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meshlasolus · 3 months

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The Winner Takes It All

Episode 12

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Tribute(OC)!Reader

Chapter Warnings: this might be the saddest one... or maybe I'm delusional and it can only get worse from here. Anyways, death, canon typical violence, drowning, my sweet baby Lukas is trying his best as always... oh yeah a hUGE AMOUNT OF ANGST

Chapter Summary: This is the endgame, there are four tributes remaining. Who will live, and who will die? The choice has never been up to the tributes.

Word Count: 3.8k

my live action cinderella dress (movie accurate) is finally done so expect me to have a lot more editing time. I will also probably have more writing time so expect some endings to unfinished series.

“He had f-feelings for me?” Lukas was dumbfounded. The poor kid didn’t even get to tell you. He tried to speak, opened his mouth to do so, but froze upon not knowing what he could possibly say in response. Maybe just start with the truth. “He did,” his head fell when the words finally escaped. “I’m sorry, he wanted to tell you.”

You’d been silent. Not quiet, but absolutely silent. Lukas didn’t try to make you be anything else… but he did have to keep you moving. It wasn’t much later in the day, but the sun was already setting. The minimal amounts of light only being shown through the small openings of the tree canopy. It was harder to tell where you were going. Nothing looked the same as it did yesterday, or the day before. You could swear you’d walked through here to get to the stream, but the path had somewhat changed along the way.

As drowned in your thoughts as you’d been right after it happened, your entire body, including your brain, had been numbed to Rodey’s death. His blood was still on your hands. Figuratively and literally. You didn’t stare at it too long, forgetting to let your gaze linger on anything except the path ahead, and Lukas, who was three steps in front of you.

You both were half of the remaining tributes. It was a miracle you both had made it this far, but now that the numbers had dwindled, there were two other tributes left who were hunting the both of you. It was better to keep moving than to sit like a duck and let one of them take their victory.

The longer you went without finding the stream, your need for freshwater had grown exponentially. It was strange how the past few days it would rain for hours, but now that you actually needed water it ceased to exist… in a literal rainforest. That was the peak behavior of a game maker, to play sinisterly.

“We can stop here for now. Maybe if I can get up one of these trees I’ll be able to spot the stream again.”

You barely minded what he was saying, giving a small nod to at least show you heard him. You didn’t care much to speak anymore, not even to the person who you felt the most patience from. He was doing fine without the constant dialogue of the days before, and you knew he’d be fine without it till the end. He was going to win, there was no doubt in your mind. You’d thought that perhaps it could be him or Rodey, but Rodey died saving you. Now you would do the same for Lukas, whenever the situation finally came.

You sat down, back against a tree trunk and head dropped forward, eyes making an instant connection with the dried blood on your body. Even if you scrubbed at yourself for hours, there was no chance you could get rid of it all. You have the blood of two allies on your hands, now. That’s as many as you’re willing to have.

Lukas had set down his pack, starting to climb the roots and knots of the tree’s enormous base, when a tiny parachute descended straight towards him. You looked up when you heard the familiar sound it made, watching it fall into the boy’s hands.

“Head’s up,” he called, tossing you one of two canteens full of water. You took it gratefully, beginning to drink up as much as you could take.

Lukas smiled before looking down to the note included.

Talk to her for me, tell her it’s not her fault. - F

He sighed, trying to come up with any ideas on what he could possibly say. There’s no way to know if she’ll even be open to a conversation. There’s no indicator that she even wants to speak at all. But this is a sponsor that keeps them from having to exhaust their resources, and Finnick asked for something simple in return. He doesn’t understand why Finnick is so dead set on coddling you in this arena. It’s not like things are going to get any better from here. It’s an absolute fact that the time can only become worse, until everyone meets their end but one.

But against his logic, and against what his brain is telling him, his gut wants to follow his mentor’s instructions… So he does.

He sits beside you at the base of the tree, his own canteen in hand and his pack in the other.

“Listen, I know you don’t wanna talk about it,” he assumed, given the fact that you’ve literally said nothing since it happened. “But what happened, it wasn’t your fault. You know that, right?”

You reasoned with the scene over in your head, and the only way it didn’t end the same way is if he didn’t choose to jump in front of you. It was hard to think about, because you feel responsible. He wouldn’t have jumped if you weren’t there. But if you weren’t there, she’d only have him to charge at. It all ends the same every time. He was faster than you, braver than you. He would have stepped time and again, and you couldn’t stop him.

“He s-saved me. It was f-for me.”

“I know.”

You closed your canteen and let it roll out of your hands and onto the ground next to you, curling your legs to your chest and trying to comfort yourself. You really didn’t want to talk about it, but if he was adamant for you to do so, it was going to be on your terms.

He seemed to be stumbling for more words, and only came across some having rambled a thought from his head.

“I wish he’d never told you…”

“T-told me what?”

He hadn’t caught onto the fact that you had no idea what he was talking about. So like a dumbass, he kept going.

“About his feelings for you. I told him a few days ago it could only hurt you. Then again I also told him it was a good idea so I guess we were both stupid,” his rambling of a response made your eyes widen in both shock and anger.

“He had f-feelings for me?”

Lukas was dumbfounded. The poor kid didn’t even get to tell you. He tried to speak, opened his mouth to do so, but froze upon not knowing what he could possibly say in response. Maybe just start with the truth.

“He did,” his head fell when the words finally escaped. “I’m sorry, he wanted to tell you.”

For some reason, this information didn’t hurt you as much as it should. Instead, it angered you. How could he possibly have been so stupid to sacrifice himself in the name of feelings for someone he’d only recently met? How could he have given up a possible win, just to show his devotion. Had it been an instinctual move of protection, you could have accepted it… but no.

“I s-should be dead r-right now. All these p-people around me, dropping l-like flies. And I’m still h-here.”

“Don’t say things like that. Look, I get it. You feel responsible…”

You nodded, because yes, you absolutely did. Your ally’s blood is on your hands, and no matter how many times you scrub it away, it will always be there.

“But I feel responsible for you. I’d rather it be any of them than you, understand?” He finished off, his look of seriousness piercing yours of confused emotion. Sadness, anger, guilt. Probably more, but you can’t identify them.

You nodded, but his words didn’t make you feel any better. If anything it just made things worse. He was still trying to protect you, and you couldn’t stand losing one more ally. Especially not him. He had to be the one to make it out of here. You’d been thinking about it so much more the past several hours, now that only four remain. You’ve only gotten this far because of your allies, but now they are almost gone. It’s on the verge of every man for himself, but you know Lukas won’t let you die on your own. If it comes down to the two of you, you have every intention of throwing yourself from the top of a tree so he can go home. You don’t think you’ll survive the other two tributes, however.

“You’re g-going to win, y’know.”

He sighed, looking at the ground and shrugging. Maybe they are true, the things that you say. He just hopes they aren’t.

“I’m not so sure anymore. If I were a gambling man, I’d have to put money on you.”

“Well then it’s a g-good thing you don’t gamble,” you smiled, trying to expel every other feeling you had, and only hold onto one emotion at a time. The air was light, just around the two of you. Old friends, fighting for their lives, but they can still make the other smile, or laugh. It’s simply what friends can do.

Lukas hopes that he doesn’t leave this arena without you. He is praying to anyone that can hear his thoughts that if he watches you die, he’ll die too. It’s not like he has anything to go back to, anyway.

“Promise m-me something, for when you get h-home?” You asked, his curiosity piqued. “Promise me that you’ll take care of m-my family. My brother, make sure he d-doesn’t ever have his name in the bowl more than it h-has to be.”

He smiled. He hadn’t even thought about his own family, his mother. Probably because he didn’t consider her to be so, anymore.

“I promise, if I get out of here, I will.”

“T-thank you, Lukas.”

He leaned against you, his head resting on the tree while your own head was on his shoulder. You’d be perfectly content with dying if you could just drift away like this. Everything now was peaceful, and you’d left no stones unturned. Your family would be taken care of if Lukas lived, you know he’s good on his word. You know that having spoken with him, and even sitting here with him now, you will have resolved everything with him. There’s nothing else you need to know… except-

“Lukas?”

“Yeah?”

“W-why did you volunteer?”

He took a deep inhale beside you, then went stiff as the reasoning coursed through his mind. He could lie and say it was an impulsive mistake. He could come up with literally a million other things that would sound plausible for any kid on why they would do something so stupid. But he wasn’t any kid, and you weren’t just some bystander. You were his best friend. Either of you could die any moment, so he wanted to make sure you got nothing but the truth.

“The morning of the reaping, my mom and I had that argument,” he recalled. You nodded along, remembering the scene vividly. He hadn’t been himself until he’d gotten on a boat. The water always seemed to calm him down. “I’d been feeling better after work, but I went home to shower and get dressed.”

He stopped for a moment, his brow furrowing as he tried to bring it all back into recollection. The nasty look on his mother’s face, the way she swore at him and spewed her insanity. Thinking back to it now, him volunteering is just what she wanted. It would have been better to refuse volunteering out of spite.

“She told me I would never measure up to my father, and that there was no point in trying. When I asked her what she wanted from me, she told me she wished I had died in his place.”

Your hand immediately found his in a tight and reassuring grip when you heard this. It was just like his mother to go off and say some shit like that. Something that would scar him the rest of his life and force him to go immeasurable lengths, and for what?

“I told her I would volunteer if she wanted me dead so badly. She said I might as well, because it would be the only way to bring some pride back to our family. The sad thing is, I didn’t regret it until they called your name…”

“I’m s-so sorry,” you whispered to him, barely heard above the humming and buzzing of the rainforest. You clung to him, hoping that this could bring the smallest semblance of comfort in a place that exudes horror and danger. He clung right back to you, being still in your embrace as it was one of normalcy. He wasn’t sure how much longer he’d be able to hug you, or look at you, or talk to you. Even simply being in your presence wasn’t something he was going to take for granted, because he knew that soon, he would never be able to again, whichever way it went.

The day continued on, and the sun was setting much faster than you would ever anticipate. Probably because it wasn’t a real sun, and any glimpse of normalcy was non-lasting. It couldn’t be, because there had to be reminders that this was not the wilderness, and you were not safe. You would die any second. There were only four tributes remaining. You could imagine that things were getting tense back in the capitol. You couldn’t imagine the kid from eleven had garnered much of a fan base with Lukas being the prized tribute this year. You doubted the girl from one was getting any special attention, either. Not that they needed it. Estelle was most definitely the most qualified remaining tribute, a career who has trained for this moment all her life… but still, you’re sure Lukas will win it from her.

While walking in the marshy rainforest, you’re quickly reminded how easily this game can end.

You hear a branch snap a bit down the trail behind you, and you freeze.

“Lukas…” you whisper, drawing the knife from your hip.

He heard another branch, and turned his head, the boy named Brock from eleven quickly approaching, with Estelle on his heels. Whether or not she was chasing him, no one could be sure, but they both had a determined look in their eye, and all it took was one word for you to bolt ahead like lightning.

“Run.”

The branches below you snapped in half, the pressure of your rapid footsteps was intense enough to squash any animal or snake that dared slither into your path.

You could hear Lukas’ hard breath intake, as he was passing you every few seconds, then trailing a step behind, only to look back and make sure they weren’t gaining too quickly… except for they were. This was going to end in a face off, whether you liked it or not. You couldn’t run forever, and it was just a matter of time. You were ready to die, and you would protect Lukas.

You tripped over your steps, holding your hand out to stop Lukas in his tracks before he fell.

Well, at least you’d found the waterfall. The only downside is, you were at the top of it, having run onto a ledge that was at least a thirty foot drop into deep waters, raging from the pressure of the falls. There was no way you were making that jump without drowning. You’d probably have a heart attack on the way down and die before hitting the water.

“W-what do we do?” You turned to your counterpart, and he whipped his head back at the two approaching tributes.

“We’ve gotcha, now!” Estelle could be heard shouting, the sound getting far too close for comfort. It was now evident that they had been teamed up on this effort. “Nowhere to run!”

Lukas yanked your arm, pulling you beside him.

“Do you trust me?” he asked sincerely, the look in his eyes made you scared, like he was thinking irrationally, and he was… but it was all he could come up with.

“Yes,” you nodded, but grabbed his hand which was still on your arm. “Lukas?”

He didn’t even hesitate. He didn’t answer your call of his name. He didn’t even give you a second to understand what the hell he was about to do. He just did it.

Within a moment, gravity became your enemy, and you went flying backwards off the edge of the cliffside, arms and legs flailing as you screamed all the way down into the waters. You sucked in a quick breath before being fully submerged, hammered down by the constant onslaught of heavy water.

Lukas took off, running away while the others were distracted by your fall into the depths. He ran towards the forest again, trying to jump logs and dodge trees, anything that could make their path to him harder.

Brock was still looking over the edge, having been surprised by the play of events.

“Let’s go, we can’t let him get far,” Estelle pulled him by the shoulder, turning him to the rainforest patches again.

“What about the girl?”

Estelle scoffed, “We’ll hear a cannon in a few minutes, she can’t swim.”

And with that, they took off.

Immediately being in water, the panic set into your mind. You were clawing around, trying to make it out, reaching out for anything that you could use to pull yourself up… but with the pressure beating down over you, you sank deeper, and deeper, with no savior to jump in after you, now. This was it. This was the moment you had to choose.

Live, or Die.

Last time you chose to die, but there was nothing on the line. Lukas is on the line now. He is the only person you swore you were going to protect in this arena, and you had to find a way out of here if that was going to happen.

You tried to quiet your mind, to forget the past and just how much you hated being in this water. You were ignoring just how badly your arms ache while attempting to paddle to the surface. You forgot it all and remembered the boy you’ve known since childhood. You remembered all the times he stood up for you against the kids mocking your stutter. You remembered just how much he’s done for you and is still doing for you… and suddenly, your head breaks through the surface, and you’re able to crawl into the small cavern behind the waterfall.

You start heaving breaths, rapidly letting the air tear through your lungs, now that they had access to air in the first place. You smiled to yourself once you were able to get high enough on the rocks to stand. You survived. You’d been dealt a hand that was completely out of your favor and you managed to climb out and breathe the air around you.

Your excitement was immediately cut off when you heard a cannon sound.

You didn’t waste a minute in climbing the rocks as fast as you could, albeit a little clumsy from having wet hands and shoes. Your mind raced, and you hoped that your heart pounding would be eased, and you would be wrong about your suspicions.

“No, n-no,” you shook your head, running into the rainforest and looking around frantically. You took several turns, and couldn’t see anything or anyone, but you had your knife drawn anyway. You were practically panting by now, the heaviness in your breath never dwindling.

The minute you came to a clearing, your eyes falling on the person in front of you, your eyes watered with tears.

“Lukas,” you slid down to your knees next to his limp frame, pulling him into your lap to hold him. “Wake up. W-wake up, Lukas, I’m h-here.”

He didn’t budge, but as you rocked him, you were able to see the source of this tragedy, the trail of blood, streaming from his chest and over his body in gushes. It was all over your hands, and it was all over your arms. It was all over you. You were covered in his blood, just like you were covered in Rodey’s dried blood. You’d let another ally sacrifice themselves for you. You swore you wouldn’t.

This wasn��t just another ally, and this wasn’t just a tribute you’d met a week ago. This was the best friend you’d ever had. The person who grew up alongside you into a wonderful man. He was the person who comforted you when you felt too embarrassed to go to a family member. He was the boy who’d complimented you when no other boy would dare. He was the one who brought you shells every morning from his walk to the docks. And now he is the boy who’s blood you are covered in, crying over miserably.

You can’t bring yourself to part with him, to let him go. You know if you do, something different will become of you. Something you have never been before. So you don’t. You cling to him, and you cry, and you let the thunder that begins to rumble above you reflect your emotion. It’s been a day since it’s rained in this rainforest, but even still, the rain doesn’t pour, it only trickles slightly. Enough to remind you that despite this loss, and despite the fact that you will never be the same, you are still in this arena, and there is only one way out.

You raise your head, and hear another sound of a cannon. You look around, but there is no sign of movement or of other tributes.

There’s only one left, and despite what you’ve said since the moment you entered this God forsaken place, despite your morals, and despite these tributes not being your real enemy, there is only one thing on your mind, and you will not rest until you’ve attained it…

As you move to stand, you roll Lukas’ body on his back, placing his hands over his chest to be at rest. You hate that this is how his story ends. You want to bury him, you want to give him a proper memorial, but you know this arena will be scrapped by the capitol for next year’s use, and this spot will be desecrated soon after you arrange it. So you’ve decided you will raise a memorial of him back home, when you arrive there.

Your tears are still running hot, but there’s a new fire under them that hadn’t been there before. There’s an anger you’ve never felt before. There’s a glint in your eyes that will not be satisfied.

You turn your head at the familiar sound of an incoming parachute, the contents of the container seem to be large, as there’s an entire box being lowered in. You watch it fall to the ground, in disbelief at the sheer size of it alone. It comes up to about your knees, and you wonder, what could Finnick have sent me?

You flick open the top, and immediately see the contents of the inside. Rope, lots and lots of rope. Several carabiners are included that could be used for rock climbing, but you know, and he knows, that’s not what you have in mind.

You pick up the note, two little wet spots appearing from the tears in your eyes, and the rain from above.

Show no Mercy… - F

tags(open): @thepassionatereader @i-voluntears @secretsicanthideanymore @mystargirl-interlude @c4ttheart @lilibrn

#finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair thg #thg finnick #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #hunger games #sam claflin x reader #sam claflin

43 notes · View notes

cheolbooluvr · 3 years

Text

the zest of life

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pairing: rich boy!mingyu x tutor fem!reader

genre: university au, summer, friends w benefits

word count: ~6.3k (um this was originally 4.8k words before i went in and edited it for the nth time LOL HELP)

warnings: cursing, suggestive behavior (makeouts), mentions of alcohol

a/n: IT'S HERE!! IT'S FINALLY HERE!! the long awaited oh! summer summer summer summer! collab w @mingyuwus <33 thank you emma for hosting this collab, it was so much fun to write and i'm pretty happy w how it came out! this is the longest fic i've written to date and one of my personal favorites to write, too. as always, plz plz plz let me know what y'all think -- asks are open and reblogs are HIGHLY encouraged if you do like it :)

tag list: @lovingyu04 @minkwans @haoraecane @leahxxiong (it won't let me tag you :( )

my masterlist ＼ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ／

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lemonade + humidity + grass

“How did you like the oolong, Mrs. Kim?” you asked the older woman standing in front of you. She was beautiful — her dark brown hair falling just past her shoulders that were pulled back, her face aged but only ever so slightly, and her dreamlike voice that could call sleeping sailors to sea. Every time she walked into the store, she brought with her an inexplicable air of elegance as if you were basking in the presence of royalty. It was impossible not to admire her, not just for her beauty and composure, but for the way she treated you with such warmth and kindness, offering a red-carpet worthy smile with every interaction she had with you. Mrs. Kim was one of your regular customers, always coming in to buy tins of various teas for her numerous events she often told you about. From the clothes she wore and the handbags she carried, you figured she had a decent amount of money — or, at the very least, she knew where to buy convincing knockoffs.

“It was delicious,” she exclaimed. “All of the ladies in my book club loved it as well. What do you recommend for us this week, dear?”

Your eyes scanned the top shelves, browsing the various colored bins of tea leaves. Finally, you reached for what you were looking for: a tin of lychee black tea. “This one is lovely,” you told her. “It’s fragrant and sweet even without adding sugar.”

“Oh, I love lychee.” You opened the tin to allow her to waft the scent, her face lighting up as the fragrance hit her nostrils. “This smells wonderful. One tin of this, and I’ll take another of the oolong,” she said, winking at you. You gave her a warm smile before going to fetch the oolong. She watched as you wrapped the tins in the store’s signature tissue paper. After you finished wrapping the tins, you placed the tins into a paper bag and handed it to her. “Thanks, honey. Will you be working here all summer?”

You pressed your lips together. “Yeah, all summer…” You didn’t hate the White Lotus, and actually Iroh was the best boss you’d ever had, but some days were too slow for your liking. Besides, it didn’t pay as well as you’d hoped, especially since you would be going abroad at the end of the summer and spending the semester in Japan, which meant you needed to save up as much money as you possibly could.

“And you’re at the university up the road, is that correct?” You nodded. “Well, how would you feel about another gig?” Mrs. Kim asked. Your ears perked up at her inquiry.

“An extra job?”

“Actually, my son needs a tutor. He’s not doing too well in school and I’ve run out of options. I’ll pay you at least three times what you make here for every hour you’re with him.”

Three times? Mrs. Kim surely was an angel sent from heaven. You didn’t have to think twice when you told her, “I’ll do it.” Your words came out perhaps a little too eagerly, causing her to laugh, and though it was a bit embarrassing, none of this would matter in three months when you left.

“I’m not asking you to quit your job here, but just a few days of the week. Can you do that?” You nodded knowing that Iroh wouldn’t mind. “Wonderful. Here’s my number. I’ll send you the details later today. Make sure you send me your address, okay?”

“I will,” you replied.

“Thank you, dear. You are a lifesaver. I’ll talk to you soon.”

“Of course. Thank you, Mrs. Kim! Have a great rest of your day!” The bell at the top of the door pinged as Mrs. Kim pushed the door open, leaving you in the shop. A bit taken back and overwhelmed by her generous offer, you fell back onto the stool behind the cash register.

Your heart palpitated at the idea that you would have another chance to make more money for your trip. Opportunities like this seldom fell out of the sky like it did today; that had to be a good sign. Right?

