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drarry-we-meet · 4 years

Text

Valentine’s Day Sucks

Part 1

Draco grit his teeth as another wave of ooohs and ahhhs sounded across the small collection of cubicles. He tried to ignore the outbreak of distinctly feminine chatter and focus on the report he was currently writing. After reading the same paragraph three times, he was finally able to get back into the flow of things. He was halfway through drafting his next sentence when a loud bang followed by assorted squeals and giggles broke out, and he couldn’t help but sneak a peek.

Longbottom was currently surrounded by a cloud of glittering pink smoke that smelled strongly of roses, and there on his desk was a humongous box of chocolates. Draco sighed, he was more than ready for this Valentine’s Day nonsense to be over with. It was bad enough hearing all the witches in his department cooing like a pack of wild doves each time one of them received a flower delivery, which of course was every few minutes. But to make matters worse, this year the wizards seemed to be getting just as many gifts thanks the Wheezes new ad campaign which insisted that witches must also get soppy romantic trinkets for their gents.

Draco would have admired such a brilliant marketing strategy, that had surely doubled their profits this year, if it didn’t cause him to have double the annoyance at the same time. While the witches gifts were more traditional and quiet; flowers, chocolate, jewelry. The men’s gifts were far sillier; singing heat shaped telegrams that burst into miniature fireworks at the end of their song, stuffed bears that did cartwheels across desks before exploding into a shower of confetti, and large boxes like Longbottom’s that went off like a bomb, leaving behind chocolates once the smoke had cleared.

Of course it didn’t help matters that Draco knew he wouldn’t be receiving anything this year. It wasn’t that he was alone, at least not technically. He had been seeing, or at least sleeping with, Harry-savior-of-the-whole-fucking-wizarding-world Potter, for just over 4 months. Not that it counted though, probably. They had never discussed whether or not what they were doing was exclusive. For Draco it was, and he was fairly certain it was for Harry as well, seeing how he barely had any free-time as Deputy Head Auror and all. But a lack of time to see other people, and actually wanting to date someone were two very different things.

Case in point was the Mountain of gifts that Draco could see steadily growing in the office across the room filled with their cubicles. Witches and wizards from all over the world sent Harry gifts each holiday, but this one always seemed to be the worst. Two curse breakers were currently stationed in the room sorting, screening, and vanishing questionable gifts, while Harry himself was still out meeting with the muggle liaison of Interpol for some reason or another. He wasn’t due to return until Monday, and by then his office would be clear once again.

The safe candy was set aside to be distributed to various departments in the ministry, particularly those inconvenienced the most by this whole fiasco; the mailroom, the janitors union, the curse breakers, and of course the aurors. All of the mail was piled neatly for his secretary to review. The majority of it would be vanished of course, but a few of the most polite ones would be answered eventually.

In fact, now that Draco thought about it, his willingness to always be available to Harry no matter how last minute or weird the hour was, in order to be able to see Harry in between his many meetings and trips abroad might be the only reason Harry even bothered with him at all. It was that thought, paired with the reminder that so far whatever ‘this’ was between them had remained a carefully guarded secret from even their closest friends, that caused a sharp clenching pain inside his gut. Draco determinedly pushed all thoughts of the idiot-who-lived far from his mind and tried once again to focus on work.

By lunchtime, the continuous loud bangs and rose scented smoke that accompanied them, had the beginnings of a migraine forming behind Draco’s eyes. He decided to escape the ministry for a bit and get some fresh air at the cafe across the street. He had just finished, and stood up to don his coat when a shadow appeared across his desk. He looked up into the sneering faces of Zacharias Smith, his well-endowed girlfriend, and a couple of brand new trainees whose names he didn’t care to remember.

"I was just about to head to lunch Smith so whatever it is you need will have to wait till after I return,” Draco kept his most impassive face in place, but his voice was firm. He knew the only thing Smith wanted was to start trouble and he wasn’t in the mood for any of it.

Smith smirked, “I just wanted to ask you where your Valentine’s Day gift was," he asked with a faux sweet voice.

That threw Draco for a loop for a minute, “What are you talking about?"

Smith and his group immediately started laughing, Draco wasn’t sure what the hell they found so funny or why on earth they were asking him about Valentine’s gifts of all things.

Smith’s smile had only gotten wider, “Well Malfoy, he emphasized, maybe it has escaped your notice, but you’re the only person in the entire department, possibly even the entire ministry who hasn’t received even one measly card.”

Draco could feel his heart rate picking up, but he hadn’t lived with old-moldyfarts for nothing, and was able to keep his face blank and posture relaxed. Smith was just getting warmed up though, pointing out how ‘of course’ they shouldn’t be so surprised that he hadn’t received anything, since he was death eater scum and all. By this point they were attracting the attention of the rest of the office.

Draco could see out of the corner of his eye that Granger was heading their direction, but Draco would rather die than have someone he once allowed to be tortured in his house defend him from a spineless git like Smith.

Draco carefully rolled his eyes and shook his head at Smith, “is that really the best you could come up with today Zachary?” Because he knew how much Smith hated people using the shorter form of his name, "you must be having just such a fulfilling Valentine’s Day yourself if you would rather spend all your time talking to me than your girlfriend, what are you 12?” He then swept out of the office before Smith could reply or Granger could reach them.

He was waiting down the hall for the lift when a fierce grip grabbed his arm and spun him around. It was Smith’s girlfriend, and Draco was fairly shocked to be manhandled by her. She, unlike her slimy boyfriend, had always seemed like a genuinely nice person. However her face right now was twisted in fury.

"No one will ever love you," she spat. "You can look down on us all you want, but in the end you will be a bitter old man and die alone. You don’t even have any friends!” She spun on her heel and left then.

Draco was left reeling in the hallway, his vision swimming a bit and his breathing a bit too fast and shallow. As the room came back into focus he locked eyes with Granger. Of course she had followed him out into the hall, of course she’d probably seen the whole thing. Fuck. The lift chimed and Draco stumbled back into in, jamming the door close button to stop her from pursuing him any further. He knew that look, that look of pity, and it made him sick to his stomach.

Draco ended up skipping lunch, he walked aimlessly around the nearest park until his face and fingers were numb with cold despite his gloves and warming charms. The words, “no one will ever love you,” played on endless repeat in his head as he fought to direct his thoughts toward anything else. He didn’t know why he let their words get to him like that, he didn’t give a shit what Smith or his girlfriend thought.

But the words had cut him to the bone, mainly because it was a very real fear he had held onto since the end of the war. His friends had all fled the country after the trials, some even before, and his dating life had been pretty nonexistent for the last 6 years. Nothing they had said was technically wrong. The men Draco had been with were ok with fucking him as long as no one ever found out. He just wasn’t the type of person anyone could ever take home to meet their parents.

And Draco had been ok with that, or so he thought. Relationships were just messy, unnecessary. Until Harry. Harry was the first man Draco had ever been with who took him to dinner, (at muggle restaurants), who always spent the night, who held him after sex, who made breakfast for him the morning after. Harry made him watch muggle films on his couch while giving him neck rubs or foot rubs and always made sure he had Draco’s favorite tea on hand. By the second month Draco had begun to think that maybe, just maybe they were something more than just sex.

But then one day they had been interrupted mid-foreplay by one of Harry’s friends visiting unannounced, and Harry had quickly shoved Draco into the closet and told him to be quiet. Draco had died a little inside that day. It was an unspoken agreement after that. Draco was a secret, a dirty little secret, just like always.

Draco returned to the office a few minutes late, half frozen and despondent, but as always he didn’t let any of it show on his face. He had considered skiving off the rest of the day, but wouldn’t give Smith the satisfaction of knowing he’d gotten under his skin.

He buried himself in his work and carefully ignored any whispers or glances he felt come his way, but he was still attuned enough to the atmosphere of the room to notice as everyone was wrapping up their tasks at the end of the day and loudly discussing their romantic plans for the evening, when a ripple of silence suddenly overtook the room. It was so quiet and still that Draco looked up, wondering if everyone had somehow been stupefied simultaneously.

His jaw dropped as his eyes met green. Harry was standing just in front of his desk looking so very fit in his deputy head uniform. His brass buttons shining, his hair tousled just right, his brilliant eyes unobstructed since he’d finally ditched his horrid specs long ago. He was holding a garment bag in one hand and the biggest bouquet of long stemmed roses in the other. They were wrapped in white silk with a dark red bow, each petal had gold filigree on the edges.

"Are you ready to go darling?” He asked with a warm and inviting face, a fair bit of mischief in his eyes.

Draco, who had no idea what was going on, but was pretty sure he must have passed out from all the fumes and was dreaming just nodded.

Harry smiled brightly and laid the garment bag over Draco’s desk. "Well that’s good," Harry said, handing the roses to Draco, who took them dazedly, "Hermione told me you were too busy to pick up your suit today, so I went ahead and got it for you. We don’t have much time until the Portkey to Paris leaves so we’ll need to hurry home and change. I don’t think Le Cinq will let us in without the formal wear.

Draco who had decided he was definitely dreaming, simply nodded again and stood. Harry wasted no time walking around the desk to meet him. He placed a chaste, but lingering kiss on his lips, grabbed the bag and steered Draco toward the door with a warm hand on the small of his back.

The entire trek to the doors no one moved, Draco wasn’t sure any of them were even breathing. He wasn’t sure he was even breathing. Harry had just publicly outed them. Every face in the room was stricken with shock, except for Hermione who smiled at them both and Ron who gave him a curt nod. Draco realized neither of them were surprised. They know, he thought, oh gods they already know. He looked at Harry again and Harry gave him another dazzling smile and kiss on the cheek.

As soon as they were outside the doors a cacophony of noise sounded behind them and Harry turned to wink at Draco, but instead of heading toward the lifts, he simply wrapped his arm more firmly around Draco’s waist and apparated them on the spot.

-gift for @mothermalfoy

Link to Part 2: https://drarry-we-meet.tumblr.com/post/190868463275/valentines-day-sucks-warning-this-2nd-half

#harry x draco #drarry #draco and harry #harry potter #drabble #my first time sharing my writing online #yes it’s messy i was really tired when i proofread it #this turned out a lot longer and angstier than intended #Valentine’s Day #giftfic

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bunny-rambles · 2 years

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i know you’ve written for kaeya twice in a row already but if its not too much still: how about reader bringing up the topic of marriage to him one day to discuss the idea of it? hurt/comfort if you can please and thank you, the blog’s been really enjoyable so far!!!

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Notes; hello anon! Yes, Kaeya and Itto are the uh,,, popular ones on this account, but I do not mind! I love these characters personally, so I’m not too bothered. I’m sorry this has taken so long, but like you said, I don’t want to write too much about Kaeya in just a few days, I wanted a lil bit of a break between posts. And ahh I’m happy you’re enjoying it! Thank you so much for your kind words, it truly motivates me.

A little update for the readers. Hi, it’s been a bit! I’ve just been busy writing something that’s turned out to be a lot longer than what I had intended. It’s a chaotic mess but it’s fun to write. More requests coming soon! Working on the angstier ones after this (⌒▽⌒)

TW/CW: fear of abandonment, insecurities about love, arguing, slight toxicity on Kaeya’s part, drinking.

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“A misunderstanding”

PAVO OCELLUS

It all happened so suddenly. One moment your boyfriend was next to you and the next he was storming out of the door, muttering something about how he ‘needed a drink’. You hadn’t meant for it to turn into a screaming match, and you certainly hadn’t meant to make Kaeya turn his back on you. But, here you were, head in your hands with a half empty wine bottle next to you just a few moments after your partner vacated your shared home.

All you had wanted was some clarity. Some idea of where the future was heading. It wasn’t supposed to be like this… And you hadn’t even thought of this outcome as a possibility when the words had carelessly left your lips. It was only a playful comment.

“When do you plan on marrying me?”

The atmosphere had turned frosty the second you had said it. The goofy, teasing grin on your face fell quickly when you saw Kaeya’s face. He didn’t look amused in the slightest.

“Marry you?” He questioned, eyes looking you up and down before he turned away with a scoff. “I might be fond of you, dear, but I would never tie myself down for you.” Ouch. You were only joking, but his answer left a painful ache in your heart. You loved this man. You adored him. And despite not exactly being the most honest and trustworthy person, Kaeya was the one you decided to be loyal to, to be with no matter the cost. It seemed like your lover did not share the same sentiment.

“I was only…” You were about to defend yourself but his words were still heavy in the air. “What… What exactly do you see me as, then?” You wished you hadn’t asked. You should’ve just left it, brushed your words off as a joke like you originally intended.

“Just a bit of fun. You know this won’t last forever, right?” The look on his face looked exactly the same when he was flirting with you. A smug smirk with his head tilted upwards, looking down at you with his hand on his hip. But this time, there was no warmth behind his words, no love for you. You finally understood why he was given a Cryo vision. This man was cold. His icy remarks hurt more than any Pyro wielder's flames.

“What’s with that look? I thought you knew what you were getting into with me.” Yes, that was true. You had known. Kaeya was flighty and liked his freedom, he didn’t like to be smothered or controlled. You knew that, and respected it. You didn’t restrict his time in the tavern or accuse him of the unthinkable if he was acting shady. No, you decided to trust him. A decision you were quickly starting to regret.

You saw red. If he didn’t want to get married, fine. It wasn’t for everyone. But to be told your relationship to him was just something temporary struck a nerve. You can’t exactly recall what happened, all you remember was you were at each other’s throats, screaming and cursing one another until it escalated with him finally retreating.

It had been hours since then. And all you wanted was to resolve things. Maybe he hadn’t meant those words the way you thought? Looking back at it, no… You couldn’t have. He was deliberate with his words. He wanted you to know none of this was important to him. That this was nothing more than a little fling. That he couldn’t see a future with you. Your glassy eyes stared down your third glass of wine before bringing it to your lips, downing the whole thing quickly. It didn’t taste as sweet as it usually did. It tasted bitter. Or was that just the aftertaste of all the spiteful words spoken? Sparing a final glance to the door, you stood up from your seat at the table, discarding the empty bottle as you made you way out of the kitchen. But as you were making your way up the stairs, however, the door flung open.

Maybe it was the hours of crying, or the slight buzz of alcohol in your system, but you didn’t turn around to see who it was. You stayed put on the stairs for a moment, before continuing your path. You only stopped when a hand circled gently around your wrist, preventing you from moving any further.

“Y/N. Please.”

A deep sigh escaped you, before you finally turned around. You could tell he had been drinking, his body lightly swaying back and forth, the only support he seemed to have was the hold on you. The rim of his eye was red and swollen, like he too hadn’t handled your argument well. You had said some rather… Unpleasant words to him.

“Can we talk?” You wanted to say no, but there wasn’t much fight in you left, so you reluctantly agreed. The two of you made your way up the stairs to the bedroom slowly, your lover's hand gripping your wrist firmly like a lifeline. When the door shut behind you both, he crumbled. A strangled sob left his throat but he covered it up with a cough, but the glistening tears that were running down his cheeks were a dead give away that he was crying.

“I’m- I’m sorry, babe. What I said about us… I didn’t… I didn’t mean it. Any of it.” His voice was hoarse and scratchy, but his words were gentle. Whether he meant the apology or not, you weren’t bothered anymore. You just wanted to head to bed.

“Okay.” You shrugged, your own puffy eyes glancing around the room to find something else to focus on other than the man that was trying to salvage whatever relationship the two of you had. “I’m tired though, Kaeya. Lets just sleep it off-“

“No!” His hand shot out and took your arm, holding it tightly. “Just- Just please listen, okay?” You were in shock. Where was the cool, collected, smug Kaeya Alberich? This man was a far cry from everything he presented to everyone else, including yourself. He was… Desperate. And erratic. Had your words really gotten him so worked up?

“I’m listening…” You answered quietly, and he took it as his signal to carry on.

“You aren't a bit of fun, you aren’t just something that’s temporary, you’re so, so much more than that and it absolutely terrifies me. I’ve never felt this way about anyone the way I do with you, never. And if you want me in your life until death do us part, then so be it, I’d be happy to be yours. I-“

You put a hand up to his mouth carefully, stopping him from carrying on. He was barely taking a breath, you were getting concerned. It was sweet what he was saying but you didn’t want him getting himself worked up again. “Slow down, okay? Take a deep breath and calm down. I’m not going anywhere.”

He nodded his head after a few seconds before gently removing your hand, holding it in his own. “These feelings scare me, y/n. The last time I trusted someone, got attached to them… They were taken away from me. If you were to ever leave me, I don’t know what I’d do… What happens if we fall out of love? An unhappy marriage is a prison sentence for the both of us. The thought of you leaving, the thought of making you unhappy or unsatisfied…” He trailed off, hanging his head as he bitterly chuckled. “You get the picture.”

He was starting to sober up now after the uncontrollable spewing of words, and you could tell that he was done pouring his heart out. And at this point in time, it was the most you were going to get out of him. Your hand moved in his grip until your fingers were laced with each other, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“If marriage scares you that much… Then I would never force something like that onto you. But… Kaeya. I’m not going to leave. Don’t you think I would’ve been gone already? I love you. Maybe I won’t in ten years because I can’t tell the future, but for right now, I love you. And I don’t plan on leaving you. Ever. Lets just… Take each day as it comes, okay?”

You watched him nod his head, giving you a squeeze of his own. Before you could let go, he pulled on your arm and brought you into his chest, his arms snaking around your waist. Your own arms instinctively wrapped around him, bringing yourself in closer to the familiar warmth of his chest.

“I love you too, y/n.”

————

extra notes: um. I don’t know how I feel about this one? I can’t tell if I like it. It feels a little messy? Maybe I’m just overthinking it because it’s longer than what I usually do. Let me know what you think! Criticism is appreciated but pls try to be nice about it.

#kaeya x reader #kaeya x you #genshin x yn #genshin x reader #kaeya x yn #genshin kaeya #kaeya alberich

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sevenmikento · 3 years

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Hey~ It's my first time requesting but I love your writing! Can I request a Yuji x reader where reader is super shy and Yuji finds it extremely cute. I hope that's how I should be requesting😅 Have a great day and don't forget to stay hydrated❤

A/N: AW OMG i’m honoured to have received your first request ;—; hope you have a great day as well!! everyone who is reading this pls go drink some water thank uwu also omg this came out angstier than intended OOPS!

