ears are still ringing from the boxing she'd received— the fact that Cook had had to include a little hop to even reach them means what little pride she has feels just as bruised.

Were she a more superstitious, flighty sort, she might even have taken this setback as the first of likely many portents of an upcoming stressful day. But instead she is only Topolina, the youngest (but emphatically not the smallest; more on that later) kitchen maid currently languishing away in the employ of the illustrious royal castle of the Cat Kingdom.

Of course, it’s there she stops herself. It’s only the chaos of the morning that has her using such bitter language. She should try harder, she tells herself, not to linger on the unpleasant aspects of her current existence, and instead focus on… on… well, she supposes there’s something to be grateful for in all of this.

Like…

Oh! She has a home. A relatively nice bed to sleep in. And meals, every day.

...Meals which she is most often forced to wolf down in the kitchen in solitude as she tends the fires and keeps a watchful eye on the simmering pots.

Ah.

Perhaps she needs a bit more practice with this gratitude thing, is all.

It’s entirely possible her recent light resentment had begun with her very name, Topolina, a name which had been quite fitting when she stood at least two heads shorter than all the other kitchen maids, one she'd even perhaps viewed with some fondness for its endearing quality. And yet, alas, it now exists as a name which seems only heavily ironic— that is, now that she's hit the tender age of fourteen and found herself towering over all but the very tallest of cats. It feels to dear Topolina like some massive, omnipresent joke that she remains her old timid, meek self, still eager to fade into the background and disappear... now without even the faintest hope of being able to do so.

Metaphorical salt in the wound is the undeniable fact that her pinafore's hem, once perfectly aligned with her ankles and cutely poofy, now drapes awkwardly far above its original position. Perhaps it’s comparatively trivial atop all her other complaints, but when she finds herself thinking back to her old unassuming silhouette, she can’t help but feel at least a little crestfallen. Nowadays, she feels quite akin to a pitifully overgrown shrub, no matter how many well-meaning words to the contrary she receives.

All in all, she imagines such a thing might make anyone feel rather less than appreciative.

It’s as she’s sitting there alone before one of the nine stoves in the palace kitchen, contemplating her rotten luck, that she hears— well. She’s not sure, exactly. It’s something of a crunching sound, like rusted metal grinding against itself, and she can’t imagine what its source could be. She stands, and gingerly inspects the oven itself from every angle she can think of. She even studies her fire iron. Yet still she comes up empty-handed.

Defeated, she flops back down in her original spot.

And then— she squeaks, because the ground under her is moving, slowly twisting back and forth as if she’s sitting on a lazy top. She leaps (falls is more accurate) off the emerging ground once her mind comes back to her, once it stops panicking, and stares in confounded shock as the very spot she’d been settled atop transforms into what appears to be a long-forgotten manhole covering. How long had that been there?! She’s never been made aware of an old servant’s tunnel in this area!

Her perplexion only deepens when she spies just who has made use of this abandoned tunnel— a cat much like herself, though she thinks that he looks quite a sight better than she would have had she just crawled through a dirty tunnel. His off-white suit is pressed and smart, for one, and hardly has a tear nor even a wrinkle to show for the abuse he’s no doubt just put it through.

His sharp gaze falls then on her, and she’s suddenly acutely aware of her ill-fitting, nearly threadbare pinafore, the scuffs of dirt and soot smattered across it, and her probably unkempt fur, smudged and mussed from fire-tending. Oh, if she could just will the earth itself to open its maw and swallow her up—!

“Ah,” he starts, in a much gentler voice than Topolina had expected, turning to her and offering a hand to help her up, “I apologize. It was not my intention to startle you.”

“N-No, it’s okay,” she stammers, taking his hand without thinking. (Were she in a right state of mind, she’d never do such a thing— the very last thing her poor Young Maiden’s Heart could stand is for a handsome gentleman to struggle to lift her.) He pulls her up with little difficulty, though, and in her chest she feels a very peculiar thump, and then a flutter.

“A-Are you here for the king..?” She asks impulsively.

He doesn’t answer immediately, appearing to think that over for a fleeting moment, perhaps aware of the myriad of ways the pairing of her question and his response could be interpreted, before he makes his decision.

“Yes. I would like to have an audience with him. It’s a matter of utmost importance.”

“Y… you’re not here to kill him, are you?” She whispers, perhaps irrationally afraid that the king himself might be listening in on her. And yet, not too irrational— she’s seen his spying Cat’s Eye floating languidly about the castle on more than one occasion.

There’s something pitying in his gaze, she thinks, but he replies graciously enough. “You have my word, miss. I am not here to usurp or otherwise harm your king.” Then, while dusting some nonexistent dirt off his clothes, “I do believe I will need a change of wardrobe, however. It won’t do to adress a king while clad in anything less than my finest, will it?”

He says it without flinching, and in such an earnestly straightforward fashion, that Topolina herself is almost led to believe there really is some flaw with his clothing that she simply can’t see.

“Oh!” She says then in sudden inspiration. Without explaining herself first, she scampers to the open alcove behind him, separated only by an unfinished wall. The kitchen servants have long used the area as a makeshift coat rack, and one particularly bizarre ensemble has been there for as long as she can remember. She comes back around the wall bearing the large hat and cloak before offering it to him, embarrassed now that she realizes that, judging by her actions, this is what constitutes ‘his best’ for her: an absurd hat and a dusty, worn cloak.

He himself appears no less than enchanted at her offering, however, and when he stands before her with the hat cocked just slightly on his head and azure mantle thrown over his shoulders, Topolina finds she’s again being assaulted by those odd, vexing heart palpitations. Is she really such a nervous thing? ...Yes, she answers herself firmly. Yes, she is. But she’s far from convinced nerves are to blame in this instance.

“Oh,” she breathes eventually, clasping her paws together and resting them against the edge of her cheek. “You look like you came out of a storybook.”

Well… that was more childish than she meant it to be.

“Then it’s perfect,” he says succinctly. Then, removing the hat and inclining his head to her, he adds, “Thank you for your assistance, ah—”

“Top— erm, Lina.”

“Miss Lina, it is. I’m quite grateful for your help. I am sorry only to startle you and then run without so much as a token for your assistance, but it’s imperative I make good time.”

Topolina shakes her head. “It’s okay— I-I don’t mind!”

And with a final bow, he leaves her and the kitchen behind.

&&&

Peculiar dashing stranger aside, the rest of her day passes in relative normality. There’s a clamor about the servants some time later, and she catches snippets of an excited buzz about something happening with the prince (something that ties in with a group of special guests, but she’s yet to put together how) as she goes about her duties, but in all, for how bizarre the day started out, it all strikes her as rather uneventful.

She’s instructed eventually to scour the floors in the audience chamber in preparation for a banquet, which means filling an old rusted tub with hot water and soap, and then carting it to said room. She’s no stranger to the task, of course, and thinks nothing of trudging through the hall with this metal burden in her arms.

Perhaps as penitence for her lack of investment in the day’s continuing Wonders, another ill-fated obstacle is tossed onto the tracks before her. In this case, literally.

Earlier that day, a courier had accidentally overturned a loose stone in the hallway floor. Scratching his head, staring down at the disturbed piece of clay as though it had personally insulted him in the most obtuse way possible, he’d eventually looked from one end of the corridor to the other and quietly snuck it back into place, hoping it wouldn’t be noticed.

Unfortunately, Topolina notices.

With a decidedly unfeline-like squawk, she trips over the rogue stone; the tub in her arms ends up the victim of gravity, as we all so unfortunately are.

And who should turn the corner then but Natori, just in time to be the unwitting second victim of her bad luck— drenched by the ensuing sheet of warm, sudsy water and so jarred by it, it seems he can do little other than look rapidly from his own sodden person to her no-doubt horrified countenance for near a full two minutes. In the fraught silence that follows, his glasses clatter to the earthen floor, and the tiny sound echoes in her ears like a gunshot. Trembling, Topolina instantly drops to her haunches, paws clapped together in desperate and tearful pleading.