———

It would be an understatement to say that you were surprised when Mrs. Kim actually sent a driver for you. When the strange man knocked on the door to your dingy studio apartment, you suspected he might be a loan shark preying on university students in debt. He introduced himself as Kicheol, his name ringing bell as Mrs. Kim had told you he would be coming via text. She had even sent you a photo of him, allowing you to check the photo to the man you were eyeing through the peephole. With great caution, you opened the door, one hand on your heavy-duty umbrella in case he tried anything. Kicheol greeted you again, reassuring you that it was him by pulling out his ID. You returned your umbrella to its rightful place before stepping outside and shutting the door behind you. Without a word, he began walking towards the elevator, pausing to look back at you when he realized you weren’t following him. Step-by-step, you followed behind him hesitantly until he led you to a sleek, black BMW.

The drive to the Kims’ house was much longer than you expected, but the views certainly made up for it. Sunlight filtered through the trees along a long stretch of road leading up to the house. Or, mansion, really. You gaped at the building in front of you, eyes wide as your brain tried to take it all in. Despite joking to yourself that Mrs. Kim was like a queen, not once did you entertain the idea that perhaps she actually was living like royalty in a house like this.

Kicheol circled the car around a marble fountain in front of the house, parking it by the stairs leading up to a grand door. He got out first while you were gathering your things, coming around to open the car door for you. The second you stepped out, you noticed that even the air was different as you took in the surroundings of the massive house. He motioned for you to follow him into the house where you were promptly greeted by Mrs. Kim who was seemingly in a hurry to be somewhere.

“Hi, honey,” she said, quickly giving you a hug. “Something urgent came up at work, so I can’t chat with you today. I hope that’s alright.”

“That’s okay, I understand,” you replied.

She gave you an apologetic look before grabbing her keys from a hook near the front door. “Kicheol, I’ll drive myself today.” The driver nodded in response and she turned her attention back to you. “Mingyu should be down in a minute. You can wait in the kitchen and help yourself to any food. Give me a call if you have any problems.” It was your turn to nod and you waved her off as she scurried out the door. Kicheol showed you to the kitchen before disappearing himself. Placing your backpack on one of the chairs, you pulled out your study materials and began reviewing the chapters of your math textbook. The ticking of the clock rang in your ears as you looked eagerly at the door, hoping your tutee would show up. Twenty minutes passed and Mingyu was still nowhere to be seen. Mingyu…Mingyu… Where have I heard that name before? The more you thought about it, the name sounded familiar…

Just then, a deep voice boomed through the kitchen. “Kicheol! Have you seen the keys to the Mercedes—” You nearly fell from your seat due to the sudden sound distracting you from your train of thought. After catching yourself thanks to the table, your eyes shifted to the source of the distraction; a tall, tan, and handsome boy wearing a plain white tee and grey sweatpants stood in the doorway. It was then that you realized where you had heard the name before: Kim Mingyu. When Mrs. Kim asked you to tutor her son, you were expecting him to be in middle school, or even high school, not the most popular boy at your university who also happened to be your classmate. He was the resident campus crush who everyone wanted to be friends with if they weren’t already thirsting over him, even if they wouldn’t admit it out loud, though, in your experience, it was verbalized more times than you’d like to hear. You had seen him from afar and heard quite a bit about him, especially stories of him being a notorious player, never the type to settle down. “Mingyu” and “commitment” were words that you would never hear in a sentence together, unless you put “hates” in between the former two words. It was strange seeing his face up close; though their noses varied slightly, he shared his mother’s eyes and lips down to the same blinding smile you often saw at the White Lotus. Mingyu always seemed like he was worlds apart, hot and rich, while you were, quite frankly, neither of those things. Never in a million years did you expect that your paths would cross, no, not like this, not at all, yet here you were, sitting in his kitchen and staring at the man himself.

“Huh.” Mingyu looked at you quizzically. “I was hoping you would have left by now.” Annoyance bubbled up inside of you at the tone of his voice. He trudged over to the fridge, dragging his every step, and pulled out a pitcher of water. Your eyes followed his every move from the water he poured into a tall glass to the big gulp he took from it. “My mom left, right?”

“Um, yeah,” you responded. Mingyu took another gulp of water and nodded back at you. You sat there quietly as he opened the cupboards scanning for food. Finally, he decided on a bowl of cereal, grabbing milk from the fridge and placing it all at the seat in front of you.

“So, you’re my tutor?” he asked. You nodded and watched him pour cereal into his bowl followed by the milk. Well, at least he’s not a sociopath, you thought to yourself. He put a big spoonful into his mouth, some of the milk dribbling down his chin. “Well, you can leave now.”

Your forehead creased and all you could do was stare at him as he shoveled cereal into his mouth. There was no way you were going to give up this opportunity to make money for your trip to Japan. “I’m not leaving.” Your voice was firm, but inside, you were starting to feel nauseous. Confrontation never came easy for you, in fact, you despised it, but you had to put your foot down this time.

Mingyu paused with a spoonful of cereal in his mouth, his eyes moving up to meet yours. He raised his eyebrows, surprised by your defiance. If you wouldn’t leave, he’d have to find a way—

“You can’t make me quit, if that’s what you’re thinking,” you continued. “Besides, even if you make me quit, your mom will just find you another tutor.”

Mingyu acknowledged your comment by nodding his head in agreement. His mom would do that, and knowing her, she’d find someone even worse. At the very least you seemed to be his age, so maybe he’d find a way around this. “By the way, how come I’ve never seen you before?” he asked.

“What?”

“We go to the same university, right?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, we do.”

“What year?” He set the spoon down on the table and looked at you curiously.

“Going into my third.”

“Which means we’re the same age then?”

You nodded.

“So, how come I’ve never seen you?”

“It’s a big campus,” you offered.

“Not as big as you think,” he retorted. “You’ve never been to any parties?” You shook your head no. Before you could respond, he continued, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those people who doesn’t go to parties because they’re—” He raised two fingers on each hand, bending them a few times. “‘Not for you.’”

You scoffed. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

“Not bad, just…” Mingyu shook his head. “Boring.”

You weren’t sure if it was his comment or just the sheer ridiculousness of this situation, but laughter escaped your lips. “It’s not my fault if I’m constantly working to save up money and never have time to go out. Some people don’t share the luxury of free time like you do. Besides, I’ve never been invited to any parties either…” your voice trailed off the second the words came from your mouth, regret washing over you like a cold shower. Why would you admit that to him? It was already hard enough to try and keep your cool in front of the university’s most popular guy, but maybe he didn’t hear you.

“Never?”

Never mind.

“Not a single party?” he pressed on.

You sighed. “Nope. Not even one.”

Mingyu laughed. “I find that hard to believe.”

“Why?”

“Everyone knows someone who likes to party.”

“Well, my friends don’t.”

“They sound boring.”

“They’re fun people!” you argued back.

“What do you guys do when you hang out? Watch movies? Play board games?”

You hated that he was exactly right, that that was exactly what you did with them when you had days off.

“That’s fun!”

“Sure, but so are parties.”

“You have your whole life to waste away Friday nights playing Monopoly and watching The Notebook for the millionth time. But your college days? Those are the only days you have to party it up. Live a little, you know?”

“Um, not really.”

Mingyu gave you an exasperated look. “Oh, come on. Haven’t you ever been curious about what they’re like?”

You hadn’t really thought about it before, but now, maybe you admittedly wanted to know what happened at college parties. “Isn’t it mostly people spilling drinks all over each other and throwing up everywhere?”

“I mean, yeah, sometimes, but they can be fun, too.”

“Doesn’t sound too convincing,” you chuckled.

It was impossible to ignore the feeling in his chest when he saw the way your face lit up when you laughed. “It’s something you have to experience for yourself.” For a moment, the two of you sat in silence, only the ticking clock present to fill the void. Just then, an idea popped into his head. “Why don’t you help me set up for my party this weekend?”

“I’m here to tutor you, not party.”

“Who says you can’t do both?” he questioned, only for you to roll your eyes in response. “It’ll be fun!” he whined. “I promise.”

“Mingyu, I have a job to do. I can’t just have fun whenever I want. I’m not like you.”

Something about those last four words cut a little deep, but he ignored the feeling. “Fine. What if I study hard all week? Will you help me set up for my party on Friday?”

With the way Mingyu was looking at you now, you understood why people fell for him so easily. He was charming, a smooth-talker, and on top of it all, he was really fucking attractive which made it nearly impossible to turn down his offer. “Will you actually study?”

“I will actually study,” he said, putting his right hand over his heart and raising his left.

You thought about it, running through all the possible scenarios in your head before coming to a conclusion. With a heavy sigh, you replied, “Okay, fine. I’ll help you on Friday, but only if we can get through all of the chapters I have planned for this week.”

“Okay, deal,” Mingyu said. He stood up and put his empty bowl in the sink. Instead of sitting in his previous seat across from you, he sat down in the adjacent chair to your left. He was close enough that his cologne lingered in the air, earthy, bergamot scents caressing your nose. “So, where do we start, teach?” he asked.

“You’ll probably need your books.”

“Ah, right. Okay, I’ll be right back.” It was almost cute how Mingyu ran out of the kitchen and presumably upstairs to his bedroom to grab his things. Almost. He returned to the kitchen with a lightheartedness in his steps, plopping his books on the table and opening it up to a random page. He paused and looked up at you with a gentle smile. “Oh, yeah. Before I forget, what’s your name?”

———

Before you knew it, Friday came in the blink of an eye. You thanked Kicheol for the ride and took a deep breath before stepping through the familiar entrance. It didn’t take long before you found Mingyu digging through a closet, tossing out random items behind him.

“Kicheol, have you seen the pool floats?” he asked. A shoe flew out from his hand, hitting you on the arm and causing you to yelp.

“Ow! Watch it!”

He emerged from the closet, a wide, toothy grin plastered on his face when he saw you. “You’re here! Great! Where’s Kicheol?”

It was impressive how short his attention span was, and how he managed to fly through the chapters you had planned for the week was nothing short of a mystery to you. In fact, you had planned a little extra, hoping you wouldn’t have to help him set up, yet here you were. He’s just asking me to set up for the party, you thought to yourself. Yeah, I’ll just set up and leave.

You watched him bounce around like a small puppy stuck in an extremely large man’s body. Sometimes, it was hard to remember just how big he was since you were almost always sitting down, though, there was no doubt that he was tall when he very clearly towered over you when the two of you stood next to each other. “He left to go take your mom to the airport,” you replied, rubbing your arm where he had hit you with the shoe.

“Shit. Okay, well I’m sure they’re around here somewhere.”

“Can’t you survive without them?”

“You never know who might not be able to swim. Plus, they’re fun,” he grinned widely at you, bopping you on the head and walking into the kitchen.

“Everything is fun to you, isn’t it?” You followed him and found a large array of drinks — both alcoholic and non-alcoholic alike — on the kitchen island.

He shrugged. “Yeah, basically. What’s your drink?”

“My drink?”

Mingyu pointed at the island. “Yeah, what do you normally drink? Or like to drink?”

“Hmm, a sparkling vodka cran,” you replied.

“What are you, forty-five?” Honestly, yeah, you thought to yourself, but hey, if he already thought you were boring, what was another comment about you basically being a middle-aged woman?

“They’re actually really good,” you stated matter-of-factly.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, here. I’ll make one for you and you can judge for yourself.” You pushed him aside to grab a red cup, eyes scanning the drinks available to you for some vodka. Unscrewing the bottle, you poured two shots worth of the otherwise horrible liquor into the cup, followed by the maroon cranberry juice about one third of the way into the cup. Your hands scanned the non-alcoholic beverages for lemon-lime soda which was the final touch you needed for the drink. Well, almost final. “Do you have limes?” you asked the party host. He nodded and pulled out an entire bag from the fridge. You grabbed one, sliced it into quarters, and squeezed the juice into the cup. With one of the paper straws he had out on the counter, you stirred it around a bit, taking a small sip to taste it. Perfect. You handed the cup to Mingyu who raised his eyebrow at you with interest. His face contorted as he tried to figure out how he felt about the drink, though it quickly relaxed, surprise registering in his eyes.

“Okay, I have to give it to you, that’s pretty good.”

“I’m surprised you’ve never had that.”

“To be fair, I started chugging cheap beers so my taste in alcohol is—”

“Questionable?” you laughed.

Mingyu laughed along with you and shrugged. “For lack of a better word, sure.”

“So, what do you need me to do?”

“Follow me,” he replied. You spent a good hour arranging the drinks on the outside bar and ensuring there were enough cups. Mingyu never told you how many people he was expecting, but based on the amount of, well, everything, it seemed to be a sizable amount. When you were finished there, you helped him roll out the ping pong table from the garage which led to you two getting distracted and hitting the ball back and forth for nearly half an hour. After you realized how much time you had just wasted, Mingyu asked you to set up the beer pong table while he finished putting up the string lights and placing the lawn chairs around the pool.

“Is that it?” you asked.

“I think so,” he said, scanning his backyard with great satisfaction.

“Alright, I guess I’ll head out then.”

Mingyu cocked his head, eyeing you with confusion. “Head out where?”

“Home?” you said as if that should have been obvious. “We’re done setting up.”

“Yeah, but you have to stay for the actual party. Besides, it’s dinner time and I haven’t eaten yet.”

“I thought you just wanted me to set up…” Your cheeks became warm with embarrassment as you realized you had misinterpreted his request.

He laughed and shook his head. “Why would I ask you to set up and not invite you to the actual party?”

“But I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” you replied. This was not what you planned as you tried to find any excuse to leave.

“You can borrow my sister’s.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that.”

“You worry too much. She buys swimsuits like they’re candies and never wears them. There will definitely be some that still have the tags on it. Come on,” he said, putting his hand on the small of your back as he led you upstairs to his sister’s room. Her room was larger than your studio apartment, the walls painted a calming lilac color and adorned with numerous photos of presumably her friends and family. Mingyu sauntered to a large dresser opposite the door and opened the drawers. He rummaged through the contents, pulling out a number of swimsuits with the tags still on them. “See? I told you.”

“We’re probably not even the same size,” you told him. He handed you a one-piece with cutouts on the side and you looked at the tag. Nope, you were exactly the same size as his sister. Damn it, why is he always right?

“That looks like it should fit, right?” he said with a big smile. You nodded hesitantly, taking the clothing when he handed it to you. “Well, I’ll let you get changed. You can use her bathroom right there. I’m going to get changed and I’ll meet you downstairs.” With that, Mingyu left you alone in his sister’s bedroom. As you made your way to the bathroom to change, you caught sight of what looked to be a photo of him and his sister. In it, a much smaller Mingyu clung onto his older sister’s arm, his face in a state of distress as his sister smiled calmly at the camera. Even as a baby, he was admittedly really cute in that photo. Curse the Kim family and their superior genes, you thought.

You came back to your senses, remembering why you were standing there in the first place and went into the bathroom to get changed. The swimsuit fit even better than you thought it would, and it was honestly really cute on you. When you returned downstairs, Mingyu was adjusting the music on his phone. You were taken aback by his shirtless figure, his toned and muscular body glistening in the sun like some kind of Greek god. God fucking damn it, why is he so hot?

“Oh? You’re done?” He looked up from his phone. “Does the swimsuit fit?”

“It does,” you replied. “That’s a great song, by the way.”

“Glad to know that you’re not only smart, but also have great taste in music,” he said, flashing his incredible smile at you. “Hungry?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“Cool, Seokmin should be here any minute with pizza.”

“Seokmin? Like, Lee Seokmin?”

“Yeah, you know him?” Mingyu looked at you with surprise.

“He was in my philosophy class freshman year. I haven’t talked to him in a while, but yeah, I know him.”

Just then, Mingyu’s phone pinged. “Oh, perfect. He’s out front. I’ll be right back.”

He returned with Seokmin trailing right behind him and saying something about how he didn’t know that blue and red made purple.

“Man, that’s some basic shit we learned as kids. Didn’t you learn that when you were younger?” Mingyu laughed at him.

Seokmin pouted, pushing Mingyu with the pizza box. “Honestly, I don’t remember.”

Mingyu turned to you and asked, “Did you know that blue and red make purple?”

“Yeah, I do. Also, hi, Seokmin,” you replied, waving at the curly haired boy.

“Oh my gosh! Hey!” Seokmin greeted you warmly. He set the box down on one of the tables and gave you a big hug. “How are you? It’s been so long since I saw you!”

He wrapped you in his embrace, squeezing you as if you were a friend he hadn’t seen in ten years. “I’m good! I’ve just been busy with work and school, same as always.”

Seokmin looked between you and Mingyu. “How do you know this clown?”

Mingyu scoffed and went to change the song on his phone. “She’s my tutor,” he said.

“Oh, good, he needs one,” Seokmin whispered.

“I heard that!” the tall boy yelled across the yard. Seokmin and your laughter blended together in the evening air. Soon, more and more people started arriving and the party started to pick up. Since you didn’t know anyone, you mostly clung to Seokmin’s side, though he didn’t seem to mind. He introduced you to his and Mingyu’s friends, two of them being Soonyoung and Seungkwan, the other members of his performance trio, BooSeokSoon. You had seen flyers around campus for their performances, but they always fell on nights you worked. Seokmin suggested they give you an impromptu performance then and there, but Soonyoung was already drunk beyond his mind. Seungkwan told you how Soonyoung insisted on pregaming, except he had only had a couple shots before they had to stop him. One misstep was all it took for Soonyoung to end up in the deep end of the pool. Another of their friends, Seungcheol, dove into the pool, pulling him to the shallow end where Seungkwan was rubbing his forehead as if that would cure him of his drunkenness. It was a hysterical sight to bear witness to and the appeal of parties was starting to become clear to you. There was something about people doing things they normally wouldn’t do sober that was amusing, to say the least. You broke away from the chaos for a bit to grab a drink when you felt a presence looming behind you.

“Having fun?” Mingyu asked. You couldn’t help but smile when you noticed that he was making himself a sparkling vodka cran. .

“Maybe just a little,” you responded, not wanting to reveal your satisfaction just yet. “Soonyoung is… something else.”

“He really is. Don’t be surprised if he tries to kiss you. Just yell for one of us and we’ll take care of it.”

“Is that one of his drunk habits?”

“Unfortunately. I’ve fallen victim to his lips more times than I can count.”

You laughed. “Is he at least a good kisser?”

“When his lips are chapped? No. But otherwise, he’s not too bad. There’s definitely room for improvement.”

Another chuckle escaped you.

“What are you drinking? Sparkling vodka cran?”

“Mm, I haven’t decided yet. Have any suggestions?” you replied.

“You like lemonade?”

“I do.”

He went behind the bar, squatting briefly before pulling out a glass bottle with a pale yellow liquid in it. The bottle made a hollow popping noise when he removed the metal cap with a bottle opener. “Try this. It’s a sparkling hard lemonade.”

You took the bottle from his hands and lifted the bottle to your mouth. The cold liquid traveled down your throat, contrasting the summer heat that warmed the rest of your body. It was the perfect mix of sweet and tart, all countered by the bubbles, and you could barely taste the alcohol. “This is really good,” you told him.

“Thought you’d like it,” he said with a smirk. Just then someone called his name from the other side of the yard. “Oop, looks like it’s my turn for beer pong.” He grabbed his cup and ran off, leaving you at the bar. You looked around at everyone around you enjoying the summer night. Mingyu was right. Parties could be fun.

At that moment, Seokmin called out to you, motioning for you to join him in the pool with some other people. You took your shirt and shorts off, revealing the one-piece Mingyu had previously offered you before making your way to the others. With careful steps, you took your time wading into the cool water, the feeling similar to the lemonade you drank just moments prior.

Seokmin took no time splashing water in your direction then looking naïve when you glared at him. It didn’t take long for him to grin and continue splashing water on you, though, you didn’t let him continue without a fight. The two of you laughed as you splashed each other back and forth. From the other side of the yard, Mingyu watched you, noting how the pool light lit the edges of your face. He knew that if he had seen your face before, he wouldn’t have ever forgotten it. Despite the large crowd, his eyes were drawn to only you, your laughter the only sound that filled his ears in the night.

Soon enough, you were joined by Seungkwan, Chan, Joshua and a (more or less) sobered Soonyoung who did a cannonball into the pool. Some of the boys were chicken fighting and you did your best to avoid getting in their way in case one of them came crashing down, which they eventually did as all chicken fights go.

Time passed by in the blink of an eye and you ended up in the hot tub with Seokmin and Joshua. Every once in a while, your eyes wandered to wherever Mingyu was, and every once in a while, he would look back at you. Under any normal circumstance, you would have been embarrassed to be caught staring at him the way that you were, but tonight, you didn’t care. He was hot. And he made you feel warm inside, even warmer than the hot tub.

Your stolen glances didn’t go unnoticed by the boy as he took them as a sign to join you. The three of you were laughing about Seungkwan and Soonyoung bickering earlier that night during a match of beer pong when he came over.

“What are you talking about?” Mingyu asked. He slid into the tub naturally, sitting right next to you, your knees barely touching with every movement of the water. You weren’t sure if it was intentional, but you certainly didn’t mind. At times, you would even press your knee against his ever so subtly to see if he noticed. And oh, did he notice.

“Just how often Seungkwan and Soonyoung bicker,” Seokmin laughed. Mingyu nodded in agreement, but more often than not, he bickered with those two as well. The four of you spent the next hour exposing your friends and soon, Joshua and Seokmin decided it was time for them to leave, leaving the two of you alone. The warmth from the hot tub and the alcohol in your body made you feel sleepy despite having sobered up a bit which was probably a sign that you too should leave, so you stood up.