Itadori Yuuji with a shy S/O headcanons

“opposites attract” isn’t really a universal given when it comes to relationships but for Yuuji and you, it’s pretty much the foundation on which your relationship was built

you were the second student he met in Tokyo Jujutsu High–having been introduced to you almost immediately after settling down in his dorm room beside Megumi’s since you were visiting the latter that morning with the intent of helping him change his bandages on Ieiri-sensei’s behalf

having seen you walk out of Megumi’s room, Yuuji let out a super loud gasp that shook your very soul and also caused you to drop all the unused medical supplies in your arms

he felt so bad about startling you but also #noragrets bc your timid expression was legitimately so adorable, he felt his heart squeeze

much to the surprise of literally everyone else in the school, you got along extremely well with Yuuji as friends, though, your time with him was cut short by the incident at the prison

it’s when you’re away from one another do the both of you realise your feelings for each other

you spent sleepless nights tossing and turning in bed, hearing his cheerful voice in your head as you clutched onto the few memories you shared with him, desperate not to forget a single detail

on Yuuji’s end, his resolve to become strong only became even stronger. as he trained with Gojou-sensei, he felt a sense of bitterness in his chest every time he remembered you believed he was dead. the only thing he wanted more than to be with you was to train harder so that when he was by your side again, he could at least prove his worth

your reunion was bittersweet. though you didn’t say a word, Megumi and Nobara did their best to keep Yuuji away from you for a little bit after having (correctly) sensed that you required some space

for the few weeks after his return, it’s almost as if you’re strangers again. your shy demeanour no longer consisted of you hiding behind his broad back when you felt overwhelmed, or tugging on the sleeve of his uniform when you needed to tell him something; instead, you avoided eye contact at all costs and barely spoke to him unless necessary

it upset Yuuji greatly but he was still super careful and considerate towards your feelings–friends suddenly dying and coming back to life isn’t a normal occurrence, after all

however, the realisation that maybe he’s handling this situation all wrong hits him randomly in the middle of another sleepless night; and you found yourself stirring awake to the feeling of someone shaking your arm. when you nod after he asks if you can talk, Yuuji decides to sit down beside you and explain everything even though Gojou-sensei had already briefed everyone on what happened

except this time, he also reveals his own feelings

“I’m stronger now and I won’t die again… I won’t put you through that ever again.” His voice trembled as he spoke but still, in the darkness of your room, you could see the hardened resolve in his eyes. “I like you a lot so please… can we go back to how we were in the past? You don’t have to return my feelings, I just–”

you kiss him, and, to Yuuji, just the sheer amount of courage you must have mustered was enough to make it even sweeter than anything he could’ve ever imagined

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #itadori yuuji x reader #itadori yuuji #yuuji x reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #headcanons

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esmealux · 3 years

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Could you do 31 and 23 for the prompts?

I absolutely loved this prompt, thank you! <3

This got a lot longer (1.8K) and a lot angstier than I intended. But fret not, it's hurt/comfort at its core and it's Deckerstar stargazing. And also,

ANTI-SPOILER ALERT: This piece takes place after 5a/during 5b. I have not watched the trailer, nor will I. I therefore have no idea what is going to happen in 5b, or if what this fic suggests is remotely close to what is hinted at in the trailer—and I would like remain oblivious. *Looks at you with puppy eyes* So please don't mention anything from the trailer in the comments? It would mean a lot to me ❤ (And yes, I do realise I could've waited two days before posting this, but I wanted to give you guys a little something while you wait.)

Rated M, just to be safe.

Enjoy, my loves!

31. Lost in the middle of nowhere + 23. ‘Hey, at least the stars are beautiful tonight, right?’

He gets in his car, and he drives.

He has no destination in mind, nowhere but ‘away’. Away from Him. From feelings he can’t contain. From eons of neglect. From pain.

Far away.

He drives till there’s no more gas and ends up stranded where the streets have no name, in the moonlit desert.

The car shudders and comes to a halt. With ridiculously shaky hands, Lucifer brings a cigarette and a lighter to his lips, desperately needing the distraction. He flicks the lighter repeatedly, chaotically, but the fire won’t bite, and suddenly he’s hyperventilating, and both cig and lighter are sent flying through the brisk night air.

He roars into the dark void of the night. The thunderous sound resonating off the distant mountain walls startles him like an unexpected ghost. It sounds like him, but not like him. Not like Lucifer, Devil, fallen angel. It sounds like Samael, falling angel—screaming into the abyss as he plummets towards fire and brimstone, his fate and punishment, dealt by Dad.

Lucifer suddenly can’t get out of the car fast enough. He leans against the trunk, his chest heaving rapidly, his lungs fighting for air. He’d thought he was healing, that he was actually starting to put millennia of trauma behind him. And maybe he was. But then He waltzed down and ripped the wound right open.

Such a pestilent, tyrannous prick.

Lucifer needs a drink.

He finds a bottle of something strong and amber in the glove box and brings it back to the trunk. It’s only half-full, and he’d need at least five more bottles to just get tipsy, but it’ll have to do. He wasn’t looking to get shitfaced, anyway. He just wants to take his mind off things, to breathe. And right now, (now that his chance of having a smoke is lying somewhere in the sand) a couple of sips from a mildly exquisite whiskey and the ensuant burn in his throat are the best way to do that.

She finds him like that—because of course she finds him—sitting on the trunk of his car with the near-empty bottle in his hand and looking absolutely wrecked.

She’s tentative as she approaches him, afraid she’s not welcome, that he really did want to be alone. But as she gets close and he looks up at her, dark eyes glistening in the moonlight, she knows being alone is the last thing he needs.

Without a word, neither from her nor from him, she gets up on back of the car and scoots close to him, still keeping some air between them.

‘I thought you could use a friend,’ she says with a slight smile, exactly like she did all those years ago. Now, however, the last word isn’t an overwhelming, meaningful declaration, but a cosmic understatement, and Lucifer can’t help but snort.

Reaching over, Chloe grabs his hand and interlocks their fingers. ‘Also, I wasn’t gonna let my partner get lost in the middle of nowhere alone.’

‘I’m not lost,’ he objects, but his voice, hollow and lined with despair, betrays him. He may know the way back to LA, but he is definitely lost.

Sensing he doesn't want to talk about it, Chloe gestures towards the bottle still dangling from his fingers and asks for a sip. His lips tug up into the smallest of smirks as he hands over the bottle with a half-hearted ‘Be my guest’.

She leans her head back, eyes turning to the night sky as she takes a swig (just a nip; one of them still has to drive home at some point). It tastes like evening kisses. Occassionally, morning kisses too.

A cool breeze whirls around them, and Chloe snuggles closer to Lucifer. She does have a plaid in the car, and she will get it in a minute, but right now, she settles for stealing some body heat, hoping her seatmate doesn’t mind too much. She hands him back the bottle and snakes a hand under his layers, up his bare back. He sighs shakily, the taut muscles beneath Chloe’s hand loosening up. It tugs at something in her chest—the way he’s calmed by her touch alone.

Chloe looks up again, at the tiny, abundant jewels glimmering against the dark sky. ‘At least the stars are beautiful tonight, right?’

In the middle of downing the last drops of whiskey, Lucifer absent-mindedly replies with a ‘Hm?’

‘Stars,’ Chloe repeats. ‘They’re beautiful.’

Hesitantly, almost reluctantly, Lucifer lets his eyes glide up. He’s quiet as he takes it in, the black canopy adorned with white, pearlescent specks. His gaze is somewhat distant, reminiscent. Wistful.

‘Lucifer,’ she breathes, not as a vocative, but as an eureka. She’s said his name so many times before, screamed it, whispered it, cried it—with passion and pain and everything in between—but now is the first time she says it actually knowing what it means. Or at least she’s pretty sure she does.

‘It was you, wasn’t it?’ she asks him with a whisper, more in awe than accusatory, and the soft, melancholic smile he gives her is answer enough. ‘You let there be light.’ It’s not a question this time, just an overwhelming realisation spoken out loud.

‘Well, technically,’ Lucifer corrects, glancing over at her, ‘it was Dad who created Light.’ His gaze turns upwards again, eyes suddenly twinkling with pride. ‘The almighty wanker was just too lazy to hang it up there himself.’

Stunned, Chloe stares at the sky with new reverence. It’s breath-taking, both the sight itself—diamonds and sparkling dust sprinkled across a sea of nothing—and the fact that Lucifer made that. He literally hung the stars in the sky.

The fact that he hasn’t mentioned this before, that he hasn’t boasted about it, hasn’t proudly told everyone he’s the artist behind the original Starry Night also says something.

Peering up at him from where her head is now resting against his shoulder, Chloe sees a look on his face she can only describe as ‘homesick’.

‘They remind you of your dad’s love for you,’ she realises, voice quiet.

Lucifer scoffs, but there’s no humour in it. Just pain. ‘What love?’

Chloe doesn’t blame him for doubting. With all the light God (apparently) gave Lucifer, He gave him a thousand times more darkness. (And she is going to talk to Him about that. Later. When she’s hugged the living shit out of His son). But Chloe can tell He, despite everything, does love Lucifer—and that Lucifer is using this resentment towards Him to avoid facing the fact that he, still, loathes himself just as much. If not more.

The thought makes Chloe sick, and she suddenly feels the need to tell him, ‘You’re worthy, you know?’

He looks down at her. A wet streak on his cheek catches the silvery light of the moon. ‘I do?’ The insecurity in his voice is a sharp jab in her chest. But again, she doesn’t blame him.

‘You are,’ she states again for emphasis, holding his gaze. ‘You’re worthy of love, and light.’ With her free hand, the one that isn’t stroking the small of his back beneath his shirt and jacket, she cups his face and swipes her thumb across his stubble. ‘You deserve it. You deserve happiness, more than any other person in this world.’

He doesn’t say anything in return, but he doesn’t have to. The smile he gives her in return, warming and breaking her heart at the same time, speaks for itself. Just to get her point across, she leans up and kisses him. It’s teary and tender, and it’s a promise. To always love him—both the light and the dark, and all the colours in between.

They lean their foreheads against each other’s when they break apart, eyes still closed.

After a long, needed moment, Chloe lets her hand drop from Lucifer’s cheek to his thigh.

‘So,’ she breathes, the pall from their prior conversation vanishing into the night with her light, playful tone, ‘constellations?’

He chuckles beside her, the sound low and warm in her ear. ‘Not what you humans make them out to be.’

She fights the urge to roll her eyes at his ‘you humans’, and asks, intrigued, ‘No Big Dipper?’

‘No.’ He clicks his tongue. 'But there is a Big Pecker somewhere.’

She glares at him. ‘You drew a dick in the sky?’

His lips spread into a proud grin. ‘And a pair of boobs, if you have a little imagination.’ He points to a distant spot above them. ‘Those seven points there, the brighter ones—they form a symbol in my mother tongue. A message for my dear twin.’

‘Oh?’ Lucifer rarely ever speaks of, much less in the celestial language. It’s another part of his past Chloe hasn’t learned much about. But hopefully, over time, she will.

‘Yes, it means… how would you say?’ He thinks for a second—or pretends to—and eventually concludes, ‘Cunt, I believe, would be the appropriate translation.’

This time, Chloe doesn’t resist rolling her eyes—because nothing about that is ‘appropriate’. Maybe except for the fact that it was directed at Michael.

‘I know,’ he says, like he’s reading her mind. But he really isn’t, because he follows up with, ‘An insult to the temple of pleasure I value more than any other organ.’

Having met the guy, Chloe doesn’t disagree; Michael definitely lives up to more vile name-calling than ‘cunt’. (Also, she's pretty sure Lucifer is wrong about it being his favourite body part. She’s pretty sure the organ he values more than any other is his own Big Pecker, because she’s seen the way he looks at himself in the shower, and all the other places she finds him naked; the vain idiot is practically obsessed with his own meat. Not that she blames him.) But before she has the chance to tell him that, he says-

‘You have to forgive me. I was only a couple of thousand years old.’ There’s a glint in his eye, and Chloe can’t help but laugh, because it’s true what Linda said; he really is the oldest, most immature person in the world.

Chloe tells him as much.

He simply smirks in return. ‘I may be old, Detective, but I’m more vigorous in bed than any mortal man, old or young, and you know it.’

It only proves her point, about him being immature, and obsessed with his penis. But frankly, Chloe does know it, and for once, she feels like stroking his ego (among other things). So she grabs him by the hand, leads him into the car, onto plush leather, onto her, and as the stars twinkle and gleam above them, they put that vigour of his to good use.

#deckerstar fanfiction #writing #two part drabble game #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #lucifer x chloe #chloe x lucifer #lucifer fanfiction #lucifer on netflix #angst #hurt comfort #deckerstar #lucifer makes stars #post 5a #during 5b

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seokmingiggles · 3 years

Text

on cerulean tides.

Anon requested on 201219: "Would you do an idol!Kim Namjoon one shot where the reader (non-idol) is best friends with the Maknaes and believes there's no way Namjoon would ever like her so she begins to avoid him whenever she hangs out with the Maknaes at the dorms/studio/dance practice to try to get over him and Joon picks up on it and thinks he did something wrong/is sad since he thinks he stands no chance with her until the Maknaes force them to realize they return each other's feelings? Thank you in advance!"

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x female reader

Genre: angst to fluff, idol!au, non-idol!reader, happy ending.

3.04k words

Warnings: heavy feelings of inferiority and insecurity, self-doubt, an incredibly brief mention of alcohol consumption, a dragged out metaphor about the sea.

With the ocean of uncertainty plaguing you, you've been avoiding the boy your heart yearns for, not knowing just how much your distance has been impacting him too. Alternatively, Namjoon is your beacon to guide you through the stormy feelings of self-doubt that you've been struggling with lately.

A/N: Thank you for your request! I probably made this much angstier than you intended, but I promise a fluffy ending awaits you. I hope it's okay! (I promise it’s not some pirate!au with a title like this lmao)

This one is dedicated to anyone who feels doubtful of themself. I wish that one day you will be able to see what an astonishing and beautiful being you are. All of us have insecurities about ourselves—big or small—but letting those criticisms consume you is unhealthy and prevents you from living your life to the fullest. Please reach out to talk to someone you trust if these feelings become overwhelming. Things will get better. Please take care of yourself!

•• You and Jimin laughed as you ran down the hallway, each of you with a bag of food in your arms. You could hear Taehyung and Jungkook scampering behind you, the former being noisy as he chased after you, Jungkook only had slightly more grace as he moved.

Being close with the maknae line of BTS had its perks. You could visit them in the studio if they called for you, you could have movie nights at their dorm on their off days, and above all, you could goof around to lift your spirits. You had boundaries; you knew when to leave them be during the busier periods of their schedules and how you couldn't post anything about them online. You didn't mind, though. Your friendship was more than enough.

You were a high school classmate of Jungkook's a few years back, although the two of you never spoke much during those first couple of years. It was only after his group's debut where the boy found himself in need of a tutor, and the school recommended a few to him. Yours was the only name on the list that Jungkook recognized, so it was an easy decision for him to make. Once you and your classmate graduated high school, Jungkook was no longer in need of a tutor, but he wanted to maintain your friendship as he didn't have many others he was close to in your graduating class. Slowly but surely, you also became friends with Taehyung and Jimin when visiting Jungkook over the years. Now, the four of you were practically inseparable. While the boys wouldn't tell you to your face, they all admired you because you never once treated them differently despite their status as idols, especially as their public popularity increased over time.

Jimin reached the vacant studio room before you, holding the door open to let you inside before shouting back at his friends, "You two better hurry up or else (Y/N)-ah and I will eat all the food!"

"Oh, I believe it!" Taehyung cupped his mouth as he yelled back, being pulled by the younger boy at his wrist.

Soon enough, Jungkook and Taehyung made it to the room before Jimin could lock them out. This whole ordeal began when Taehyung needed to use the bathroom after you all had entered the BigHit building. Jungkook went with him, leaving you and Jimin with the lunch he'd ordered.

"All that running from you guys worked up my appetite," you declared as you removed the assortment of containers from one of the bags.

"Well, all that chasing worked up mine," Taehyung countered, teasingly sneering at you and Jimin, the latter already breaking apart his disposable chopsticks.

The four of you began to devour your meal. The three boys were in the middle of a busy working day and invited you to join them for their lunch break. It wasn't an uncommon request; you'd see the trio at least once a week, sometimes more if their schedules cooperated.

Some playful banter with full mouths and filling tummies later, you were sitting back in your chair as you watched Jungkook finish the last of the japchae when someone knocked on the studio door.

After Jungkook managed a "Come in," with his cheeks full of noodles, it was Namjoon's head that poked through the doorway.

"I just want to remind you three that you'll be needed for our meeting in fifteen minutes," the group leader said, eyeing the now-emptied remnants of the lunch you enjoyed. "Hi, (Y/N)."

"Hi, Namjoon." You matched his monotonous tone, maintaining difficult eye contact as he shut the door behind him.

"Okay, whatever is going on between you two needs to stop," Jimin sighed out, visibly frustrated. "You used to get along so well with hyung, and now it's so awkward seeing you interact."

Taehyung sat up straighter, "I agree. You two have so much in common. It's sad to see you so distant now."

Jimin and Taehyung were right. You and Namjoon had to do a lot of scheduling together back when you were Jungkook's tutor, so he was the first one you'd gotten to know in the band, other than your former classmate. The two of you shared a similar mindset: you were both compassionate, responsible, and—arguably above all else—incredibly bad at sharing your feelings.

You wished you could determine the exact moment you began to develop feelings for Namjoon. Maybe it was something about his warm smile; maybe it was his cheery laugh. Or perhaps the way he so intently listened to what the others had to say and would consider ideas other than his own. You not once ever doubted his ability as a leader. You've known the boys since their debut, and even back then, you found Namjoon fit for his role; he's only become better at his job in the passing years.

Yet, something about him made you doubt your ability to be his equal. Part of you knew it was silly to begin avoiding Namjoon in the first place, but the other part of you couldn't bear to suffocate with those annoying butterflies swarming every time your gaze met his. Even from across a room, Namjoon had a powerful effect on you. Part of you wanted his impact on you to stop; part of you missed his closeness.

"Jungkook, you're being awfully quiet," Jimin exchanged a look with Taehyung, "Do you know something that we don't?"

Your head snapped up in Jungkook's direction, silently begging for the boy to deny their assumption.

The youngest hummed and grabbed a water bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a sip. He swished the water around in his mouth.

"Don't make me squish your cheeks to spit out that water, Jeon."

Jungkook swallowed. He glanced at you for confirmation, although instead, took in your tired appearance. He brought it upon himself to make your exhaustion stop.

"(Y/N)-ie likes Namjoon."

You sighed at hearing those words aloud. You couldn't even be mad at your friend; the only way he found out about your feelings was over some drinks one night where you were rambling about how pretty you thought Namjoon looked earlier that day. In hindsight, maybe it wasn't a good idea to tell your crush's bandmate that you liked him.