"I-I'm so sorry, sir! Please, I beg your pardon— I didn't mean— i-it was an accident!"

"...Topolina," Natori finally interrupts quietly, gently, even, but the hum of exasperation vibrates just underneath his patient tone like a trapped butterfly, "—retrieve a mop and a towel, please.”

“Of course, sir! R-Right away!”

&&&

It’s afterward, as Topolina does her best to mop around him while he tries to dry himself without incurring any extra… floof, that Natori deems an appropriate time to address his reason for coming this way in the first place.

“It’s possible that Cook may have instructed you about this task already, but the kitchen staff will likely be needing every pot and pan that can be spared for today’s dinner, so do ensure that you tend to the ones that have been, er, languishing in... that corner.” When she chances a glance at him, she sees that his gaze is inconspicuously trained on a particularly infamous corner of the palace kitchens, one where abandoned cookware is just shy of creating its own ecosystem by now. For a brief, heart-pounding moment, some measure of indignation rises in her; she’s so very close to telling him she isn’t the one to blame in this instance! ...At least, not the only one.

Ah. Alas, once more. Her courage withers in the face of this culpability, small as it may be. Instead, she goes back to her doleful mopping. Still, there is at least enough nerve left in her to present him with one continuing question on the topic.

"Is it... is it for the special guests?"

Natori pauses, giving her something of a searching glance. "...It is, yes." Then, after a few seconds spent appearing to think this over, he continues ringing out the bottom hem of his robe. It seems at some point while she was distracted, he’d laid the drenched towel at his feet. "I see word spreads fast through the kitchens."

To herself, she thinks that he has no idea how true that is, nor precisely how fast it truly does.

Finally satisfied with all that the towel can accomplish in drying him off (and evidently feeling his now damp robe will no longer leave any puddles as he wanders through the castle), he returns it to her. "Now, Topolina, please try to keep the mishaps to a minimum. We do have an exceptional guest today, after all."

She only nods frantically, all too aware of her ears flapping up and down. To this, he gives an approving nod of his own, and then finally turns on his heel and leaves. Secure in her admittedly paltry position for at least another day, Topolina breathes a sigh of relief as she puts the mop away.

...An exceptional guest, he’d said. Curiosity flares again, this time stronger than before, and she can’t stop wondering just who they could be. For the most fleeting of seconds, she remembers the cat who had interrupted her delayed routine this morning, but he’s quickly waved away.

Honored guests did not arrive to their own commemoration by climbing through old servants’ tunnels.

&&&

Once the dirtiest, most grime-caked pots and pans are finally scrubbed to perfection, she peeks around the corner in search of Cook or Natori, wondering what other (insignificant) part she may have to play in the care of these exceptional guests. To her consternation, however, the kitchen aside from her seems rather empty, present only to the sound of a maid or two prepping extra portions of stuffed mice on the off-chance they’re requested.

Cautious as always, Topolina all but tiptoes through, still careful not to draw attention to herself, and— once she’s certain she’s not being scrutinized— peeks out of the kitchen itself into the servers’ hallway. There’s music playing, muffled, down the hall in the great dining room— something elegant, bouncy. A waltz, perhaps. She wonders distantly who it is that might be dancing, and if the well-spoken cat she’d crossed paths with earlier is anything of a dancer himself. She could imagine him dancing… Oh, the flutter is back.

“Lina—”

“Yes!!”

She jumps impressively high, her hackles on edge and tail fluffed out in alarm. Yet, when she whips around to face her unexpected company, she’s met only with Yuki. Another of the kitchen servants, Yuki has existed as a consistently friendly, warm presence, to the degree that she’d willingly adopted Topolina’s attempts to shorten her, well, newly embarrassing name, something a few of the other servants (and Natori…) were still having trouble with. Her fright abated, Topolina tries to greet the smaller cat with a smile, but it wavers.

“Oh— Yuki, it’s you.” She’s carrying a large glass bottle, freshly-filled with some unfamiliar pink-tinged liquid, Topolina notices.

“I’m sorry,” Yuki starts in reply. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I-It’s okay!”

“What were you looking at?”

Oh. That.

“I was looking for Cook,” Topolina admits reluctantly. “Or maybe Natori. I’ve finished the dishes they wanted me to clean earlier today.”

“I saw The Corner was all clean. It must have taken a while.” Yuki sounds impressed, perhaps. Topolina doesn’t mention it, of course, but deep down she’s a little tickled. “Natori’s already taken his place in the dining room, though, so I don’t think you’ll have any luck getting more directions from him.”

“Oh…” Thinking back now, she realizes she should have surmised that already. At least, if the banquet has progressed to the point that entertainment is warranted. “What about Cook? Have you seen her?”

“Sorry, I haven’t.”

After a short silence, it suddenly occurs to Topolina that Yuki seems… a little distracted. Troubled, even. Fidgeting, she gathers her resolve for the third time that day.

“...Are you okay? You look like… um, something’s on your mind.”

Just the mention of her evident disquiet is enough to erase its presence from her expression; Yuki almost instantly brightens some, shaking her head gently.

“No, no. I’m fine.” And then, before Topolina can press the issue, “How about this? Stay here— I have to go back in and serve refills. If I see Cook, I’ll ask her what else she wants you to do and then fill you in when I come back. Okay?”

Topolina is just about to enthusiastically agree (leisure time in the sparsely occupied kitchen? Not being the one to personally ask Cook for more work? Of course she’d be on board!), but a sudden eruption of screams and breaking glass from the direction of the banquet room means the two of them are turning their startled attention to the ruckus instead.

“Wh— what could it be..?” Topolina wonders aloud, shaken.

[ and that's it rip the ending i had in mind was that yuki tells topolina to find a safe place, topolina cowers probably in the kitchen the whole time, especially upon hearing an Explosion. and the next day there's all kinds of rumors and tall tales about baron and The Daring Rescue he pulled off. topolina connects the dots and. well basically becomes haru 2.0 crushing on him and indulging in fantasies where she's also swept off her feet by a dashing hero fjfjkda; ]

#the cat returns #do i #still tag it with the birthday bash tag....#tcr birthday bash #i guess #this was my first attempt at writing baron #also yuki

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i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend · 4 years

Text

Queer Eye for the Cap Guy ~ Part 8

A/N: Hi my lovelies. Happy Valentine’s Day! So we’ve reached the end of this story. I have two more bonus scenes coming at some point but I’m not sure when. But this is the end of the main story. Thank you all for all of your support during this story. I can’t wait to share more stories with you!

Summary: The Fab Five watch Steve’s dinner party and retirement party.

Rating: T

Warnings; Language, feels, not much else

Word Count: 2763

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

(image from google)

Carpe Posterum ~ Seize the Future

“Antoni, henny, what delicious treat did you make for us today?” Jonathan asked as he leaned on the counter in the loft.

“Chocolate mousse with chocolate from the best shop in Brooklyn with fresh whipped cream.”

“Yummy.”

“It’s time to check in with our favorite Avenger,” Bobby announced excitedly.

“Are we ready?” Karamo asked as he grabbed the remote.

“Yasss!”

They settled themselves on the couch and started Steve’s reveal.

Steve stood in front of his mirror still in the white Henley, pondering what to wear.

“He is so gorgeous,” Jonathan gushed.

“Oh my gosh, yes,” Karamo agreed.

Steve finally settled on a light blue Henley over dark jeans, with a pair of brown boots.

“Tan, do you approve?”

“It’s a bit more casual than I’d want, but honestly this is such a huge step up from what he was doing. I’m happy.”

“Plus these are like his closest friends. I think he looks comfortable,” Bobby added.

“Agreed.

Steve pulled the iron man apron over his head with a chuckle and tossed a tea towel over his shoulder as he prepared the lasagna.

Everything was ready only moments before his doorbell rang.

“Oh. My. God.”

Y/n was the first to react, jaw dropping to the floor as she scanned him up and down, settling on his neatly trimmed beard.

“You look amazing.”

“Come on in. Take a good look at the Fab Five’s handiwork.”

“Holy shit,” Bucky swore as they piled into the building. “You almost look presentable.”