Mingyu took hold of your hand with unprecedented speed and looked up at you with pleading eyes. “Where are you going?”

“It’s getting late,” you responded. “I should probably get going.”

“You have to help me clean up.” He really did look like a puppy the way he was pouting at you now.

“I agreed to help you set up, but cleaning was never mentioned, and I’m sure of this.”

“Isn’t that implied when I asked you to set up?” he asked. You glared at him in disbelief. “Oh, come on. Please, help me clean up. I’ll study an extra hour everyday next week.”

“An extra hour?” You raised your eyebrow, skeptical of his offer. Another hour of tutoring meant another hour of pay everyday which would help you save even more money for your trip to Japan.

“An extra hour. But no more than that,” he bargained.

You let out a sigh, agreeing to his deal, though maybe you didn’t mind spending a little extra time with him. Mingyu stood up and the two of you began cleaning the random mess of cups and discarded ping pong balls littered here and there. After an hour of throwing everything into bags and putting the drinks back in the kitchen, the drowsiness hit you harder than a truck. You collapsed onto the grass near the hot tub, sticking your legs in the warm water. A crunching sound could be heard as Mingyu’s footsteps became louder. He plopped down right next to you, your sweaty skin touching once more.

“So, not bad, right?” he asked, his face breaking into a sly grin.

“I had a good time,” you replied, smiling back. “It was definitely more fun than I imagined. Not too many people puking either.” Mingyu laughed at your comment. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he sighed, leaning back on his arms.

“No, really. Thank you.” You fell back onto the grass, the blades pricking at your bare skin, but you didn’t mind. You looked up at the night sky; the moon was out in full force tonight and the stars seemed to twinkle brighter than ever. “I can’t remember the last time I had this much fun.”

“So, you are boring,” Mingyu joked. You punched him on the arm and he winced.

“Not boring, just busy.”

“With what?”

“Work, school, you know, things you wouldn’t be familiar with.” Mingyu turned to you, a look of dejection in his eyes. You winked at him and chuckled.

“Hey, I’m trying, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you waved him off. “Anyways, it was nice to escape that for a bit. But now it’s back to reality.” When Mingyu didn’t reply, your gaze turned to him. He was staring out into the distance, a million thoughts racing through his head. “What are you looking at?”

He turned to you, his eyes meeting yours and causing your heart to flutter. He leaned over your body, caging you in with his arms and bent down so you were face to face. “You,” he whispered. Time stopped when he placed his lips on yours, gauging your response. In a slight panic, he pulled away, afraid that maybe he had made a mistake. You quickly grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him back onto you, kissing him passionately. Your movement was intense like the two of you had been starved of any kind of intimate touch your whole lives, his hands traveling down your sides and making you hyper aware of the grass cutting into your back.

“Wait, Mingyu,” you whispered, breaking away from him despite your desire to keep going. “My back itches.”

He hadn’t realized how uncomfortable you were until then, so he stood up and moved into the hot tub, inviting you in with him. You followed closely and quickly attached yourself to him again. He peppered your forehead with kisses as he sat down. Suddenly, a realization washed over you. “Wait, Mingyu…”

“What’s wrong?” His face wrinkled in concern. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not that,” you said, looking at the back door anxiously. Even though you knew she was gone for the weekend, you were afraid his mom would find you in the backyard kissing her son. “I’m your tutor.”

Mingyu tilted his head, raising his eyebrows as if you being his tutor had any weight in the situation. “And?”

“And your mom pays me to do just that. Not make out with you in the hot tub.”

A low chuckle reverberated from his chest, his hands finding your waist to pull you in close. He removed one hand to caress your face, your head leaning into his touch as he placed his forehead against yours. You closed your eyes, taking in the humidity of the tub and this moment. “Well, you’re still tutoring me, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then just consider this your bonus for doing such a great job,” he replied. He pulled away to look you in the eyes, to assure you that he wanted this only if you wanted it. “Deal?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his offer, but who were you to turn it down? Money and kisses from a hot boy, what more could you want?

“Okay, deal,” you whispered.

Your lips reconnected once more, the two of you smiling through the kisses.

｡☆✼★ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ★✼☆｡

thx again for reading <33 plz let me know what you think either thru reblogs, replies, or asks! if you have any questions, feel free to also let me know :)

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lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks · 3 years

Text

what the fuck I just found this in my drafts I literally wrote this years ago, like a very significant number of years ago this is old shit

and apparently I just saved it and forgot about it??? anyway I polished it up and now it is here, I have no context and I barely even remember writing it, enjoy!

my apologies for the long post I still can't figure out how to do read mores in the app

edit: some lovely people have unformed me how to use readmores, thank you ~

-----

Jack was starting to wonder perhaps if he'd done something wrong.

It wasn't uncommon for him to accidentally say or do something to upset his wife or daughter, although usually when such an event occurred Maddie would glare at him to express her displeasure, and Jazz would always take the opportunity to tell him in exact detail what he'd done wrong and how to make it up to them (something he was honestly very grateful for).

It must have been something pretty bad this time, because both women wouldn't even look him in the eye.

Jack first twigged that something was off that morning during breakfast, when he sat in the empty chair by Jazz's side and gave his usual greeting, "Hey Jazzypants!"

She ignored his presence completely, steely eyes glued to the wall opposite her, they were puffy and red and Jack wondered perhaps if she'd been crying.

It had been a long time since her problems were easily pushed aside by her father's warm hugs and jovial attitude, he had stopped being able to handle a crying Jazz after she'd turned twelve and countered his attempts at humour by insisting that he 'stop trivialising her distress', whatever THAT meant.

Nevertheless, warm hugs and gentle jokes were the only method he knew and so he wrapped a comforting arm around her thin shoulders, noting that she continued to sit still as a rock, not even glancing his way as he tried to coax a smile out of her.

Jazz didn't say a word as she pushed herself away from her unfinished breakfast and left the room.

It was when he walked down to the lab intending to ask Maddie about Jazz that Jack started to suspect he may have been the one responsible, as it became apparent that the two had seemed to coordinate their punishment for whatever transgression he'd made.

"Hey Mads!" his voice boomed over the noise of his wife's current project. He strained to see through the bright light of her blow torch at the large gun-like weapon on the table. Jack whistled in appreciation is he took in the size of what he assumed was some kind of rocket launcher. "So what are we calling this one? Ooh! How about, The Fenton Spectre 'Sploder!"

Maddie's goggles made it difficult to see what expression adorned her face, but her tensed shoulders and the shaky grip on the blow torch told him that she was most certainly upset about something.

"Mads? Are you alright?" his voice quivered slightly as he took a few steps closer, seeing his wife this tense tightened a coil within his chest. Suspecting that he may be responsible added an extra weight to his stomach that he knew wasn't cause by the breakfast he'd skipped.

The light from the blow torch snapped off and Jack had to blink the bright spots it left behind from his vision, trying to peer through the blotches to find any indication that Maddie was going to acknowledge his presence. It seemed as though she'd looked his way for a moment but before his eyes could clear enough to meet hers she'd looked away again.

Jack watched, puzzled as his wife raised a hand to cover her mouth and catch the sob that ripped its way from her throat, she hadn't succeeded as the sound echoed across the lab and tore its way straight through Jack's heart, causing his eyes to sting and his throat to close up.

He reached a hand out to touch her shoulder, intent on giving her some form of comfort. He'd barely brushed it with his finger tips before Maddie stormed right past him up to the stairs, Jack had to quickly stumble backwards to avoid being trampled.

He couldn't imagine what he possibly could have done to elicit such a response from the woman he loved, but he knew for sure that he must have done something terrible for her to not seek him out for comfort like she did any other time she was upset. He just wished he could remember what.

Jack's shoulders slumped under the dim light of the glowing jars of ectoplasm lining the various counter-tops, he dry-swallowed a few times, trying to push down his confusion and distress before following his wife's light footsteps up the stairwell.

He found her in the kitchen, leaning against a counter with her goggles slung around her neck and her wild red hair loose around her head, abundant with the kinks and tangles Jack usually watched her brush out of it every morning.

"Mads?" Jack said, voice rough and quiet, "Look I... if I did something wrong I-" Jack's apology froze in his throat as Jazz poked her head through the kitchen door, eyes once again glancing right over Jack and instead locking onto her mother.

Neither woman shared a word as Jazz crossed the room and wrapped her arms around Maddie, who desperately grabbed at her daughter in return, burying her face in long red hair as violent sobs wracked her whole body.

Jack, at a loss of what else to do, wrapped his own arms around his girls. Nestling his chin on his daughters hair, he expected the annoyed scoff that Jazz usually gave him for his 'chin noogies', but it never came. Neither Fenton woman pushed him away though, so Jack considered it progress.

Finally, after an age of rocking and sobbing, Maddie's muffled words escaped through strands of Jazz's hair.

"Where is he? W-where'd he go, where'd he go?"

A deep chill coursed through Jack's veins, Danny? Had something happened to Danny? Jack pulled away, a million questions thrumming through his mind.

What happened? Was he missing? Was he hurt? Had he run away, been kidnapped, been kill- no. Jack shook his head violently, running a hand through the shorts strands of his thick hair. No he couldn't be. He couldn't be he couldn't be.

Jack's mouth was on the verge of catching up to his brain, multiple questions bubbled at his lips when he heard a voice echo down the stairs.

"Jazz?"

Jack took a steadying breath and grasped at the counter for support, relief flooding his body as his son rounded the corner and came into view. Danny was fine, Danny was safe. He had been fretting over absolutely nothing.

Then Danny's eyes locked into his.

A number of emotions flickered across his son's face, the first being a brief moment of sheer relief and delight, but it didn't last. Soon, too soon, Danny's dark brows pulled together and his lips curled sourly in confusion before a new expression swept it away. It was one Jack had never seen before.

He felt as though the air had been sucked out of the room, an icy chill prickled up his arms as the sudden wave of absolute horror overtook Danny's face. Jack couldn't tell if his son was about to break down crying or scream.

And then it was over. The tension in Jack's limbs released as Danny's face flattened into an unnaturally blank expression, he dropped his gaze and continued his way over to Maddie and Jazz. Once again it was like Jack wasn't even there.

Danny placed a hand on his mother's shoulder. "Maybe you should do another lap around town, you might find something today." he spoke softly into her frazzled hair.

Jazz looked at Danny strangely, her brother sent her back a glance that must have held some meaning because she then gripped Maddie tightly around the shoulders and led her straight out of the house, and suddenly Jack recalled that he still didn't know who it was that had gone missing.

"So... is anyone gonna tell me what's going on?" the jovial tone Jack meant to use came out flat and strained, Danny didn't look even remotely amused.

"I think you should sit down." Danny said quietly. He was no longer meeting Jack's eyes as he pulled out a chair for himself and one for his father.

Jack took the offered seat and prepared himself for the worst, obviously someone dear to Maddie and the kids had gone missing, Jack ran a list of all the people they knew, preparing himself for the worst, it was obvious Danny did not want to tell him what had happened. Perhaps whoever was missing was someone that Jack in particular had been close to? Was that the reason behind the horrified look on Danny's face? Because he'd realised he was going to have to be the one to tell him?

Something in Jack's gut told him he was on the wrong track, but try as he might he just couldn't imagine what else it could possibly be.

Jack kept his eyes on his son as the boy's thin torso straightened up in his chair and his icy blue stare bored into Jack's. Danny took a deep breath, then took several more, eventually he seemed almost ready to speak, Jack didn't rush him.

"Dad... you're dead."

#Bitter #danny phantom #lula's fanfics #jack fenton #I have zero context for this I barely even remember writing it #like this has to be 5 years old AT LEAST

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)

series masterlist

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 6k

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink

note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes

Six months later...

“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”

You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”

“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”

“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.

“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”

“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.

“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.

“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”

“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”

“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.

“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”

She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”

“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.

“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”

“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”

“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”

You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.

After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.

“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.

“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.

“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”

“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”

“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”

“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”

“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.

“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”

“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”

You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.

“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.

"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.

"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.

“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”

“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.

“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”

“I think so, too, dear.”

Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.

Week 1, Day 1: Greetings

Hello Salut

Goodbye La revedere

Thank you Mulțumesc

You’re welcome Cu plăcere

Good morning Bună dimineata

Good afternoon Bună ziua

Good evening Bună seara

Good night Noapte bună

You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.

How are you? Ce mai faci

I love you Te iubesc

“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.

Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.

Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.

You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he��d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.

Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.

You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.

You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.

After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.

Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.

A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.

With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.

The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.

You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.

“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”

Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.

A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.

“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.

“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.

“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”

She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.

“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”

“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”

You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.

“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”

You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”

She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.

“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”

You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.

You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.

In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.

The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”

“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.

It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.

“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”

“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.

“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.

“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.

As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.

“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”

“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.

“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”

“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”

So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.

“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.

“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”

“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.

“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”

“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”

The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”

“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.

“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”

“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.

“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”

“Wow,” you smiled.

“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.

“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.

“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”

Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.

“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.

“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.

“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.

“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.

“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”

He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”

But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.

Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.

Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.

And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.

“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”

His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.

He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.

But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *

“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”

You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.

“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.

The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”

Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.

“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”

You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.

“Marry me?” he asked softly.

“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”

He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.

It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.

He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.

Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.

Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.

You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.

Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.

Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.

And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.

As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.

He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.

It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”

He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.

“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.

It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.

You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.

“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”

Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.

You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.

His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.

In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.

“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.

“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come in here, please…”

You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.

“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”

You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”

“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”

“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”

You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.

“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”

“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.

“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.

You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”

“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”

He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”

You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”

You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.

“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”

“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.

He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”

You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”

“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.

“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”

“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.

He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.

sfarsit; the end

#sebastian stan x reader

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fuckyeaharchaeology · 3 years

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The Pitfalls of “Charismatic Archaeology” - Part One: What’s in a Name?

All right, as promised, we’re going to take a look at the phenomenon of “charismatic archaeology” (Munawar 2017, 41) as it applies to the so-called Arch of Triumph in Palmyra, which was destroyed by Islamic State militants in 2015 and whose modern cultural context has seemingly superseded its archaeological context in the years since. Because there’s a lot to go over here, I’m going to have to split this up into a few parts. But the main takeaway of this series is that this arch—or tripylon—is still fascinating, even if it isn’t necessarily as ‘Roman’ as we are led to believe and that branding it as such does a disservice to the local Palmyrene builders responsible for its innovative construction in the late second to early third centuries AD (but more on that in later installments).

We already encounter an issue with the classification of this monument as a triumphal arch. Once it was torn down by the Islamic State in October 2015, the tripylon was introduced to the public on a global scale. In their reporting, numerous international news outlets used this term to describe the structure. However, this inaccurate classification pre-dates the arch’s destruction: my thesis advisor told me that when she last visited Palmyra in 2005, the archaeological park guided tourists to the monument and the adjacent section of the city’s Great Colonnade with a sign that read “Triumph Arc (sic) and the Long Street.” That said, the vast majority of the archaeological literature that was written prior to 2015 more accurately designates it as simply a monumental arch or, more commonly in the German-speaking world, a tripylon.

Other common misattributions the monumental arch is given are those of “Hadrian’s Arch/Gate” and the “Arch of Septimius Severus,” though the former is more often a fixture in the German-speaking world (where it’s called the Hadrian Bogen or Hadrianstor). In AD 129/130, Hadrian did himself travel to Palmyra, and during his stay, he granted the city his name (Hadriana Palmyra; Browning 1979, 27). And while it is true that there was an uptick in monumental civic construction and ‘Romanization’ in the city afterwards, the tripylon had not begun to be built until roughly the late Antonine period, around AD 175/180 (Barański 1995, Fig. 1; Tabaczek 2001, 128), so it could not have feasibly been built for Hadrian (in contrast to Hadrian’s Arch in Gerasa, Jordan). Similarly, this start date places its chronology too early to have been built for Septimius Severus, either, as his reign lasted from AD 193–211. That said, a number of scholars do date its construction to his reign or to post-212 more broadly (e.g. Browning 1979, 88; Burns 2017, 245; or Will 1983, 74). However, in doing so, they fail to take into consideration that a structure as large and complicated as the tripylon (more on that later) would have taken years and years to complete, and it was most likely finished sometime in the late Severan period (Tabaczek 2001, 38. 130). Therefore, any commemorative/honorific purpose for this arch is called into question (though statues to Odenathus and his family were placed in niches in the central passageway well after its initial construction in the mid-late 3rd century AD; Burns 2017, 245).

The monument’s designation as a ‘triumphal’ arch or the Arch of Hadrian/Septimius Severus immediately brings it firmly into the realm of ‘Roman’ archaeology, but naming it as such ignores the tripylon’s indigenous Palmyrene context, which in itself tells a much richer story than its apparent association with the Roman Empire. It should be stressed that the term ‘triumphal arch’ was seldom used in antiquity (Cassibry 2018, 246) and that scholars from over a century ago had even expressed the need to use caution when defining these monuments as such (Densmore Curtis 1908, 27). Not only does this term signal the ‘Romanness’ of these structures, but it tends to evoke a sense of particular importance or gravitas to the modern layperson on account of how modern Western powers have adapted the architectural form and used it to express their own “cultural statement,” whether at home or abroad in colonized territories (e.g. the Arc de Triomphe in Paris or the Gateway of India in Mumbai; Ball 2016, 286).

In reality, the eastern Roman territories of Syria and Provincia Arabia have no known ‘true’ triumphal arches, such as those that we’d associate with the city of Rome itself (e.g. the Arch of Septimius Severus or the Arch of Constantine; Ball 2016, 286), but there are three known commemorative/honorific arches to the emperors Trajan (Dura Europos) and Hadrian (Jerusalem and Gerasa; Segal 1997, 131). The point of such monuments was to serve as imperial propaganda “in Wort und Bild” (“in word and image”; Kader 1996, 184). As we will see in later parts of this series, this was not necessarily the case where Palmyra’s tripylon is concerned.

Speaking of cultural statements and propaganda, it is also possible that the concept of triumph was used to the advantage of the Institute for Digital Archaeology of Oxford and Harvard Universities when it decided to use digital methodologies to create a physical reconstruction of the tripylon in 2016 (and believe me, there will be an entire separate post about everything that was wrong with this replica). The IDA’s branding of the tripylon as such in the wake of the Islamic State’s retreat from Palmyra may have delivered a different kind of political message in the sense that the arch and its subsequent reconstruction could represent a triumph of the Syrian people and their cultural heritage over the militants and their wanton destruction of it—perhaps as a 21st-century parallel to Zenobia’s liberation of Palmyra from the Roman Empire (Munawar 2019, 152). Whatever the reason, the emphasis on the monument’s charismatic ‘triumphal’ nature obfuscates its ancient urbanistic context, which will be discussed more in detail in the next part of this series.

Thanks for reading!

Works Cited:

W. Ball, Rome in the East: The Transformation of an Empire, 2nd Edition (London 2016).

M. Barański, The Great Colonnade of Palmyra Reconsidered, Aram Periodical 7(1), 1995, 37–46.

R. Burns, Origins of the Colonnaded Streets in the Cities of the Roman East (Oxford 2017).

I. Browning, Palmyra (Park Ridge 1979).

K. Cassibry, Reception of the Roman Arch Monument, AJA 122 (2), 2018, 245–275.

C. Densmore Curtis, Roman Monumental Arches (New York 1908).

I. Kader, Propylon und Bogentor. Untersuchungen zum Tetrapylon von Latakia und anderen frühkaiserzeitlichen Bogenmonumenten im Nahen Osten (Mainz am Rhein 1996).

N. Munawar, Reconstructing Cultural Heritage in Conflict Zones: Should Palmyra be Rebuilt?, EX NOVO Journal of Archaeology 2, 2017, 33–48.

N. Munawar, Competing Heritage: Curating the Post-Conflict Heritage of Roman Syria, Bulletin - Institute of Classical Studies 62(1), 2019, 142–165.

A. Segal, From Function to Monument: Urban Landscapes of Roman Palestine, Syria and Provincia Arabia (Oxford 1997).

M. Tabaczek, Zwischen Stoa und Suq. Die Säulenstraßen im Vorderen Orient in römischer Zeit unter besonderer Berücksichtigung von Palmyra (Diss. University of Cologne 2001).

E. Will, Le développement urbain de Palmyre, Syria 60, 1983, 69–81.

Image Source: x (the first is from a PowerPoint I presentation I gave in January)

#archaeology #classical archaeology #syrian archaeology #palmyra #ancient history #ancient rome #syria #mod s #the irony is not lost on me that i'm tagging this as classical/roman archaeology

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sillyrabbit81 · 3 years

Text

The Instructor - Part 4

Summary: Agent Walker continues your training.

Pairing: August Walker x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 3.8k

Warnings: smut, Dom/sub dynamic (m Dom, f sub), dégradation kink, praise kink, slapping, rough sex, orgasm control, I think thats it?

Authors note: Not beta read, only edited by me. There will be errors, my apologies.

Masterlist

Part 3 Part 5

The Instructor Part 4

August took you to the surveillance room. The operation had the whole ninth floor to work from, you didn’t know how the CIA was able to pull off such a requisition, but you knew not to ask questions. Chances were, even August didn’t know how that was done.

Agent Thomas was there with two other Agents and although they were both men, they were so opposite in nature and appearance you wondered how they could possibly work together. One of them seemed to radiate constant joy and good humour, while the other seemed dour and uninterested in anything. You receive a handshake and a welcoming smile from Agent Ortega and got a short nod from Agent Turner. Despite August introducing you by your name, since Agent Thomas had beaten you to them, your name was New Girl.