Jimin shifted in his seat, "Okay, and...? Don't tell me you thought we didn't already know, (Y/N)-ie."

"Yeah, it was obvious when you'd become flustered around hyung!" Taehyung added, "But after you began avoiding him I figured something had changed."

You fiddled with the cap of your water bottle. "Does he know?"

"Namjoon? No, there's no way. He's about as clueless as you are when it comes to crushes." Jimin pondered then continued, "Maybe we could talk to him about it-"

"Absolutely not."

"But why not (Y/N)? It's painful for us to watch the two of you interact lately; it must be worse for you guys."

"I don't want him to know."

"That's not a good reason-"

"It's good enough for me. Now please, can we just forget about it? Don't you guys have a meeting to get to?" You felt bad for shutting down their request. After all, they were only trying to help you.

The boys began to stand, collecting the bags and containers scattered on the floor. They were visibly defeated, but they respected your plead.

Jimin stood by you before turning to the door, "Okay, if that's what you wish, we won't tell him. I do think you should, though, (Y/N). Maybe the results will be in your favour."

•

You felt numb as you were on the bus heading back to your apartment. You tried to escape from your thoughts about the boy you were so fond of, yet your mind defeatedly wandered its way back to him no matter how hard you tried. It pained you to see Namjoon's behaviour shift with yours as you began to avoid him throughout the past month. You didn't realize how severe it had become until your friends pointed it out to you. You thought the distance you created would help alleviate the pounding sensation in your chest and clammy palms associated with Namjoon's presence. You never thought that one day you'd prefer your racing heart to the emptiness you feel now.

He's too good for me, you kept convincing yourself until it was all that you believed.

He couldn't love someone like me.

You have struggled with self-compassion throughout your life thus far. Feelings of gratitude coming in inconsistent waves like the unpredictable ocean tides. You were stormier lately—lost in the sea of doubt and floundering to find stability on shore again.

Namjoon used to be your lifeboat. He taught you that appreciating oneself is necessary to become genuinely happy. He even wrote lyrics about the phenomenon. He made it sound so simple, so achievable. Yet, the theory is typically easier than the practice. Wind and rain continued to pelt down at you, thrashing the waves beneath your surface and making it difficult to breathe.

You wanted to change your mentality; you wanted to be more confident. But constantly comparing yourself to others is equivalent to drowning in the murky ocean, the depths sucking you further and further below until not a trace of sunlight remains.

You made it back to your apartment safely in one piece. You were mentally exhausted and drained at all of your overthinking. You felt the need to cry out of frustration.

"Remember to breathe when you're feeling like this. Come on, just slow, deep breaths."

Namjoon's voice resounded in your head from a few months back when you overheard him calming Taehyung down in a neighbouring room.

You missed hearing his voice.

It was an unmistakable desire. You missed the way he'd look at you with utmost attention and care when you'd speak with him. You missed the way he'd give his thoughtful advice. You missed his smile, his laughter; you missed him. You longed to be back in Namjoon's presence. He always knew what to do or say to help calm the storm. He was a lighthouse beckoning you back safely to shore.

You were getting tired of avoiding him.

But you were also getting tired.

Padding your way to your bed, you slipped into comfy loungewear and got beneath your covers. You momentarily stared up at the ceiling before closing your eyes.

"Come on, just slow, deep breaths."

•

Your ringing phone was what awoke you. It could have been minutes or hours later; you weren't sure. You reluctantly pushed yourself out of your blanketed fortress and made your way to the kitchen counter where you left the device. It was still light outside, but you could see the sun beginning to approach the horizon line.

"Hello?" You said, cursing in your head for the way your groggy voice sounded.

"Hi, (Y/N). It's been a while. Could we talk?"

You froze, being doused by the icy sea.

"Um..." you hesitated. You were caught off guard in a place that was supposed to be your retreat, by a person who was supposed to be your oasis.

"Deep breaths."

"Yeah, I-I guess we could talk."

"Great. Would it be okay if I came to you? I'm almost done here in the studio, maybe another thirty minutes before I can head out."

You were nodding your head before you verbalized your agreement.

"Okay. I'll see you soon, (Y/N)."

"See you, Namjoon."

You hung up first and set your phone back onto the kitchen counter, your elbows following shortly after so you could place your face in your hands.

You knew this was coming; Namjoon was a responsible young adult. There was no way he could have missed your change in behaviour around him as much as you wished for otherwise.

•

Thirty minutes went by faster than you wished. The sharp knock on your door startled you as you were washing some dishes in the kitchen. Cleaning when stressed wasn't an unusual habit of yours.

You hesitated, grabbing a tea towel to dry your hands before treading carefully to the door.

"Deep breaths."

You removed the chain and carefully opened the door. You knew Namjoon was waiting for you on the other side, yet your breath still hitched as your eyes wandered upwards to meet his.

"Come in," you forced from your lips and stepped to the side to let your guest past.

Namjoon thanked you as he slipped his shoes off and made his way to your sofa, declining your offer of a drink.

You joined him shortly after, keeping him more than an arms-length away.

"What's wrong, (Y/N)?"

"Deep breaths."

"Did Jimin mention anything to you?" You could tell your voice sounded weak, but you had other pressing concerns.

"Nothing elaborate. All I was told by him and Taehyung was that I should try talking to you. They didn't say why, but I think we both know."

You searched his face for any signs of dishonesty but found none. "Nothing's wrong-"

"Please," he pushed, "I'd like to think I know you well enough over the years. Something is wrong. I should have come here sooner. You know you can trust me." He even bared a small smile after his words.

It only made your heart plummet further into the depths: a watery grave with your name written on it.

"You're just..." you sighed out, already feeling tears prickling at your eyes. "You're really... just... good. I hope you know how good of a person you are, Namjoon. I don't know how else to explain it. You're a good person. No, that's an understatement. You're... it sometimes doesn't feel like you're real, you know? You're just so giving and considerate and so aware of others' wellbeing." You failed to hold back your emotions; a tear slid down your cheek. "You're good."

And proving your point, Namjoon slid closer to you on the couch so he could take your hand in his.

"Sometimes I feel so insignificant," you continued, "like I'm nobody special or that I'm not doing anything important or worthwhile; that I'm not enough. It's like I'm stuck on the bottom of the ocean. I'm not drowning, but I'm able to see the world passing by above me."

Namjoon said nothing for a moment and just absorbed your thoughts as he mindlessly brushed his thumb across the back of your hand. "There are times in everyone's' life where we all feel that way. You can only tread water for so long before you exhaust yourself and begin to sink. I've felt that way, too—stuck, insignificant. If I'm being blunt, part of my desire to change my mindset was because of you, (Y/N). When I first met you as Jungkook's tutor, you seemed so knowledgable, responsible; you had a good head on your shoulders. You were good. Part of you reminded me of myself, yet part of me also felt intimidated by you." Namjoon stopped momentarily to smile at your astonished face as you mouthed 'intimidated?'. "Yes, intimidated. I've admired you since day one. Then slowly, I realized that those feelings became more than just a simple admiration. But I held back saying anything because I didn't feel worthy of you. I let my own self-doubt get in the way."

"I'm the one not worthy of you, 'Joon."

"Please, love, nothing about that is true," the boy's voice became so tender as he brought his free hand to the side of your face. "One day, I'll show you just how incredible you are to me," he swiped his thumb to collect a stray tear, "but right now, I think you're more in need of a tissue and a hug."

A small, breathy laugh fell from your lips as you accepted the tissue Namjoon retrieved for you. After effectively wiping away your salty tears, you gladly situated yourself in his outstretched arms, being held in a tight embrace. The two of you remained like that until your breathing gradually calmed down, then you moved so you were lying against him with your back to his chest. His nose lightly nuzzled the top of your head.

"All of us have a bit of the ocean inside of us," Namjoon continued, delicately grazing his thumb around the curved corner of your eye, "it means you have the power to control the waves to some extent. The sea can be unpredictable, but so is life. It takes practice to learn to control your waves. I know you may not believe in yourself now, but please, (Y/N), believe me when I tell you that you're enough. You're more than enough."

•

Namjoon stayed with you for the rest of the evening to make sure your spirits were lifted even the slightest bit. The distance that grew between you was from a mutual error; you came to understand your similar sides to the story as you continued to talk. The whole ordeal made you realize that you're not alone in your insecurities. Even someone you suspected to be flawless had doubts of their own.

You were situated back in your bed after Namjoon had left minutes ago. He wished you a good night and pleasant dreams, topping off his adieu with a quick peck to your cheek. You relished in the feeling of your butterflies returning, no longer letting them suffocate you, instead, embracing them in their colourful magnificence.

You recalled what Namjoon said earlier to you:

"You know, what you said about the ocean, it can be beautiful too. Yes, it's scary when you're alone and trapped at the bottom beneath the waves in the dark, but the thing about the sea is that it's continuously moving and shifting. Like our lives, tides come in highs and lows and can change from day-to-day, hour-to-hour. It's unfair to assume we can always remain floating on the surface; when that happens, you can't go anywhere yourself. You need to be partially submerged to move and make choices.

Why don't we traverse this sea together? We can help guide each other until we've found our shore again."

Namjoon was your lighthouse; you were the moon guiding his tides.

••

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emelywrites · 4 years

Note

Could you make a Diego Hargreeves x reader where she is number 3 and her power is like a banshee? Where she is part of the Sparrow Academy. When she meets Diego she falls for him and him for her, but he is still thinks about Lila so he’s kinda weary of starting something with the reader

I didn’t know how to write this at first but then I started and it got out of hand. It turned out angstier than I wanted it to but I hope you like it!

Warnings: Language, Angst

Her voice

When you were little every sound out of your mouth was harmful. Your screams as an infant put your siblings into unconsciousness, it made all the nannies quit and Pogo and Dad were always wearing earplugs. At some point everyone in the house was wearing earmuffs all day long. You soon came to understand that your voice hurt them and you started to keep quiet. When Dad noticed that you had understood your powers to that extent he finally started training you as well. Quickly, you were able to talk without hurting people, generally using your voice normally or to severely injure those within earshot.

As you got older, Dad taught you about frequencies and singing the right notes to do more than just harm. Manipulating people, make them love you, make them do whatever you wanted them to. Destroying objects, moving objects, even growing plants. You had your voice under full control and found quite a lot of joy in singing.

When the Umbrella Academy arrived and you all gathered in the living room your sister nudged you to sing a tone to put them to sleep. Dad seemed to know who they were though so you kept your mouth shut. That, of course, didn’t mean he told you anything. Dad was a secretive man.

The Umbrella Academy stayed on the same floor as you. They had gone on many explorations through the house and sometimes you heard them in front of your door as you were practicing to sing without destroying everything in your room. One day someone knocked on your door.

„Come in“, you called.

„Hi, I’m Alison, I’ve been listening to you, sorry , that’s not supposed to sound creepy or something“, she laughed, „But you sing beautifully.“

„Oh, thank you so much“, you smiled, offered her a seat and sat down, „I certainly hope I didn’t manipulate you into saying that“, you laughed but then saw the confusion on her face, „I’m a banshee, or that’s what Dad says I am, the mythology is a bit different from what I do.“

„So you sing and people do what you want?“

„That’s one thing“, you grabbed the empty water glass, sang a high c and the glass shattered, „This is another. There’s more to it, I don’t think I’ve reached my full potential yet. I’m (Y/N), number three.“

„That’s cool, I’m number three where we came from, I can manipulate people, too“, she looked down, „I don’t really like using it though.“

„Except of course if you want to mess with your siblings“, you both laughed, „Don’t worry I do that, too, sometimes.“

„The other day I made Diego punch himself in the face“, she told you.

You laughed. You realized that she could be a friend to you and if she could be that, why couldn’t the others be that, too? So, you started spending more time with her. Her siblings, Vanya and Klaus, also started to come around and you showed them more and more of your powers. Yours and Vanya’s powers worked well together and you also started helping her with controlling her powers a little more than she did before. As you grew closer and closer you started hanging out around the house, with more people around.

Diego noticed you truly for the first time when you were sitting in the living area, singing along to Vanya playing the violin. He was entranced by your voice and when he looked around the corner he saw you for the first time and to him, you were the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. He watched you and listened to you until you were done and went back to your conversations. That night as he laid in bed he thought about you but the longer he did the more it felt like some charm fell off and he felt bad about his feelings. He had just let Lila escape with a briefcase because he loved her. He couldn’t suddenly be in love with you, could he?

After that day, Diego seemed to always be looking for you, listening to your voice was like a drug to him and he couldn’t stop. Whenever he didn’t hear you he felt empty. One day, as you were practicing on your own in your room he was standing in front of your door when said door suddenly opened and you were standing in front of him.

„Diego, right? You know, you could just join us sometimes instead of eavesdropping“, you pointed out.

„I- I’m just- Sorry, your voice is…“, he couldn’t find the word.

„Beautiful, Cool, Amazing?“, you searched his eyes for confirmation, „Your siblings’ words.“

„Of course. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I just- I heard you the other day and- and you’re great, it felt good to listen to you.“

You blushed a bit at his words. „I can have that effect on people.“

After that Diego stopped listening from afar and joined you and his siblings. You grew closer to him. In a different way than to his siblings. You started feeling something for him that you’d never felt before. Diego didn’t know what your powers could do and you worried that if he did he’d think you used them on him. Because you did use him to lure him in. Everything after that was real. If he still loved you now it would be all his own feelings.

One day, after your first mission with the Umbrella Academy, Diego immediately went to his own room. He started avoiding you and didn’t talk to you for nearly two weeks until you got sick of it and went to his room. You knocked on his door but didn’t get an answer. You knocked again.

„Diego, please, it’s (Y/N). You haven’t talked to me since we got back from that mission and I think I deserve to know why at least.“

You leaned forward against the door and nearly stumbled into Diego when he finally opened the door. You looked up and noticed his eyes were swollen as if he had been crying but it didn’t look like sadness, more like rage.

„You lied to me. Don’t try to deny it. I saw you on the mission“, his tears started rolling, „I felt so bad about it but it wasn’t even my fucking fault. You used your stupid voice to lure me in, didn’t you?“

You felt your own tears sting your eyes. „No, Diego, please, I- I don’t use my powers on you“, you looked down, „not anymore.“

„You really did manipulate me. Fuck“, he was about to slam the door hut but you caught it.

„Diego, wait, I- please, don’t misunderstand. I saw you and I was- I was starstruck. I fell in love with you and- and I couldn’t control my powers anymore when I knew you were around. I think- No, I know I should have tried harder. But I’ve managed since we started hanging out. If- if you still like me that’s not me. I don’t do that“, your voice got quieter, „If it makes you feel better, I’m willing to always stay quiet when you’re around. I just don’t want to lose when I’ve only had you for so little.“

„I don’t want to be around you anymore. How will I ever know that all this was real? I felt so fucking bad about my feelings for you. Because I loved Lila, I mean I love Lila, I do. And then I- I fell in love with you. But it’s not real.“

„No, it is. Diego, I fell in love with you, too. I just made you notice me. That’s all, please don’t shut me out.“

You let go of the door and he threw it shut. You went to your own room and locked the door. Your cries that night made your room shake since your emotions were overpowering your self control. You stayed in your room for days and when you finally left it again for breakfast you were exhausted and just hoped no one would try talking to you. You got yourself a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal and sat down at the kitchen table where some of the Umbrella Academy and some of your siblings sat. When your siblings noticed your swollen face they made a run for it, trying to avoid confrontation at all cost.

„You okay?“, Alison asked.

You just nodded. You didn’t intend to use your voice again. Not around people you liked and cared about. You couldn’t risk them thinking about you the same way Diego did. She looked at you with worry but didn’t bother you about it anymore. You didn’t even notice how time was passing but you were soon alone in the kitchen, constantly refilling your coffee cup, eating cereal directly from the box. When the grandfather clock in the corner sounded you turned around and saw it was midnight. You sighed and noticed that with all the caffeine and sugar you had consumed you wouldn’t be able to sleep anytime soon.

Instead you went into the courtyard with a blanket around your shoulders and stepped into the courtyard. Diego was sitting under the big tree in the centre, flipping a knife in the air and catching it again. When you saw him you sighed again and looked down. That was your spot. You always sat there when you were upset. And right now, you were upset. On the one hand, you didn’t just want to surrender the spot to him. On the other, you didn’t want to bother him. You were in love with him and he hated you, at least that’s what you thought. Demanding your spot back now would probably just drive him further away.

Then he spotted you. He put his knife away and stared at you.

„I haven’t heard you at all these past few days“, you didn’t respond and didn’t look at him either, „But my feelings for you were still there.“

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. He had feelings for you. Did he believe you now that you weren’t manipulating him?

„I missed hearing you sing. I missed seeing you everyday. I missed putting my arm around your shoulder when we were sitting beside each other“, he got up and walked up to you, „I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. But if you can forgive me I would like to hear your voice again.“

He put his hands on your cheeks. And you looked up at him through teary eyes.

„I would love to sing for you again“, you whispered.

He smiled. Then he leaned in and kissed you. Because he wanted to.

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves x reader

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lemonietrinket · 4 years

Text

Reach ||| Felix x Reader

Summary: After finding out that you are older than him, you feel like the chances of your crush liking you back immediately go from low to zero in a matter of minutes. But there are a few other things you don’t know about Felix, besides his age that you somehow managed to miss, so not all hope is lost...