Despite the jab, Bucky was beaming at his best friend.

“You look great, man.”

“Come on, give us a twirl.”

Steve did a slow turn with his arms out so they could see the whole look.

“Umm, y/n definitely just checked out his butt.”

“Who could blame her, henny?”

They each hugged him in turn, but Steve didn’t let go of y/n. Opting instead to keep her tucked into his side. She didn’t mind in the least.

“Are you ready to see the place?”

“Hell yes!”

As expected, Sam and Bucky were immediately enthralled with garage and the state of the art home gym. Y/n, however, was much more taken with the first floor of the living space.

“It’s so light and open. I love it.”

“I do too.”

Bucky gave Steve a watery smile when he sat in the wingback chair.

“Thank you for that by the way.”

“My pleasure. But I don’t think we’ll both fit anymore.”

“No, I don’t think so,” Steve hummed. “But that’s why we have this great sectional.”

“Can we just talk about the fact that he has not let go of Y/n once since she came in.”

“I’m sensing a love connection.”

“It seems reciprocated at least.”

“Oh 100%. She is so sweet. And you can tell how much she cares about him.”

“Same with him. He would go completely soft talking about her. He always smiled when he talked about her.”

“Hopefully, he’ll make a move.”

“How did the week go?” Natasha asked as she perched on the back of the sectional after they’d finished the quick tour of the upstairs.

“It was different than what I expected,” Steve admitted.

“What did you expect?” Bucky asked.

“I guess I thought it would be more of a passive experience. Like I thought they would just tell me what to wear, or how I should style my hair. I didn’t expect it to be a conversation. That was really nice.”

“So you feel like you had a say in all of the decisions?”

He nodded his agreement.

“Definitely. And I haven’t felt this in control of my life in probably ever. And now it feels like I can, you know, maybe enjoy retirement.”

They all smiled, and y/n patted his thigh.

“We’re so happy to hear you say that.”

“Does that mean we’re forgiven for nominating you for the show?” Sam joked.

“I was never all that mad, so I’m not sure forgiveness is necessary, but my gratitude certainly is. Thank you. All of you for caring enough to do this. I love you all, and I haven't told you that nearly enough.”

“We love you too, punk.” Bucky clapped him on the shoulder and pulled him into him.

“So Antoni actually managed to teach you how to cook?” Natasha asked, warily eyeing the lasagna which looked too good to be true.

“Yes, he did.”

“But he didn’t help you make this?” Sam clarified.

“Nope. Did it all my own.”

“Yeah, you did! Like a champ,” Antoni cheered.

Y/n quickly cut a bite and forked it into her mouth to shut them up, burning her tongue in the process.

“Ouch.” She muffled a curse in her water glass.

“You okay, doll?”

She coughed, thumping her chest.

“Yeah, I’m good. It’s just very hot. It’s delicious though. Antoni taught you well.”

Steve preened.

“Look how proud he is!”

“Well it helps that it’s coming from her too.”

“She really is so lovely.”

As the others dug in, adding their surprised by honest praise, Steve and Y/n shared a look.

“Ack. Look at the secret smile!”

After dinner, Sam and Bucky raced to the basketball court to settle their latest ridiculous argument and Natasha busied herself with the dartboard. Steve knew they were trying to help him out subtly – well not so subtly – since all of them winked super exaggeratedly.

“That is how you wingman,” Karamo announced.

“I can take care of those, y/n,” Steve argued as y/n started soaping up the dishes.

“Please,” she waved him off. “You cooked. I can clean up. Dinner was delicious by the way, Steve. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. But seriously, just let those soak,” he insisted, reaching around her at the sink to turn off the water. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?”

Her voice rose in excitement as she turned, still trapped between him and the sink (not that she was complaining). He grinned down at her.

“The tension is seriously killing me.”

“I have not rooted for two people to kiss so much since Mia Thermopolis was about to be crowned Queen of Genovia and totally didn’t need a husband, but had that hunky Chris Pine ready to be her prince. And let’s be real, who doesn’t want to kiss Chris Pine.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Tan teased as Jonathan sat back pleased with his reference.

“Yep, I made a special dessert all for you.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up at the prospect.

“Yeah, Antoni taught me. Gave me a foolproof recipe for your favorite. It’s only got two ingredients and none of the equipment plugs in.”

“Steve, did you make me chocolate mousse?”

He shrugged and gestured toward the island.

“Have a seat.”

She hopped onto the comfortable bar stool, crossing her legs as she watched him rummage around in the fridge.

“She looks like she wants to eat him up,” Jonathan guffawed.

“The quickest way to my heart is through food, so I’m not surprised.”

“Get it, girl.”

Steve emerged victorious with two extra large martini glasses filled with chocolate mousse and a canister of fresh whipped cream.

“Umm, bonus points for presentation!” Antoni cheered, bouncing up and down on the couch.

“Wait you didn’t tell him to do that?” Karamo asked.

“No. I just taught him how to make it.”

Karamo was visibly impressed as were the others.

“You go, Steven! Slay that presentation.”

“Well it certainly looks nice. Here’s hoping it’s edible,” she teased, taking the spoon he offered her.

He waited impatiently for her to taste it, and when her eyes slid shut he lit up.

“Oh my god, this is amazing. It tastes like those little elephant chocolates you get for me every Christmas. Only like it’s a cloud. Is this really only two ingredients?”

“Yep.”

“What are they chocolate and magic?” she giggled.

“Something like that. So you like?”

“Delicious.” She reached for him, pulling him to her side of the island leaving her hand in his. “And it’s really sweet that you learned to make it just for me. You know this may earn you the title of favorite super soldier.”

“You mean that’s not already a given? I’m wounded.”

“Don’t be annoying,” she glared up at him.

He pretended to zip his lips and throw away the key.

“Much better.”

They enjoyed their mousse in a comfortable silence, which she finally broke a few minutes later.

“I’m really proud of you for doing this you know. It was really brave.”

“I would never have done it without you guys nominating me,” he admitted in a quiet voice.

Y/n reached out for both of his hands, pulling him to stand directly in front of her.

“That may be true, but you are the most stubborn person I know.”

His brow furrowed in confusion.

“Thank you?”

“My point,” she giggled, “Is that if you really didn’t want this, it wouldn’t have mattered how we begged or pleaded with you. You would not have done it, or you would have stonewalled them. The fact that you opened up, means you put in the work. You chose to be happy. And I’m so proud of you.”

His cheeks tinged pink ever so slightly.

“Thank you for everything, y/n. You’ve always been there for me. When I came out of the ice. When I was looking for Bucky and throughout the Accords debacle. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“And Bobby told me about you getting the photos from the Smithsonian. That must have taken you ages.”

She dropped her eyes to their intertwined hands.

“It was nothing.”

He let go of one of her hands so he could lift her chin.

“It is everything,” he murmured, cupping her cheek.

Leaning down, he gently kissed her, fully intending to pull back after a moment. He was not expecting her to wrap an arm around his neck and pull him closer.

The Fab five quickly paused the video and celebrated.

“Yes!”

“Finally!”

“Well done, Steven.”

When they continued, the edit politely cut away from the couple and directly to the next day. Steve was once again in his room getting ready, only this time his outfit was the tux.

“Tan, I am completely in love with that tuxedo.”

“It’s the perfect color for him.”

“His eyes are so blue. Oh I could just lose myself all day in those oceans.”

“He looks so sharp. And you know he’s going to stand out.”

“And he should. This night is all about him.”

The cheer from the crowd was deafening when he stepped off the elevator. Steve’s cheeks tinged pink, but his confident gait didn’t falter.

“Looking good, Rogers. You might even be able to get the girl after all of this,” Tony smirked, eyeing Y/n who was waiting patiently by the bar.

“Maybe I will,” Steve smirked.

“You look happy, Cap. I’m glad,” he added in a more serious tone.

The two men hugged, and Steve continued his circuit of the room.

Thor complimented his hair and beard, and Bruce loved his tuxedo. The rest of the guests clamored for their moment to speak with him. Finally, Natasha was able to cut in and lead him to the one place he’d been trying to get to all night. Y/n.