Apparently, there were two more Agents you would meet when your shift finishes. The number of Agents on this case struck you as odd. Six agents plus August all in the field seemed overkill for any simple surveillance case. Four should be more than enough. Hell, you could probably do it with three.

Ortega was the agent you would spend the next 8 hours with, and you were relieved. You were confident you knew how to do your job, but since this was your first field assignment, you were nervous and Turner made it worse.

So did August, if you were honest with yourself. You found yourself playing with the golden circlet around your neck a lot and chided yourself for bringing attention to it. It was meant to be discreet but if you constantly played with it, eventually someone would notice. You frequently found your concentration lapse and you would focus on August instead of your job. He was becoming an obsession, he invaded your mind constantly. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, anticipating your next visit or, remembering your too few encounters.

During one such daydream, you caught Ortega staring at you, expectantly. You quickly realised it was because he had spoken to you but you hadn’t responded. “Sorry,” you say. “I tend to get really focussed on my work and block out other sounds.” You lie smoothly. Ortega waves away your apology and repeats the question.

You enjoy your time with Ortega, he was friendly and warm without being lecherous. Perhaps his simple wedding band helped to put you at ease. He doesn’t offer information about his partner and you don’t ask. You both eat a lunch of sandwiches made in the kitchen and while the work doesn’t stop, you and Ortega start chatting and you find yourself growing more comfortable with him. Even though he calls you New Girl, he doesn’t treat you like a rookie and you found your confidence increase as the day went on. You even found yourself sharing jokes with him.

However, an hour before your surveillance shift finished, August came back to the room requesting an update. As he comes in the door you were smiling, still getting over a laughing fit with Ortega. Although he shows no obvious reaction, you notice a slight tightening of his jaw. You keep the smile plastered to your face as you look away, but you know there isn’t a hint of a smile in your eyes.

August checks in with Ortega who reports the day’s events. He leans over Ortega’s shoulder resting one hand on the desk while the other held one side of a pair headphones up to his ear as he listens to some audio. You can feel August’s gaze boring holes into you, and you can almost hear him say, “Look at me, Pet.”

Slowly you raise your eyes and look at him. You had to smother a gasp. He wasn’t just staring at you, it felt like he was stripping you bare with his eyes. The fire is his blue orbs was scorching with desire. His gaze holds you captive, and you know if Ortega sees what was taking place, your secret would be out. Scandal at this point in your career would mean you were chained to a desk for the rest of your life, if you didn’t quit in frustration, which was usually what most people did.

But August doesn’t take pity on you, he knows the risks too and doesn’t avert his gaze. He licks his lips, drawing attention to his mouth. With a leering look he mouths, “I’m going to fuck the shit out of you tonight, Pet.”

You make a strangled noise and Ortega looks up at you started. “You ok, New Girl?” he asks.

You reach down and clutch your foot, slipping it out of your shoe. “Yeah,” you say, hiding your face while you rub your foot. “Just a cramp.”

August ignores the situation and keeps listening to the audio. You avoid looking at him and he leaves a few minutes later. Even after he is gone, you still feel your ears and cheeks burn and you doubt you will be able to regain your concentration. Then you receive an email from August that simply reads “8 pm.” The rest of your shift is a write off.

Not long before eight pm you stand nervously outside August’s apartment. With trembling hands, you knock on the door. You feel tipsy, you can’t think straight, you’re giggly with nervousness and your legs are unsteady, ready to betray you at any moment.

“It’s open,” you hear August call from inside.

You take a deep breath in a useless attempt to settle your nerves and open the door. You see him sitting at his dining table reading from his laptop and nursing a tumbler of what looked like gin or vodka. He didn’t get up, just flicks his eyes up as the door opened, saw it was you and flicks his eyes down again.

“Lock the door,” August says and you do as he asks.

He is wearing his suit pants and button up shirt, but he had taken his jacket and tie off. His sleeves are rolled up and a few of the top buttons on his shirt are open and you can see tufts of his dark hair on his chest. His hair is still impeccably groomed, but a five o’clock shadow dusts his jaw. Even without the suit, he exudes authority, from the set of his jaw, to his posture, the only thing casual about him was his laxed attire.

“You’re early again,” August says. You still can’t tell if he thought being early was a good thing or not. Until he said otherwise you would continue to be early because you were sure August wouldn’t tolerate tardiness.

You half shrug in reply, but don’t say anything. You realise you hardly say anything in front of August, he intimidated you more than else did. He made you nervous in a way that was so intoxicating that you found it hard to even think of anything you wanted to say. Unless, he asked you a question, then you can hold nothing back. Perhaps it was because you know there is no one in the world that has more power over you than he does.

“Take your clothes off, pet.” August says, still not looking at you. “All of it this time, except your stockings and heels.”

You try to swallow, your mouth feels dry, but you don’t hesitate to obey, his tuts of disappointment that morning still lingered in your mind. Your hands shake as you undress and fold your clothes neatly. You aren’t sure why you feel like its important to fold your clothes, maybe it was because even when August was relaxing, he always had an air of clean order around him. Like he needed things to be just so. However, you know that’s not completely true, you have seen the chaos dance in his eyes, the thin veneer of civility he wore like a skin suit couldn’t hide all of his primal urges and tendency towards recklessness.

“Come sit next to me,” you hear August say the second you had folded your underwear and placed them on top of your clothes. You didn’t think he had been watching but he must have been, because even now he seemed to still be focussed on the screen in front of him. You feel a little silly that you had undressed like you would have at home, you didn’t even try to make it look good for him.

So, you make an effort this time, to show him you want to please him. You let your hips sway just slightly as you walk, the movements feel natural, yet seductive as you near him. You pull a chair away from the table but August stops you, putting his hand over yours. His fingers are warm on your skin and you feel a shiver run up your spine.

“Not there,” he says.

You walk around to the chair on the other side of him, but August stops you again. “Not there.” He looks at you, then with a small movement of his head and a smirk, he indicates the floor. “On your knees, pet.”

You’re shocked and before you can stop yourself you say, “On my knees?” You look at the rug under the table. It was fairly plush looking and soft so your knees wouldn’t hurt. You wondered if he wanted you to take him in his mouth again, you couldn’t think of another reason he would want you on the ground.

“Yes,” August says, with little patience, but his smirk holds. He must find your bemusement funny. “Now.”

You slowly sink to your knees next to August, you feel a little humiliated, but you are curious to see where this was going. August lets out a content hum as you obey. The sound makes you smile and you look up at him, his smirk now looks more like a smile and he pats your head. “Good girl.” He praises. All thoughts of humiliation left you as those two words warm you. August places his large hand on the back of your head and guides it to his thigh.

Again, you’re confused, until you feel his hand stroke your head. He pats you, soothing himself as he finishes his work. He occasionally lifts his hand to do some typing and you find yourself watching his hand impatiently until it is returned. Occasionally he touches your collar, running his fingers along it, as if reminding himself that you as his. Sometimes his fingers slide up and down your back, with long tender strokes that make you break out in goose bumps and when he makes you shiver you hear him hum with satisfaction.

Eventually you hear August give a big sigh and he stretches his neck before closing the laptop and moving it out of the way. He takes a last swig of his drink before putting it aside as well.

“Pet,” August says. You look up at him and he gives his head a little jerk again and you stand up. He looks you up and down, his eyes seem critical as he inspects you, but you know he likes what he sees because his tongue licks his lips before he bites his bottom lip.

August guides your leg over his and you stand in front of him now, your legs on either side of his and your bottom rests on the table. You feel exposed while he continues to study you, and you want to close your legs as you see his eyes linger on your bare slit. You know he would see the slick wetness of your arousal, you could feel it on the inside of your thighs. You close your eyes, a little embarrassed by your obvious display of desire.

August starts to run his hands over the outside of your thighs, hips and waist and back again, while he leans in and kisses the soft skin of your belly. You involuntarily giggle and your hands reach for his head as his stubble tickles at your sensitive skin. Still smiling he takes your hands in his, pulls them behind your back and holds both of them in his huge paw. He returns his kisses to your tummy, but this time they are bigger, wetter and you can feel his tongue lick at your skin as he does. You try not to wriggle, you try and hold still for August, but his teasing touch is too much and you find yourself squirming as he plays with you.

Between kisses he says, “I think its time I got to know you better, Pet.” You feel the heat rise in your body and you feel your heart beat everywhere. God, he has barely even started and you were so ready for him. “Time I explored you.” His eyes looked up at yours as his tongue slid up your body and over your nipple briefly. He held his face in front of your breast, letting his breath tickling your hard bud. “Time I tested your limits.” He takes you in his mouth, sucking on your nipple, and letting his teeth graze you, your body shuddering with pleasure.

Looking up at you August’s voice is suddenly serious, “If you need me to stop, say Red.”

“Red to stop,” you repeat, letting him know you understand.

Letting go of your hands, August lifts you by your waist and sits you on the table. “Lay down, pet.” He says, pushing against your shoulder. He lifts your legs so that your heeled feet rest on his thighs. You moan, and want to draw your knees together, but you feel his hands on the inside of your thighs pushing them further apart. You are completely on display for him, you can hide nothing as he continues spreading your legs. You shut your eyes, tight. Your mind and body were in conflict. You were on fire, hot with lust and need, but your mind wanted to say no, to stop, you couldn’t stand the embarrassment.

“Spread your lips wide for me, pet. I want to see your cunt dripping wet for me.”

You shake your head, you can’t do that. It was too much. Already so exposed and naked, the thought of holding yourself open to him was too humiliating. “Please August,” you murmur “I can’t.”

The loud smack against your breast takes you by surprise. You hear the noise before you even register the pain. “August,” you cry. Your hands reach up, covering your breasts, and you try to rub the sting away.

“Hold yourself open. I want to see inside you.” August’s voice is low and firm, not angry, just stern. You lift your head to see him, he tilts his head and his whiskered lip curls in a cruel grin, almost like he was daring you to say no again.

Laying your head back on the table and squeezing your eyes shut, you move your shaking fingers down to your slit. You’re so wet and so aroused you struggle to hold your swollen petals apart. You hear August’s breathing start to quicken and his voice is barely above a whisper as he says, “Good girl.” You feel a finger slide teasingly over your exposed core and despite your shame your hips roll in desire. “You have such a pretty wet cunt, Pet.” His finger sweeps up your slit, his rough pad pausing on your clit. You gasp as he does, and a low moan escapes you parted lips.

August chuckles, “You’re very responsive, Pet. I like that.”

His finger moves back to your entrance, and with agonisingly slow movements he pushes his finger into you. You feel yourself clamping down on him already, you’re so desperate to be filled. Your hips start to rock as he curls his finger inside you, searching for your spot.

“Oh fuck,” you cry when he finds it, you unconsciously try to curl up into a ball as every muscle in your body contracts. Your hips move faster now, and you eagerly beg, “Please August.”

“You are an impatient little slut sometimes, pet,” August says as he lays an arm over you, stopping your undulating hips. “I think patience will be your next lesson, but lucky for you, today I want to watch you cum.”

Without warning, August pushes a second finger inside you. You cry out as you feel yourself stretching to accommodate him. You were so close to coming, your whole body felt pulled tight like an elastic, ready to spring apart when the tension got too much. Your fingers start to hurt as you hold yourself open. Even your fingers feel tight, ready for the release of your orgasm.

Your thighs start to tremble and you feel the warm wave start to rise from your toes. “Are you about to come pet?” You barely hear August through the fog bliss you’re feeling as his fingers dance inside you, coaxing you to your peak.

“Yes,” you say through your moans.

“Ask permission,” August says.

You’re so close you can’t make sense of his words. “What?” you ask.

“Ask me if you can cum. This is my cunt pet, I will control when you cum. Or I can stop now.”

You understand that threat, “No, no, please don’t stop.” Panting, and breaking out in sweat you say, “Please August, can I cum?”

“Yes, my needy little slut. Cum for me. Now.”

And you do. You don’t know if it was because he told you to or if it was because you were so close anyway, but when he said now, you felt a wave of warmth flood you. Your body pulsed and your core milks at his fingers and they keep hitting your spot. It feels like your orgasm lasts for an age and even as you come down from your high, you tremble in little after shocks.

You are in such a haze you don’t notice August removing his fingers until you feel both his hands on your knees, pushing them up and out as he stands. Wrapping his arms around your thighs, he gives them a tug. Your ass is barely on the table and in your malleable state, you feel like you’re going to fall off, but he holds you there.

There’s a new sensation at your core, and you groggily sit up, resting on your elbows. You see August, cock in hand lining himself up. You whimper, not yet, you think. Augusts lifts his eyes and you’re caught once again in his piercing blue eyes. His shows you his teeth and grabs your throat as he impales you with his cock.

You would have thought that you would adjust to his size quicker after the euphoria of your orgasm, but you were wrong. You feel yourself reluctantly stretch around him, and despite the pain, as he fills you, tears you apart, it feels good, he feels good.

August pulls you up by your throat, and you wrap your legs around him for stability. You think he’s going to kiss you, but he studies your every facial expression, listens to every little moan as he starts to fuck you. Still feeling weak, every thrust from August throws you, his firm grip on your throat was the only thing stopping you from falling back on the table.

“You look so good, pet,” he grunts at you through his gritted teeth. “You look like a slut, with your pretty mouth moaning for more.” He leans in close to you, and growls into your ear, “But you’re not just a slut, pet. You are my slut.”

You cry out as he says it, his claim of you relights the fire between your legs and you start moving with him, trying to fulfil the growing need inside you. You grasp his shoulders, holding onto him as he keeps whispering in your ear, “You greedy girl, you want to cum again don’t you?”

“Please, August,” you say. He raises his head and sticks two fingers in your mouth, pushing them in deep, almost making you gag. As you build to your peak so does your boldness and this time you find Augusts eyes. You run your tongue around his fingers, before starting to tease them and suck on them.

August snarls as he watches, and increases his pace. You want to cum again, but you don’t want to stop sucking his fingers. But then August breaths a curse, “Fuck.”

You couldn’t hold it off now, you say around his fingers, “Pease August, can I cum?”

“Fuck, yes,” August is as lost as you are and as you fall over the edge, and your pulsing walls grip his cock he thrusts into like he wants to tear you in two. On his last pump he lets out a deep rumbling growl, before his whole body shudders. You had never seen a man who came like him, the way he doesn’t hold back, the way he lets his primal urges over take him, the noises, all of it was so fucking hot.

August leans his sweaty forehead against yours while you both get your breath back. His hand still holds your throat but he moves it under your chin, and with the gentleness that always surprises you, lifts it and kisses you with soft lips and a caressing tongue. You kiss him back, matching his mood, softly licking at his lips.

With a final kiss, August pulls away and helps you to your feet. “Ok?” he asks. You nod and he chuckles briefly, “Who knew you had both a degradation kink and a praise kink?”

You look away from him, embarrassment filling you. August sees it and lifts your face to his again. “I fucking love it,” he says. “Much more to explore.”

You smile, still a little shy about it, but not as embarrassed. “Come,” he says and takes you to his bedroom where you both get in bed and you lay like you had that morning.

You stay awake, pretending to sleep, keeping your breaths long and steady. Eventually August drifts off, and you wait until he falls into a deep sleep.

You slowly get out of bed and creep over to the dining table. You lift August’s laptop from the chair he had left it on. You open it and enter the password you saw him use on the plane. Your hands start sweating as the machine connects to the CIA network. You think you hear a noise and you look behind you, but you can see or hear nothing.

You type August’s CIA log in and enter another password. You are worried about this one, you aren’t sure if you had been able to catch all of it. You release the breath you didn’t realise you were holding when the CIA logo fills the screen.

You feel eyes on you and the hair on the back of your neck starts to rise. Terrified you turn around and come face to face with August and his unforgiving eyes. “What do you think you are doing, Pet?”

Part 5

Tag List:

@henryobsessed @omgkatinka @legendarywizarddetective @posiemax @nostalgicb-txh @moonlacebeam @anitababi @agniavateira @blakerogue @shadesofarrogance @mansaaay @stxlemate

#august walker #august walker x you #august walker x reader #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #august walker smut #august walker fanfiction #henry cavill fic #fanfic #mission impossible 6

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ameliterature · 3 years

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Writer's Block Cont. (AnderPerry ficlet)

Continuation of Writer's Block

It was a breezy evening downtown and Todd hasn't been at the Coffee Shop since he'd kissed Neil. For obvious reasons, this made the coffee shop barista extremely worried.

"Why the long face?" Charlie asked. He propped himself by the counter beside his brooding friend. Charlie was one of Neil's best friends and the actual manager/owner of the coffee shop (this way he could play his saxophone every Friday night without any objections).

"Todd... He hasn't been here in three days, Charlie, and he's almost always here." Neil buried his face more onto the linoleum counter.

"Oh Todd, ah yes, your big time author-crush-person." Charlie recalls Neil always gushing about him during his break time. He always insisted making all of Todd's orders too. "I mean, today could just be another busy day for him. I'm sure he doesn't necessarily have a reason not to go here." He chuckled.

Neil fell silent.

"... Neiiiilll? What did you do?" Charlie glares at his direction. "Why do you think Todd Anderson wouldn't go here for three days straight?"

Neil fiddled with his thumbs. "I-- I may have... maybe- uh... k-kissed him last weekend."

"YOU WHAT?!" Charlie blurted out, alarming some of the customers and their other barista, Meeks. Unlike Charlie, Meeks was already aware of this situation but he didn't exactly want to stop making his latte art at the moment.

"SHHHH, pipe it down, Charlie- I... Okay, so the other day uh..." Neil huffed before pulling Charlie into the back office to talk more privately-- naturally leaving Meeks in charge.

"Details, Perry, I. NEED. DETAILS." Charlie shook Neil by his shoulders.

"Okay, okay! I'm getting to it-" Neil rattled Charlie off of him. "So- The other day when I was closing up shop for you, Todd was the only one left and- well, long story short- He needed kissing experience for his book and I gave it to him and now I think it was a mistake and he is most likely avoiding me." Neil buried his face into his hands this time. He whined as Charlie comforts him with a pat on his slouched back.

"Neil- Come on! I'm sure he's just shy and all. Hey maybe you gave him the wrong phone number- remember that time when you sent me the wrong one-"

"OH MY GOD-- THAT'S IT-" Neil face-palmed.

"What?"

"I FORGOT TO GIVE HIM MY NUMBER--" Neil sounded both relieved and hysterical. "Of course he wouldn't just come back here- He couldn't just... talk to me in person after what I did- and- and..." Neil sunk to the floor.

Charlie looked down at his distraught friend. "Who am I kidding, Charlie... I ruined it... The one time I got to meet my favorite author and I blew it by kissing him."

"You sure that's blowing it? I'd say it was the best thing you could possibly get from any famous-person-interaction." Charlie smiled, trying to pick up Neil from the ground.

"Just let me die in peace." Neil says to the cold floor. "That kiss might've been the first and last time I ever got to know Todd Anderson in person and I didn't even ask about his other books. He probably thinks I'm just a floozy."

Just as Charlie was about to complain about Neil's focus on Todd's writing than Todd's kiss, someone knocks on the door.

Meeks opens the door to see Neil lifting his head from the floor with tears in his eyes while Charlie is grabbing his arm.

"Uh.. Neil, there's a guy looking for you. He said his name's Todd Ander-"

Neil instantly perks up and immediately bolts to the counter.

When Neil arrives by the cash register, he sees the same dark-blonde author he kissed mere days ago. Todd had eye bags yet his expression was one of breathless excitement. Still beautiful to Neil's eyes.

"T-Todd..." Neil greeted him.

"Neil... When... When do you get off work?" Todd asked fervently yet it was polite to Neil's eyes. "I... I need to talk to you about something."

Just as Neil was about to say 'Around 10pm' Charlie appears from behind him.

"Thank you for your work, Mr. Perry! I see you're done with your shift for the day! I'll see you tomorrow!" Charlie beamed, making quick eye contact with both Neil and Todd. Neil picked up on what Charlie implied and immediately took off his apron.

After a short while, Todd guided Neil to his car parked right outside the coffee shop. "D-Do you mind going with me to my apartment?"

It was a non-question for Neil. As much as he wanted to scream from the rooftops and YAWP in excitement, he kept his composure and followed Todd. "Sure, I'd love to."

The drive to Todd's apartment was silent and short. Todd lived incredibly close to the coffee shop and this fact made Neil grow even more fanboy-y. Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god.

He wanted to respect Todd's privacy so he purposefully didn't take note of the floor number or the apartment number before he entered Todd's home. (In turn, he kept his eyes on Todd the whole time).

As they entered the apartment, Neil could only stare at how neat Todd's living space was. It wasn't exactly neat as it was mostly barren. The most "decoration" you could find was Todd's various bookshelves. A good portion of the area was his own books while the rest were a plethora of Classics and collections of multiple pieces of literature. Todd was a well-read author after all.

"D-did you want anything to drink? Unfortunately the coffee I have here isn't as good as the ones you make so-"

"Wait, Todd... I'm- I'm sorry for what I did... If I made you feel uncomfortable. I- I was worried the past few days-"

"Huh, What- You're sorry?" Todd, bewildered by Neil's apology, let out a chuckle. "Neil, if anything, you helped me, remember?"

Neil looked at him with an intrigued look.

Just then, Todd took Neil's hand and led him to his office. Unlike his perfectly neat living room and kitchen area, Todd's office was a chaotic room full of papers and notebooks. In the back part facing away from the windows was a desk with a computer, multiple stacks of papers (and paper balls), and emptied out paper cups marked on the inside with coffee stains.