Genre: Fluff, angst, with some small bits of humour thrown in Warning(s): Some poor language (inferred: text abbreviations) Word Count: 4329 (+11 photos of fake text) Theme Song: Sing Me - Day6

AN: A request from anon, I’m so sorry it took so long! I hope you like it, it did turn out a bit angstier (and a lot longer) than I originally intended but the fluff I think makes up for it!

~~~

You always felt so giddy and light whenever Felix was mentioned in any capacity in your vicinity. Your heart could never stop pounding at the speed of light, while your stomach was always alive with butterflies, fluttering up into your lungs and leaving you short of breath.

But now, dread slowly began to seep through your body like a poison, the butterflies ceasing up and stuttering. Their corpses fell to the pit of your guts, and those that did not became lodged in your chest and throat, leaving you without air for another reason entirely.

Your fingers numbly opened your laptop and pressed the keys of Felix’s name. You never searched him, you felt like it was an invasion of privacy, especially when he was normally right there within your physical grasp if you so wished to take it (which you never did, you were too afraid to take the leap). But this was something small, and though it was somehow something so huge while being so, you let yourself off just this once. Not that you could stop yourself even if you’d tried.

The screen turned white, the search bar scrolling unnaturally slowly, until finally Google returned your worst fear.

Age: 19. In bold, unavoidable text. As if you were stupid. And you felt as if you were.

It had to be wrong, it had to be. An inaccuracy in results. You’d seen them happen before, whales with four legs and members of other groups being represented by the wrong photo.

You clicked on the first webpage and scrolled, your eyes unblinking, unwavering. And then the second. And then the third.

19.

You pushed yourself away from the desk, your face a stone wall while your thoughts ravaged in your head.

You couldn’t comprehend how you’d been years older this whole time. You’d assumed he was your age, you were on such a similar wavelength that your subconscious hadn’t considered he wasn’t. Meanwhile the irrational part of your brain refused to be quiet. He isn’t even 20 yet, it said, think old you were when he was 18, when he was 17, when he was 16—

It was only three years. It wouldn’t mean anything in half a decade but it still weighed so heavily on your shoulders.

You knew Chan was still messaging you, the light on your phone wavering in the corner of your eye, blurred with brimming tears. The truth was though that you weren’t even crying, not with the rest of your body at least. You didn’t feel like it, the usual energy you had festering and leaving you empty, meaning the tears built up but refused to fall.

All of those beautiful smiles that put the sun to shame and had been directed to you meant little now—only that he probably liked you as his senior, nothing more. There was a chance that he only smiled at you to curry more favour, not because he genuinely liked you. All while the age-hierarchy indicated that all of those texts were probably just him responding to you because he felt like he had to. Even when hope tried to remind you that he didn’t grow up with it, and regularly texted first, the voidful feeling crushed it.

Because, ignoring all of the age-related qualms, you still hadn’t bothered to even ask him how old he was. That surely made you a bad friend, and if you couldn’t be a good friend to him then what partner would you be? You were undeserving of him, and he most definitely did not like you back.

Aimlessly, you moved from your desk chair to your bed, dragging the cold weight of you phone in your hand and letting the screen turn black. As you lay dejectedly upon the covers, your thoughts trailed off to think of the boy you’d fallen so hard and quickly for. His radiant smile that you wanted to be the reason for, his pretty eyes that you always found yourself gazing into no matter how much you told yourself not to, his adorable hands that you just longed to hold... It was as if his features were emblazoned in your mind, and nothing could wash them away, and it only made thinking how these things were out of reach for you now hurt more.

Hearing your phone vibrate by your head where you’d discarded it, you absentmindedly flicked your eyes up to look at the lit screen. Seeing who the notification was from, your fingers immediately opened it up before you could stop yourself, eyes scouring over the messages.

You’d forgotten all about the restaurant trip you had agreed to last week. Everyone was going to be there. Your thoughts briefly turned to rationalising an escape route—maybe if you claimed sick Chan would let you stay home, or maybe if you even told him the full truth he would?

It was nonsense of course, everyone was going, so you would have to attend at least for their sake. Plus, he would always say that moping wouldn’t help after all, and you had to face your demons eventually.

Nevertheless, it didn’t stop you from feeling a shedload of regret for agreeing. Even if there was no way you could have known, you scolded yourself for putting yourself in the line of potential damage.

Still, you couldn’t deny how badly you wanted to see everyone and catch up on everything—make new plans, learn new gossip—but you knew if you glanced at him, even just once, you would shatter.

With your mind in turmoil, you felt drawn to the clock ticking away endlessly on the other side of the room. It felt as if it was counting down to an end, though you put a quick stop to your melodramatic heart’s ramblings in this circumstance. You couldn’t focus on the sound for your own sanity’s sake, otherwise you wouldn’t head out at all. Opting to check the time, you spotted that you still had an hour and a half before you had to get ready, if you pushed it. And yes, rushing was not something you preferred, but you’d already made an exception for yourself today so why not another?

You slipped under your blankets, rolling over to face the wall and shut out the world. Gravity played its part and pulled the tears from the barricades of where they’d halted, clearing your eyes so you couldn finally close them comfortably.

You’d get through it. Perhaps things would be ok.

Smooth jazz music wafted across the air in the restaurant much like the rich scents of delicious food from the surrounding tables. With everyone smiling at one another, laughing into their drinks and desperately apologising to the next table over, you’d never felt more out of place.

You’d strategically sandwiched yourself between Chan and Jeongin, praying that this combination would be the most likely to not attract the attentions of Felix. But, to your luck, the person you were so desperately trying to avoid ended up sitting right opposite you. And, to make matters worse, he seemed very intent on trying to catch your eye, send you smiles, and—the worst part by far—talk to you.

Aimlessly picking at your rice with your spoon, you felt awful; not only were you unable to handle the situation quite literally right in front of you, you had practically become a deadweight in the group. Even when Jeongin asked you things, the boy who had grown up so much and never failed to make your laugh with is sass, you could barely muster answers configured of multiple sentences. All the while your eyes were cut off from looking at the vast majority of the room, forced to the confines of the table, your hard left and your hard right.

Soon enough, the time came where Felix finally spoke to you, and god you wanted the word to swallow you whole.

“Hey, Y/N, can you pass me the soy?”

Gulping, your forehead creased as you slipped your hand across to take the sauce from Chan and rigidly pass it across the wood.

He seemed to pay no mind to your wordlessness, replying with a bright, “Thank you!” All you could do was pray that would be the end of it.

But one of the qualities you admired in Felix was his diligence, and it took the form of gentle persistence on this occasion nonetheless.

“Hey, Y/N, do you want to play some video games at some point?” he enquired, hastily adding, “Jisung and I have been meaning to get round to trying out this new multiplayer, and it seems right up your street! The art is really cool, and I’ve already downloaded some of the soundtrack because it’s just that good.”

You centred your eyes awkwardly on your rice, answering as simply as you could, “Sorry I’m busy.”

You heard him chuckle, seemingly completely unfazed, and the sound snapped another one of your heartstrings, “Well, obviously not right now, but maybe, like, tomorrow evening?”

“Y-yeah, busy.” You hated how he quickly caught onto your silence and followed suit, but you also had to be thankful in some shape or form. Maybe you could get this night over and done with, and then get over your crush too and save yourself the majority of the heartbreak that you presumed was inevitable.

However, Felix was not that easily deterred and by your luck—or was it misfortune?—you suddenly saw movement out of the corner of your eye.

Taking the risk and glancing up ever so slightly, your gaze met the sight of your crush leant in over the table. His head was cocked cutely to one side, the feathered tresses of his fringe effortlessly accentuating his features, his hand reaching towards you carefully without a particular aim other than to try and show something. He’d inclined over to try and reach you, and you had accidentally fallen right into him, your eyes catching his and he smiled.

It wasn’t fair. Those pools of rich chestnut had held you and very nearly broken every single one of your defences. Your breath hitched in your throat.

“Are you ok?” he asked, and you could only stammer incoherent phrases, your cheeks heating up as you tried to hold yourself together.

There were many reasons why you had fallen so quickly for this boy in particular, like his resilience as mentioned earlier. Though another one of those things was his selfless kindness, and it had arisen to bite you: of course he would notice your silence, your crestfallen expression and worry. “Y/N? Do you feel sick? Do you want to get some air?”

Unable to respond once again, emptily swaying your spoon in a half-empty bowl you heard his voice at a strange distance. You didn’t snap back into focus, and only then barely so, until he continued, “Come on, lets get some air.”

Head empty and crowded at the same time, you looked up without fully understanding why. You could only rationalise that it was to see the sight of Felix sending a nod to Chan to your right, before asking Changbin to shift a bit so he could get through. Your heart lurched at it, the amount of care he offered you gnawing at your lungs.

Before you knew it, Jeongin was helping you stand, and you were out from around the table, following Felix a few steps behind.

Your focus once again settled on him and him alone, even though you’d promised yourself before you arrived to never do so again. You wanted to believe that he did all of this because he liked you back, that he’d fallen for you just as hard as you’d fallen for him, but you’d convinced yourself he was just extremely kind—and he of course was, therefore meaning that the story was all tied up and set.

Nevertheless, there wasn’t much that could have prepared you for what followed.

The cold hit your face and knocked the daze out of you, and you suddenly felt very awake, as if you’d fallen face first into a pool of ice cold water. Having stepped out onto the balcony, you had been plunged into the night with little to protect yourself with. Hence you wrapped your arms around yourself as best you could, drawing your jacket closed as your eyes surveyed the street just metres below.

The lamplights were warm against the navy of the night, and the few people that were still out dappled in and out of the shadows. You let your mind wander as to where they were going; a graveyard shift, out to a party, home. You wondered if any of them had someone waiting for them, a love they couldn’t wait to see and hold again after a long day out. The thought sent a pang through your heart.

The change of scenery had successfully distracted you from the person who had both directly and indirectly led you into it, but you couldn’t exist painless forever. You had to confront him now.

It was Felix who spoke first, though. Before you could even turn around, his voice, deep and sweet, danced across the breeze. “Hey, do you feel any better?”

You nodded simply, lips pressed together as to avoid anything stupid and sudden.

He sighed, a sound filled with relief but also an edge of something else. “Ah, that’s great. You do look it... the light’s returned to your eyes a bit.”

The wind buffered around the nearby buildings, a police siren wailing in the distance, catching your attention to the junction at the end of the street. Turning your head away from him, you shivered at the cold, listening intently to it fading away into the hum of the traffic.

“I guess you found out then,” Felix began suddenly, a car horn making the both of you jump.

“Found out what?” you asked, keeping your head ducked low as you turned back towards him.

You heard him pause but remained afraid to glance up. He hesitantly shuffled on his feet. “Th-that I have a crush on you.”

The world continued; the traffic bustled along the mainroad, people hurried along the streets, dogs barked at nothing.

But to you, everything went silent. Dead quiet. No wind, no clatter of shop gates, no mildly drunken yelling. Just your heartbeat, beating harder by the second, and the sound of your crush’s nervous breathing.

You looked up at him at last, to see his face obscured by his arm as he rubbed the back of his neck idly. He moved it away eventually, revealing his head downturned as yours had been just moments before.

You stood transfixed as his voice wavered, knocked by the wind as he attempted to explain, as if he needed to rectify a mistake. “I-it’s ok, I don’t want to ruin the friendship now, I—uh...” he broke off as he swallowed thickly, and you noticed that his cheeks weren’t flushed from the cool air, but rather from the tears that were welling in his eyes. “I want you to know that I’m so happy with being just friends, and... I really hope I haven’t made you feel awkward around me and—I’m sorry I...”

You found it so cruel of the world to make his eyes glisten as if they held the stars when they cradled tears. It was a form of twisted irony that he didn’t deserve. But it was the final straw that made your heart snap.

The spring of tension and worry and fear uncoiled as you reached across the deck for him, pulling him into the care of your arms. You were taken aback by how neatly they fit around him, how perfectly he rested against your chest and how his nose nuzzled into your neck.

“No, it’s ok! Shh, don’t be sorry, you have no reason to be sad. Please don’t be sad,” you found yourself whispering, your voice so fragile that it no doubt was carried away by the wind as soon as it fell to his ear.

You rubbed your hand soothingly across the mid of his back, the other tracing up to his hair and stroking the tresses there. Meanwhile, Felix remained confused. he longed to sink into your touch, his fingers gripping at your jacket being proof of that, but he couldn’t bring himself to relax.

“What...? Why are you...?”

A smile slowly rising to your lips, you didn’t waste a second.

“You haven’t ruined anything, I’d be so happy with being friends with you too, but—I like you Felix, I have a crush on you too...!” you rushed, pulling away to hold him at arm's length. Upon seeing his shining, wide eyes and his puffed, pouting lips you sighed in relief. Reaching up, you cupped his face in your palms, like you’d wanted to do for so long. “God, I was such an idiot...!”

“No, you’re not stupid!” Felix emphasised, barely coming to terms with your confession himself.

Though you nodded desperately, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “But I am. I thought you didn’t like me back.” It was then that reality decided to hit you full force, the sound of the rest of the world returning to yours as you exclaimed, “Oh my god, you like me back?!”

“Y-you like me back?!” he echoed, hands fumbling at his chest before finally gaining the courage to come to your shoulders instead. There he delicately ran his fingers across your shoulders, as if to check if you were even real. “Why—why wouldn’t I like you back?”

“Because you’re younger than me!” you said, “I didn’t think you’d see me as even viable, like, I thought you saw me as only a senior to you and that...” You gazed into his eyes, no longer cradling stars but rather glistening with the gold from the restaurant behind you, watching as they widened even further. “Why would I not like you back?”

“Because you’re older than me! I thought I wasn’t cool enough for you, and that you only were nice to me because you had to look out for me!”

His answer forced an astonished laugh out of both of you, and before you knew it the pair of you were in borderline hysterics. Felix fell back to cover his mouth with his fist, walking an aimless circle as you merely bent over, hiding behind your palms.

“We’re so stupid!” he announced, his eyes wide and incredulous, all the signs of tears long gone.

You sank your teeth into your bottom lip as you knocked your head back up, staring at him incredulously as you shook your head. “At least we both are.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, returning to you, his hands reaching for yours, “we can be dumb together.”

“Exactly, it’s merely proof that we belong together.”

You didn’t think your words through then, but any fear was met with strength, as Felix showed no sign of disagreement—rather the opposite, gently caressing your hands in his before you finally interlocked your fingers. Back together, only inches apart, you were once again in each other’s solace, stood against the auburn haze of the city night and the cold it brought.

“I don’t want to be friends with you anymore,” he murmured, the brightest grin on his face as he glanced to your lips.

“Neither do I.”

Desperately trying to keep yourself together as the proximity and the intentions of both his and your words, you leant in until your foreheads met. There you welcomed the grace of the small touch with your whole heart, wondering if you would reach out to what you had dreamt of.

With your eyes closed, unable to take in the sight of his soft beauty, you took in the scent of him as his deep voice caught your attention. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yes!”

Your words barely rolled of your tongue before the final gap had been closed between you and your lips met at last.

His kiss was not what you expected; it was soft yet deep, as if he wished to instil final proof that he meant everything he’d said. You couldn’t help but melt into him, your hands drawing away from his own, only so you could loop them behind his neck. He mirrored you, his hands finding the small of your back, and pulling you closer as you pressed into him.

Perhaps this time the world did stop, to momentarily regard you and the kiss that summarised all the feelings that had lingered in your soul for months. After all, it was a resurrection event too, as the butterflies’ sparks reignited, sending them spiralling throughout your body and you back into radiant life.

It didn’t matter to you though, as your world stopped and that was all that was important in that second. Just the feel of his lips soft and plump between yours, and the hum of absolute relief that mottled through your throat at the touch.

You pulled apart with a gasp from both sides, still entwined with your arms.

Felix cursed, smile immediately returning to his features.

“What?” You cocked your head inquisitively.

“It’s so cold,” he said, exaggerating a shiver playfully to emphasise his point.

You rolled your eyes at him with a chuckle, stepping away but instantly taking his hand into yours. It was a decision of mixed results, as yes you were holding his hand, but now you had to come to terms with just how tiny they were and how devastated that made you.

“Hey, stop ogling my hands!” he pouted.

You perhaps would have pressed the matter if you weren’t still dazed by how quickly everything in your life had changed for you. You swept your head back, before pulling your best Australian accent, “You don't like me ‘cause of my personality...”

He immediately caught on, the two of you immediately wailing, “Only ‘cause my body!”

You continued to laugh together as you made your way back inside the restaurant, grateful to be in the warm again.

“Honestly, I try to be nice to him one time...!” Felix said, pursing his lips as he shook his head.

“I know right! And he just throws it right back...!”

“Terrible hyung!”

“Hundred percent!”

As you turned the corner to where your table was, you only just caught sight of Hyunjin looking over in your direction before he suddenly shouted.

“Finally!”

Confused, you took the lead, “Hey, sorry guys, I hope we weren’t gone for—”

All of a sudden you were confronted with seven guys sighing and sinking into their chairs with relief. Changbin was rubbing his eyes, Minho had his eyes centralised on the ceiling, all the while Jeongin was grinning wildly at Seungmin, a hand outstretched and beckoning for something, to which the elder was desperately miming for him to cut out.

No answer came to mind until you noticed Jisung exasperatedly smiling at the two of you, or more specifically your interlinked hands.

Glancing at Felix, silently asking him if he knew about this to which he shook his head bemusedly, your attention was taken away by Chan who had stood, making his way to the both of you.

“At last,” he stated, his features folded into tired relief, “praise the lord, I was starting to think we were going to need divine intervention—”

You heard Minho pipe up behind, “By divine intervention he means me!”

“—but thankfully we didn’t. God, I’m just happy that you finally did it.”

“Thanks...?” Felix looked at him sheepishly.

You exhaled a laugh, bringing your new boyfriend a little bit closer to your side—something he of course didn’t have a single gripe with—ahead of catching Chan’s attention. “Bang, what is all of this?”

He pouted. “Hey! You can’t get mad at us for being sick of you two! Imagine having to watch two obviously-in-love people dance around the in-love-with-each-other part for months. It was driving us insane!” Before you could interject, the he continued, “It doesn’t matter now, we’re just happy that you’re together now at least. And look! Because I’m a good leader I’ve moved myself out of the way so you two can sit next to each other.”

Unable to quite comprehend this further development, that the entire group had been anxiously waiting for you to get yourselves together and confess for as long as you’d literally liked each other, you murmured a ‘thank you’, before beginning to make your way to your new seats.

Your food was inevitably cold, but neither of you minded at all. The rush of newfound love had sated your appetites rather enough for tonight, though you expected you could go for one more thing.

Ignoring the bustle of his group mate’s comments, and the rather proud smile of Chan opposite you, you turned to Felix, “Hey, do you want to share some ice cream?”

The look on his face made your heart flutter instantaneously.

It was as if the sun had risen, his pretty smile gleaming while his nose scrunched sweetly. “Yes please!”

Knowing his favourite flavour of the top of your head, you sat back and let Hyunjin call for the waitress so everyone could order desserts. Even when the others spoke to you, and even though you felt even more alive than normal, you always found yourself looking back to Felix, taking in the sculpture of his adorable face that you now could hold between your fingers if you so wished.

He meanwhile got shy under your gaze, smiling to himself as he looked away coyly.

As you leant in to whisper how adorable he looked in his ear, you felt your phone vibrate in your pocket. Taking it out swiftly, your heart swelled as you read the message upon your lockscreen. Sending a thankful grin to the man opposite you, you quickly turned your attention to detailing your order to the waitress.

And at last, things were much more than ok.