“Hey, handsome.”

“Hi, beautiful.”

He leaned down for a lingering kiss before leaning on the bar next to her.

“How are you doing?”

He took a deep breath and swayed his head side to side.

“Pretty good. This is pretty tame for Tony.”

“Nat and I had final say on the guest list,” Y/n reported proudly.

“You’re welcome by the way,” Nat smirked at him.

“Thank you, both.”

Bucky and Sam were practically falling over themselves laughing as they joined them.

“What trouble are you getting up too?”

“Nothing, doll,” Bucky promised.

“We just saw Tony sputtering because he saw you two kiss.”

“He did tell me I might get the girl at the end of the night.”

“Little did he know,” Sam grinned.

Steve bounced back and forth between different groups for much of the evening. Often Y/n would accompany him, but sometimes she would sit back and watch.

“They’re such a pretty couple.”

“I love them.”

About halfway through the party, Tony took the stage.

“Good evening, everyone. Thank you so much for coming out tonight to celebrate the retirement of the one and only Captain America. Steve Rogers. Now, before we hear from the man himself, I’d like to say a few words. Steve, I know that we didn’t get off to the best of starts, but throughout our ups and downs you have never wavered in your commitment to helping people. The world is a much safer and better place because of you. You may be moving on from the Avengers, but you’ll always have a home here. Thank you for your service. And happy retirement. Everyone please raise your glass, to Steve Rogers.”

The room raised their glasses and toasted him, and Steve teared up.

“Now, I think we would all like to hear from Steve. So, Captain Rogers, please come on up.”

Y/n squeezed his hand as he approached the stage, hugging Tony tightly.

“Thank you, Tony.”

“You’re welcome, Capsicle.”

Steve snorted and clapped him on the back as they traded places. He took a deep breath before starting.

“Hi, everyone. Thank you all for coming. And thank you, Tony for hosting this retirement party. I don’t think it will come as a surprise to many people here that I didn’t really ever think that something like this was in my future. But while I will always be here to fight when I’m needed, it’s time for me to lay down the shield.”

The room was silent as he spoke. Plenty of people in the room had been on the receiving end of Steve’s motivational speeches, but few had ever heard him talk about himself.

“He is so composed,” Karamo complimented as Steve continued his speech.

“This was not an easy decision. And part of the reason for that is because I felt like I was failing everyone by giving up the shield. And to be honest, I had no idea what to do with myself if I wasn’t fighting. But I’ve spent this past week with five fabulous men who have helped me find a future. They also showed me that I am more the Captain America. But I’ve also realized that Captain America is bigger than I am. The world deserves and needs a symbol of hop. And I’m so very proud to say that that is exactly what will be happening. I am officially passing my shield onto the only man who could take it on. Sam Wilson. Sam, please come up here.”

The room erupted in shock both on the television and in the loft.

“Oh my God.”

“Did anyone know he was planning this?” Antoni asked.

“No.” They all chorused.

Sam approached the stage with his head held high as the others overcame their shock and started cheering. Steve held out a hand to help him up, and Sam couldn’t help but smile as he remembered the first day they met.

“The floor is yours, Captain.”

They hugged fiercely before Steve stepped back, literally and figuratively.

“Hi, everyone. I’m going to keep this short. Steve, I just want to say thank you for trusting me. The shield has absolutely been a symbol of hope for me. But the shield would be nothing without your heart and your goodness. I will do my very best to carry on your legacy. Thank you.”

“Let’s hear it for Captain America,” Bucky yelled from the back of the room, grinning like a fool.

Everyone cheered as Sam and Steve came down off the stage, and Sam was engulfed by well-wishers.

Steve was beaming as he made his way to Y/n, Bucky, and Natasha.

“When did you make that decision?” Natasha asked as he grabbed a beer.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a while, but talking to Karamo made me realize that it wasn’t I was Captain America or there was no Captain America. There was another option.”

Eventually the party goers wandered out and only the team was left. Steve smiled as he held his hand out for Y/n, leading her to the dance floor where they lost themselves in each other, swaying to the soft music.

“Aww yay.”

“He looks so happy.”

“Uggh. Can we toast our Steve?”

“Yes.”

“To Steve Rogers.”

“And his future.”