"Our little uh- field research actually got me out of my writer's block and I've been writing my book like crazy for the past three days." Todd confessed. "I'm basically almost done with it."

"Wait- Three days?" Neil wheezed. He didn't think Todd could get even more impressive than he already was. "My kiss got you to finish your newest book in three days?!"

"Well... yeah-" Todd scratched the back of his head in humility. "Can't say I've ever done that before. It'll need a shitload of editing and proof reading perhaps, but it's mostly done. Thanks to you."

Neil didn't know how to respond to Todd's words. Neil's favorite author, the person he's been following for several years now, was inspired by his kiss, and finished an entire book in THREE DAYS.

"Todd- I... F-from my kiss?"

"Yes. Well of course it was also the caffeine, but yeah mostly your kiss. I just wanted to personally thank you for getting me through one of my toughest works yet." Todd sat by his desk, pulling up some of the papers he already printed.

Neil walked up to his side, staring at the tentative manuscript- one Todd's editor has yet to even see. (Cameron was not gonna have an easy time).

"Did you want to read it?" Todd asked, instantly making Neil swoon.

"Todd, you're gonna kill me- OF COURSE I'D LOVE TO READ IT-" Neil gushed, looking at both the papers and a blushing Todd.

Neil held the loosely bound papers in his hands, then back at Todd who looked incredibly proud of himself and yet still very reserved.

Neil couldn't tell if he was looking at Todd as an author anymore by how close he was this time. Their arms were brushing against each other, the sound and smell of papers filled the room, Todd was so close.

Neil carefully places the manuscript down by the table. "Before I read it... do you mind if... If I asked you something?"

Todd blinked a couple of times before nodding. "S-sure."

"Do... Do you think it's weird that I... kissed you? I know I said I was helping you for research but... I think a part of me did it because I really liked you. And I'm not sure if it's because I really admire you for your work or if I think you were as beautiful that night as you are now."

Todd looked at him, flustered and speechless. "Y-you sure do know exactly what you want to say..."

"Yeah- I'm sorry."

"And I'm envious of that." Todd responded. Not that Neil needed another reason to gush, but Todd being envious of him is another strike for Neil's humility.

"Usually, when I write my books-- the surrealist ones, they're usually the ones so weird and detached from reality, I usually didn't need to put myself into the protagonists' shoes. But with this book, a book where it's a journey of romance and discovery, I didn't think I'd ever find the right words to describe how the character felt, let alone myself."

"So my kiss gave you existential clarity?" Neil chuckled softly.

"For a short while, yes. I'm all out of it, currently. It's been a draining past few days." Todd leaned back by his office chair.

Neil smirked at him with allurement. "I mean, I'm here. I wouldn't mind giving you a refresher."

Todd raised his eyes at him, blushing even more. "I-"

"I'm just kidding- relax. I'll only kiss you when you want me to. If you ever need anymore field research, that is. I wouldn't mind being your primary source."

Todd bit his lip, gazing upon Neil as he sat over his desk nonchalantly.

"W-what if... say, I wanted a kiss for other reasons?" Todd's voice was like a mumble.

"Excuse me?" Neil felt like he was playing the most intense game of chess with their interaction.

"Like, what if- I thought you looked really handsome right now and I wanted to kiss you, is that a good enough reason to ask for a kiss?"

Neil was enthralled by this interaction. Was it Todd being forward? Or was it his lack of sleep making him this way.

"I... Yes... That's a great reason, actually."

"So... to answer your question earlier: I didn't think it's weird that you kissed me because, right now, another kiss wouldn't seem to bad. And this time, I won't need it for a book."

Todd stood up to meet Neil at eye level, catching him by surprise.

"You're still gonna have to credit me for that book- do you know about royalties-" Neil joked before Todd planted a kiss on him.

Their second kiss was full of small bits of laughter before it turned into something more. It was no longer about Todd's lack of experience or motivation to write, nor was it Neil's admiration as a fan anymore. It was in their second kiss they realized the person they were kissing would be someone to rid them of their woes and inspire them for the rest of their lives.

Aside from that, Todd's career as an author had a new component to it, the skill to garner inspiration in the form of kisses from Neil Perry.

#anderperry #coffee shop au #anderperry fic #anderperry perry two shot?#anderperry fanfics #dead poets society fanfic #dps fanfic #dps fic #dps #dead poets society fic #neil perry #todd anderson

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ushidoux · 3 years

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Be My Last - Iwaizumi x Reader (Pt. 4)

Summary: You have trouble getting over a past relationship and it’s preventing you from moving forward. (~1.7 words)

Warnings: questionable fidelity, angst, but otherwise tame

A/N: There isn’t a lot of action in this chapter but a whole lot of feelings.

Part 1|| Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

You awoke to the sound of Iwaizumi’s careful shuffles around your bedroom as he got dressed for the day. Rising slowly to a sitting position with a stretch and a yawn, you noticed he was a little more dressed up than usual, his usual polo shirt and khakis replaced with a pair of sharp trousers, a nicely pressed shirt and a tie.

“Good morning, baby,” you murmured, voice still heavy with slumber.

Iwaizumi’s eyes shifted from their focus adjusting the sleeves of his shirt and smiled as he watched you rub the sleep out of your eyes, walking around to your side of the bed to kiss you on the forehead - a soft brush of the lips.

“Good morning, love. Did you sleep well?”

The smell of a gentle cologne drove you forward, intending to lean your face against his chest, but he was already back to his side of the bed to gather his things before setting out for the morning.

“I did… I can make breakfast if you’re not in a hurry!” You offered, eyes following the young man as he quickly exited the room.

“I’m alright!” He called, voice distant now. You could tell he was already rummaging around in the kitchen, and the smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted in your nostrils in sharp contrast to the toothpaste you were using to rid yourself of morning breath once you trailed behind him.

You glanced at the time on the wall clock, leaning against a wall opposite the inlet to the kitchen. He wasn’t exactly late for work, but he was rushing out faster than usual.

“Is everything okay?” Your voice was muffled between spittle and mild concern.

He glanced at you, hesitating for a split second before smiling.

“I’ll see you tonight,” he replied without answering your question, and then the door closed behind him.

There was a subtle sense of your blood cooling very slightly, a tinge of worry settling in your chest. Venturing back into the bathroom, you finished brushing your teeth, paying exquisite attention to your tired eyes in the mirror as though your reflection was the issue.

Maybe you were overreacting. Things had been a little tense since your argument, but it was nothing that couldn’t be smoothed over.

It was only after you’d settled back onto your side of the bed with your open laptop and your screen flickered on to display your ex’s Instagram page that your heart started to race.

You closed it shut again, wincing.

He didn’t see it. He couldn’t have. He would have said something. The argument would have started right up again. It wouldn’t have ended until one of you was sleeping on the couch or you were sleeping in each other’s arms.

You let out a deep breath, taking a few moments to let your self-defensive thoughts sink into your skin. It was nothing serious after all.

Overreaction after overreaction. The only thing that mattered right now was that you opened your laptop and spent your Friday off of work on getting ahead.

---

As luck would have it, Iwaizumi was stuck in traffic. Perhaps it was a blessing in disguise that he’d wanted to escape your apartment as soon as possible and make it out early. He’d actually intended to leave before you woke up.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was still angry.

Not at you. Never at you. At himself.

He remembered the words he had said to you at the start of your relationship, what felt both like just yesterday and ages ago.

Use me if you need to.

He gripped the steering wheel and grit his teeth, trying to maintain composure despite the fact that he’d been in the same spot on the road for the past ten minutes and people were laying into their horns around him.

What kind of stupid shit was that?

It had sounded good to say it at the time, like most things a guy says to woo a pretty girl. Use him. You’d fall in love with him later, in due time. He believed it was true then.

He hated that he was starting to lose faith in that now.

He hated the idea that someone else, who really wasn’t doing anything but simply existing in proximity to you was doing such a number on him. He couldn’t fault him either. Ushijima had loved you first.

Did it matter if Iwa loved you more?

---

You’d given yourself that you weren’t allowed to leave your apartment until you got your work done, lest you come up with another excuse not to finish, which meant by the time the clock neared six p.m., you had laid sprawled in nearly every corner of your apartment typing and by now were cross-legged on the kitchen counter, your laptop balanced on your knees.

But you were finally done.

You sighed with excitement. Now to put that behind you.

Saving your work, you slipped off of the countertop and back into your pair of slippers, moving back to your bedroom to change into a just as comfortable but more presentable pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt.

You were running out of snacks, as evidenced by the frequent trips to the kitchen over the past eight hours. What better way to treat yourself for a job well done but with a walk down to the convenience store to stock up?

Maybe you’d grab Iwa a bag of his favorite chips as a peace offering on the way too.

---

“We’re already out, young lady!” the cashier teased the moment you crossed the store entrance, setting off the bell.

You pout but still glance over to the row of baked goods, where your precious melon bread is normally stacked neatly in clear packaging, waiting for you. It’s a little bit embarrassing that he knew you would never pass up on it, but you’d lived here long enough that it wasn’t inconceivable that it’d become your defining trait.

“I’m absolutely devastated, sir!” You called back dramatically, making your way to the back for ice cream instead. They had what your favorite in stock, plus a limited edition flavor so you had more than enough consolation.

Satisfied, you closed the freezer door after picking your selection only to meet eyes with Ushijima, whose hand closed tightly around the handle of a fridge door. He stood a good distance away, but his eyes had been on you and remained so; the very slight part of his lips betrayed the fact that he had been trying to come up with something to say for the past couple of minutes.

He did say your name, something like a greeting, out loud, and you reflexively looked away, heart pounding. Granted you didn’t own this corner of town, but what were the chances he’d only chosen to go here?

Quickly realizing you still weren’t interested in talking, Ushijima pulled out a large bottle of water and closed the fridge, deciding not to bother you further.

It was suddenly a good thing that a text message to you on his phone was in drafts only, him not having the heart to send it. It wasn’t for a lack of courage… it was more so due to shame. Even if he felt like he had to apologize, there wasn’t much he felt he could say that would make it better, not worse.

His shame and your discomfort only intensified as he ended up queueing up behind you. Timing was never on his or your side it seemed.

Ushijima watched you tense up ever so slightly, your shoulders hunched as your arms overflowed with snacks, including the freezing tub of ice cream. Normally he’d offer to help with your load, given that he wasn’t carrying much more than the water but again, boundaries.

He’d set that distance himself.

In reality, he probably should have chosen another running path to discharge energy after practice had ended early today. However, it had been long enough that alternative courses didn’t come immediately to memory and he’d been willing to take that chance.

And here you both were.

He hated this, the obvious residual feelings bubbling to the surface after having been repressed for so long, the fact that he couldn’t justify any of his actions, the fact that he hated older him.

The fact that you won’t even look at him.

Just say something. Anything.

Is closure every really needed, or is it just an excuse to refuse to move on?

He opened his mouth to speak, yet again, but you beat him to it.

You turned towards him, smiling, albeit a weak imitation of what you’d always offered him, back when you loved him recklessly, with your whole heart.

“I… um, don’t want it to be awkward,” you said in a small voice. The sound of your voice, directed finally to him, unprompted made his own beat speed up.

Was this an olive branch you were extending that he didn’t deserve? He pondered this, steeling himself for the worst.

You kept your friendly expression as steady as possible. You weren’t sure what you were trying to prove, to yourself and to Iwa.

You didn’t love him. And for that reason, you had no right to be bitter or cold. Right?

“It doesn’t have to be awkward,” you continued.

Ushijima was at a loss for words now, watching you carefully with his normally sharp, hawk-like eyes but now more like the hawk’s prey, assessing the threat before it. Could he get his hopes up? “We can be friends,” you decided.

It’ll only hurt for a short bit of time, you told yourself. And soon things will be back to normal. As they should be.

A part of Ushijima wanted to reply, I don’t want to be friends. He’d finally realized this, no matter how selfish of a thought it was. However, he was content to nod only and swallow that thought.

“I’d appreciate it.”

He watched you pay for your items and leave, unsure of what friendship would entail.

---

As you dug into your tub of ice cream a couple hours later, you realized you weren’t so sure what that entailed either.

If only to make it worse, then came the buzz of your phone with a single message, I miss you.

#iwaizumi x reader #iwa x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #ushijima x reader #ushijima wakatoshi x reader #haikyuu x reader #not sfw #mae.writing #series: be my last #tw angst

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royallyprincesslilly · 3 years

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Title: Pleasing The Duke {1}

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Period Piece, Slow Burn, LOTS OF WORDS

Words: 5.7k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way yours and the Duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the Duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The Duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Let me know if you guys want me to add like glossary terms at the end of the chapters for period specific words/items.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton. I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

Chapter One: The Duke & Duchess Of Hastings

“I pronounce you husband and wife.”

You kept your back straight and your limbs stiff though you felt at any moment either or both would give way, sending you tumbling to the ground in a heap of white lace, silk, and tulle. Perhaps you’d even be sucked into the ground for good measure, you thought. No one spoke once those words had been uttered. Almost a full minute passed before the clergyman spoke again.

“Eh-em, I declare you husband and wife.”

You gulped and slowly found your head swiveling toward the man beside you. a man who was practically a stranger, a man you’d now found yourself joined to until you were parted by death. Your husband—The Duke of Hastings. When your eyes met his, you noted a look of strangled fear and disgust. His jaw was clenched, and he looked as if he were seconds away from revealing the contents of his stomach right on the front of your gown.

Long moments seemed to pass with the two of you just gazing into each other’s eyes. This was not the gazing of enamored lovers or even lustful suitors. It was the gaze of a man who’d been forced into a marriage he did not want and a woman riddled with guilt for her part in it.

“Your grace.”

Simon’s head snapped back in front of him to find the clerk holding out the book he was to sign his name into. You watched as he took the quill from the clerk and slowly signed his name. He paused after every word as if he were seriously contemplating scratching his name from the book entirely. An act that was to be seconds took a full minute, and the entire time you wondered if he would turn to you and call the whole thing off, leaving you a ruined and jilted woman.

Simon held the quill to you for your turn. As you took the object, your gloved fingers grazed his. Even though your skin did not touch his, you shivered all the same—that was before Simon snatched his hand away to drop them to his sides. You glanced down at his hand that you’d ever so softly grazed a week or two ago and watched his fist clench tightly.

“Your grace,” the clerk repeated, this time to you.

Bringing your attention back to the book in front of you, you proceeded to sign your name beside Simon’s. Instead of writing the name you’d been accustomed to your entire life—Lady Jamilla Remmington, you signed your new one for the first time—Duchess Jamilla Bassett, The Duchess of Hastings. It looked strange to your eyes, but it did not look terrible.

“Congratulations, your graces.”

The voices began to overlap as each of those in attendance for the small ceremony extended their felicitations to both of you. Neither of you could find your voices or the words to reply to even thank them. There was nothing to be thankful for, you thought. You’d traded one unhappy future for an equally unhappy one, quite possibly more unhappy as you’d just entered the very thing you’d refused to—a loveless marriage.

Thankfully leaving the church, there weren’t people outside ready to shower the newlywed couple with rose petals and cheers. Unfortunately, you had to ride in the same carriage as your new husband. Simon sat across and diagonal from you, peering out the window at the scenery. Holding your bouquet of fresh flowers while fiddling with the blush-colored silk ribbon it was tied with, you watched Simon take a flask out of his coat pocket and knock back something strong from the whiff of it that caught your nostrils. He grimaced, then groaned before he looked at you.

The way he looked at you nearly made you stop breathing, not from him taking your breath away, but from the hostility you saw in his eyes. Simon grumbled before looking from you back out the window. Your stomach fell, realizing just how severe and hopeless your fate was. For the remainder of the carriage ride, you worked to keep your eyes off of Simon. It was a task that seemed more manageable for him than you.

Every so often, your eyes found their way back to him to take in other parts of him. Either it was the way his cravat looked around his neck, and the sly way peeks of his throat could be seen through the tiny slots, or it was the way he tightly gripped the flask he held. A flask he didn’t bother to hide. He was already so unhappy with you that he didn’t care to continue the ruse of propriety for you. It was disheartening.

Simon kept his jaw firmly clenched as he watched the scenery pass, but he didn’t look as if he were looking at the rolling hills or passing farms. He appeared to be looking directly through anything that passed. This was just day one of your “new” life, and if the two of you couldn’t muster any conversation, you didn’t know what hope there was for the future.

The carriage ride from the church to your reception took all of fifteen minutes, give or take a few. You’d tried to plead with your mother to forgo the reception, stating that it was outdated and unnecessary, but your mother wouldn’t hear a word of it.

“The wedding reception is one of the joys of the beginning of a married woman’s life. It is the time she greets the ton as a Mrs. She is no longer a miss. You will get to revel in your new role in front of all the other unmarried women. The reception lets everyone wish you well while being the source of envy in their eyes.”

You sighed, hearing her words in your memory from the night before. You did not fault her. she did not know the true way your nuptials had come about. She thought you and Simon had genuinely fallen head over heels while pretending to have fallen head over heels. She did not know about what had transpired to bring the two of you to this outcome. You didn’t dare tell her.

While a loving and kind one, your mother preferred her children, mainly her daughters, to be the supreme example of propriety. She had groomed you to be nothing but a proper lady. That meant you always had a chaperone when you were going most places. You were never alone with anyone that wasn’t a woman. Your hemline was the exact number of inches deemed appropriate, as was your neckline. It also meant that your education was top of the line—well, most of your education.

You learned to read, write, do arithmetic, play the piano, do needlework, draw, paint, sing, dance, how to catch the eye of a suitor, the propriety of courting, and how to run a household for marriage. Your accomplishments could have been seen as superior, but your mother said you had to be better than average. You had to be perfect. She pushed you further, saying because your skin color was different, expectations for you to be perfect were high. So, you expanded your education to learn two languages, French and Latin. Excelled in piano and learned to play the harp. You were quite accomplished, usually more than those around you.

The part of your education that was lacking was knowledge that went past things others could see. Your mother made sure to keep any discussions of inappropriate topics away from you and your sisters, only giving you the smallest of details. She sure stressed what was inappropriate but skimmed past any other things. It was while learning about science and animals that you grasped procreation at the most basic level.

You had plenty of unmarried friends. There was Tessa Carmichael, your best friend who lived across the road, Abigail Prowler down the road on the left, Edith Bunfeld down the road on the right, and Letecia Grother, whose aunt was on the neighboring street. All of you often spent your afternoons walking around the park and gossiping about many things, including the joys and privileges of married life. None of you really knew what to expect. Of course, many unmarried ladies tried to grill the ones who were married, but they all remained tightlipped. All they did was giggle into their fans, saying, “you will find out on your own.”

Here it was, the evening of your wedding day, and you still had no idea. Your mother had assured you earlier in the day before you left home for the final time as a Miss that “The Duke will take the lead, all you must do is follow it.”

“Your grace?”

You came out of your memories to see the footman holding out his hand to assist you out of the carriage. Once you stepped out, you rearranged your dress until Simon stepped out beside you. You watched him tuck his flask in his jacket before he held his arm out for yours without even sparing you a glance. Sighing, you looped yours with his and let him lead you into the building.

Once you walked in, the first people you saw were your mother and Landy Danbury. They both had bright smiles on their faces.

“Your graces,” Lady Danbury said, dipping her head.

“Oh, you know you never have to bow your head to me—never to me,” Simon said with a fond smile on his face as he looked at Lady Danbury.

You knew his affection for the woman went deep. You weren’t entirely sure about most of it, but you knew that she’d taken care of him helped him become who he was. You’d only known him about five weeks, and that wasn’t nearly enough time to peel back the many layers of The Duke Of Hastings. You suspected you’d need a lifetime for that. A lifetime which you now had.

“Are you all right, dear?”

You plastered a smile on your face and nodded.

“Of course she is mother, she is now a duchess,” your sister Jerrikka piped up as she came over to pull you into an embrace.

“You know very well I am not the type to hold so much weight on a title,” you replied.

“Is that so? Not too long ago, I remember you bragging you were to be a Princess,” Simon dryly shot out.

You glanced at him trying to keep the glare away. You remembered the conversation you’d had where you’d uttered those words and remembered why you’d said them. You’d wanted to pointedly show him that you were desirable though he behaved as if you weren’t. Perhaps part of you wanted to enrage him or garner any reaction from him at all. He’d been so damned stoic. It was next to impossible to know what toiled in his head.

To not draw suspicion of trouble so soon after wedlock, Simon smiled at you. It almost looked like a real smile, a warm one, but his eyes remained cold—detached. He then led you into the ballroom, and as he did, all eyes floated to you. Everyone in the room held broad smiles on their faces as they dipped down into a respectful half curtsey or head bow. You and Simon both returned the gesture before the members of the ton flooded around you, each offering their happiest felicitations for your marital bliss.

You kept your back straight, face neutral, smile stretched, and hoped it shone all the way to your eyes. Your eyes always gave away whatever you were thinking or feeling. It was what you considered your fatal flaw. Your mother could hide everything behind her relaxed expression and only allow others to see what she wanted. Even, your sisters, Jerrikka and Jacinda, could remain relatively stoic, you were the one who was cursed. Your father always called you his little lightning bolt because of how quickly your emotions flashed.

By the time the congratulations finally subsided, it gave you time to take your first ever taste of Ratafia. Your mother had never allowed it. She said it was for married women. You and Jacinda had only been allowed one glass of cordial at any event. Once you’d had your one glass, it was lemonade after that.