~~~

AN: ok so this took longer than i imagined (like a solid 4 hours at least, idek i wasnt actually counting)

the irony is i actually wrote that felix’s age was 20 until i luckily checked and found he was still 19. i’d forgotten to count that his birthday hadn’t happened yet but. yeah. proud stay moment.

apologies for any poor quality ss, my phone hates me

i hope you enjoyed anon and so again for the wait!

Masterlist

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senlinyu · 4 years

Note

I am reading "Height" right now and really enjoying it, can we know a little bit about the process of writing Height, what went on behind the scenes/cells? (my poor attempt of a joke) , i am a fan i admit it, i want to know everything about all your stories.

The general concept came to me right when the announcement about the height difference fest came out. It was supposed to just be fluffy height kink porn, but apparently my brain just won’t do that, so then it turned into this longer fic that was sort of exploring what second chances and redemption means, and it got reaaaaaaally philosophical for a while but I ended up pulling it back a couple thousand words and centering it more firmly on the evolving relationship.

But since I got lost in a philosophical swamp, it greatly hampered my ability to figure out the progressing relationship dynamic and ergo why the eventual smut should/would matter. 😂

I wanted to write Hermione as the initiator and a consistent driving force in the relationship, because I’d never done it before and I wanted to try to do it in a way that felt genuine to her characterization. So it was an interesting challenge to try to tinker with the dynamic and figure out how to write the fic in a way that had her take the lead without it making Draco passive.

It ended up a lot angstier than I intended. But I’m gradually coming to terms with that fact that’s simply who I am. 😅

#fic: height #senlinyuspeaks #on writing

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in-class-daydreams · 4 years

Text

Parlay (Kuroo x Reader) | Ch. 8

- Pairing: Kuroo Tetsurou x Reader (ft. Roommate Kenma)

Word Count: ~2, 200

Genres: Fluff, even angstier than the last chapter, general buffoonery

CW: Swearing, sadness I guess

Summary: (Y/N), a first-year student attending Tokyo U, is living with her best friend, Kozume Kenma. Little did she know, her life would be turned upside down after being exposed to Kenma’s volleyball teammate and close friend, Kuroo Tetsurou. One wrong move, and the parlay’s stakes only get higher each time.

Chapters: First | Previous | Next

It wasn’t that life was particularly difficult for (Y/N) right now. She had a stable job, good friends, and several healthy relationships with the people around her. Objectively, the university student was getting along decently well for herself.

When she came to Tokyo U, she had intended to go through her studies quickly and quietly, without any interference from social drama and pettiness. Her attraction to Kuroo was purely aesthetic when they first met. At first, he may have been a massive flirt, and truthfully, he seemed like every other boy she’d ever met, that is, until they started spending time together and having genuine conversations. On their frequent walks to Chisai, or when the two of them and Kenma would hang out at the apartment, Kuroo proved himself to be intelligent, endearing, and from the games she often saw, he was also excellent at taking care of his teammates. He truly was a caring person, not someone with an ulterior motive, unlike what she had originally thought.

It was only when he started spending time with her that she started actually noticing the little things about him. Getting offers to walk her home was nothing new to her, but she was surprised when Kuroo was the first one to ask about walking her to work, when there was no chance of her inviting him into her apartment for ‘coffee.’

She came to enjoy his company, finding it especially endearing when he stumbled over words and combined sentences in embarrassment. ‘I table,’ was a particular favorite of hers. The panicked look in his eyes after he’d said it nearly made her squeal aloud from its adorableness. It was so different from the playboy she met in the apartment that day, the one with honey eyes and a silver tongue. She hadn’t expected him to become so flustered around her.

Which was why what he said that day at the bonfire hurt. A lot.

(Y/N) was smart, caring, and had a fun, but relatively subdued personality, which people tended to take as her being fake or one-dimensional, so when Kuroo was so attentive to her, she really believed that he saw her as more of a person and less of a commodity.

Still, despite the hurt he caused her, she hadn’t meant to blow up on him like that. Sometimes she wondered if she’d gotten too angry with him for an expectation she had for him that he had not agreed to. Then, she heard his words echoing in her mind, telling her Oikawa could have anyone on campus, and he’d still choose her. That was true. She knew that much. But she hated the fact that after spending so much time with her, Kuroo didn’t value her thoughts and opinions enough to ask her about him. He had spent who-knows-how-long skirting around her, collecting information about her based on the words of the men in her life, not her own.

People had always expected her to act a certain way. Most of the time, she did what people expected of her in order to keep them pacified and out of her studies. She might have done that too often, to the point where others began to view her as an artifact, sealed in a glass case, and out of reach from the rest of the world, rather than as an equal human being.

To: Tooru (づ￣ ³￣)づ [9:12 am]: Can we talk?

From: Tooru (づ￣ ³￣)づ [9:20 am]: Of course~ Where did you wanna meet?

To: Tooru (づ￣ ³￣)づ [9:25 am]: Are you where I think you are?

From: Tooru (づ￣ ³￣)づ [9:27 am]: :DDD

To: Tooru (づ￣ ³￣)づ [9:29 am]: Okay, I’ll be there in a bit.

She smiled to herself as she made her way over to the usual spot where he would always be.

“You work too hard, Tooru,” (Y/N) said when she found him, practicing alone in the half-lit gym. Catching the volleyball in his hands, Oikawa turned to her with a bright smile.

“(Y/N)-chan! I’m less tired when I get to see you~” he flirted.

Amused, the girl grabbed a volleyball from the bin, and tossed it high in the air to the setter. He sent her a toss, perfect as always. The three-step approach to a spike, however, is very difficult to get the timing on if you’re an amateur. As expected, she swung and missed it by a mile.

Oikawa giggled in delight, “(Y/N)-chan, you’re so bad!”

The girl huffed at him, “Yeah, yeah, whatever, Mr. Volleyball Scholarship,” though she was smiling. The setter’s giggling subsided, and his chocolate brown orbs turned serious.

“So, what was it you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Actually,” she hesitated, “Nothing in particular. I just… I just missed you, I guess.”

If she had were standing any closer, she might have heard his breath hitch.

“You can’t say things like that, (Y/N)-chan! You’ll make me miss you too much,” his next words made her pause, “And I know you’re not coming back to me like I want you to.”

Staring at him, wide-eyed, she asked, “Wha-- Tooru, what are you talking about?”

Leaning against the gym wall, the tall brunette crossed his arms. His demeanor changed completely. To an outsider walking in, Oikawa would seem like an entirely different person.

“When we broke up, I figured that if we were soulmates, we’d find our way back to each other. So I let you go. I didn’t want you to feel like you were sharing me with volleyball, and I know you didn’t want me to worry about you. If I knew you’d fall for someone else, I can’t say I would have made the same choice.”

Deep in thought, (Y/N) leaned against the wall beside him. She slid down to sit on the gym floor.

“I think you would have. I would have begged you to,” she murmured. “Volleyball, for all the good things and the bad things it makes you feel, is a part of you. If you hadn’t chosen to break up over it, it would be like choosing someone else over your own heart, and I would hate for you to do that.”

Eyes glistening with tears she refused to let fall, she finished, “Even if it was for me.”

Tooru lowered himself to the ground as well. The gym was dead quiet. Only half the lights were actually on, and stray volleyballs littered the floor. Neither said a word, but they both couldn’t help but think about all the times they were sitting together just like this.

They’d lost count how many times (Y/N) met her then-boyfriend in the gym at all hours of the day while he practiced relentlessly.

“I had a feeling you’d be here.”

Second-year Oikawa Tooru looked up, feeling chastised by his girlfriend of almost 6 months. Once again, she’d caught him in the gym on a day he was meant to be resting.

‘You’ll hurt yourself one day, if you’re not careful!’ she’d told him once. Now, she just had a look of fond exasperation.

“Are you satisfied enough to take a break? We could go get takeout and watch movies at my house?” she offered.

Oikawa took a long look at the ball in his hands and sighed deeply.

“But we don’t have to, if you don’t feel like you can stop yet! I can just do homework on the bleachers until you’re ready.”

Immediately, he looked at her and smiled. Making his way over to her, he grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it.

“It’s okay. I want to spend some time with you,” he grinned with his signature charm.

The volleyball court felt like home for Oikawa, after spending so much time on it. When (Y/N) came along, it became their place. They’d gotten together on one.

‘Oikawa-kun! You need to go to the nurse!” a first-year (Y/N) had all but shrieked when the young and promising rising star of Seijoh’s volleyball team had walked up to her, clutching his bleeding lip.

“I will, but Iwa-chan says I can’t wait any longer,” he’d replied simply.

The girl’s brow furrowed in worry and frustration over the fact that he was here, in front of her, rather than with the nurse as she pressed a white handkerchief to the setter’s wound. It wasn’t like him to get hit in the face like that.

“What are you talking about?” she scolded, “You’re lucky the ball didn’t hit your nose! What’s going on with you?” Not once in all the matches she’d seen him play since middle school had she ever seen him so distracted.

“(Y/N)-chan, I like you.”

She looked up in surprise.

“I like you very much.”

Differences had been settled and firsts had been shared. They’d even shared their first kiss in a gym just like this.

“Ahh! (Y/N)-chan, I’m the guy! I’m supposed to kiss you for our first time!”

“It’s not my fault you’re too slow, Tooru.”

Just like this. They broke up in a gym just like this.

“I don’t want… I don’t want to play volleyball if it means I have to give you up,” third-year Oikawa had sobbed. His soon-to-be ex-girlfriend grabbed him in a hug.

“Hey. Hey, look at me. No one’s giving anyone up, okay? If I end up at Tokyo U, and it happens that we’re still madly in love, then we get back together, and everything is beautiful again.”

“And if not? My worst fear is that you’ll decide your heart belongs to someone else by then.”

“Then we’d love each other, still. We just wouldn’t be in love. Believe it or not, Tooru, but you and I? We’re together for life, okay? Romantic or not.”

Oikawa laughed through his tears, “When did you get so cool, (Y/N)-chan?”

Their red-rimmed eyes came together. She shrugged, “I’ve been in good company for the last few years.”

“You were right, you know.”

(Y/N) didn’t answer, knowing he would continue regardless.

“It doesn’t matter who you love now. I want to be in your life anyway,” he finished. Relieved, the girl moved closer to her closest friend and looked out into the dim, empty gym.

“You know, Tooru, the Greeks had six different words for love. Romantic love is only one,” she leaned her head on his shoulder. He rested his head on top of hers.

“Really? I guess I’ll have to be content with the other five.”

They stayed like this for a while before one of them broke the silence.

“So. Tetsu-chan, huh? I guess you like tall guys,” Oikawa chuckled. Confused, (Y/N) picked her head up off his shoulder to look up at him.

“I… I think I might have feelings for him.”

The brunette blanched.

“He had almost the same reaction! You’re just now realizing you might have feelings for him?! Come on, (Y/N)-chan, you two are really just book-smart, aren’t you?” he ranted, “Do the two of you make each other lose IQ points?”

The girl’s thoughtful expression turned to one of irritation.

“It doesn’t matter, though. He really pissed me off the other day.”

After recounting their fight, and the hurtful things they said to each other. Oikawa took a moment to take in everything he’d heard before he spoke.

“Honestly, (Y/N)-chan? I think you need to wait on this one. Tetsu-chan is a useless mess around you, so I think he needs time to pull himself together, and have an honest conversation with you. I’m not saying this is a one-sided thing, but I feel like this is something he needs to overcome.”

(Y/N) smiled softly.

“Tooru! When did you get so cool?”

The boy shrugged, “I’ve been in good company for the last few years.”

“And (Y/N)?” he continued, “You are the best thing that’s ever been mine.”

“... You see, this was a cute moment before you started quoting Taylor Swift.”

“What do you mean? It’s a love story, baby, just say ‘yes.’”

“Ugh! You’re the actual worst!” she swatted at him playfully. He grabbed her wrists, and they squabbled like that playfully for a while. Both of them had a feeling their relationship would be just fine.

Just then, the gym door opened. They jumped away from each other from the sudden noise.

“Hajime-kun!” (Y/N) greeted him enthusiastically. Iwaizumi greeted her with the same energy. Sensing the atmosphere of the room, the spiker explained that he came to find his lost kneepads before practice started and urged them to not mind him.

“I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll see you soon, (Y/N)-chan.,” he gave her a chaste kiss on the temple.

“I’d love that.”

As Kuroo was entering the locker room after practice, he saw the two Seijoh alumni deep in conversation. All the blood left his face when he heard the shorter of the two ask,

“Looks like you and (Y/N) are back together?”

Oikawa turned at the abrupt slamming of the door. The brunette groaned.

“What’s up with Tetsu?” Nishinoya asked, bewildered.

Frustrated, Oikawa dug through his bag to find his phone. Quickly dialing a number, he brought the phone to his ear.

“(Y/N)-chan? Forget what I said earlier, he’s a moron. Go talk to him.”

Taglist: @joyful-jimin @nekomas-kuroo

#haikyuu kuroo #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tetsurou #oikawa #oikawa tōru #oikawa tooru #iwaizumi hajime #nishinoya yuu #kozume kenma

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moonlights-inkwell · 6 years

Text

There’s Something Tragic About You.

Summary: You find out that Jason’s dead, and slowly but surely learn to cope before a mugging brings a new vigilante to light in your eyes.

Jason Todd x reader

Word Count: 3,018

[part 1] [part 3]

So... I admit I got a little carried away with this. This chapter wound up longer and a hell of a lot angstier than I originally intended but oh well?

Title is from Hozier’s From Eden.

You find out that he's dead at the same time everyone else in your class does when the principal comes in to English class to share the awful news. You hate to admit it to yourself, but as soon as he walks in you know he's there to talk about Jason, but never in a thousand years had you thought that he was going to say that Jason was dead. According to him, Jason had died when a bomb had gone off in the hotel where he had been staying; some freak terror attack. Seemed to come out of nowhere, there was nothing that could have been done, he says in a voice authoritative enough to make you angry but filled with enough condolence for you to wasn't to sob. While everyone else whispers about terrorism and why Jason was all the way in Ethiopia; your head bows, hair falling around your face as you allow the tears to fall. He's gone. No matter how many whispers about him and how weird it was that he was dead would bring him back, no matter how many comments about terrorism, about bombs. He's dead. Jason, your Jason, brilliant Jason. Dead. The only thought that comes to you beyond your comprehension of his death is that whatever deity lives up above you must have a sick sense of humour, as your tear-filled eyes stare down at your copy of The Great Gatsby. Of course. Two dead Jays. The rest of the day is a blur of incomprehensible colours and sounds, while you're caught in a head space somewhere between dazed and haunted. The kids who had once bullied you instead give you a wide berth, even they seem to grasp that right now isn't the right time. No one speaks to you all day, and just the concept of being in the cafeteria makes you want to puke. Eating is a task that seems impossible and besides, there's no one there you want to sit with. Instead, you timidly walk to Jason's locker, unlock it, and stare blankly at the locker, making a mental note of the contents. Your eyes glide across an old red jacket that you hadn't seen in months. You recall making a comment about the jacket and how much you liked it, and in a moment of sudden desperation you grab it and pull it on, revelling in the feeling of being surrounded by something that had once been Jason's. [E/C] Eyes slide across a copy of pride and prejudice, and your fingers gently pick it up before closing the locker quickly. You know theft is wrong, and under normal circumstances you wouldn't have done such a thing, but you can't lose everything of him. You need something to remember him by, and it might be sick, but you need it to cope.

The funeral is unbearable, sitting beside your parents on a hard pew in an icy church in front of the coffin that held the boy who said he'd come home was hell, like a nightmare come true. Before Jason, the only person who you had ever known who had died was your grandmother, and the bracelet she had given you had been passed onto Jason, and like a curse it had taken Jason from you too. You had spent days trying to convince yourself that it was only a fear toxin induced hallucination, that Scarecrow had dropped some sort of bomb of gas over the city, leaving you to deal with the contents of your own mind, but no. Jason is dead. Gone forever, and you're stuck here without him. Your parents hadn't known Jason as anything more than 'that boy who comes over sometimes', but they sit silent besides you, and you're grateful for that. You're sure they don't know what to say beyond useless words of apology, but they're there and that means more than you could ever explain. Other than your family and a few of the teachers who had liked Jason, there is only one person there you even recognise, Bruce Wayne. You'd never said much more than a few words to Bruce while Jason was alive, only his butler who had taken a shine to you, but from the look of utter sadness that Mister Pennyworth had given you onto your way into the church you didn't doubt that Bruce and his butler had felt something like you did. It felt strange to think of Batman as a creature who could mourn, but orphaned Bruce Wayne's son being murdered? That was something you could never comprehend if you lived a hundred lifetimes. There's a boy who looks barely older than 18 or so, surrounded by other people that age, dressed in black with his eyes bloodshot. He looks almost strikingly like an older Jason and you almost call out before it occurs to you after a few seconds that he's Dick Grayson, Bruce's first ward. Jason had once confessed to feeling in the shadow of him, both as a Robin and as Bruce's son, and yet here he is crying for him. You don't approach either after the service or at the grave side. What could you possibly say to them that wouldn't sound trite or all too familiar? What do you say to people who already lost their families and just lost another member of the one they had tried to create for themselves? It feels strange as you stare down at his headstone, fifteen-year-old boys shouldn't be dead and buried. Jason shouldn't be.