The Fab Five raised their glasses.

~~~~~~

A/n: So that’s it. I hope you enjoyed this story. I really loved being able to delve into Steve’s character. As I said there’s two more short things coming eventually. So keep an eye out. And stay tuned for updates to other WIPs and some new content!

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#Queer Eye for the Cap Guy #Steve Gets Queer Eyed #Cap Gets Queer Eyed #Part 8

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shreddedparchment · 5 years

Text

Of Two Minds Pt.04

You’re Not Lacking

05/17/2019

Pairing: Bucky x Reader x Steve Word Count: 7,462

Masterpost Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, language, fluff, jealousy

A/N: This chapter is a lot of dialogue. It became longer than I thought it would and I am trying to make this as little fantasy-like as possible. As much as I love the fluff that I’ve read when reading poly fics, I’ve always been curious to see a deeper exploration of how the characters get there. I hope this is interesting. And if not, I’m sorry. As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Feeling you in his arms, waking up to your cheek pressed against his chest is a feeling unlike Steve has ever felt.

Until this moment, slowly stirring beside you, Steve had not known how deep his desire for you ran. He loves you.

More than loves. He lives for you. It's silly. Living for a dame…no. You’re not a dame. You’re a girl. The girl.

So close to being his girl that Steve can taste it. The taste is sweet, honey toffee and cherries.

Unfortunately, the taste comes with a lick of bitter flavoring. You’re not his girl. In fact, you’re already Bucky's girl. Steve knows he's an asshole for doing this now when he'd had years to say something.

Years to do something about the way he's felt about you, but it wasn’t until you and Bucky were finally together that Steve knew he’d truly messed up. He’d taken you for granted. He’d assumed you’d always be there, at his side. He’d never thought that someone would come along to take you from him.

Yet, if it had to be someone…

Bucky is more worthy of you than most. In fact, Steve knows how good you’ve been for him. You brought him back to life.

Bucky goes outside and shops with you. Goes to the movies with you. Out to eat dinner. To buy groceries. He takes you to parks and all his other favorite spots in the city. And here on the compound, he's smiling more. He's laughing and joking with the team.

He's made himself at home. Something that Steve has been trying to get him to do for ages and it’s that plus the clear feelings you’d had for him that he pushed Bucky to make his move. In order for Bucky to be happy again, really happy, he needed you.

You did that for Bucky. So, Steve knows that he shouldn’t have done it. He shouldn’t have said it. He should have kept his mouth shut no matter how much you asked and gave him those sad confused little eyes, the small pout of your precious lips.

No matter how painful it had been to see the heartbreak in your eyes when you assumed that you’d done something to deserve his cold shoulder, he should have held out.

He couldn't. You're you. How can he deny you anything?

If he concentrates hard enough on the small bit of time in that hotel room when he got to have you, he can ignore the guilt about betraying Bucky and instead he can linger on the soft breath of your moans.

It had all been so rushed. It had all been so frantic that he can remember his lips on yours, harsh and needy. Teeth clashing, tongues wild, fingers curved into claws. Years’ worth of want had clamored up to the surface and exploded all at once.

You deserve better than animalistic passion. You deserve the softness that he feels when he watches you smile and that strange yearning when you sit next to him and your hand is so close all he’d have to do is slide his own over and your fingers would be touching. That need to make you laugh or smile. To give and not receive. He wants you to be happy.

Why did he have to go and complicate everything?

He squeezes you, his hands roving over the soft curves of your sides as he shifts onto his right to pull you closer.

You hum as your own arms wind more securely around him. Your hands reach up along his back. Curling with subtle wonder along the jut of his shoulder blades.

Steve leans down, eyes still closed as he buries his nose into your hair. He inhales, savoring the sweet aroma and you nuzzle up against his lips.

You'd showered last night in his bathroom so you smell like his soap but there are the hints of you, daisies bathed in sunlight. Crisp but alluring jasmine and soft soothing lavender. You’re a bouquet of scents all distinctly you and Steve knows them well—now he knows them intimately.

You slide your right leg between his two and pull yourself closer.

It all feels too good to be true. He doesn’t know what's better, the idea of making love to you or just staying like this forever.

What if Bucky says no? What if can't accept sharing you? If Steve is honest, he’d rather not share you either. Not because he wants to deny Bucky of you, but he can understand the strength of that love. The selfishness to keep it for himself.

He can’t blame Bucky. He won't blame Bucky. If he can’t let you love Steve too and you decide to leave…can Steve let you?

Steve's arms constrict more tightly, and he buries his face into your hair more forcefully. You groan lightly. He's holding you too tight but the thought of losing you forever…

His brow furrows and the pain that cuts him is harsh and razor sharp. It leaves shadows of seething wounds behind, gushing.

You groan again and it wakes Steve a little more. He loosens his arms, presses a kiss to your head, then opens his eyes.

His heart freezes, nerves on edge as he meets steel ice with his own storm blues.

Bucky stands with his hands clenched into fists, metal and flesh, creaking and groaning from effort. With his jaw clenched, he and Steve simply stare at each other.

Steve isn’t sure what to do. Should he let you go? He doesn’t want to.

The look on Bucky's face is unreadable. Stoic in it's frowning concentration.

Steve watches as his eyes wander over the bed and then the two of you. The bed still made. The two of you, still clothed.

His frown is replaced by pained confusion as he processes the sight before him.

When he meets Steve's eyes again, he tilts his head slightly, his long damp hair shifting. He's dressed, wearing dark cargo pants and a navy long sleeve, sleeves pushed up to the elbow.

Steve can almost see the question he's asking. What am I looking at?

Whatever Bucky had expected you and Steve to do here last night. It wasn't this.

Their eyes meet again, and Steve begs Bucky for forgiveness because as much as he hates to see that hurt expression on his best friend’s face, he also can’t seem to let you go. In fact, his arms tighten, and you groan.

“Steve…” You complain and Steve loosens his hold but pulls you in closer so that your face is buried in the crook of his neck.

“Sorry,” He whispers, but you’re already asleep again, deep sleep. You’re so tired after the mission. You hadn’t been sleeping well.

You’d tossed and turned all night, even in Steve’s arms. He knows why.

As you doze deeper into slumber, your lips mutter once more, the same thing they’ve been saying all night.

“Bucky…?” You whisper. It’s so slurred that it’s almost indiscernible but Steve hears it and his hands rush to comfort you, stroking your back with one hand while the other caresses the back of your head.

Bucky’s eyes widen at first then narrow as he takes a step closer but stops as he searches Steve’s eyes. He’ll only find apology. Remorse. Affection. Steve loves Bucky. He’s family.

“Why-?” Bucky begins but you stir. You whimper, searching for the source of the sound so Bucky stops talking and watches you react to it instead.

Steve sees him notice the way your hands curl into fists on Steve’s shirt. The pucker between your eyes. The sad turn of your lips.

When it looks like Bucky can’t take it anymore, he jerks his head towards the door then leaves the room.

It takes Steve a minute to extricate himself from you. You’re so strong when you want to be and getting your arms off him without waking you takes skill. Luckily, Steve has practice in it. Just because it hadn’t been strictly romantic before doesn’t mean that you and he didn’t spend nights together. Mainly on mission but there had been a night or two of falling asleep watching movies.

He’s careful about shutting the door, giving you a long look as he shuts the door. You’re on your back, mouth open as you breathe heavily, almost snoring with exhaustion. Steve can’t help but smile. He’ll make sure to tease you about that later.

Bucky’s already waiting in the living room, standing on the opposite side of the coffee table and Steve wonders if perhaps he’s keeping it between them on purpose. Does he still want to punch him? Steve wouldn’t blame him.

With his arms crossed across his chest, bulging biceps shifting threateningly underneath the navy shirt, Bucky eyes Steve warily. Reading him as if he were trying to see what Steve is hiding though for the first time since Bucky came to live on the compound, Steve isn’t hiding anything.

“What did-?” Bucky begins but he stops himself and he looks down at the coffee table, melancholic shimmer of uncertainty making his steel blue eyes waver. “No. Don’t tell me.”

Steve knows what he’s curious about. “We didn’t do anything, Buck. She came in and she told me that you’re not sure you can do this. Then we fell asleep.”

“Oh.” Bucky sighs, almost with relief.

“She’s been calling your name all night.” Steve admits, feeling a sting of jealousy in his chest. “She hasn’t been sleeping well. Tossing and turning. What you just saw is the deepest she’s slept in days and it's probably because she knows you’re at least close by.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? That my girlfriend can’t sleep in your arms because she’s worried I can’t share her?” Bucky’s words are biting but true. Still, they make Steve frown.

“I didn’t say that. I just—she’s not happy about this either, Buck. She’s trying to wrap her head around this. Us. This whole situation. It’s not her fault.” Steve argues.

“I didn’t say it was her fault.” Bucky’s voice is ice.

Steve knows that if you could hear them now, you’d be upset. This is exactly what you’re trying to avoid.