You were standing close to the fireplace in the corner of the room. It gave you a good view of all that was happening. Simon was beside you, slightly turned away with one elbow resting on the stone of the fireplace. His stance allowed you to take in his side profile. Even standing leisurely with his other hand on his hop and one leg crossed over the other, he still looked regal. Before you thought it was conceit you sensed in him, but you’d come to see it as pride.

It wasn’t a detrimental pride or one that said he thought himself high over others. It was a different kind of pride entirely. It was one that made him more attractive in your eyes. His slim but masculine frame you’d gazed over tens of times over the last month always set your curiosities running wild. Right now, you found yourself wondering if all of him had the muscles he’d displayed two weeks ago when he rolled up his sleeves.

You hadn’t even seen your brothers in that state before. he was the first. As your eyes traveled the length of his body, you raised your glass to your lips and took a sip of the coveted Ratafia that many ladies seemed to love. Your eyes stopped at his backside, and that was where they remained. The liquid passed your lips and washed over your tongue.

The most unexpected flavor filled your mouth. It was one that was stronger than anything you’d ever tasted. As soon as you swallowed it, you began coughing. Simon’s head spun to you with a worried expression.

“Are you all right?”

Your response was another fit of coughs, which made Simon take a step toward you.

“Jemilla?”

You held up your hand as you cleared your throat once more.

“Good heavens, this is absolutely terrible.”

Simon’s eyes flittered between the glass in your hands, your face, and back to the glass. Slowly a smile spread across his lips before he pressed them together.

“Is this your first time having Ratafia?”

You nodded.

“How? Every lady in London has a Ratafia habit they think no one knows of,” he said with a smirk.

“Is that so?”

“Why yes. Look.”

He stepped to the side then nodded his head to the ladies of the ton. You looked at a few of them, and each of them brought glasses of the horrid tasting drink to their lips, including your mother, older sister, and Lady Danbury. He was right. It would seem the ladies did have a liking for the thing.

“How is it that your mother and sister drink it regularly, but you have not?”

He was facing you again with plenty of curiosity in his eyes. Needing something to do, you nearly raised the glass back to your lips—nearly.

“My mother doesn’t let any of us have this. She says it is for mature married ladies. So I did not qualify.”

Simon nodded and raised his glass of Brandy to his lips.

“I see. So, now that you are in the company of those married but not quite mature ladies, you decided to partake.”

Curiosity nipped at you now. Tilting your head to the side, you took him in.

“Married but not quite mature ladies? Pray tell what you mean by that, your grace?”

Simon didn’t attempt to speak. He just took another mouthful of Brandy and studied you with the utmost scrutiny. A hint of mischief flickered across his face before he scoffed and turned away from you, taking up his same stance from before. You could have tossed the remaining Ratafia in your glass at his back. He’d always had this uncanny ability to wind you up since the day you’d met. It still hadn’t changed. Your mother said that it was a blessing, and it would mean your marriage would not be a bore.

“It figures you would regress into a state of cowardice at the mere spark of a conversation,” you speared, knowing it would rile him up.

As expected, Simon spun around to face you but also took the three steps needed to be only inches from your face.

“Did you call me a coward?”

You fought a smile. “I wouldn’t dare, your grace.”

You knew he heard the sarcasm in your voice.

“All right, your grace, I shall educate you, but only a little. You are married, as sure as that bauble decorates your dainty finger, but just because you are married, it does not make you mature,” Simon reiterated.

You waited for him to continue, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing you anxiously wanted to hear the end of his thought. Your eyes dipped lower than his to his mouth and watched him smile. That smile was something that was growing on you every time you saw it. You realized the dryness of your throat then, and you snaked your tongue out to wet your lips. His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there for several long moments.

Simon leaned an inch closer. He could almost touch your nose with his. “You are not mature until you have woken the next morning in nothing by the bed sheets, with aches in muscles and places you never knew you could ache, and a road map of marks along your body all made with nothing but lips all from your first night with a man,” he said in the most alluring voice.

A strange feeling washed over you, and you feared you might actually swoon. Clouds seemed to fill your head as your entire body became so heated as if the fire you were standing near had caught on your body. You tried to control your expression, all the while Simon watched you. After a few seconds, Simon’s jaw clenched, making the muscles in his neck jump.

“Maturity, your grace, requires a toll be paid, and it must be paid over and over and over,” he finished. A scowl replaced his clenched jaw, and the thought that he felt disappointment made your stomach sink.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

Simon looked caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t a dignified question. One does not ask a man, even if he is her husband, such things.

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

Jealousy hit you, and you couldn’t hide it. Simon smirked, then scoffed, but the smile slipped and was replaced with a frown.

“Well, my husband, the rake. I am surprised you wed at all.”

Simon looked pained, but you did not focus on it.

“As am I, but I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” He muttered it, but you heard it through. Instead of letting another emotion slip, you raised the glass to your lips and drank it all down in one agonizing and sicking move. Once finished, you walked off, leaving him there.

Mere hours into your marriage and things were already falling apart; you thought as you walked out of the ballroom and outside into the chilly night air. You took a deep breath, held it, and did it again and again. The man made you angry and flustered in under five minutes. You couldn’t help but reminisce about your time casually talking at balls and events around London while you were on the marriage mart. He’d been terse to begin with, but slowly he’d warmed to you.

You’d developed the beginning buds of a friendship that took you by surprise but was welcoming. While every man in London was trying to put their best foot forward to entice you into marriage, Simon was not. He showed plenty of his bad habits, his cynicism and preference to see the worst in people, his inability to see the true heart of those in his company, his stubbornness, his temper, and on some occasions, his rakish ways. It didn’t matter, you never judged him for it, and you could tell he appreciated it.

“My, how things have changed,” you said to yourself once you were under a wide-spanned tree sitting on the stone bench.

You closed your eyes and listened to the night, finding comfort in the chirping crickets, the sound of the wind rustling the leaves, the faint rolling of the wheels from passing carriages, all backed by the orchestral music from the ballroom. Slowly your anger subsided. You didn’t even know why you were angry. You’d known he had no plans to marry. It was one of the very first things he’d told you, and he repeated it on so many occasions it was seared to your brain. The Duke of Hastings was not in want of a wife. Yet, here you were married to him, all because of one night similar to this one.

It was your fault. You felt as if you’d left him with no other choice. You thought back to the night that had changed everything. You didn’t know what you were doing when you allowed him to cross the lines of proper distance between two unwed people. The only thing you could think about when he slowly came closer and closer was how badly you wanted to know what he smelled like underneath his cravat. For weeks the casual way he had it done with the different materials that were so much more vibrant than others always drew your attention.

In your few moments of stupor, Simon had managed to come so close you could see the small flecks of auburn within his eyes. His unexpected closeness made you swoon slightly, and his arms were there to catch you and hold you against him. It was your first time being close to a man that was not either of your brothers. Even then, there was some distance.

Simon’s hand then grazed your cheek and trailed down to your jaw before curving back to where your earlobe hung. You’d lost whatever strength your knees had and slumped against him just as his finger dipped down your neck and coming across your collar, and it was there he stopped. It took several moments for his finger to plunge lower until it dangled right above the rise of your breast. When he dipped his head down while maintaining eye contact, you began to shake in his arms. He took a deep inhale at the swell of your breast.

“You’re trembling like a leaf, are you cold?”

You shook your head slightly.

“Then what are you, Ms. Remmington?”

You could smell the brandy on his breath, but there was something else too, something you couldn’t make out.

“Quite fevered,” you whispered.

Simon took another deep inhale of your skin then moaned.

“Goodness, you smell of roses, night jasmine and--,” he inhaled again. “Orange blossom. You smell like my best dreams, Ms. Remmington.”

Your breath hitched. Simon came closer and closer until his lips hovered over yours. You should have moved and chastised him about impropriety, but you stood there while the hand that was at the middle of your back slid lower and lower until you felt his fingertips pressing into the flesh just above the swell of your bottom. The action brought your lower half firmly against his. You didn’t know what you felt, but it was something. His lips only slightly grazed yours before you’d heard voices approaching you. He’d been the one to pull away from you first and apologize profusely before he’d walked off, leaving you pressed against the wall of roses that was right behind you.

“Already hiding from your husband?”

You opened your eyes and saw your best friend, Tessa, standing there with a teasing smirk.

“Tessa.”

You began to stand, but she stopped you, sitting beside you instead.

“Your grace,” she said.

Scoffing, you bumped her with your shoulder. “Oh, stop it. Do not tease me. I am still Jemilla. I will hear no nonsense of your grace from you.”

“I know you are Jemi, but you are also a Duchess now. It would be faulty to not acknowledge it, especially in public, at least once.”

You sighed and fiddled with the new ring on your finger underneath your white gloves.

“We are not in public now. It is just you, and I so do away with it.”

“Very well.” Tessa remained quiet for a few seconds before she turned to you with an excited smile. “All right, show it to me.”

You pulled off the glove and showed her the wedding ring Simon had placed on your finger earlier in the day. Tessa gasped, grabbed your hand, and brought it closer to her face.

“Oh my. I dare say the Duke has excellent taste. It is quite beautiful. While most husbands give their wives one jewel, yours had bestowed you a bevy.”

You snorted and looked out into the night while she continued to gawk at the bauble.

“So why are you out here and your new husband nowhere in sight?”

You bit your bottom lip then looked at her. You’d told her everything that had happened between you and Simon. You’d told her the reason your engagement was so quick and that there was no love between you and him.

“Oh come, come, Jemi. I know you wanted to marry for love and desire and passion, but just because your marriage did not start that way does not mean it cannot end up there,” Tessa suggested.

“Tessa, be realistic. I have told you the things he has said about marriage. He came to town with no intent on marriage.”

“And look, he is married now, in mere weeks no less. Jemi, a man will say all sorts of things to prevent something, but from this day on, he is yours.”

It was then you thought back to his words by the fireplace.

“And how many tolls have you collected, your grace?

“Plenty, but remember one needn’t make it an all-night occasion. Five minutes or so in a parlor could suffice.”

You could have laughed out loud, but you didn’t. He hadn’t been yours before, and you doubted he was now.

“Tonight is your wedding night. Perhaps you shall feel differently in the morning,” Tessa said, a broad smile spread across her face.

You knew what she was insinuating. You had heard the chatter of a woman’s wedding night but had heard nothing of consequence. All you and Tessa were left with were speculation and plenty of possible theories and fantasies. Tessa stood and held out her arm for yours. After slipping your glove back on, you looped your arm with hers and allowed her to lead you back into the ballroom.

Once you were seen, your mother approached you and swiftly brought you towards your new husband, then enticed him to dance with you for all the ton to see. Simon, of course, complied, and the two of you drew every pair of eyes. Rather than looking directly at him, you kept your eyes somewhere neutral, somewhere that it would appear to others you were staring into his eyes.

“Remember what I said to you the first time we danced like this?”

“We’ve never danced like this, your grace.”

“You are right; our titles, or rather your title, has changed but are we not the same people?”

You fell into the trap and met his eyes.

“Are we, your grace?”

Simon peered deeply into your eyes as if he were looking for that very answer.

“I am told we have our entire lives to figure it out.”

Feeling your face beginning to shift to give away your inner feelings, you looked away, back to his ear.

“Stare into my eyes.”

They were words he’d said before, in the exact manner. You ignored his instruction, though the urge to obey pulled at your willfulness.

“Jemilla,” Simon said in a low, deep voice.

“Stare into my eyes.”

You caved and darted your eyes to his. Simon held it for a few moments.

“If this is to work, we must appear madly in love,” he said.

The words garnered almost the same reaction as it had the first time he’d uttered them. The only difference was you were well aware that appearances were not nearly all that they seemed. It had worked a little too well, and now you were married and so far from madly in love.

By the end of the evening, your feet hurt from all the walking around and dancing, and your head throbbed slightly, probably from the music and being unable to eat even one bite due to the anxiousness that had plagued you all day. After you’d said your goodbyes to your siblings, mother, and friends, you climbed into the carriage with Simon, unsure just where you were heading. You didn’t pay too much attention to the darkness outside the window because your head was too caught up in thoughts of what was to come.

You fiddled with your gloved hands, your bouquet that you’d nearly stroked all buds from all in an effort to take your mind off of things. After thirty minutes in the bumpy carriage, you saw a large tree pass by. You looked around you, trying to figure out where you were.

“Where—where are we?”

“One of my estates, Briarvale, Simon answered.

“Briarvale. I thought we were going to Clyvedon?”

“No, Clyvedon is quite far, much too far to travel tonight. Briarvale is the in-between point. We will stop, rest for the night, then continue on and should reach Clyvedon by late afternoon next.”

You nodded and lowered your eyes. “I should have made you aware of the plans before. I am afraid I am so used to consulting no one I did not stop to realize I now might have to. I apologize.”

He didn’t sound angry about it, just remorseful. Maybe he was being sincere. When the carriage stopped, the jarvey opened the door and helped you out. Some torches lit the entire walk path to the front door, where two servants were standing at either side of the door. Simon stepped out beside you and cleared his throat.

“After you, your grace.”

You walked ahead while taking in the large home before you. It was two times bigger than the one you’d spent half of your life in, and you imagined Cleyvdon would be four times larger than this one. You never imagined marrying this wealthy. Wealth was never one of your concerns at all.

“Welcome, your graces.”

You and Simon walked inside into the foyer.

“I will let you get settled,” Simon said before walking off, leaving you standing there and wondering where he was going.

One of the maids led you through the house to the stairs. As you climbed them, you took in the paintings on the wall and the wood’s shine. It was a well-kept residence. A few minutes later, the maid stopped in front of a door.

“Your room, your grace.”

“Thank you. what is your name?”

She looked surprised by your question, but she still answered. “Ingrid, your grace.”

“Thank you, Ingrid.”

She smiled and bowed her head, and waited for you to walk inside. When you did, the fire was crackling, making the large room very inviting.

“Is everything to your liking, your grace?”

You nodded. “Thank you, yes.”

Ingrid nodded, then walked out of the room, leaving you with your thoughts. You knew he would come, so you waited. You took the time to look around the room at the different paintings and objects and even examining the material of the sheets on the bed. Still, Simon hadn’t appeared. That was when your pacing began and did not stop. After pacing for quite a while, you finally stopped, then took off your shoes and waited some more. When another ten minutes passed with no Simon, you peeled off your stockings but hesitated to remove any more articles of clothing.

When you were sure you’d waited an hour more, you got annoyed and walked to the door. As soon as you opened it you saw one of the maids passing.

“Hello there.”

The young woman turned, startled, then dipped down to a bow.

“Your grace, is something the matter?”

You were embarrassed even to ask her this. “No, nothing is wrong. Have you—do you know where—has his grace retired for the evening?”

The maid gave you a curious look. No doubt she was thinking that you should know better than her. He was your husband, after all.

“Uh—no, ma’am. His grace is still in the study. Would you like me to deliver a message?”

“No! No. Thank you.”

You went back into the room, closed the door, and sighed out. She undoubtedly found it strange, and you worried you’d be the gossip of the house in the morning. You began undressing as you’d done plenty of times before then climbed into bed, leaving your petticoat on. Instead of going to sleep right away, you sat up and waited.

You didn’t know what was going on or what to expect, and that was the part that gave you the most anxiety and distress. After another hour, it was clear to see that Simon was not coming. You didn’t know what to think or feel. The very little you’d been told to expect still made no sense, especially since it hadn’t happened. Or had it? Your mother told you that your husband would take the lead. Had Simon taken the lead by staying away?

After going over it tens of times in your head, you snuffed out the candle that was on its last inch of life and lay down to stare at the upper canopy of the bed.

You were married, but his actions had proven the line was drawn, and you were on opposite sides with chasms between you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#pleasing the duke fic #rege jean page fanfiction #the duke of hastings fanfiction #regency fanfic #the duke of hastings x ofc #bridgerton fanfiction #slow burn fanfic

248 notes · View notes

andie-cake · 3 years

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perhabs,, early relationship, Paul wanting affection but being anxious and not knowing how to go about it?

Ceej, you understand me and my Paul hcs on a spiritual level, thank you for my rights and an excuse to write soft nonsense. It's uh... It's a little long.

Being in an honest-to-god romantic relationship was taking a bit of re-getting used to for Paul. He hadn't dated anyone since college, and suddenly wham, he's head over heels for a cute, snarky barista who seems to return his affections. It was odd, but no less wonderful, feeling his heart flutter in his chest whenever Emma so much as smiled at him. He hadn't felt this way about someone in damn near a decade, and then this beautiful 5'0 biology student walked into his life, and god, his brain just didn't know how to handle it.

Paul and Emma had started seeing each other around late October, hooking up in the Beanies break room during a Halloween party her boss Nora had thrown. It was mid-December now, a week and a half before Christmas, and things were still going strong between them. Though there had been... something strange on Paul's mind for a few weeks now, something that had never bothered him before in his past relationships.

Paul was a tactile guy with people he liked, something his friends all knew well. He was never sure exactly how he'd rank the five love languages as applied to himself, but touch was definitely his number one. Casual shoulder squeezes and light nudges were common gestures of his among friends, as Bill could easily attest. With romantic partners, this was cranked up a bit. Lots of light kisses to their temple or resting his hand on their back, stuff like that. It was always the easiest way for him to show that he cared. His partners... were never as tactile as him. It was very all give and no take on Paul's end when it came to physical affection, and he hadn't really minded it. At least, he was pretty sure he hadn't...

But now? With Emma? Her touch was something he actively craved. And it's not as if Emma never touched him outside of sex, far from it, she was probably the most physically affectionate partner Paul had ever had. She held his hand, kissed his cheek, cuddled up against him during movie nights, and gave him playful little jabs in the side when he was being a smartass. But she wasn't quite as casually affectionate as Paul was with her, and he couldn't help but wish she was.

And sweet jesus christ, did Paul find it embarrassing. It made him feel like some dopey lovesick teenager whenever he thought about it. Like, what was he supposed to do? Ask her to touch him more often? He'd sound like a total fucking weirdo if he tried to explain it to her. But still, he couldn't help but think about it a lot.

It had been a lazy Sunday evening, the one day of the week when neither half of the couple had work. And of course, they were... taking advantage of their day off, as it were. On Paul's living room couch, no less. They'd just finished up, and Emma had gone off to use his shower and whatnot. After washing up a bit, Paul had promptly put some comfy sleepwear on (because it was December in Michigan and Paul was not one to lounge around in the nude with temperatures like that outside), and was now absentmindedly channel surfing whilst laying on the couch.

Nearly half an hour later, Emma had emerged from the bathroom, hair tied into a braid and clad in a bright red hoodie that Paul recognized as his own. He couldn't help but smile, it was so big on her, and she looked adorable in it.

"Find anything to watch while I was in there?" she asked.

"Hallmark movies, a bunch of stock Christmas faire, and like three separate Harry Potter marathons," Paul replied. "None of which I'm particularly interested in watching, so we might have to retreat to the DVD shelf again."

Emma shrugged. "Hey, fine by me, TV edits are usually garbage fires anyway," she said. She strode over to the other side of the living room, where Paul kept his DVDs, and eyed the shelf. After a minute or two, she plucked a case off the shelf, snickering. "Monty Python: Life of Brian, that's a Christmas movie, right?"

"Absolutely," Paul quipped. "Anything can be a Christmas movie if you stretch the definition enough."

"Good, because I wanna watch Monty Python."

After popping the disk in, she turned back to the couch, and Paul sat up to give her some room. As she sat back down, Paul took in the sight of her. God, she was lovely. And she looked so cozy in his hoodie, it was hard not to find the sight of her absolutely heart-melting. His heart fluttered a bit, he was getting that feeling again. Unfortunately, Paul found himself staring at her instead of the screen for a bit too long, and she took notice.

"Paul?" she piped up, snapping him out of his trance with a befuddled smile. "You good, babe?"

Paul felt his cheeks flush. Had she ever called him "babe" before? "It's, uh... it's nothing," he stammered unconvincingly. "I just zoned out for a bit."

Emma, being the observant person she was, eyed him with skepticism. "You look like you have something on your mind," she noted. "What's up?"

Well, shit. Feeling his face burn hotter, Paul attempted to weasel himself out of this inevitable awkward conversation.

"N-nothing's up, I'm fine!" he tried to assure her, perhaps too defensively to sound convincing.

"That's the voice of a man who definitely has something up," Emma observed. She grabbed the remote, and paused the film before continuing. "Something's bothering you, Paul, I can tell."

"It-it's just..." Paul tried to begin, feeling momentarily reassured by Emma's soft gaze. But when the right words wouldn't come to him, he groaned and buried his flushing face in his hands. God, why was he like this? "Nevermind, it's really stupid, can we just watch the movie, please?"

"Paul, I know stupid, I work at Beanies," Emma retorted playfully, earning a brief chuckle from Paul. "Whatever's bothering you, it can't be any worse than the shit my co-workers complain about on the daily. I promise you I won't laugh."

Paul removed his hands from his face, meeting her gentle gaze once more. "You mean it?"

She nodded. "I'm all ears."

Exhaling a deep breath, Paul took a moment to think of how to word his self-imposed predicament in the least stupid way possible. Probably best to start small.

"Um, y'know how... when we watch movies or whatever together," he began, trying to force himself to talk above a whisper. "You'll like, lean against my chest, and I'll wrap my arms around you and play with your hair and all that?"

Emma nodded, looking somewhat confused. "Yeah...?"

"Do you think we could... do that the other way around this time?"

There was a brief moment of silence, and Paul was pretty sure his face had turned a shade of red that had only ever been seen by shrimp before. Jesus, that must've sounded so stupid.

"That's all?" Emma asked.