The sound of the alarm makes your eyes slip open, arm reaches out almost automatically to grab your phone and turn it off, bones cracking while you roll onto your back and check the screen for any new messages. Eyes squinting from the sudden bright light in the otherwise dimly lit room, you sigh softly and rake your fingers through your hair, a text from your mum hoping that you're safe and happy. You let out a quiet groan before shuffling to your feet, making a mental note for yourself to call her when you're more awake while padding into the kitchen as you crack your back, then turn on the radio as you begin to wake up at the sound of other voices. You curse at the sound of the news, almost sure that you had left it on the music station last night. The news, especially in Gotham was never good; there was a reason you don't read the Gazette (other than the fact that it's a rag). Fingers enclose around a box of cereal as the radio anchor talks about a crime scene in a warehouse near the docks, pouring the brightly coloured pebbles into a bowl while she talks about a duffel bag filled with decapitated heads. Somewhere in your sleep dazed mind reminds you that you should be disgusted by the waste of life, but the rest of you reminds you that this is Gotham. If you weren't willing to be surrounded with murder and crime you should have moved to Metropolis or Coast City for college, but you were still here, and you wonder if that says more about you than the city that you're willing to stay there. Your mum had wanted you to either go to a new city for college or live at home with her, but while you couldn't bring yourself to leave Gotham the prospect of living with your parents sounds hellish. You sit on the counter, eating tiredly as you half listen to an interview with Commissioner Gordon caught somewhere between too hungry to stop eating and too tired to get up and turn it off. Mumbling bitterly under your breath about how Gordon and his cops aren't going to do shit and how they never do shit, because they just leave all the hard work for Batman and each new Robin, you force yourself off the counter and off to get a shower and get dressed for work. The walk to work is short, but Gotham is cold enough even in spring for you to feel uncomfortable during the walk. It's freezing, a hard blow of the wind making your coat billow around your thighs, and the only positive you can think of is that it isn't raining but as if someone above had been listening, a small droplet of water hits the tip of your nose, and then your forehead. Fuck. Of course. You let out a quiet groan and begin jogging, weaving in and out of other pedestrians and then cars as you bolt across the road. There's always a strange sort of discomfort that comes from living in Gotham, probably a result of it's wet and cold environment and the fact that it's close enough to an Asylum for its inmates to break out and live amongst you before attacking, but today's discomfort comes from something different than the usual. You turn your head to try to gage just what it is exactly as it hits you, it feels like being watched. Turning your head back to see what's in front of you, you try to ignore the feeling before turning on your heel to see if you can work out whether that feeling is right, but Gotham streets are so packed you could be stalked all the way from your apartment and have no clue. That thought makes your stomach drop quickly and because of that you can't help but feel relieved at the sight of the familiar red neon lettering on top of the diner. Pauli's has hardly changed since you were in high school, still old looking and homely, with the red and white checked metal tables and peeling vinyl on the seats of the booths, spacious and claustrophobic in a way that makes you sad, but every single time you enter it's with a smile and today is no exception. The fifties aesthetic was one that you understood the appeal of without ever really being into under usual circumstances, but Pauli's was different for you, with the hand-drawn posters and bright colours. Hooking your jacket up on your usual peg by the door, you let yourself smile at one of the other waitresses (an older woman who had taken you happily and willingly under her wing after remembering you coming in near daily during your school days) and tie your apron around your waist. Working in Pauli's while you're in college had seemed almost obvious, like something destined to be: maybe it was a subconscious thing where you felt the need to come back to atone for the date that never happened, or just to return to something familiar in a city that looks more and more alien to you with every other day. The old diner meant more to you than you would have confessed; with its familiar slightly greasy smell and its regular customers and it helps on the long shifts after classes, when people who you see almost daily smile up at you while you fill up their coffee or take their orders, asking to make sure that you're okay. Gotham might have spent a lifetime making you harder than you would have been anywhere else; but the people, hardened in the same ways that you were, had done a pretty good job of reminding you that normal, everyday people were still good... and sometimes, after looking up at the flicking TV over the counter while it showed reports of costumed criminals, you need reminding. You often find your eyes glancing to your old booth, and then to the old black and white tiles around it, when shifts get slow in between intermittent glances to the clock on the wall surrounded by bright red neon letters, COFFEE. You pick up a pot of coffee, and turn around, noticing when a cop lifts a hand to indicate that he either needed a refill or wanted to order, you clench your jaw before sighing and forcing a smile and then walk over. When you finally leave work the rain has stopped but the cold has increased fourfold as if to compensate for it, and your candy-coloured uniform barely does anything to keep you warm even with your jacket. It's almost unbearable, even with your hands shoved into your pockets, and that overwhelming feeling of someone watching you is back full throttle. The bright orange fluorescent lights overhead mean that at least you know that the way home isn't entirely dark, but it feels more like a clinical sort of light, the orange not the same warm colour as the street lights in other cities instead seeming cold. Gotham in daylight is like walking through any big city, but at night the city became something more... something darker. A labyrinth of winding streets, all smog filled and cold, with monsters hiding around every corner. All at once you're struck with an understanding why your mother always said that you shouldn't be out in the city after dark. You try to swallow that insecurity and slip down into an alley, your usual shortcut home, and finally start to relax at the familiarity. It's short-lived. Walking slowing, you hear more than one set of footsteps coming from behind you and you begin cursing under your breath, and before you can even begin to speed up you feel the sharp chill of a blade against your neck. "Give us all you got." The man hisses into your ear, breath hot and predatory against your skin and you can't even begin to disguise the cringe that overcomes you. You know that you should be terrified but all that you can think is that his breath is gross. Two more men walk around the two of you, and leer down at you as your hand slides into the pocket of your coat, but then scowl as you reveal the contents to them; a coffee-shop loyalty card, a dollar fifty in change and four hair ties. You're a poor college student; you don't know why anyone would choose to mug you, there's nothing that you could possibly give to them that they would want. No watch, no jewellery, no phone, no wallet to hand over. You almost smile at the fact that you forgot your phone until it dawns on you that you have no way of calling for help and not getting your throat slashed for the attempt. Shit. Eyes flitting around the alley way, you try to make out if there is a way for you to escape, but to no avail as one of the two men surges closer to make sure that you weren't holding out on them. His hand scrabbles around in the empty pocket before grabbing at your thigh through the thin fabric, causing you to let out a loud yelp of anger while his face leans in closer to yours. Your mouth opens for you to tell him to get his hand off you but all that comes out is a loud scream as a bullet flies through the side of his head, sending a mess of blood and liquefied brain splattering onto the dirty ground. The man who had been holding onto you suddenly throws you to the ground beside the body, your hand barely missing the blood, as he and his one remaining accomplice run off. The orange light from the streetlight makes the blood look almost black, like some sort of tar that was making its way closer and closer to you with every second. You shuffle backwards quickly, slicing your hand open in the scrabble to get away from the gore, only to slam against something warm and hard. Legs, you realise as you turn your head. Leaning over you is a man, tall and broad, clad in leather and a helmet that glints crimson even with the darkness and streetlights. The smell of gunpowder radiates from him; from the still smoking gun at his side. "You always get the attention of dangerous pricks?" The voice that comes from the helmeted man is heavily modulated, sounding more like the sort of robots that you'd find in a Sci-fi B-movie crossed over with static and buzzing and it would be almost funny if it wasn't for the gun clenched in his hand and the fact he had just murdered someone in front of you. You assumed the modulation was there for a reason similar to the reason why Batman deepened his voice on patrol, being a Vigilante in Gotham was dangerous enough: but one who had no problem with killing? That meant that more than one type of person would be looking for him and a voice works as a means of finding a person. But hell, in Gotham it could just mean that the man in front of you actually was some sort of cyborg; like Arnie in Terminator, or like RoboCop. You stare up at him from your place on the floor, silent and scared witless, eyes flitting from the lifeless mask and the gun. "...Well?" "...No?" You ask rather than state while getting to your feet, holding your injured hand awkwardly before shoving it into your pocket."...You just killed-" "Put down." Was the mechanical response, as if talking about a rabid animal rather than a human being (albeit a scummy one), and that makes you step back quickly. "...You're welcome [Y/N]." Blinking rapidly, a droplet of rain hits your jaw, then another on your shoulder, then the top of your head, before the downpour begins once more. Within seconds, your hair is plastered to your forehead, and you let out a shaking sigh. You turn on heel from the helmeted man then run home as fast as your legs can carry you. It's only once you're home-with every door and window locked, sat on your couch in an old t-shirt and sweat pants while drying your hair with a towel, that you're suddenly struck with a question as you place a bandaid onto the palm of your hand.

How did he know your name?

@hyp-oh-critical

#jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #jason todd #jason todd x you #red hood x reader #red hood imagine #red hood #red hood x you #batfam x reader

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jennycalendar · 6 years

Note

happy birthday bb!!💟💕💞💓💓💟💕 💗💕 I hope this is ur gayest year yet!😚❤🍰🎂🎉 And hmm for prompts (im assuming u want candiles?) hmmm maybe can u imagine jenny meeting like giles' parents or some family anf seeing pictures of him when he was younger and just mocking tf outta him??? sbdihdidfnkf OR also imagine them both hooking up in band candy instead of joyce... dgjdbdjd what would young jenny be like hmm...

this turned out angstier than intended but uh. here it is. whoops.

read on ao3!!

Jenny was curling her already-curled hair nervously around one finger, the ringlets soft and bouncy in a way that looked unnaturally glamorous on her. She looked a bit like a movie starlet, with her long black wrap and even longer deep blue evening gown and impeccably done makeup. She didn’t look at all like herself, and Rupert didn’t like it all that much.

“You know they aren’t expecting—” he began, then decided to try a different tactic. “You could have just worn that red dress you wore to prom.”

“This is England,” said Jenny. “They’re a bunch of you.”

“I resent that statement,” said Rupert, affectionate and patient; he’d been with his love long enough to know that she was at her most sarcastic when nervous. He stepped forward, winding his arms around her stomach from behind, and felt her relax into his chest. “You look beautiful,” he said. “Truly, you do.”

And he meant it. He did, even if it was colored by worry. Jenny looked incredible, but what bothered Rupert was that she didn’t look comfortable with the way she looked. She had been breathless and smiling at prom, wearing a knee-length red number adorned with dark lace that left room for her to dance, and her hair had been done up in a haphazard bun. This polished, perfect look clearly wasn’t something she felt at home in—though she certainly did seem at home in Rupert’s arms. “You think so?” she said in a small voice.

“I’m an expert on the subject,” said Rupert, kissing the top of her head in a way that wouldn’t muss her hair. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

“Okay,” said Jenny, staring distantly at herself in the mirror and swallowing, hard. “But—I don’t know, I mean—we’ve known each other for what, one year?”

“Nearly two,” said Rupert patiently.

“And I don’t want them to start asking about marriage—”

“Marriage,” said Rupert, “is a wonderful gesture, but one that the both of us don’t really need to affirm anything.” He brushed a few locks of hair away from Jenny’s neck, pressing his lips there. She sighed. “If there are any questions you feel uncomfortable with, I’ll handle them.”

“What if they don’t like me?”

It was clear Jenny hadn’t meant to ask that question, because after she did, her face went sort of pink and she bit her lip, looking almost ashamed of herself. Rupert felt a strange, painful mixture of worry and a protective sort of love, and turned her gently around so that she was facing him. He placed a finger under her chin, tilting it up. “What my family thinks of you is positively irrelevant to me,” he said, and wished they were far enough into a long-term relationship that he could say everything he wanted to say without the shy hesitation in his chest.

Jenny seemed to get the words unsaid, though, because she gave him a whisper of a smile and rubbed her nose lightly against his. “I love you,” she said softly. “Like, kind of a lot.”

“I love you kind of a lot as well,” said Rupert, and kissed her, a soft brush of a kiss that only lasted a few seconds. Jenny was smiling fully when they pull back; a sweet, comforted smile that made Rupert feel quite warm. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” said Jenny, looking a little apprehensive at the notion, and reached up to run a hand nervously through her hair. Rupert caught her hand and kissed the knuckles, and her expression relaxed into another smile. “Yeah,” she said again.

The museum was full to bursting with various high-profile Watchers, most of whom did an almost comical double-take upon seeing the black sheep of the Council not only have the audacity to show up at an event, but show up with a date. Rupert kept his fingers interlaced with Jenny’s as he scanned the room for his father; Jenny shifted nervously on the balls of her feet and nearly tripped over her long dress.

It was his father who spotted them first, giving Rupert a small, polite smile as he crossed the room to them. Jenny was clutching Rupert’s hand with an intensity that hurt, and he had to make a real effort not to wince. “Father,” he said, and inclined his head. There always seemed to be some strange distance between him and his father, even now; he wasn’t sure how to feel about that.

“Rupert,” said Mr. Giles, then eyed Jenny, very clearly sizing her up.

Jenny smiled, uncomfortable, and her eyes flickered to Rupert with a strange sort of worry—not for herself, but for him.

Abruptly, painfully, Rupert knew why she was so afraid—her own family, the one she gave so much of her life to, had cast her out and told her she’d failed them. She didn’t talk about it much, but there were certain days of the year that she was quiet and subdued, sitting in the living room with scraps of letters and photographs and a glass of wine half-forgotten on the coffee table.

She didn’t want that for him. She didn’t want her failings to cost him his family.

“Father,” said Rupert, and tucked his arm around Jenny’s waist, steadying her with a quiet strength. “This is my girlfriend Jenny Calendar.”

“Rupert,” said Mr. Giles again, somewhat dismissively, “I don’t entirely know why you’re here. This gala is invitation-only.”

Jenny flinched like she’d been hit, and Rupert felt a twist of worry in his chest for her sake. He was used to his father’s somewhat abrasive manner, knew there was an awkward sort of softness buried very deep underneath, but Jenny was fiercely protective of him and it showed in that moment. “He’s a damn good Watcher is why he’s here,” she said, and gave Mr. Giles a positively stunning smile, eyes glinting dangerously.

Mr. Giles took another look at Jenny, then looked back at Rupert with a somewhat disapproving frown, then turned to Jenny. “How old are you, Jenny?” he asked, sounding doubtful that he’d be pleased with the answer. “You look at least ten years younger than my son.”

Jenny turned pink, stepping away from Rupert immediately and giving Mr. Giles a nervous smile as though not quite sure what to do. Rupert kept on thinking about the way Jenny had reacted upon seeing her uncle’s corpse on the bed (arms crossed against her stomach, lips pressed together in a half-grimace, shaking where she stood) and suddenly realized that it had been an egregious mistake to bring her to meet his father before anyone else. “Excuse me,” he said, and took Jenny’s hand in his, tugging her away from his bemused father and towards the dessert table.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Jenny said in a strangled tone of voice, “I’m just—I don’t want—”

“I don’t give a damn about my family, Jenny,” said Rupert.

“You say that now because you have one,” said Jenny, looking up at him and forcing a smile. “Okay? I miss my mom and my cousins and all those dumb little nieces and nephews who thought I was the shit because I knew stuff about computers and I could fix a car. I even miss being told by everyone that I was a bad influence because then at least I was, I was part of something, you know? And I say I don’t miss it, but I do, and I know you would too if you didn’t have it to fall back on. You don’t realize how much you miss these things until they’re gone—”

“Rupert!” came a delighted voice from behind him, and Rupert turned, startled. Lavinia Fairweather was standing with a glass of champagne, looking positively delighted.

“A moment, please,” said Rupert, worried.

“Oh, no, it’s, it’s okay,” said Jenny, whose eyes looked suspiciously watery. She scrubbed at her face with her wrap, smiling nervously. “We’ll just, um, who are you exactly?”

Lavinia frowned, then softened in that horrible-maiden-aunt way that always made Rupert a little nervous. “Oh, poor thing,” she said, stepping up to Jenny and straightening her wrap. “Rupert, you didn’t take her straight to your father, did you? That’s no way to treat a lady friend.”

“Um,” said Rupert, who was getting the sense that he was losing a worrying amount of control over the situation. But Jenny was softening at a friendlier Giles relative, and the shy, hopeful look in her eyes was much too much for him to risk pulling her away from what might make her feel a bit better.

“I’m Lavinia,” Lavinia was saying to Jenny. “Rupert’s aunt.”

“You’re kidding,” said Jenny disbelievingly. “You look younger than me, and—” She paused, flushing, and Rupert caught her sneak a glance at Mr. Giles. “I’m probably way too young to be dating someone like Rupert, right?” she said, sounding only half-joking. Oh, Rupert was going to have words with his father about this one.

“Absolutely not,” said Lavinia. “Rupert’s always been behind the curve when it comes to maturity. Hold on, I have photos—” She dug in her purse, fishing about.

“Oh for the love of god I can’t believe she carries them with her,” Rupert muttered, and tried to decide whether to run and hide, drag Jenny away, or both.

Unfortunately, his resolve completely shattered when he saw the way Jenny was smiling. “That’s kinda what I thought,” she said, and stood on tiptoe to kiss Rupert on the cheek. “He’s always been a little behind the curve in all respects, and I love him for it.”

“Good lord,” said Rupert, and kissed Jenny properly, if briefly. She tilted her head up, eyes half-shut.

“Oh my goodness they’re sickeningly adorable,” came Sophie’s voice, and Rupert winced a bit, pulling back. “This must be the new lady friend, then?”

“Lover,” said Rupert, trying in vain to make himself sound like an adult.

“Do notcall me your lover in front of your aunts,” said Jenny, and whacked him lightly with her wrap.

“Pictures!” sang out Lavinia, brandishing a handful that looked like—oh god they were from his fighter pilot phase. Kill him. Kill him now. Jenny shrieked, nearly knocking Rupert over as she all but raced to get a better look at the photos. “Wasn’t he a darling?” said Lavinia innocently, giving Rupert a wicked smile over Jenny’s head.

“Please,” said Rupert. “Be merciful.”

“You inflict your father on this poor, sweet girl and tell us to be merciful,” scoffed Sophie, peering at Jenny in a way that wasn’t at all like Mr. Giles. “Goodness, but she has a lovely face! You two would make be-autiful children—”

Jenny laughed, biting her lip, and looked at Lavinia and Sophie with sparkling, almost hungry eyes. “My aunts back home,” she said, “they always used to harangue me about having children. I hated it. Still do, as a matter of fact.”

“Sensible,” said Lavinia. “I like this one.”

“Can I keep the photos?” said Jenny hopefully.

“Oh, of course!” said Sophie brightly. “We have many copies.”

“Holy fucking shit,” said Jenny, staring at one in her hand. “Rupert, are you wearing one of those dorky pilots’ helmets? How old are you in this picture?”

“Twenty-two,” said Lavinia cheerfully. “He was taking a trip down memory lane and I wisely decided to capture it.”

Rupert buried his face in his hands—mostly for show, and possibly to hide his smile.

They ended up finding their way back to Mr. Giles at the end of the gala. Jenny, though buoyed by time with Giles’s aunts, still looked nervous, but Giles had worked everything out.

“Father, to be quite frank,” he began, “I introduced you to Jenny because I wanted to make it clear that she is and will continue to be an important fixture in my life. We didn’t intend for the situation to become openly hostile—”

“I’m thirty-six,” said Jenny, cutting Rupert off. “And I have commitment issues, and one time I shot your son with a crossbow by accident. Also, I think the Watchers’ Council should start evolving with the times and stop being a bunch of creepy old librarians sitting around and making decisions about young girls.”

Mr. Giles looked vaguely bemused. Then he said, “Good lord, you two are a matched set.”

Jenny bumped Rupert’s shoulder. “That wasn’t a compliment,” said Rupert to her. Then, frowning, “Was that a compliment?”

“Make of it what you will, Rupert, I wash my hands of you,” said Mr. Giles exhaustedly. “Fired from the Council, showing up at galas with a woman nearly a decade younger than you—”

“I know, right?” said Jenny brightly. “He’s definitely doing better than you are, anyway, with that horrible suit you’re wearing.” Belatedly, she realized what she’d just said, and clapped her hands over her mouth, looking wide-eyed up at Rupert.