“I know it’s my fault.” Steve assures him, taking a step closer but the table is there so this is as far as he can go.

“If you’d just kept your mouth shut-” Bucky looks down at the table, glaring agony and fury cutting Steve deep.

“But I did keep my mouth shut…for years. Even after you moved in here, I kept quiet about how I felt at first because I didn’t want to risk losing her—she was the only thing that grounded me here in this time where nothing was the same and I'd lost everyone. Then I met Sam but by then she’d already started dating so, I stayed quiet. Then you came and she was finally single, but I saw it, the moment you two locked eyes. And you deserved to be happy, Buck.

“How could I do that to you? To her? So, I kept quiet. I pushed her on you. I urged you to make your move and it killed me every time I did. When you came back from the Cayman Islands and I had to watch you finally be with her it was like all my dreams and worst nightmares had come true all at once. My best buddy got his girl…but she was my girl.

“But she wasn’t because I never told her how I felt. And after you two got together, I never could. As much as I wanted to be happy for both of you, I couldn’t help it when the pain became unbearable. So, I did the only thing I could do. I pushed her away. She noticed. She came at me in the hotel and she looked so broken up about it. She wanted to know so desperately why I was acting the way I’ve been acting and I—I know that I should have lied but I didn’t.”

Steve shakes his head but keeps his eyes trained on Bucky’s. He’s going to look his best bud in the eye and tell him all of this honestly. He’s not going to hide.

“I have no excuses to give you, Bucky. I shouldn’t have told her, but I’ve loved her for so long now that I don’t remember a time when I wasn’t in love with her. She’s a part of me. And now that she’s—losing her would kill me, Buck.”

“Do you think that’s going to make me choose to do this? Because you can’t be without her? I don’t need her.” Bucky lies and Steve can see that it’s a lie. “You want her? Take her. I don’t want her.”

This makes Steve angrier than anything that Bucky’s said so far. Angrier than he is at himself. Even though Steve can see that Bucky doesn’t mean it, that he’s just reacting angrily to everything that’s happening, he loves you. Steve knows he does.

“You don’t mean that.” Steve says knowledgeably. “I can see it in your eyes, Buck.”

“The fuck I don’t mean it. Take her.” Bucky says easily, shrugging, arms still shut defensively over his chest. “She’s nothing to me.”

A small gasp turns them both towards the hallway. Steve has never seen that look in your eyes before. He’s never seen you look so vulnerable. So small or so broken. Your lower lip quivers, tearing chunks of flesh from Steve’s heart.

You bite down, shoving the soft flesh between your teeth to keep it from quaking.

“Y/N…” Bucky gasps, regret already saturating his deep tone.

Somehow, tragically, you smile at him despite the tears streaming down your cheeks. “Sorry, I-” Your voice hitches and you shut both eyes to catch your breath.

Both Steve and Bucky seem frozen until you finally speak. “I don’t want you to fight.”

“Y/N, we-” Steve begins, trying to explain that the things being said need to be said if only to air all these emotions out. Bucky’s lashing out. You see that, right? You can’t actually believe what he’s saying.

“It’s okay.” You turn that heartbreaking smile on him. “I-I don’t want t-to be in the way. I’ll just…”

You don’t finish and instead turn to head back down the hallway towards your room. Steve is about to follow but Bucky’s zooming past him before he can take a step.

As you disappear into your bedroom, the door shut behind you, Bucky catches up and tries the handle.

“Y/N? Open the door. I..I didn’t mean what I said, baby doll. You know I love you. Please? Please, let me explain.” He begs, his voice altered with strife.

Steve can only watch, his own regrets flooding forward as he watches the results of his actions. If he’d kept his mouth shut and hadn’t told you that he loves you, then you wouldn’t be crying in your room and Bucky wouldn’t be knocking on your door with his forehead pressed against the wood.

Steve moves as quietly as he can back towards his bedroom, passing yours with Bucky still pleading.

“Y/N? Come on, baby, please open the door. Let me in. I didn’t mean any of it, I promise.” With his best friend’s voice aching, Steve shuts his door to wallow in the consequences of his mistakes.

Bucky knocks as softly as he can.

After what you just heard, he wants to be as gentle as he can with you. He knows that you’re at a disadvantage here. Normally, if you’re upset with him, you’d have kicked his ass by now.

You’ve never been one of those fragile girls that breaks at every obstacle. You’ve overcome everything thrown at you. You’ve risen above the challenges that you’ve come to face but this—this is different.

You’re torn. He knows it’s not easy. He knows that this isn’t fun and games for you either but he’s angry at you and he’s angry at Steve.

After watching you in Steve’s arms all nestled in, sound asleep, Bucky had been sure that he couldn’t do this. He can’t share you. There’s no way. Then you heard him speak and you reacted instantaneously. You uttered his name, even though you were in Steve’s arms, and you searched for him.

He saw Steve tighten his grip to keep you close. He knows that if he’d kept talking that you would have gotten out of that bed and probably come to him. And just like that, Bucky’s uncertain again.

Then Steve told him that you’ve been saying his name all night long. How can he possibly tell you no? He’ll lose you. He’ll hurt you.

He did hurt you. He hadn’t meant it. He’d just been lashing out. He wanted to see if Steve would cave but instead of caving, he doubled down. He called Bucky on his bluff. It’s irritating to see the same love that Bucky feels reflected on his friend’s face for you.

You’re his.

“Baby, please…” Bucky sighs, resting his forehead against the door. He strokes the wood, shuts his eyes, and wishes it was your face. He can hear you sniffling on the other side. “Y/N? Let me explain, please? And if you want me to go, I’ll go. You’re everything to me. I love you.”

The click of the lock sends Bucky’s heart hopping. He stands up straight and quickly twists the knob. He goes in and you’re there, stepping back away from the door with wide eyes, tears still flooding your cheeks.

He shoves the door closed behind him and without hesitation, Bucky rushes towards you, closing the space between you in two large steps. He wraps his arms around you, low on your back. He pulls you tight against his chest and lifts you so that your face is even with his own.

His brow furrowed, he searches your face and sees all of the new insecurities that he’s just created in you. He can see the uncertain shift of your eyes as you look for the truth in his. The tentative way that your hands roll over his shoulders so that you can hold onto him breaks his heart.

I’m an idiot. Bucky chastises himself for the lies he spoke in anger.

“I love you. You hear me?” Bucky demands and the quiver of your lip sends his heart into the pits. “Nothing can change that. Not you loving Steve. Not you kissing him or hugging him. Nothing.”

“But you said-?”

“I was lying. I was angry. He just…he makes me so mad sometimes. He always has. This time it’s more intense. I just wanted to see if he’d cave and he didn’t. The punk clearly loves you though probably not nearly as much as I do.” Bucky likes the light that returns to your eyes.

“Bucky…” You say with light scorn.

“I didn’t mean a word, Y/N. You…I need you. I want you. You’re my everything.” Bucky hopes that it's getting through. How could he be such a moron and say those things. Anger or not, he'll never do that again.

Not only did it hurt you but he does see that uncertainty in your eyes. What if he drives you straight into Steve's arms again? What if you believe him that he doesn’t love you and you just give yourself to Steve?

No. Fuck that.

He mashes his lips against yours, searching your pretty mouth for acceptance. He swirls his tongue along that quivering bottom lip and your surprise quickly changes to relief. Your mouth opens against his and he groans into you, delving deep to kiss you hard.

His need softens after a few moments and when he feels your hands wander up into his hair, he knows he can relax a little.

He pulls back, staring down at your lips then dips back down to give you three pecks.

He loves the way you return them and go chasing the last one for more. With big blooming questions in your eyes, you meet his gaze.

He knows what you’re about to ask and his heart drops because he still doesn’t have an answer for you.

You seem to get that because your fingers fiddle with his hair as you lick your lips.

“You don’t know if you can do it yet, do you?” You ask.

“No.” Bucky sighs. “It's only been a few hours and seeing you in his bed…”

“You saw me sleeping with him?” You ask, and Bucky's surprised by the worry in your face.

“Yeah." But there’s a bright light to that dark moment. “You said my name.”

Despite his clear bragging, you nod. “Of course. Bucky, when you’re not with me I don’t feel right.”

Bucky lowers you slowly and once you're on your feet again, he traces the curves of your sides as your own hands slide down along the shape of his chest.

“I can see that.” Bucky nods, reaching up with his right hand to trace the dark circles of your eyes. You really aren't sleeping well. “But I still need more time.”

You’re crying again, instantly, as you tear your eyes away from his and Bucky is sure that you’re disappointed because he can’t just tell you yes but then you speak.

“I’m so sorry I’m doing this to us, Bucky. I'm…shit.” You sob.

Bucky can’t deny that this is difficult. This is the hardest thing he's had to do in a while. To contemplate sharing the person he loves most in the world—but that's not true is it?

Bucky places one hand on your cheek while he coaxes your chin up with the other. There’s one other person he loves this much. Like family. It's not the same type of love but it's strong and enduring.

When he's got your eyes on him, he smiles. “I don’t blame you for loving Steve, sugar. There was once a time that I tried hard to find him a girl that would love him the way you do. He found her without my help eventually.”