Yep, there it was. Paul looked down at his lap again, embarrassed beyond belief. "Basically, yeah..." he chuckled despite himself. "I know, I know, it's really dumb, and I probably got you all worried for nothing-"

"Whoa, whoa, Paul, slow down!" Emma cut him off, reaching out to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. She smiled at him softly. "I mean, sure! If that's what you want, we can do it!"

Paul took another deep breath. "Really?"

"Yeah!" Emma replied. She leaned back on the arm of the couch, and opened her arms. "Come on, bring it in."

Still nervous and flustered, Paul slowly eased himself against Emma, resting his head against her chest. He could feel her heartbeat, even through the thick fabric of the hoodie. Emma rested one hand on his back, and began to thread her fingers through his hair, just like he would do with her. Paul felt a chill go down his spine. God, he forgot how much he loved having his hair stroked. He wrapped his arms around her torso, face still flushing like nobody's business.

"How's that?" Emma asked, undoubtedly noticing the ridiculous smile that had forced itself onto his face.

"Wonderful..." he sighed, finally beginning to calm down a bit. "Thanks, Emma."

"No prob," Emma snickered, still stroking his hair. "But before we un-pause the movie, can I ask why it was such an ordeal for you to ask me about this?"

"It's kinda hard to articulate," Paul explained, adjusting himself so that he wasn't muffled by the hoodie. "My, um... my past partners weren't really the, uh... the affectionate kinda types, y'know? So it just kinda felt weird to ask you to... do this... I guess..."

"...Well," Emma began after a moment's pause. "I'm not your past partners, so I'd be more than happy to do this more often."

"You would?" Paul inquired hopefully.

"If it makes you feel as loved as it makes me feel," Emma said, rubbing a calming circle between his shoulder blades with her thumb. "Then I'll do it anytime."

Paul could've melted right then and there. He was loved... In a somewhat indirect way, Emma said she loved him. Perhaps now was the time...

"Thanks again, Em," he said, slightly choked up. He craned his neck a bit to press a kiss to her neck. "I, um... I love you."

Emma briefly paused in her stroking of his hair, only to resume moments later, and press a kiss to his forehead.

"I... I love you too, Paul."

#hatchetfield #paulkins

41 notes · View notes

antipodeanpineapplelump · 3 years

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Dear Starshot, I recently saw your latest artwork for #Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura and I am DYING to learn more about this AU. If you're comfortable sharing, is there anything you can disclose about it?? Is this related to the ItaShi Indiana Jones AU you mentioned before?!!?!?!?!!

Hi Birk, thank you so much for dropping by with this ask! Are you really voluntarily asking me to talk about my current obsession and fanfic baby though? Because I warn you, you may live to regret that!!!

"Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura" is now the official title of my ItaShi Indiana Jones AU. I realise it’s been over a year since I first mentioned it, and it’s still a WIP! Pretty sure that says absolutely nothing good about the speed of my writing, but a lot about how busy my life outside of fandom is. Anyhow, it’s definitely one of those AUs that’s got away on me. I was planning one story initially, but now it’s kind of turned into three (plus a cracky oneshot), and this is just the first.

I’ve planned nine chapters total so far, but the bane of my life is currently number four. It’s sitting at 16,000 words and counting. Succinct writing? I’ve certainly never heard of it… So anyway, I kind of hit a wall there and decided to take a little break to come back with fresh eyes. That’s how I ended up working on the art instead. But I’d say I’m probably about halfway through the first draft (47,000-ish words).

I recently shared the opening scene and my draft cover artwork here. Ummm… what else can I tell you? Madara is the main bad guy, and he’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Shisui is an agent of disaster and chaos. Itachi is really… not. So their initial interactions go about as well as you could expect.

All the main characters have extensive back stories. I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with my Machiavellian worldbuilding tendencies from reading Red Dawn, so it goes without saying I have just as many notes and plans, and as much fleshed out worldbuilding for this story too. And it will take a long time for all of that to be revealed! But the overarching theme is probably found family, which is different to anything I’ve done before.

At this risk of revealing too much, or boring you to tears, I’ll finish with another sneak peek, this time from Itachi’s POV:

When Itachi wakes, there’s nothing to suggest his day is going to be anything but routine.

He gets up at dawn as per usual, eating breakfast at the dining table alone, legs tucked beneath him on a comfortable zabuton. The solitude at this hour of day is something he prefers. It’s the only time the family home is quiet anymore—lacking the cold disapproval of his father’s increasingly judgemental lectures, the anger of his younger brother’s rebellion, or the resigned acquiescence of his mother.

By now, Fugaku should have left for work, and it’s still too early for Sasuke to be awake, given how late he’s been staying out at night. Either to irritate their father, or just avoid him entirely, he’s taken to frequenting the clubs and bars in Osaka. Mostly, he comes home. Some nights, he doesn’t.

More often than not, even when he is home his door is closed, the thumping bass line of some song or another seeping out from beneath it. Likely because he knows this angers their father even more than the leather jackets and spiked punk-rock hair style he now sports.

Part of Itachi has been glad to discover his brother possesses more of a spine than he ever has. But at the same time, Sasuke’s rejection of every last one of their father’s rules has only brought more unwanted scrutiny to Itachi’s far more minor transgressions. It’s as though, having decided his younger child is a lost cause, Fugaku now wants to be absolutely certain his eldest son and heir to the Uchiha family fortune is beyond reproach. To smother him with expectations until he emerges, a diamond from beneath the pressure.

But unbeknownst to Fugaku, Itachi has one flaw he can’t change. And it means that, no matter what, he’ll always be a failure in his father’s eyes.

Sighing, he swallows a mouthful of rice and fish, washing it down with the sweetened barley tea he favours. Pulling this month’s edition of Modern Archaeology across the table, he inspects its glossy cover and promptly chokes on his drink.

The face that smiles up from the page stokes a knot of hot irritation in his gut. Furiously, he skips to the article, skim-reading the text, despite the fact he knows it will only annoy him further.

"An up-and-coming star in the field of archaeology, particularly specialising in South-American cultures, Shisui Uchiha is an increasingly well-known fixture of the San Diego research scene. Curiously for someone so entrenched in the study of history, he is famously reticent when it comes to his own. ‘I did spend my early years in Japan,’ he confirms when pressed. ‘But I haven’t been back in a long time. The United States is my home now.’ Asked about his connection to the famous Uchiha family, he merely winks enigmatically. ‘Never heard of them,’ he says, before asking if we’d like a one-on-one tour of the dig site.

Equally at home in dusty ruins as surfing the palm-lined SoCal beaches, or scaling the cliffs of his native Joshua Tree National Park, he nonetheless shines in group settings too. At the party we attend that evening, to celebrate the opening of a new Aztec exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City, he easily charms the crowd, finishing the night with at least half a dozen new admirers. It’s not hard to see why they like him. A conversation with Shisui is exercise in passion and obscure historical knowledge. Even so, much like the dig sites he frequents, it’s hard to say just how much of what he presents to the world runs more than surface-deep.

His motto in life? ‘Fall seven times, stand up eight,’ Shisui says with a charismatic smile. Where did he learn it? Chuckling, he brushes us off. ‘The school of hard knocks.’

Love him or hate him, one thing is certain—we haven’t seen the last of Shisui Uchiha’s brand of archaeology.”

Hate him, Itachi thinks, sipping his tea viciously enough to scald his tongue and immediately regretting it. Definitely hate. Hate how he’s reckless, impulsive, irresponsible, and doesn’t seem to take a single thing seriously. Hate that it looks like he’s never had to work hard for anything a day in his life—people only too happy to hand him whatever he wants on a silver platter, charmed by a pretty smile. Hate the fact that, despite their shared family name, he’s free to do whatever he likes. Hate the way people flock to him, falling into his orbit—and by all accounts, bed—like it’s somehow inevitable. And hate, most of all, that there’s a small part of Itachi which understands why.

Because hate or love him—and it’s definitely hate—there’s no denying that Shisui Uchiha is, objectively, a very attractive man.

Coming back to his senses and realising he’s been leaning over the magazine, frowning so hard his forehead hurts, Itachi straightens, closing his eyes and massaging the knot of tension out from between his eyebrows.

“Itachi—”

The tension sinks in even deeper. He opens his eyes. “Father.”

Fugaku takes in magazine, then his son, and Itachi really hopes his cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. It’s stupid, but merely knowing he feels the way he does about the man on the page makes him fear being caught. As though his father might somehow divine his deepest darkest secret, just by looking. Truthfully, Itachi sometimes wonders if he might not already know, or at least suspect. But if he does, it’s clearly a truth he’s chosen not to acknowledge.

“I take it you’re prepared for our meeting this evening?” Fugaku asks, grim as ever.

Attempting a composed sip of his tea, Itachi nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Mouth a hard, unyielding line, Fugaku makes some indiscernible noise of disapproval, sweeping an appraising glance over Itachi. “Well, I suppose it’s too much to hope that anything can be done about your hair between then and now. But they’re a modern family. New money. Perhaps it won’t matter so much.”

Fingers tightening into the flesh of his thigh, Itachi has to remind himself to breathe. “I will do my best to make a good impression,” he says, inclining his head towards his father, penitence for his innumerable shortcomings—not least of all the choice to grow his hair out. It’s a small act of rebellion compared to Sasuke’s effort, but one his father seems determined to curtail as promptly as possible.

Poker face easing ever so slightly, Fugaku’s brows trend downwards, though their slant is still severe. “I know. You are my son, after all. And it is high time you were married with a family of your own. Perhaps then you will see the value in giving up these frivolous academic pursuits, and taking your rightful place at the head of the family business.”

He might as well build a box and stuff Itachi into it. Mold him to fit his own vision of the future. But Itachi has long since learnt that what he wishes he could have from life, and what he can have, are two very different things. So, just like his infrequent clandestine trips to the less desirable areas of Osaka’s nightlife, this too, he realises he will have to sacrifice. Duty before self.

“Yes Father, I’m certain you’re right,” he says, bowing once more as Fugaku leaves for work, closing the front door behind him with a click that reeks of finality.

As his footsteps crunch away on the gravel path outside, Itachi can’t help clenching his fists, until long after his knuckles turn white.

Theoretically, it’s a good match. From a family of good standing, his potential bride is quiet and well spoken—the perfect future housewife and mother. Their marriage would kill two birds with one stone, giving her father the son he never had, and Itachi—and therefore by extension Fugaku—control of their biggest competitor’s business.

All it requires is for Itachi spend the rest of his life pretending to be something he’s not.

The weight of it burns tight in his throat, threatening to break free on a rising tide of bile. He longs to cast off his gilded shackles, take a leaf from Sasuke’s book and do something completely crazy.

With a sigh, he rises from the table, collecting his dishes and depositing them circumspectly into the sink. Another day of work awaits.

#Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura #birkastan2018 #asks #my writing #WIP #sorry for talking so much #I'm sure I've mentioned it before #but I'm just an enormous nerd #who loves talking about my nerdy interests #thank you for this ask!

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everafterkeiji · 3 years

Text

Song: Cornelia Street by Taylor Swift

Summary: Who knew that a certain street can bring back a love that grew in distance?

Pairings: Keiji Akaashi x gn! reader

Tags, Genre: Timeskip! Akaashi, ex! lovers, slight angst, a tad bit of fluff

Word count: 6.8k

A/N: this is my late Valentine's gift for y'all<3 this is also the last story for my tiny event so pls let me know if you enjoyed this story and the rest!

What if I’m not ready for the next chapter?

You had your hands behind you as you felt the odd urge for your feet to lead them to him, but the two meter distance tells you otherwise.

“This is it then?”

He asks, biting his tongue to resist the words that wanted to escape him. Abundant sentences were locked in his throat and they each consisted of reasons why he’s suddenly had a change of mind in your agreement.

You sadly nod but he sees the way you quickly look down as a drop falls to the ground, followed by another, then another. He loathed how you hastily wiped your eyes as you formed a smile on your lips, catching his fallen heart.

“I guess it is, Akaashi.”

Then you waited.

Waited for those words to be exchanged from the both of you but none even came close to the tips of your tongues, both scarred at how the silence grew.

Your expectations were headed in one direction only and that was downwards. The reality of how bitter it was rose to reality while the sky was painted the hue of romance, mirroring the depthless amor you had for each other.

So you were ready, at least you thought you were.

Turning your heel, he calls out for you. A tone that held his pleas in secret, he didn’t realize how he was begging for you to stay with the slight crack in his voice.

“Y/N I-“

Say it, Akaashi. Please, do it for me.

You could land on your knees to pray for everything to be different from what they are now. It looked like everything was set in stone for him but it wasn’t for you. This was a situation you two have discussed about but how come the time where you two are finally taking different directions, it felt too unbelievable at how fast time has come to be?

“See you soon, Y/N.” He continues and this takes a massive hit to your heart. You visualized a completely different sentence then this but instead it was another wake-up call to you. Suddenly, the pages in your book were left unwritten and it seemed like the love story was fading without a happy ending.

But he never really said goodbye did he?

“You too, Keiji.”

With that you two walk in different directions but the string tied on your hearts remained to the both of you as it follows the more miles you reached.

“Congrats, Akaashi! I’m so proud of you! We should celebrate!” Bokuto cheers over the phone, prancing around his apartment while the setter smiles, adjusting his glasses before dragging the zipper of his bag to close it.

“Thanks, Bokuto but let’s meet after this week is that alright?” Akaashi says while he enjoys the night breeze with only the streetlights to guide him where his heart calls home. He could see the way Bokuto would pout at his declined offer as he lets out a chuckle.

“Congratulations, Akaashi-san!” Hinata screams beside Bokuto before they return to their little movie night with the rest of the MSBY team. He was happy to hear from the younger boy, it’s been a while since he’s gone on a meet-up with Bokuto and Hinata but he was thankful at how supportive they were of him even if their paths never met.

“Thank you seriously. I’ll call you when I have some free time. I just have to go somewhere okay?” Bokuto’s smile slumps as he realizes just exactly where he was planning to go but he figured that if this was one way that Akaashi could cope with the wasted years, he lets him be.

It’s the sanctuary for his weakened heart.

“I understand. Don’t stay for too long okay?” Bokuto says, sincerity in his voice. If Akaashi has an endless list of the ex-captains' weaknesses, Koutaro was the only one who knew the boy's kryptonite.

And one touch of it destroys him in every possible way.

“I won’t but thank you. I’ll see you soon.” Keiji bids goodbye to him and ends the call while disregards the voice in his head to control himself going back to same route. With how many times he visits the place, he feels as if he’s memorized every creak on the sidewalk, the exact colors of the houses near it, even the positions of the streetlights that he uses to retrace his steps when he’s on the way home. As he stares at night sky and the stars grew bright making him feel like it was communicating to him. Perhaps, they knew how hopeless he was and they knew that this was the only way to mend his heart even if the bigger pieces were still missing.

The street held so much magic that it faded but Akaashi held onto it because maybe- maybe it could bring you back.

But magic isn’t real and what was left were flashes of our poor reality.

“Keiji, what did you wish for?” You asked him, your head leaned on his shoulder with your intertwined hands on his lap while his thumb traces shapes around it. He smiles fondly while he marvels at the stars.

“I wish it never ends.” He answers softly, looking at you like you were the only being in the endless galaxy that could ever make him believe in foolish wishes while our eyes were too fixated on the celestial creations above.

“What do you think will?”

“Us.”

Here he was, seated in the same place where his wish had turned into dust.

This was his safe place, finding comfort in it even if it had his heart turning into shards and as he keeps his silence, the wise lady who's known the boy ever since he was in Fukurodani, approaches him with a sad smile. A basket of flowers in her hands as she leaves the space beside him unaccompanied knowing it was where you used to belong.

“Still not here?” She asks while Akaashi meets her gray eyes with his lips drawn downwards, avoiding her gaze to look at the stars who betrayed him.

“I don’t think it’ll happen.” He says with his own orbs reflecting the same pain that it does every day. The lady holds out an eglantine rose in front of him while he stares down on it, fascinated at the colors of it. He takes it from her, twirling it in his hands as he smiles, the beauty of it growing on me.

“Thank you.” She bows at him but before she could walk away, she saw how much the boy was holding back the tears with his head down and the flower nearly touching the floor with how low he held it. She feels for him too much. She couldn’t even wonder just how heavy he must feel. He visits more than the times that she could count. Before, he would visit every day- even eating his lunch or just doing something to keep him away from leaving. He was too attached to ever leave but when he left for college, the daily visits subsided and she thought that maybe he’d given up.

It's sad that he didn’t.

She places an iris next to him and her heart stung when she hears him mention a name that is the only thing that brings equal parts of love and pain.

“I’m here, Y/N.”

“Everything okay?” Your friend asks while you turned to her dazed.

“Yeah.” You lied before returning your attention to the buildings and city lights as you wait for your stop. It was too late- nearly passing 1am when you had finished a project that was due for tomorrow. After several coffee fueled nights of editing and rewriting- it was finally over. You were on your way home, craving the mattress to hug you already- even a well-deserved shower. Thankfully, you already had your dinner and you just spent your hours at a library with her trying to settle the outcome of it. Luckily, you were able to catch a bus this late and relax a little by letting the scenery unwind you from your worries.

But with the city being this beautiful, it leads you to remember the divine wreckage that was once your relationship.

At first, you weren’t sure where you wanted to go when college came in.

Now the only place you’d rather be was the space beside him.

It comes as a threat sometimes, to be able to withstand the distance without him. You thought that he’d be a phone call away the first time you broke down during one of your stressful weeks but instead of a dial, it involves mastering the courage to do so and maybe a bus to actually meet with him. You’d let him wipe away your tears, possibly his hands stroking your hair and whispering you pretty words to calm you down, maybe even his lips on yours and that’ll take all the pain away and replace it with the tenderness of his love.

“I’ll be here.”

I wish you would be, Keiji.

Stepping out of the bus, you waved to your friend goodbye while you walked the way to your apartment. You stopped mid-way when you saw a man who was packing his cart of flowers. You noticed him every morning because he’d give away some of his flowers to kids for free, even bringing along his 5-year-old daughter so you would occasionally buy from him. He sees you so he gives you a kind smile while he gestures for you to stop for a second making you go towards him.

He hands you a gorgeous bellflower while you reach for your wallet to pay but he waves you off. You wondered if he gave you a flower seeing that you once came home with tears in your eyes with how exhausted you were or was it because of the season of love or was it a pure act of kindness.

“It’s all good.” You smiled at him while you admire the delicate thing in your hand. He finishes packing up and before you could even ask what it symbolizes. Either way, you were thankful that something so beautiful in your hands.

A temporary replacement for Akaashi’s fingers who found it’s home when it’s intertwined with yours.

Sighing, you went up to your room to rest. After a few minutes of being in complete serenity, your phone rings beside you while you saw Bokuto’s number flash before you. Missing his company, you decided to answer wanting to hear his loud and bubbly voice.

“Bo?”

“Hey hey hey Y/N! God I missed you so much! I really didn’t intend to call this late because I was scrolling and I accidentally pressed on your number but how are you?” This was one of the moments where your smile was genuine. You remembered the times where Bokuto had you laugh for hours during classes. You missed the way he hugged you when graduation came and you had to say good-bye to him first, having Bokuto as a friend felt like there will never be a day where you could be stuck with a rainy cloud above your head. He remained to be the sunshine- or in this case- the star that held it all together. You and Akaashi were superbly proud of him. Seeing him live out his dream with his bright smile is a sight that never gets old.

“I missed you too! I’m doing okay, what about you?” You asked him while your eyes land on a photo of you and Akaashi that was above your desk but you decided to shrug it off because this wasn’t the right time to feel these negative emotions.

“I’m doing good too! I haven’t seen you in such a long time damn. Akaashi is doing well too- he got in as an editor at this agency and- shit I’m sorry I didn’t mean to pile that on you. “ Bokuto says pouting, disappointed that he’d slip up this fast. He didn’t mean to mention in this early- he knew you two haven’t had your heart mended even if time has passed. He was just so used to talking to you so casually that he had forgotten that his two friends weren’t the same lovers as they were in high school.

“That’s amazing to hear, Kou. Tell him I said congratulations.” You said, proud for him. You knew that Akaashi’s future was far different from yours. He was heading on a road that held no traffic, just a simple path with no one to stop him. While yours had bumps and traffic but what made it bearable was because he was right beside you throughout the journey.

But now you had to face it all alone.

“Do you see me in your future?” You asked, turning to meet his eyes while his hands were fixed on your waist. He smiles before he lets his finger doodle on the minimally exposed skin of yours.

“Absolutely. What makes you think I’d say no?” He says looking at you worried that maybe there was another bubble of anxiousness that formed above you, while you grew silent because you were stuck in a dream with how his skin felt blissful on yours.

“Is something wrong, babe?” He asks, caressing your waist while he leans closer to you. It was normal for you to be this intimate but the burn of your heart still feel so new- like every time it happens it feels as if it’s the first time all over again.

“I guess I just got scared at the thought where you wouldn’t be in it.” He feels his heart sped up with your words. Your fate was glued to his and if his future didn’t include you in it, he’ll forever be stuck on the present when you were still there.

“No matter the timeline, the universe, I’d be there.”

But the glue dried didn’t it?

“We were planning to celebrate his new job, are you available?” Bokuto asks, while he wonders if this was a good plan to do so.

“I’ll try.” You responded, a panic sets in wondering how it’ll go down if you actually attend this mini get together. You’d face him- it’s not like you didn’t want that to happen- but the pain was still raw. Seeing him after years of denying that you were over it, you’d be lying to yourself once again.

“Hey Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Got some time to catch up?”