“We should go,” said Rupert immediately, and tucked his arm into Jenny’s to steer her out of the hall. He didn’t dare look at his father.

“Oh my god I just insulted your dad,” Jenny started saying as soon as they made it onto the front steps. “Oh my god that was not how I intended that to go oh my god I am so sorry I didn’t mean to insult your dad I just so cannot control the sarcasm—”

“His suit really was horrible,” said Rupert, and smiled a bit at Jenny. “And I don’t particularly appreciate when people are condescending to a woman who’s been nothing but kind to me.”

“Love really does make a man blind, sweetie, I spent the entirety of last year telling you off for dressing like a ninety-year-old,” said Jenny, and tugged on his lapel, pulling him into a kiss.

#asks #fic #SO THESE FICS MIGHT B LONGER THAN Y'ALL ANTICIPATED....WHOOPS #calendiles #rupert giles #jenny calendar #oneofthelesbianfreaks

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palmettoes · 6 years

Text

i’m going to make this place your home

this is a gift for @bluetheking as part of the winter @aftgexchange. you mentioned mary coming back and i was all too happy to comply (albeit with a significantly longer and angstier fic than i intended). i hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays!

canon-typical warnings apply, namely violence, abuse (specifically parental), alcohol, and mentions of past torture

read it on ao3!

Neil Josten, starting striker for the Palmetto State Foxes and reluctant protégé of one of the country’s most notorious mob bosses, had given larger men than himself reason to quiver in their boots. (Not that larger men than himself were all that unusual to come by, but Neil wasn’t ashamed to appraise himself for the several six-foot-something would-be-giants who knew from experience not to turn their backs on him.) It wasn’t so much that his history of violence preceded him—probably a good thing too, as Neil rarely came out on top of his spats once they turned to fist and flesh—but it was hardly considered confidential that what he lacked in muscular finesse, he made up for in guts and a somewhat slow brain-to-mouth filter. The point being, Neil had a handful of subjugated bullies (to use a term that wouldn’t leave his grandmother rolling in her grave) under his belt, a team of short-tempered and overprotective ruffians at his back, and almost nothing to worry about. Or so he would have attempted to reassure himself had he known who was eagerly awaiting his return to Fox Tower.

Vacation was difficult to manage when you were a Fox. Especially when your makeshift family consisted of two progenies of a nationwide crime empire, one legally recognised psychopath, a murderer (or two), and their legal guardian. Especially when Kevin Day and Andrew Minyard were involved. Because Kevin Day refused to let an exy court out of his sight for more than twenty-four hours and Andrew Minyard refused to let Kevin out of his sight for more than maybe one hour tops. So they were a little restricted on holiday destinations and the house in Columbia was more of a second home than anything, but none of them were complaining when it meant easy access to Eden’s Twilight at a moment’s notice and radio silence from Coach Wymack who was usually not hesitant to hound them into extra practice over break. (Plus, Neil wasn’t exactly averse to having Andrew, a double bed, and a door with a lock all to himself for a whole weekend.)

But the break came to an end, as it always seems to, and they were several hours overdue their agreed return to campus by the time they managed to drag themselves and their bags—now severely lighter than they had been five days prior, what with the copious consumption of alcohol they had partaken in—out to the Maserati. Erik, having spent most of Thanksgiving holed up in Nicky’s room with a metaphorical sock on the doorknob, had seen them off at the kerb before heading his own direction to the airport, so Nicky’s demeanour was somewhat subdued during their ride back. They spent the journey in formulaic silence, but Neil was still riding a vacation high and had successfully relegated Kevin to the backseat, giving Neil ample opportunity to admire the set of Andrew’s jaw and the clench of his knuckles over the wheel from the corner of his eye. A good end to a weekend of good beginnings, Neil thought. So, naturally, the universe threw a little English on the ball as they pulled into the Fox Tower parking lot.

The first sign of trouble came in the form of Dan Wilds standing outside the entrance; arms crossed, teeth clenched, and foot tapping an unsteady rhythm into the paving stones.

“You’re late,” she said, with unnatural terseness. Nicky shrugged as he scrambled out, bouncing back from his Erik-induced mourning with practised ease.

“It’s Thanksgiving. Forgive us for getting a little carried away,” he offered by way of explanation, but Dan barely spared him a second glance. Her gaze fell instead to Neil, cracking his back as he made his way slowly round the hood of the car.

“Neil. Inside. Now. The rest of you stay.”

In his peripheral, Neil caught Nicky grabbing at Kevin’s wrist before he could move to follow but no one raised a finger to stop Andrew as he shouldered his way through the doors behind them. Neil considered telling him to wait, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. Whatever he was about to walk into (and no doubt it was bad, if it had Dan as tense as she was), he didn’t much fancy going in alone.

“There’s someone here to see you,” Dan said, as the elevator rattled to a halt on the third floor. “And then I want an explanation.”

Neil could have paused to assess the situation, but Dan sidestepped the opening elevator doors in a clear invitation for Neil to lead the way, so he bit the bullet and moved forwards. Matt was leaning stiffly against the wall outside the room he shared with Aaron and Nicky, the same tenseness lacing his frame as Dan’s. Neil thought there was a greeting somewhere on his tongue ready to spill, but it died the second his gaze flitted to the woman standing alongside. Though years had etched wrinkles into her skin and a new stoop to her shoulders, the long, curly hair and dark, weathered skin was unmistakeable. Neil traced the outline of her figure, familiar yet unrecognisable in places where time had broken her back, until his eyes caught hers and Mary Hatford—she of the false identities and paranoid promises, of hotel rooms and guns under unfamiliar pillows, of firm love and firmer bruises—blinked back at him.

Seconds passed. Minutes stole the breath from Neil’s lungs. Days melted their surroundings into shadows until Neil knew nothing, nothing, nothing but the slit-eyed stare cradling him in arms like vices. He was walking, maybe, though he couldn’t see far enough to check his feet were actually stepping one in front of the other. The whole world became a tightrope; his past at one end, his present and future at the other, and him—a weightless body in between, two gusts away from blowing off into the horizon.

Everything tilted back into sharp colour with the slide of a hand into Neil’s hair. Pain jolted through his scalp, familiar and welcoming, with a tug to drag him forwards.

“Abram.”

He hadn’t thought he’d hear that voice again, like knives and blood and running running running, but Mary pressed her cheek to his, her lips a weight at the lobe of his ear, and whispered his name twice more like he might disappear if she didn’t give him solidity enough to stay. He had an inch on her now—the product of sunshine and full meals, while she tucked herself into dampened corners—but he shrank under her fist, shedding years of his life until eight-year-old Abram stared at her wide-eyed, knowing nothing but hurt and losing.

This was coming home after a lifetime of leaving, and Neil felt sick to his stomach.

“Neil,” Andrew said, a million miles away but hurtling towards them at breakneck speed. Neil twisted, searching for a different kind of home, a different kind of family that didn’t leave the taste of bile heavy in his mouth, but Mary held him in place with a sharp tug that sent lightning down his spine. She gave enough leeway for him to pull back just slightly, to watch the way her gaze pierced through Andrew and saw everything Neil didn’t have words for yet.

“Your father is dead. We have a lot to discuss,” she said at length, relinquishing her hold with a jerk and making uniform steps towards the stairs. It took no thought for Neil to follow—his feet knew their place even if his brain didn’t.

“Neil, who—” Dan started, a hand out as if to stop him. He gave her a rueful smile, gaze flitting between her and Matt, and ignoring Andrew with calculated difficulty.

“My mother,” he said honestly, because there was nothing left to lie about. “Team meeting when I get back?”

And he left them, stranded aimlessly on the third floor with their thoughts in utter turmoil.

Mary waited for him in the stairwell and set off again the second he made an appearance, light and quick on her feet as ever despite the age lining deep frown lines on her brow. The rest of Andrew’s lot were leant up against the Maserati, waiting obediently for a signal to enter. Nicky made to call out, but a curt shake of Neil’s head and the unfamiliar presence stepping out into the open seemed to cut him off short.

“Take me somewhere,” Mary said, without sparing a glance at the three blatantly obvious onlookers. “Somewhere we can talk.”

Neil took the lead, trailing Perimeter Road down to the campus green. It was empty enough in the early evening, the frosty edge of winter riding in on the skirts of autumn, that they could talk without fear of eavesdroppers, but open and close to home still so Neil could squash the urge to seek out every possible escape route. It was old habit buried under months of safety and security, but it came rushing back with the furtive twitch of Mary’s eye that brought his past knocking no matter how desperately he tried to bar up the door.

They stared each other down with clenched fists and tight jaws, an insurmountable rift and three feet of grass between them. Time was nothing when Mary held him in her eyes—minutes passed unchallenged and he let them wash over him. How long they stood there, he did not know, but one minute Mary watched him like a dark cloud hovering just out of reach and the next, something cleared in her vision. Thunderclouds still claimed the corners of Neil’s eyes; else, he might have ducked before his cheek began to sting. (It would have been futile. Submit, his body screamed, it’s the only thing you know how to do.) He could feel every inch of Mary’s open palm imprint itself onto mottled skin, leaving bruises further than skin deep on parts of him that he didn’t know how to bandage up. It felt like home and fear, and tasted just bittersweet enough for Neil to know this was where he belonged.

“You idiot,” Mary hissed, grafting a hand to his scalp again and pressing the thumb of her other into the base of his throat, pushing down down down until breathing was nothing but a distant memory. “You never learn, do you?”

Neil closed his eyes, took a shallow breath through his nose, and let himself relax in her grip. This was familiarity, was comfort. Above all else, he knew how to be Mary Hatford’s son.

The pressure at his throat disappeared but the hand remained in his hair, nails digging just deep enough to make him wince if he moved. He could feel his cheek spasm where the phantom weight of her slap still rested and his nerves ran dead ends across scarred flesh. Every movement, every brush of her skin against his, was magnified, electrifying him from head to toe.

“Did you keep any of your promises?” she said, her voice a whisper one hundred decibels too loud for the quiet atmosphere.

“I did.”

The first words Neil had spoken to her since her supposed death three years ago. They tasted like gasoline and sand in his mouth.

“Liar.” Mary’s hand tightened in his hair and Neil could feel the tug of each separate strand like a thousand tiny needles biting into his skin. He gasped softly, just short of a keening whine, and let his eyes roll closed again. The pain had a grasp on his brain but through the fuzziness, he could feel her warmth where she was almost brushing against his chest. She was right here despite everything, despite Neil’s incompetence and his brashness and his breaking, always breaking. She had come back for him. He always knew she would.

“It’s not a lie,” he said, teeth gritted against a plea that he would never let her hear. “You. I never told them about you.”

Her hand disappeared, slipping away so quickly he stumbled under the weight of having to hold himself up. There was a foot of air between them before he managed to catch himself, and it felt like losing all over again, like reaching desperately for something—someone—already gone. Neil watched his mother step away from him as eagerly as she’d moved closer. Little Abram watched a car go up in flames.

“They thought you were dead,” Neil said. There was no squeeze at his throat, no yank in his hair, but the words came out a gasp anyway. He had lost his breath three years ago on a beach in California and had failed to catch it ever since. “I told them you were.”

Mary held her glare a few seconds longer, expression unreadable as it always had been. Neil had long since given up searching for telling in her eyes. She had always been the better liar of the two.

“I wasn’t good enough for this life? You gave them everything, but you left me behind?”

And this—this was familiar. There was no winning against Mary Hatford. Neil could play all his cards right, but it wouldn’t change the fact he’d been dealt a duff hand. Losing was easy; boys like Neil Josten were not built to be winners.

“They let me be a part of their family. I didn’t want to screw it up,” he said anyway, because, despite a year of healing and learning, there was a death wish under his tongue and violence ingrained in his bones. He didn’t know how to survive when he wasn’t putting himself in danger.

Mary’s fist cracking against Neil’s jaw was a new sensation. Her open palm he knew as well as his own—every splay of her fingers, every crease of her skin. There was the weight of a golf club imprinted to his torso, far more permanent than any bruise or scar. The bite of her nails into his flesh until they drew blood was a fresh reminder on every inch of his body. She had been tough love, hurting and healing on repeat until he learnt his place, tearing him apart herself so that no one else got the chance to. But the clench of her fist was unfamiliar—a weight he did not carry in the back of his mind. He felt it now as she collided with his chin, tectonic plates meeting in a rupture of the skies. Neil was mountains, and earthquakes, and crumbling under weights unknown. After all this time, Mary knew best how to pick him undone.

“I am your family.”

Her voice was dangerously quiet and leaking venom from places where her resolve cracked through, but the words were honey to Neil’s tongue and nothing had ever tasted sweeter.

“Abram, we’re all we have. You won’t leave me again, okay?”

Neil could have screamed; could have reminded her it was she who left him stranded on California’s coastline with hands that smelled like burning metal. He could have turned his back and slipped easily into the life he had made in her absence. He could have. He didn’t.

“We’re all we have,” he echoed, and when she reached to cup his face between her rough palms, he tilted into the touch. She was his family. She would not leave again.

“Come home with me. The season is almost over. We’ll do Christmas,” Mary said.

“Home?” he asked. The word sounded like Foxes, like court walls and keyrings and Columbia and Andrew’s thigh pressed to his on the couch. Andrew. The word sounded like Andrew.

“England. Your uncle has given us a place to stay. We’ll be safe at last.”

Safety would always be a novelty to Neil, a luxury he could not afford to indulge. He thought of Wymack picking him up from the airport, of Allison smoothing foundation over his skin, of Andrew holding him together in hotel rooms and bathroom showers and at the end of the world. And he thought of his mother drying his tears and holding his hand, of unfamiliar faces blinking out of cracked mirrors, of bandages and alcohol and smoke. And maybe he already knew what it was to feel safe. Maybe he always had.

“Okay. Let’s go home.”

***

The journey back to Fox Tower passed in relative silence, but Neil’s thoughts were buzzing into overdrive. He didn’t need to imagine the look on his teammates’ faces when he told them what he had agreed to—he had seen it too many times already. But he had only promised to go home, not to stay. He would spend Christmas in England with Mary and Stuart, and would be back before the season started up again. They would hardly notice his absence.

Mary left him in the parking lot, promising her hotel was nearby and she would come back for him soon. Neil’s apprehension heightened as he took the stairs up to their floor, prolonging the inevitable as indefinitely as he could.

He wasn’t remotely surprised when he let himself into his dorm to find more than just Kevin and Andrew awaiting his return. The Foxes (minus the freshmen) were spread across the couches and floor, silence and concern tense in the air. The click of the door shutting behind Neil was enough to rouse them from their vigil, and he paused just inside the doorway as eight heads turned to meet him.

There were several sharp intakes of breath and Renee’s quiet “Oh Neil”, but Neil’s focus was on Andrew, who had risen almost instantly and was pacing steadily towards the door. Neil didn’t miss the way he fingered the edge of his armbands carefully, as if double checking the presence of his knives.

“Andrew,” he said warningly, taking a shuffled step back towards the door in a feeble attempt to block it from Andrew’s sight. It did nothing to deter him.

“I’m going to kill her.”

Andrew sounded about as cheerful as Neil had ever heard him off-medication, but it hardly masked the ferocity behind his words. Neil may not have wanted to admit it, but he knew Andrew meant every syllable. He backed up fully against the door, pressing himself flush against the wooden frame.

“No,” Neil said, loudly enough for someone to flinch across the room, but his eyes stayed fixated on the way Andrew’s arm stilled a hair’s breadth from jostling Neil out of the way. “We don’t have a deal anymore and I’m not in danger anyway. I’m asking you to stay out of it.”

His voice left a heavy silence in the air, tight with levelled stares and held breaths. The room was still clustered with bodies, but they might have melted into nonexistence for all Neil noticed their presence, because Andrew wasn’t retreating, wasn’t blinking, was there but wasn’t there there and Neil needed so desperately to bring him back before things turned nasty.

“Someone needs to tell her what happens when she touches my things.”

The words were careful, like bow to string; dangerous, like match to flame; deadly, like blade to heart. Neil heard the venom laced through them and knew it meant Andrew was only backing down, not off.

“Let me.”

Andrew’s hand dropped like a weight at that, falling heavily to his side. He turned away before Neil caught his expression, but couldn’t mask the way his hand curled a fist into the hem of his shirt. He settled wordlessly back into the couch, the space between him and Kevin an open invitation. Andrew would wait. The other Foxes deserved an explanation first.

Neil took the proffered seat, wincing at the five sets of eyes that tracked his bruised jaw. They had gathered to hear him spill secrets around worse injuries, but he was rough edges and raw interior, and every cut and bruise would always leave them on edge.

Neil cast his eyes to the cornice where the wall met the ceiling and spread his hands open, palm-up in his lap, searching for a place to start. The freshmen were spared this impromptu team gathering, and he was stupidly grateful. They knew of the history that undermined Neil Josten as Nathaniel Wesninski, because they were Foxes and reserved the right to know who they were playing for, but there were parts of him they’d never understand. They hadn’t seen him disappear into the shadows at the edge of his home state; hadn’t seen him spill himself all over the floor in a mad rush to let out everything he should never have kept hidden; hadn’t seen him return time and again a bloodied, broken mess just to let his family patch him back up from loose threads and gentle touches between them. And, for everything they knew and everything they couldn’t understand, this was something they didn’t need to be privy to.

“Mary Hatford didn’t die from internal bleeding on a beach in California. And when I burned the car, she wasn’t inside it.”

Neil could almost hear the sound of eight brains whirring to keep up with this new information. No one prompted him further. He thought it would be easier to speak once he got the first sentence out, but something stuck in the back of his throat, making it difficult to swallow or breathe or find words enough to explain himself.

When he hadn’t heard from her after a year in Millport, he figured that was it. He had never intended to tell the Foxes about her—it was the one promise he couldn’t bring himself to break. But nor had he thought she would come back for him. Hoped, yes, but it seemed nothing more than childish dreams. Suffice to say, he was not prepared for this conversation.

“It was safer if we weren’t together. My father’s people—they were looking for a woman and a boy. They never expected us to separate.”

“She abandoned you?” Allison said furiously, unable to stop herself from breaking the silence of Neil’s audience.

“She waited until I was eighteen,” Neil said before he could bite the words back. It was old habit to jump to her defence. There was no way to make them understand that everything Mary had done had been in his best interest. “I was an adult.”

“Barely,” Matt said, a look in his eye like he was remembering the Neil who had showed up to Palmetto State University with a duffel bag and a bubble of lies.