“Peggy.” You realize and Bucky can see the shift of jealousy and insecurity in your eyes. A few moments ago it had been for himself, now it's for Steve.

“She's long gone, Y/N.” Bucky assures you and you frown.

It feels strange to comfort you for Steve. Assuring you that you have nothing to worry about there. However, he does it because Bucky wants you to be happy. He hates that look of self-doubt in your eyes.

You’re perfect. How can you question it. He sees the way Steve looks at you. You’re perfection to him too.

“I know.” You nod. “I just…I also know that I can’t compare. What they had was special.”

Bucky sighs and turns his hand to stroke your cheek with his knuckles.

“You really can’t let him go?” He asks, knowing the answer you’ll give him.

Your eyes water again and Bucky kicks himself for asking.

“Hey, it's okay.” He thumbs your tears away and shakes his head. “Forget I asked. It's alright.”

“Is it?” You demand, voice strained and emotional.

You don’t relent in your stare and he knows you’ll see through him if he tries to lie.

“No.” He admits. “But it will be?”

You sob and shove your face into his chest, burying it against the soft of his shirt while your hands fist it on his back.

He probably shouldn’t be smug but he's glad you’re here, clinging to him instead of Steve.

“I’m sorry you overheard me. I really didn’t mean a single word of it.” Bucky swears, promising from the bottom of his heart.

“I wouldn’t blame you.” You sigh, turning your head to rest your cheek against him instead. “I missed you so much, Bucky.”

He shuts his eyes, loving the way you squeeze him when you say his name.

God, he's missed you. All of you. That reminds him…

He pushes you back a little and you look up to meet his eyes but he's already closing the distance.

He meets your lips with an open mouthed kiss. Wet and wanting as he slides his tongue between them. You welcome him eagerly, pushing yourself up onto your toes and wrap your arms around his neck.

Bucky's body hums as you curve your torso against his own, clearly wanting more contact.

He stirs in his pants, the soft mewl that breaks through the kiss setting his hips on fire.

He slides his metal hand up into your shirt and your skin pimples at the sensation. You pull back, gasping lightly into his open mouth as his touch does things to you. Bucky loves it when you give him those breathy moans.

It's like it’s too good to make sound but your mouth sits open, crying out with pleasure.

“Bucky…” You whimper and it's all he needs. He lifts you, roughly, hooking his hands behind your knees as you grab hold and he carries you to your bed.

He drops you more gently than he picked you up but only just. You bounce and he slides his hands down between your breasts. He palms one then the other.

With one hand he reaches down, shoving your knees apart with lazy flicks of his wrist and you obey. You want him, it seems, as much as he wants you.

He settles himself between you and thrills at the high pitched moan you gasp when he settles his clothed cock along your core.

“I love you.” He promises, bringing his hand up to caress the right side of your face slowly. Loving.

You tilt your head to the side, bite your lip, and Bucky knows that you’re looking for doubt in his eyes. You’re trying to see if he means his words and he does.

“I love you, Bucky. Forever.” You whisper and Bucky can see that you mean it.

He stares at you, eyes relentless and intense as he slides his metal hand along your shirt. He lifts it, up and over until you’re free of it.

He leans down to kiss your exposed collarbone, suckling the flesh when a voice interrupts.

“Mr. Stark would like to know if you plan on joining the team, Sergeant Barnes.” F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s accent still you both and Bucky draws a hiss through his teeth until it turns into a swear.

“Fuck! I forgot. That's why I went into Steve's room. Yeah, F.R.I.D.A.Y. we'll be right there.” Bucky sighs, and begins to pull away but his heart leaps as you wrap your legs around his waist, crossing at the ankles to hold him still.

“No.” You pout, strong legs trapping him.

He knows better than to argue. “F.R.I.D.A.Y. let Steve know about the meeting and tell Stark we're gonna be a little late.”

“We'll be quick.” You promise him and Bucky could care less. He'd stay in this room with you, making love to you until you both died of exhaustion if that's what you wanted.

He pushes himself off of you a bit, just enough to make room for your hands, frantically pulling at his belt. The sharp metal clink fills the room and you’re gasping in anticipation.

Bucky leans down and slips his tongue back into your open mouth as you unzip his pants and finally free him.

His cock erect, you stroke him, slow at first but then faster as Bucky ruts up into your hand.

He pauses, the sudden swell of desire floods into him and his limbs are suddenly fire. Frantic for you. He pulls back, shoving his pants down more and quickly yanks your pajama shorts down to your knees then uses his foot to push them all the way off.

They hang on your foot as he hikes up your leg and in one thrust buries himself slick and throbbing within you.

You nearly scream, moaning so loud that Bucky feels a little guilty and presses his hand over your mouth.

Did Steve hear?

The guilt lasts only a second because you’re writhing beneath him and fuck that, you’re his girl!

He gives you what you want, harsh thrusts, long and deep. It burns through him like molten metal, shaping him and changing him. Every time he's with you and you’re quivering beneath him, something in him changes.

He's tied to you more securely. How can he share this? How can he let anyone else taste this goodness.

“Oh, Bucky, fuck…mmphh.” He silences you with his mouth, falling down on you to bury you beneath him against the bed.

You’re so loud. Despite his declarations of not caring, his mind shoots to Steve and Bucky hopes he's gone down to the meeting already.

The lurid sound of his pounding flesh on flesh, wet noises so dirty it makes Bucky grunt. He picks up the pace, slamming himself into you, against you as hard as he can without breaking you.

“Like that baby doll?” He asks, breaking his kiss because thankfully you’ve fallen back into your soundless gasping. There’s a very quiet whimper if he leans in close enough and the sound of it makes his cock harden, flexing within you. You squirm, toes curling as he wraps his metal arm underneath you to grab your ass and pull you up towards him too.

“Yeah…” You gasp, high and breathy. “Faster, Bucky…”

Bucky stops his thrusting but only to crawl up closer, shoving your legs wider with the spread of his own thighs.

You groan, complaining at the stop but then he starts at twice the speed.

You bite your lip, wrap one arm around his shoulders and slip the other into his waistband to push his pants down further. Bucky's hips stutter as you give his bum a squeeze but he recovers quickly.

Whatever you might say, Bucky knows you’ll want to hear about whatever they’ve learned about your mark down in the Cayman so he slips his hand between your heaving bodies and finds your nub.

You gasp and he flicks it then slowly begins to press down on it, rubbing it in scintillating circles with every thrust.

His breathing shallow, Bucky can feel his hips begin to slow as the band in his belly stretches tight. Without warning, it cuts loose and with one final thrust Bucky grunts as his release fills you, heat and flutters overtake you. He can feel you constrict around him, searching, yearning for release.

He gives himself only a second to relish his orgasm before he's thrusting into you again, his fingers working harder.

It takes only another minute for your nails to dig into the soft flesh of his bottom. You cry out, scream his name, “Bucky!” and Bucky feels himself tense up again.

He floods you once more, filling you to the brim, then falls atop of you ragged breath and thumping heart, your hands still pressing his groin against your own to keep him buried and perfectly nestled within you.

He loves the way you feel beneath him. Your body still shaking. If he wanted you again, he could have you. You’re so pliant, bathed in your effervescent afterglow. You’re excited and happy. He wishes you’d stay like this. His. Perfect and content.

Right now, as he pulls back to look into your eyes, he sees only himself. Your desire is for him only. Is he selfish for wanting to keep it for himself?

Only a few minutes pass and as much as he'd love to simply lay here with you, he knows you. He leans down to cherish your kiss-swollen lips then gets up, kissing your clothed breasts then your stomach before he pulls out of you and rushes to your bathroom.

He comes back with a towel and his pants already done up. You’re good for him. Routine, this time afterwards that you two share.

You lay back, still as he cleans you and he smiles because by the haze in your eyes he can tell that you’re still lost in your lust.

“Wow…we were gone too long.” You sigh.

Bucky chuckles, he agrees that your mission with Steve had indeed been too long. He’d missed your body and your voice. The comfort of your presence.

“That was fast.” You observe.

Bucky knows what you’re thinking. You and he have never had a quickie before but today called for it. He reaches down to finish pulling your shorts off, somehow still hanging from your ankle. He tosses it into the corner by your hamper and watches you peel off your shirt to toss away too.

He keeps watching you as you curl this way and that, arms raised above your head as you enjoy the feel of your soft sheets against your bare naked skin. You’re a Goddess, nude and raw and his.

He doesn’t want to share you yet. With anyone. Not even the rest of the team. You’re so right here in your bed filled with ecstasy and peace.

He lays beside you, his hands finding your sides and stomach. He kisses your skin, savoring the slightly salty taste on your neck from the thin sheen of sweat that has dried up from your romp. Your hands slide gently into his hair. You giggle, and his heart expands. That giggle will be the death of him.

“Your hair is a mess.” You chortle and he slides up further to get closer to your face.