“She gave me money, and contacts if I ran into trouble. It was only temporary. We were supposed to find each other when it was safe, but…” Neil let his voice trail off but he was sure they knew where his words were headed. But it’s never safe. But Nathan has eyes everywhere. But I am a burden and a threat to her survival.

“When I left Millport to come here, I didn’t think she would ever come looking for me. I never told you because I never thought it would come up.”

It sounded like a cheap excuse. He had promised them he wasn’t going to lie anymore, but it was too easy to fall back on the same old stories. As long as she was dead, Neil didn’t have to think about her. Some days he convinced even himself that she had met a quick death at the barrel of a gun; that she had been on her way back to him when a bullet lodged itself in her brain. It was easier than accepting that she just hadn’t cared enough to find him.

“Les Moriyamas savent-ils qu’elle est encore en vie ?” Kevin said, finally. His knuckles were taut where they clenched over his knee and his gaze a weight on Neil’s profile. Neil flicked a glance up to meet Kevin’s, before refocusing on the entire room.

“I don’t know how much the Moriyamas know,” he said, ignoring Kevin’s disapproving huff at the switch to English, “but if they knew she was alive, I doubt she would be for much longer.”

No one had a response to that. It was nothing but the bitter truth, distasteful and heavy on the tongue as honesty so often is. Mary was as much a loose end as Neil, and she didn’t have the benefit of a deal cut with Ichirou. If her survival was discovered, it would not last. It wasn’t a pleasant thought, sitting uncomfortably in the air between them, but nor was it a sad one. It was just the truth.

“Your face,” Nicky said, gesturing to the corresponding spot on his own jawline that bloomed purple on Neil’s. There was question in there somewhere, though it didn’t quite sound like one. Neil answered anyway.

“My fault. I provoked her.”

Dan stood abruptly, Matt’s hand falling limply from her lap in the process. The tense set of her shoulders was mirrored in each of the Foxes as they pierced glares into the bruise at Neil’s chin. Neil twisted his head to Andrew, expecting to find comfort in casual indifference, but Andrew had stilled beside him. He wasn’t looking at Neil, but there was violence in his eyes—the reflection of blades, and car crashes, and the cold metal of a gun. His fist still creased the fabric of his shirt in a desperate attempt to hide the shake of his fingers, or to deter the anger claiming his muscles, Neil wasn’t sure which. Neil had seen his Foxes through thick and thin; had seen them throw fury between one another like exy balls; had seen them come together as he fell apart. He had seen them in pain and sorrow, and in honey-sweet triumph, but he had not seen them like this. With electricity crackling through the air between them. With clenched fists and grit teeth and anger so palpable Neil could feel it burning his skin.

“You know this isn’t okay, don’t you?” Renee asked softly, uncertainly. Her voice stole the tension from the room, leaching it from tight shoulders and bitten lips. Dan collapsed back onto the couch, as if the anger had been the only thing keeping her together, but she ignored the inviting hand Matt laid in the gap between them. Neil tried not to think too much of it.

“She’s just doing what’s best—”

“Don’t be so obtuse.”

Renee pressed her fingertips to Allison’s knee before she could say more, but Neil knew it did nothing to subside her fury. He couldn’t explain it—not in a way they would understand. They didn’t know how much of a nuisance Neil had been growing up, how often he had complained when they went without meals or when his feet were too blistered to walk further, how distracted he got by the little things like the local sports team or the soaps on hotel TVs. They didn’t know Mary had taught him the only way he would listen: with bruises and burns.

“You don’t understand,” he said, buying himself time as he searched for words to explain himself.

“I do,” Aaron said, before Neil could find what he was looking for. He didn’t offer anything further, but he caught Neil’s eye contact for the briefest of moments. It wasn’t warmth or comfort or even the vaguest essence of friendliness, but nor was it the cold, angry stare he usually reserved for Neil. It was just understanding. Support came in the strangest of forms.

“She won’t see you anymore. She isn’t welcome here,” Dan said, when it became apparent no one was chasing the thread Aaron left dangling in the air. She looked small and scared, anger brittle in the tremor of her fingers, but her voice didn’t shake once. Neil felt at once grateful and saddened, because he knew he had to let her down just once more.

“I’m staying with her for Christmas.”

“You’re what?” Nicky squawked. Several voices clamoured over one another, and Neil only caught fragments of each of them. You’re not— She’ll kill— We won’t let— You can’t be serious. It didn’t matter what they said. He had made up his mind. Because Neil knew what the others didn’t—couldn’t—understand. He knew that Mary and he were a unit, two parts of a whole that would always find their way back to each other. Mary was no worse a person than Neil himself and, against all odds, she had risked everything to find him again. He wouldn’t let that be in vain.

***

(Two silhouettes and an empty rooftop. Forgotten cigarettes burning to the filter. A hand on the back of his neck instead of around his chin. It’s your choice.

Two hearts chasing circles around one another. Air dirty with mislaid secrets. Fingers in his hair to keep him steady, or keep him close, or keep him whole. I’ll come back to you.

Their lips were gentle when they touched, fire and fury as always, but only softness over bruised jaws. It hurt, it hurt—it healed.)

***

Neil left one family frowning after him in Upstate Regional Airport, and boarded a plane to his other. Mary had returned to England without him, but she swore black and blue she wouldn’t hesitate to show up on his doorstep again if Christmas came and went without delivering him to her. Despite his teammates’ concern, Neil wasn’t worried. He had lived with Mary for eighteen years. He had to believe she had already done her worst to him.

“It’s only two weeks,” Neil had said, when Matt squeezed his arm so hard he might have snapped it clean in two. There were worse ways to spend Christmas break. Neil would know—he had experienced them.

Mary was nothing short of sunshine and smiles when she picked Neil up from the airport. The radio played in the car on the drive to Stuart’s house, but she talked over it. She told him about her plans for Christmas—about dinner and movies and her special hot chocolate.

Neil could almost forget the last ten years of his life had happened. When he looked at Mary, he was nine years old and they were planning secret Christmas celebrations behind his father’s back. They could never do anything big with roast turkeys and stockings, but Mary made two mugs of hot chocolate every year and turned a blind eye when Neil snuck extra marshmallows from the bag. Their first year on the run, she had wasted their weekly expenses buying cocoa and marshmallows and made cheap hot chocolate in paper cups on Christmas Day. Neil remembered wrapping his small fingers around the cup long after its contents were gone and it was cold against his palm. Mary had had to pry it from him when they moved on the next morning.

Stuart’s house was a four-bedroomed affair on the outskirts of Brighton with six northward windows and a rooftop fire escape. Neil took all of this in as they stalled in the driveway, his relived memories leaving him raw and vulnerable, falling into abandoned routines. He had brought only his duffel with him, to avoid baggage claim at the airport, so he had no excuse to linger by the car after Mary stepped out. Walking up to the front door felt like a march to the gallows, and stepping over the threshold was putting the noose around his own neck. Neil spared a thought for his Foxes, hoped they would enjoy their respective Christmases, and sealed his fate.

Mary kept the household busy over the week leading up to the big day. They were doing Christmas properly this year, she insisted, since they were finally a family at last. There was only three of them in the house, but the meal they prepared in advance would have fed a professional exy team twice over. Neil found the methodical chopping, boiling, and calling to one another across the messy kitchen became a comfort after the first few days, but he could never quite relax. He locked the door to his room overnight and slept with one of Andrew’s knives under his pillow. It was less reassuring than a gun, but comforting nonetheless.

Whenever he wasn’t needed for preparations, Neil snuck out the fire escape and burned cigarettes on the roof. He had taken to buying Andrew’s brand out of habit, and the smoke smelled less like burning metal and more like the Foxhole Court. He thought more and more every day that he would survive this. Mary was playing at the mother he had always wanted her to be, and Stuart was as distant as Nathan but not nearly as dangerous. And Neil had a ticket to South Carolina tucked in the pocket of his duffel. He would make it home.

Christmas Eve brought the first inkling of the old Mary Hatford blinking back into existence. Neil’s defences were weakened, his thoughts muddled by the easy routine they had fallen into. He was standing in Stuart’s cosy sitting room, watching Mary stoke the fire and waiting for Nicky to text back with an update, when she made her move.

“You’ve grown soft, Abram. Too fond. Too trusting,” she said without looking up. Neil snapped his phone shut abruptly, focusing his attention on the muscles shifting in her shoulders as she jabbed the poker at the coals. He had known it was coming, long before he even arrived, but he’d let himself be lulled into a sense of security. Stupid. Reckless.

“The blond one. You need to let him go,” Mary continued. Neil’s fist tightened around his phone. He wouldn’t fight her here—not in her own home, not on Christmas Eve.

“I can’t,” was all he said. It was the truth, plain and open like Mary had taught him never to tell it. He would not fight her. But he would let her know he wouldn’t break so easily these days.

“He isn’t good for you. He makes you weak.”

“He doesn’t,” Neil said, the defiance like copper on his tongue but still honest in ways he was learning to be. “He is my family.”

Neil Josten was the fastest striker in collegiate exy. He spent half his time dodging stray balls and hefty rackets. But even he wasn’t quick enough to avoid the poker that flew from his mother’s hands at those words. It glanced off his cheek before he could think to duck and, by instinct, he drew his arm up to force it away from his body, sending a searing pain all through his wrist. He crumpled, cradling his face with one hand and curling his body around the other in a measly form of protection. In the blink of an eye, he was tied to the passenger seat of a car, a dashboard lighter licking scars into his cheek. He was handcuffed to Kevin’s Evermore bed, a burning wire slowly peeling the skin from the palm of his hand. He was on the floor in his father’s Baltimore house, a heated iron discarded beside him and the sensation of every nerve in his shoulder being ripped one by one from his body.

“Oh, Abram. Silly Abram. Haven’t I always told you not to play with fire?”

Mary knelt at his side, pushing his hand away to tilt his face into her line of sight. Her cool fingers were a salve to his flaming cheek, and she held him together gently with a palm cupping his chin. Neil would fall apart without her—it was a wonder he hadn’t already. She knew how to treat burns, how to clean wounds, how to stitch him back together piece by careful piece.

“I know what’s best, remember? He is not good for you,” she said, her eyes full of concern as though she couldn’t have predicted the burning poker slipping from her own fingertips. She brushed his hair back with one hand and used the other to draw him close enough to kiss his forehead, all sense of anger stolen from her limbs. She had never been wrong before. Neil needed no further incentive to trust her.

“Okay, Mama,” he said, leaning into her touch like he was chasing the last breath of oxygen left on the planet. “Okay.”

***

Mary Hatford was a mother, not a gaoler. She didn’t lock doors or bar windows, because she didn’t need to. Because she was keeping only those who wished to be kept. This would be her downfall.

In lieu of a goodnight, Neil had received a rolling pin to the stomach for mentioning holiday meals with the Foxes, and a handful of painkillers by way of apology. The rolling pin had been wooden and flimsy, but Mary knew force if nothing else. As the evening wore on, breathing became a chore and movement nigh on impossible. Neil could feel the cracked rib worse than ever as he contorted his body to shimmy out the bathroom window, but he gritted his teeth against the pain and tugged himself out onto the window ledge. He dropped softly to the grassy outcrop framing the side of the house, spared a glance for the dark window of his second-storey bedroom, and was grateful the bathroom had been built a floor below. As soon as he was clear of the garden, Neil picked up speed, his instincts leading him towards the sound of buzzing traffic where he would hopefully be opportune enough to hitch a ride. His chest throbbed dully under the fissure in his ribs and his lungs ached for a break far earlier than he would usually need one, but not once did he glance back at the house he had left behind. There was no family for him there any longer.

Last minute tickets to the States weren’t cheap, but Neil had the luxury of having spent almost three years under one identity and the money saved was a godsend. The flight passed in mild discomfort, and Neil took to reciting exy stats to distract himself from the pain in his lower chest. Somehow, it kept him sane.

By the time he stepped out of Upstate Regional Airport into the chilly air of South Carolina’s winter, it was mid-morning on Christmas Day. Activity was sparse in the airport, but not entirely dead. Neil switched on his phone, his thumb automatically hovering over the speed dial. Andrew’s name was first, Wymack’s blinking just underneath, followed by the other Foxes one by one. He flicked the phone shut before he could tap any of them and moved off to hail a taxi. It was Christmas, after all. They were probably busy.

Fox Tower was empty when Neil let himself into the dorms to drop off his duffel, but he knew the way to Abby’s house by memory. It was a longer trek by foot than he had imagined—he started out at a jog but his ribcage screamed bloody murder until he relaxed into a casual stroll—and his injuries were a little worse for wear by the time he arrived. He paused in the driveway, an attempt to collect his composure from where it dragged at his heels masked under his need to catch a breath. The sitting room curtains were pulled wide and, through the bay windows, Neil could make out Andrew’s lot splayed across the room. He watched them for several precious minutes, a softness growing in his stomach, forcing its way through his chest, and cascading up his throat in a bubbling urge to tear up. They five of them (Neil included) had been planning to spend the holidays in Germany with Erik’s family, but had pulled out last minute to stay in South Carolina with Abby and Wymack. They never spoke about it, but they didn’t have to for Neil to know it was because of him. Because this is where he would come if things fell apart. Because he had returned alone from a broken Christmas once before and they would not let history repeat itself.

It took more effort than it was worth for Neil to force his gaze away from them and make the final few steps to the front door. He rang the doorbell, though he knew it would be unlocked, in a sudden bout of self-consciousness. He would always be welcome, he knew that, but it was too much to expect them to open their arms when he let himself be torn open time and time again. He would not walk in unannounced, and if they wanted him gone he would go.

It was Wymack who answered the door, half turned over his shoulder as the tail end of an insult left his lips. His smile was good-natured, fond even, and Neil felt all the worse for forcing his inconvenience upon it. The expression slipped as Wymack turned his full attention to the doorway, replaced by rigid fury and barely-visible concern concealed under a glare.

“Christ, Neil. Not again.”

Neil knew the others were listening in, because the house went still the second his name was thrown into open air. Wymack dragged Neil inside with a firm grip on his shoulder the same instant as Andrew barged into the hallway, Nicky, Kevin, and Abby hard on his heels with Aaron trailing behind. Wymack was smart enough to drop his hold on Neil when Andrew approached and moved to hang back with the others. Neil barely noticed them out the corner of his vision—he was caught in the webs Andrew was spinning with furious eyes. They stared each other down, neither moving nor speaking. Andrew lifted a hand to hover over the burn on Neil’s cheek, but didn’t touch the tender flesh. His eyes flicked over Neil’s body, searching for further impairments.

“Where else?”

Neil raised his right arm, displaying the matching scar still fresh on his wrist.

“My ribs too. Something might be broken.”

“Shit,” Nicky breathed, somewhere to the right. Nobody else spoke. Andrew’s gaze continued to set itself on fire.

“Abby,” Andrew finally said into the thickened air. Abby squealed at the abrupt mention of her name but disappeared almost instantly in search of a First-Aid kit. Andrew lifted his arm again, brought it this time to hover over the back of Neil’s neck.

“Can I—?” he asked. Neil nodded—a little too quickly, a little too eagerly—and Andrew dropped the weight of it onto the juncture between Neil’s shoulders. For the first time since Mary’s unexpected appearance, Neil discovered that he still remembered how to breathe. All his jagged edges flowed out of him as Andrew steered him into the sitting room, leaving him raw and empty but finally with enough space to fill his lungs.

Andrew climbed onto the back of the couch and forced Neil down in front of him, his knees pressed just beneath Neil’s shoulder blades and his hand a constant presence pressing on Neil’s neck. Abby shooed the crowded Foxes out of her way as she hustled back through with the First-Aid kit in hand. She started with his burns, methodically dressing and wrapping them with gentle fingers. She was too familiar, had patched him up like this too many times. Neil watched the grey clouds passing over her face as she worked, and thought she did not deserve to look so grim. He hated himself all the worse for causing that expression too often to count.

When she moved on to press a gentle hand over his ribcage, the others mysteriously drifted out of the room, murmuring something about checking on the roast. Neil let Andrew tug his shirt up over his head, gasping a little at the pain it took to lift his arms so high, and Abby carefully prodded at the points where it hurt to breathe. Neil didn’t think about his mother’s smile when she saw him in Heathrow Airport, her hips swaying as she chopped potatoes in the kitchen, her eyes darkening as she slammed a rolling pin between his ribs and hissed at his mentions of family other than her. He focused instead on Andrew’s palm, flat and hot against his skin, and on the repetitive nature of his breaths. In. He was here, in this moment, in this house, not there in another. Out. He would not have to see Mary’s twisted scowl ever again. In. He was safe as long as he had this roof over his head, as long as he had this hand on his neck. Out. He was a Fox and he had a family who would always welcome him home.

Once Neil was fully clothed once again, the others crowded the room with platters of food and cheer just a little too buoyant to be believable. Wymack cast a cursory glance over Neil’s bandages, searching out answers in a silence that he knew better than to break.

“We will talk about your necessity to put yourself in unpleasant situations,” he said at length, “but right now, it’s Christmas. Let’s eat.”

They tucked into Abby’s usual spread, chatting around mouthfuls of food and swigs of wine. The elephant in the room that was Neil’s past was left untouched, but Andrew didn’t move from his position at Neil’s back and, bit by bit, Neil found his breath returning to him.

***

Boxing Day saw the two of them bundled in their matching coats, legs dangling off the side of the rooftop and breaths clouded around puffs of smoke. They had spent the morning at Abby’s, lazily cleaning the previous day’s messes and forcing Neil into another check-up, before they were released back to the Tower.

Now, they sat in silence and watched the sun disappear behind the hazy sea of buildings laid out in front of them. There was a question somewhere between them, unvoiced and ignored but it disrupted the air with its awkward presence. Neil watched Andrew smoke his cigarette to a stub, crushed his own into ash, and stared out at the rapidly vanishing horizon.

“I just wanted to go home.”

Andrew gave him a funny look at that, pressing the cherry of his cigarette into the roof beneath them absentmindedly. The whole world felt a million miles away when he shifted to face Neil properly. And Neil would climb through a thousand bathroom windows with a thousand broken ribs from a thousand jealous mothers for this moment. When it was just him, and Andrew, and the ground four storeys below.

“You are home,” Andrew said, then grabbed his chin in both hands and kissed him into the dying sunlight.

#the foxhole court #all for the game #aftg exchange #my words #maz.dox #andreil #aftg #tfc #honestly with timezones idk if it's still too early to post this but ? i leave for a flight in a few hours so ??#oOPS u might be getting this a little early #abuse //#violence //

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