“Yours isn’t so hot either, toots.” Bucky teases, tracing the outside of your jaw. He takes you in, your beauty. You’re astonishing. Clearly not only to him, since Steve wants you. Has wanted you for a long time it seems.

Your body shakes beside him as you giggle, and he nearly jumps you again. Instead however, his brow furrows as he stares at you, unanswered questions tumbling to the forefront.

“What?” You ask, realizing almost instantly that something isn’t right.

While you wait for him to find his voice, he shuts his eyes as you straighten his hair, smoothing it from top to bottom. You even lean in and take a small sniff of it, a quiet purr of pleasure slipping through your lips.

“Is it that I’m not enough?” He opens his eyes and finds you frozen, a look of subdued horror on your face. “I-Maybe I’m wrong, but you seem pretty happy, with me, Y/N.”

“Buck, I am happy with you. So happy.”

“Then why?” Bucky gasps, swallowing hard to shove the lump in his throat as far down as it will go. “Didn’t…You seem so happy right now. Just you and me.”

You sit up and Bucky keeps his hands around your waist, massaging the soft muscle because he can’t stand the idea you being unhappy with him.

“Oh, Bucky.” You grip his hair, yanking on it with intent and then caress the sides, smoothing his hair back so that you can gaze lovingly into his face. “What I’m asking you—This has nothing to do with anything that you might be lacking. You are so sweet. You’re considerate and gentle and rough when I need you to be and you’re everything you should be Bucky. You’re not missing anything. You give me everything that I could possibly need or want.”

Bucky shuts his eyes for a moment because he knows you’re telling the truth. He can see it. He only opens his eyes again because you’re suddenly kissing him. Pressing loving pecks against his lips then up along his chin, cheeks, and finally his eyes where you hold those kisses for two seconds each.

When you pull back, Bucky can’t help the smile that stretches his lips. Despite the smile, he sees worry curving your frowning lips.

“The only way I can explain this is that if it were reversed and I had already been with Steve when you came to live with us, I’d be in exactly the same situation that I’m in now. It might have taken longer because you were such a stubborn ass when you got here.” You pull his ear, hard. He knows you’re still frustrated with him because it took so long for him to give in to the way he’s been feeling for you.

“Sorry.” He whispers but you shake your head at him, before pleasantly tracing the shell of his ear.

“I don’t know what it is about you and Steve, Bucky but you’re both just—Steve is my best friend. He’s been with me through the toughest parts of my life. I’ve told you this.” Bucky knows you have.

“Right.”

“But it’s always been more for me. For both of us apparently, but I didn’t know and now that I do…I want to explore that. I want to love him, freely. And I feel like such a jerk telling you this. I know this is unfair. I know it’s impossible.”

“Well, what does he give you? Is it something that I can’t give you?” He’s surprised by the genuine curiosity in his own tone and you look surprised too. He’s been feeling bitter about all this which is why he lashed out but now that he has you here, naked, at his mercy, affection and commitment pouring from your every pore he wants to try and understand.

“No. Bucky, it’s not about what you can’t give me or that he’s something you aren’t. It’s just that…it’s Steve.” He can see the irritation you’re feeling and his heart stutters. Is he making you hate him?

“I’m sorry. I just—I want to understand. I’ll stop asking.” He sighs.

“No!” You cry, desperately. You tuck his hair back behind his ears as you shift to rest on your knees as you turn to face him. “No. Baby, no. Please don’t shut down. I’m not frustrated with you. I’m frustrated with myself. I didn’t want this to happen. I wasn’t looking for a reason to make you question your worth like this because you mean everything to me. You’re my man.”

Bucky likes the way you shrug, the small grin on your lips.

“You’re the filling in my Pop Tart, if Thor will ever leave us any. The sheath to my knife.” You amend.

“I like the second one better.” He says lazily, reaching out to wrap his arm around your waist. He likes the easy smile you’re wearing now, despite the anxiety in your eyes.

“Steve doesn’t give me anything that you don’t Bucky. But he is different. Things are different with him but not better or worse. He’s just Steve. And I don’t think I can live without either of you. You’re the very breath in my lungs and Steve is the blood in my veins. I’ll die without one of you.” Bucky thinks you’re being slightly dramatic, but he gets what you’re trying to tell him.

“You love him. Right?” You ask, the way your voice rises makes Bucky’s heart ache. Off course he still loves Steve, however much he may not like him at the moment. Steve is his only family.

“Not so much right now.” Bucky grumbles playfully. He doesn’t want you to stop smiling. “I think I get what you’re saying.”

“I didn’t think feeling like this about two different people was possible. The fact that it’s you and Steve kinda feels like karma.” You sigh heavily, shoulders slumped.

“Karma for what?” Bucky asks, intrigued.

You meet his eyes and he sees the hesitation. Even now after several months together, you’re still resistant to letting him in all the way. He can’t blame you. He gave you plenty of reasons not to let him in before. He was rough with you. Cold. He’d pushed you away. Although, if he’s honest, he kinda misses you jumping out from around corners to try and scare him.

“You don’t have to tell me.” He assures you, but he can’t hide the disappointment.

“I killed someone.” The way you rush to say it, your delicious tongue almost tripping over the words, tells him that this is what you’ve been struggling to tell him for a while. “I mean, I’ve killed lots of people on the job, but this was different. I-I could have done something other than kill him, but I didn’t. I gave in to my anger. My hatred.”

“Who-?”

“My dad? Well, stepdad. He hurt my sister. So bad she died, and I was really angry, so I slit his throat.” He sees the fear in your face. Do you really think that something as primal as revenge is going to change the way he feels about you? Have you forgotten who he’d been? The things he did? It’s a miracle that Tony lets him live here much less take part with the team.

“It sounds to me like the asshole deserved it.” Bucky assures you but you’re already shaking your head.

“Steve said the same thing, but I’ve never felt good about it. I was happy for a little while that he was gone. That my sister could rest easy with her life avenged, but I started to have nightmares. Steve helped me with that. And I helped him with his.” You scoot closer so that you’re practically straddling him, his knee pressed against your volcanic core.

If he weren’t so emotionally distracted, he might give in to its call. Instead he wraps his arms around you and holds you against his chest.

“We grew together. Steve doesn’t give me anything that you don’t, but our connection is different. It’s special. Just like yours and mine is. Loving him doesn’t make me love you less. I’m not going to leave you for him, Bucky but I do want to be with him. And I’ve said this so much already, but I know that it isn’t fair to ask you to be okay with that.”

“But you’re going to leave me anyway if I say no?” He asks, his voice low and pained but his arms around you to show you how much he cares.

“I-I don’t know how else to-to deal with all this other than leaving. I can’t be with you when you know that I want to be with Steve, hurting you like that on a daily basis while also hurting Steve by shoving us in his face? And I can’t leave you for him. I don’t know if you think maybe that’s an option or that it might be easy, but it wouldn’t be. I can’t picture my life without you in it like this.” He feels you settle down on his leg more, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “And if I can’t be with either of you…how can I linger? It would kill all of us I think, if I stayed.”

Bucky’s torn. He can see the logic of what you’re asking, but with your body so perfectly nestled on his lap, he’s having a hard time seeing past the possessiveness of his relationship with you. You’re his girl. That’s his hot spot between your legs. Those pecks you gave him earlier are his pecks. You’ve finally told him about your family—maybe not in depth but enough to open that door. Those are his layers to discover.

He realizes that Steve has already discovered those layers. You’ve already given different parts of yourself to both him and Steve. All you need is Bucky’s approval and you’ll give them all of you? Both of them?

He also can’t deny the happiness that you would give Steve. He hates to admit it, but he sees the way Steve loves you. Now that his eyes are open to it, he’ll be able to always see it. After losing Peggy, how can Bucky deny Steve this bliss?

He has so much to think about.

Bucky is torn.

“I need more time.” He admits and you nod. “But I love you, Y/N. I’m sorry I said what I said. I was being stupid.”

“Again?” You tease, and Bucky reaches down to pinch your bottom.

You give him a small yelp and squirm. The sound makes him smile and you respond in kind by dipping down to kiss his lips.

With no other options, Bucky lets his mind refocus on the now. He gives your bare hips one last caress before he slaps your bottom twice.

“We gotta get down to that meeting. You’ll wanna hear what's being said. I think they found some leads on those drugs.” He tells you and your eyes light up.

Like he knew you’d respond to the news, you’re moving for your dresser quickly. You’re eager to get to the bottom of whatever those drugs are and where they’re being sourced from. Bucky watches you pull on a new pair of underwear, a pair of jeans and a simple white tee.

While you quickly strip your sheets and throw them aside, Bucky makes for the door then turns to wait with his hand extended.

His heart aches with pure stupid love as you scamper towards him and smile up at him as your hand falls into his.

“Let's go.” You urge him and he leads you out with his own grin in place, the knowledge that you’ll be smelling like him until you shower giving him such wicked and slightly petty delight.

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