Grinning at the amusement in his voice, you agreed.

It’s ridiculous how the city was filled with romance while two past lovers were consumed by loneliness.

Everyone was love-struck, buying chocolates and roses here and there, like puppets being controlled by Eros. Akaashi had to ignore the constant stories of his co-workers about their significant others giving them gifts and proudly presents their love for each other. He liked seeing them happy of course, everyone’s got their fair share of being in love.

But he experienced it when it became a blur.

You also had to endure the claims of girls on how many roses they got, bragging about it to no end. You also heard guys loudly gossiping about how they got the girl to agree with them on a date and this merely pisses you off because the unnecessary bitterness resurfaces.

Even if this wasn’t your day to be the happiest, you fell at peace with his jacket on you.

You stole about two jackets from him, even wearing his jersey when you visit his house. It felt like a sad embrace- like ghost of him wrapping his arms around you and resting his chin on your head like he used to do. You forgot about it being in your closet but when you found it this morning, it had you speechless for a few minutes before wearing it and imagining his warmth. You actually stayed in your bed for a good 15 minutes just hugging the fabric close to your body, shedding tears here and there when you remembered just how much you craved his overall presence.

With a love this sour, it rained.

Maybe it was because of you two but all of you were obviously not ready for such a down pour- especially on a Saturday when the sun was too bright that when it started to turn to gray, no one was prepared for it.

You were lucky enough that his jacket kept you slightly dry for the first half but the sky got more furious and drowned everyone with it’s droplets. You used your bag instead to find a bus stop bench to avoid the rain, you didn’t have a clear vision at where you were going because of how everyone was rushing to find their own place of refuge and because of the hood of the jacket.

Panting from running, you sat down on the bench as chills ran up your spine with the cold breeze meeting with your drenched clothes.

“Sweetie here- I got a spare umbrella.” A lady says as you turned to her surprised that she’d let you borrow her belonging. When you remove your hood, she’s left to smile at your features.

“Wouldn’t you need that ma’am? I’m sorry but I’ll have to decline.” You said kindly but she shakes her head, opening her bag and grabbing the umbrella as she takes your hand in hers and placing it in your palm.

“Take it, it’s fine. You might catch a cold and I wouldn’t want that to happen to you.” She says, her eyes showing you genuineness.

“But-“

“You can always return it to me when your done, dear. I’m sure you’re familiar with this place.” You raised an eyebrow at her but once you felt the booming beat of your heart, you knew where you are, because there’s no other place that could make you this week.

You dropped the umbrella with so much shock that it led you here. The painted houses, the nightly strolls, the kisses underneath the streetlights- the only place where your mind and heart agreed on.

Shaking your head and picking up the fallen object, the lady was nowhere to be seen and it made your heart pick up it’s pace even more now that she’s disappeared.

Your hand touches something while you jumped slightly at the feel of it. You turn to your side to see an iris, sitting perfectly soaked in water. You eyed it carefully and even when it was covered in water, it’s color and beauty still stood out but tears brimmed in your eyes when you were overwhelmed with so much memories.

“Keiji, I have to go.” You said chuckling while he twirls you around on the empty street, dancing to the beat of your own contented hearts. You weren’t even drunk but maybe you two were just high of the devotion for each other. It was a random move that Akaashi had made when your intertwined hands swing around then the next second he was you twirling and having no care in the world whoever watched.

It was a surprise to see the boy this open- so free to move the way he wanted without surrendering into his doubts. He couldn’t care if he looked like a fool- what was he to do? He was in love.

“You didn’t like our little dance session?” He teases before pulling you into his arms, underneath the light while you chuckled before planting a kiss on his nose.

“I loved it. I didn’t know you could dance like that, my prince.” You said, following through his lines, with a smile on your lips.

“Is it your curfew?” He asks with a laugh knowing you hated when your parents made him bring you home before 10 because of how worried they were.

“You know it is.”

He cups your cheek before he pulls you into a kiss while you closed your eyes, submerging into a pool of butterflies as he deepens it, intensifying the heat of your cheeks. He had his hands to either side of your hip while yours were lost in his dark locks. He pulls away before letting his thumb graze over your cheek.

“I guess I’ll have to spend more time with you in my sleep then?”

You laughed at his words before pulling him close with your arms wrapped around his neck.

“I wouldn’t mind it, prince charming.”

Feeling that your heart was nearly going to collapse, you stood up wiping your eyes as you hurriedly open the umbrella as you walked away as fast as you could, not ready to face another breakdown that’ll take a hard time to recover from.

Not too long from your disappearance, Akaashi sees the empty bench as the rain still poured down on his umbrella. It was another day where his wishes were stomped on, though he knows he should’ve never believed that it’ll be granted in the first place, a trial is still a trial no matter how many failed attempts there were.

He remembers that there was an iris when he last left but he had assumed that the lady took it back to her garden. He knew what it meant; it symbolizes hope. Though he needed it, he longed for something more.

And that was you.

But it was always him and the street, without any trace of you.

Then there’s this feeling in his chest, a tug of a rope that feels so near- a change in atmosphere ever since he got there.

Could it be?

But what sign of such desperation is this? To blindly hope that you were just here?

It’s funny that you actually were.

Keiji sighs as he walks away but there was still that odd feeling that he couldn’t get pass by. He tried to push away the memories like always does but with love around, why couldn’t he just treasure the moments you had?

While he walks to the bus stop, he notices a figure who just got in time to get inside and when he was supposed to follow them, the driver speaks to him.

“I’m sorry kid, we’re already full.” He says but Akaashi nods and steps away from the bus as his eyes follow the move of the figure until they sat down and the bus speeds off.

You removed your hood, thankful that you caught a ride home. Though, you felt bad for the person who didn’t get to ride along because the rain started to come down harder. You kept your hands together on your lap the way home, freezing and still shook by the nostalgic the street brought you to. It was good to be back there because you did visit it multiple times before you settled in your apartment. You used to sit on the bench for hours just letting the emotions wash over you. It was like you could see your past selves that were so happy- like ghosts dancing in the moonlight. Even if it was a breeze of his presence, you’d fall in love with it still.

Why did you both have to mature so fast?

When love belongs to two people who always chose to be the best for each other, it takes them both down.

Why?

Because they were always enough and they never realize it.

You and Keiji were a good example for that.

“Wouldn’t that be better for us?” He asks, fiddling with his fingers at the panic that takes over him but he desperately tried to mask it with his calm composure.

You had to agree.

This was his future at your hands and you wouldn’t want to be the person who could bring him to his down fall.

“I think so- but please not now?” You pleaded, burying your face into his neck, holding on to him while tears threatened to drop on his skin. He closes his eyes and embraces you more, cherishing the last moments he had.

You were too busy worrying about destroying his dreams but what was set in both of your futures was a heartbreak that time could never mend.

You wiped the tear away from your eyes as you felt a yank to your heart the more it floods your mind.

The time you got home, bed ridden for no reason, you couldn’t stay put. Did you want to go back there just to prove that you felt something? Maybe. But was it too late to actually go back? Yes it was. Considering that you slept for three hours and woke up at 1am isn’t exactly the right time to go back when criminals were lurking around. So you had your mind keep you awake but that wasn’t a good decision either because here you were without a fraction of a smile as you held your photograph with Akaashi.

It was a simple photo, just you and him smiling when he wore his jersey after you attended a match they won on. Bokuto took the photo making an excuse was that Akaashi needed to remember this match but he was simply doing the boy a favor just to get a photo with you.

But what you didn’t know was that there was a prize way better than winning the game.

“Thanks Bokuto.” You said before he hands you your phone back while Keiji peaks over your shoulder to look at the photo.

“We look good together.” He comments making you blush while you stared at the screen.

“It’d be better if we actually got together.”

Your phone felt weak in your hands as you turned to Akaashi who didn’t even had a reaction compared to yours, and the only thing plastered on his gorgeous features was a sly smirk.

“You mean-?”

“Precisely.” He says chuckling while you covered your face in your hands with how flustered you were while your heart was practically set on fire as Bokuto shakes his head with a smile with how impressively smooth Akaashi was being.

“I happily accept then.” You said softly with your heart went crazy as Akaashi closes his eyes for a second before smiling and taking your hand in his intertwining it for the first time, even planting a kiss on it making you even more stunned as you already were.

“Finally. I waited too long to call you mine.”

You just felt so euphoric knowing that’s where it all began. Sure, he had been assisting you on your way home but to become lovers and do that was another experience. Prancing around like fools, laughing until someone tells you both to stay quiet, to converse about Greek gods and references that Akaashi took the time to learn about- everything.

I wish I never had to see you walk away.

Both of you thought about the same thing at the same time.

While Bokuto stiffens when he remembers what you told him as he dials Akaashi’s phone number.

“Bokuto?”

“It’s possible, Akaashi.”

With that sentence, he drops his phone as his heart begins to beat the loudest it’s ever been.

“Can you meet with me?”

“Y/N called you?” Akaashi says, frowning at the fact that you had called Bokuto instead of him. He understood why you didn’t though but it still strikes a nerve to him when he remembers how much the captain used to make you laugh.

“I accidentally called and I asked if we could talk some more and it just happened. Y/N told me that every Saturday- they try to visit but the apartment is just far from where you two go. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you as fast as I could, Kei. “ Bokuto says sighing while there was a slight pinch of relief when the setter knew that it was an accident.

“I just can’t believe Y/N still visits.” Akaashi says but Bokuto looks at him with eyebrows furrowed as he leans on the bench. The MSBY player couldn’t comprehend what was so special about the place they were in. Sure, he knew that this was your route home but what about the empty street that makes it so miserable and magical at the same time? After high school and during their video calls, he sees the boy in his usual setting- the same location all over again. The curiosity didn’t hit him but when he knew that you also visited often, that’s when it got him hooked. He’s actually gone there when he accompanied the two of you whenever you’d watch movies together but he didn’t feel just how precious it was. He figured that it was because it’s the only alone time you could get but there’s always something more to it.

So, he finally asks.

“What is it about this place that makes you two keep coming back?”

There was a faint smile on Akaashi’s lips but it disappeared when the weight of the question dawned on him.

“Because when Y/N walked away here, I did too.”

Akaashi bites his lip as Bokuto lends a hand on the younger boy's shoulder, letting him know he shouldn’t be in a hurry.

“I’m so sorry I asked.”

“It’s fine. I had to tell you either way.”

“I just can’t believe it’s all ending so fast.” You said as you were embraced in his chest on your bed while he hums in response with his hand tangled in your hair.

“Have you decided on what to do for college?” He asks softly and your hesitation of an answer was enough for him as he places a kiss on your forehead.

“That’s fine, love. We talked about this, we don’t have to rush it.” You let your fingers fumble with the fabric of his shirt while the negativity consumes you.

“Won’t that affect us?” You asked him quietly while he looks at you confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve always known what you wanted to do and I just- don’t.” Akaashi sits up a bit making you do the same while cups your cheek and you avoided his eyes.

“We don’t have to think about what happens then.” He says before taking you in his arms again, your head deep in his neck while you let the scent of him momentarily ease your worries.

His own demons couldn’t calm him down.

He understands why you were so scared because he felt the same. What if he couldn’t bring a smile to your face again? What if the laughter dies and all he could give you were tears? What’s he to do then?

Replacing you isn’t an option for him but he feels as if his own value is worth replacement for everything.

His heart takes another swing of pain while he holds you because rock bottom was so close to him.

“I wouldn’t want to hold you down, Keiji.” You whispered while he’s deep in thought of what mattered more- staying in your future or destroying it?

“I feel the same, my love.” He says caressing your hair as you both closed your eyes.

It wasn’t the fall of love between you two- it was because of how massive it was.

No other feeling could describe how much you loved each other that you would do everything just to keep their hearts together and smiling as days pass by- even if it meant saying goodbye.

“Your dreams, your passion, your strive- Keiji I never want to make you wait just because I can’t figure things out.” You said while tiny cracks formed inside his heart.

“And you know I don’t want to make you feel like you always have to keep up.” You held onto his shirt as tears prickled in your eyes, overwhelmed at how you’d let him go just for the sake of his dream.

You were always proud of Akaashi. He grew into his own star and made all the wishes of love come true when he showed you how much he was willing to stay by your side no matter what.

But even the brightest star becomes dull, especially when it came to you.

You were the one to say that you wanted more time to hold onto him. It’s been a week since your last discussion- which was traumatic for you. You heard him ramble on about his dreams and how endless the possibilities for him and you felt so small. All the dreams in your list were left unchecked while his were adding more and more. He’d suggested things for you but it never settles in your heart when you doubted your own capabilities.

You are my only dream, Akaashi.

“Wouldn’t that be better for us?” He asks, fiddling with his fingers at the panic that takes over him but he desperately tried to mask it with his calm composure.

You had to agree.

This was his future at your hands and you wouldn’t want to be the person who could bring him to his down fall.

“Love I-” Akaashi stutters as he tries to come up with a better way to avoid the end but he was in no man's land now.

“It’s happening is it?” You couldn’t stare at him straight but you could feel it in your bones that his grip was loosening with every second. He pulls away as both your eyes were fixed on your laps as Akaashi’s skin tingles when it craved your own.

“Y/N-”

“Just... don’t say goodbye. I can feel it either way.”

“Then let me say I love you instead.”

Because I’ll never know when I could ever say it again.

It was better to say farewell instead of letting the silence drift you two away.

Akaashi looks at Bokuto with a pained expression as he lets the tears slip from his blue eyes as he covers his face, sobbing into his hands.

Bokuto lets his hand rest on the younger boys shoulder while his heart aches at the sobs that echoed through the night. He should’ve been there, to at least give an embrace to the broken boy because all that ever hugged Akaashi was regret. He should’ve called just to check on him but his job as a volleyball player had his hands busy that the remidner was thrown out of his head.

“It ended here didn’t it?” He asks quietly while Akaashi nods making him bite his lip at how unfortunate it was. He didn’t expect to see this side of Akaashi- and he especially didn’t expect how you two would fall apart just like that. You were too good for each other that what was supposed to make you continue separately, it just keeps leading you both to the same route. Why do you even come back when this was the place you got your hearts broken? Years have passed, moving on was always a possibility but you couldn’t do it. No matter how far you were, your heartstrings were attached to his and there isn’t any way to cut it free when you simply don’t want to let go.

“I don’t think I’ll ever love someone else.” Keiji whispers truthfully, your name imprinted on his heart without a way to remove it.

“You don’t love Y/N.”

Akaashi looks at Bokuto offended as he wipes his eyes, questioning how could he possibly say that- it sounded so painful when he said it like that. It wasn’t true but he can’t even imagine the thought of not loving you anymore.

“Because if you did, why aren’t they here?”

He stares dumbfounded to the boy beside him while Bokuto’s voice was filled with seriousness. The younger boy was surprised to hear such a phrase come from him but what he said was the reality he couldn’t face.

How can he say that he loves you when he hasn’t tried to make ends meet?

But is it too late?

Akaashi is too foolishly patient that he kept returning to same spot when he could’ve gained the confidence to call you and asked how you’ve been doing but instead he wallowed in his own sorrows.

So maybe, he should say goodbye to this street knowing there’s a bigger picture he’s yet to explore.

“Thank you, Koutaro.” He says while the older boy flashes him a smile, his eyes twinkling, pleased to see Akaashi returning to his past self with the realization setting in his mind and heart.

For the first time in years, Akaashi’s heart feels relieved.

Because he was bound to bring you back, no matter the cost.

He’s never felt more excited to leave work.

This was the day where he’s gathered his emotions to properly bid the memories goodbye because he was set on making much better ones when he finally gets you back.

That was his new dream.

When he went home yesterday, he couldn’t sleep with the ideas keeping him awake. This was the adrenaline rush he was looking for when he called you before you went away. He was incredibly set on getting you back even if he’d bombard whatever agency or college room you were in. Letting you go once was enough, if it happened twice then it meant he truly didn’t love you. He was grateful that Bokuto had opened his eyes to a better perspective. He was stuck on one location when you could be anywhere in the world so it was fitting to end the torment by bidding a proper farewell to the tears that he shed.

Arriving later than usual, he has a rose in hand as he takes a last good look at the place where love blossomed like a the rarest flower. He feels how ponderous it was release his grip on something so special.

He sits on the bench for the last time as the flower pivots in his hands as the stars watched the lonesome boy smile. He takes in a deep breath before standing up and before he could let go of the rose, his smile falls first.

You felt your heart go unsteady as you clutched onto the umbrella when your eyes met his perfectly blue ones.

“Y/N?”

He then places the rose on the bench as he got off and ran to you, taking you in his arms with such great force that it almost made you lose balance as the tears instantly came on when he held you tight. Hands around your waist while your arms stayed at your side at how shocked you were. Akaashi buries his face on your shoulder as he closes his eyes and just as he almost says goodbye, he found a reason to stay.

Finally reoccurring to you that it was actually real, you wrapped your arms around him tighter than he ever could. Akaashi thought that it was another day where his illusions would trick him into a life that his mind created for him to be happy but this was way better than any fictional world he formed.

“My future can never be complete if you’re not with me.”

He whispers making your heart awestruck once again as he pulls away from your embrace to place both his hands on your cheek, wiping away your own tears as he looks at you straight into yours, with his own puddle on the corner of his eyes.

“I’m here now.” He says and it takes in every part of your body to not just scream and tell him how much a single sentence mattered to you. You’ve waited too long to hear him say that and to finally witness it had your dim heart allow the light to pass through and the warmth of it makes you weak.

“I love you so much.” Akaashi said like he was out of breath. He feels the pressure that maybe his time was running out and he had to say everything before fate takes you away again.

Noticing the panic in his voice, you placed your hand on his cheek like the fragile lover you were and when you did this, the poor boy was going to faint at how you gently caressed his skin. Raising his glasses, you looked at his terrified eyes as you let your hands ease his racing mind.

“I’m not going anywhere, Keiji.” You assured him while he smiles weakly at your words. You saw the way a tear cascaded down his cheek and you went your way to kiss his temple while your lips felt a shock of electricity when you did it.

“I love you more.” He’s never realized how words could heal his wounds in a second. He places a kiss to your forehead as his hands slowly trails down to your free hand, intertwining them with his as the surroundings lit up, the magic coming back as you smiled at each other.

“Let’s try this again shall we?”

#haikyu x reader #haikyuu!!#akaashi x reader #akaashi x you #haikyuu akaashi #akaashi angst #akaashi keiji #akaashi x y/n #hq akaashi #bokuto x reader #xine's world of romance

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neutron-stars-collision · 3 years

Text

The Art of Inversion

Neil x Reader

Chapter 19 - Holy Ground

Masterlist; Chapter 18

Summary: In the days before the mission in Tallinn, you and Neil have a few conversations to clear the air of doubts. Only, the mission itself proves to be a disruption...

Warnings: Swearing; mild violence.

Author’s Notes: Here we go, my favourite mission (and favourite Neil outfit too). This is only part one of the Tallinn action because so much happens... as you’ll see. I’m sorry. I really am. Hope you enjoy and please leave me feedback if you feel like it!

Song mentioned is: ‘Holy Ground’ by Within Temptation (I’ll share it in a post later but basically listen to it after reading and you’ll know why I’m obsessed)

Edit is courtesy of my amazing friend @sh3tani once again (ilysm and thanks for everything 💕)

The upcoming days were busy. You have been assigned the task of getting hold of some of the vehicles and artillery TP wanted for the heist in Tallinn. It was difficult, not only because it is actually rather hard to acquire a fire truck with no records left from the transaction, but also because you barely had any clue what you were actually doing. And so, most of the time, you were sat at the dining table in the flat, calling various shady people Neil gave you contacts to. Sometimes, a tea would appear in front of you, courtesy of the other team members thoroughly apologizing for how they handled the ‘alley situation’.

It seemed like your late-night walk and the cold treatment you gave everyone (including Neil) for the next 24 hours afterward worked. The jokes have ended, and contrition took their place, usually in the form of extreme helpfulness, random acts of kindness, and, in Neil’s case, a break from teasing. At least for a short while.

The only development you were not so sure of was the fact that the whole team decided to label your relationship. Not just any label but dating, verging on a couple. And that was rather terrifying. It struck you especially the night before when you have minded your own business in the kitchen. Watching over the pasta boiling on the stove, you listened to the plans made by Ives. He was trying to settle on the best way to track Neil during the heist when he suddenly turned to you with a question:

“Has your boyfriend told you what kind of car they are going for in the end?” the neutral tone made you skim over the term at first.

But then your brain caught up. What?! You almost toppled over the whole pot of pasta onto the floor when trying to drain it. Fuck. Ives was staring at you quizzically, as though confused about your current state.

“I… Who?” you stammered out the question, knowing it will only make everything worse.

“Neil” Ives grinned, “Unless you’ve gone for an open relationship and there’s another boyfriend involved”

“Christ, please stop” sighing, you tried to calm down just enough to function “I believe he’s going for a BMW, don’t know what series but something fast enough just in case there was a chase” triumphantly, you poured the sauce over the noodles.

“I’ll need to give him a call about it” Ives smacked his tongue thoughtfully.

“Feel free” using the opportunity, you grabbed the cutlery and escaped into your room.

Boyfriend? Now that was something to cause anxiety. Because despite everything that happened, all the things you have told Neil and got in return, you had no clue what you were supposed to be. Not really. Yes, sometimes you let yourself entertain the idea that maybe you were together, maybe he was your lover. But… was he? Could he ever be that?

With those thoughts occupying your mind, you only managed to last until afternoon the next day before giving in. After failing to contact a car dealer for the fifth time and realising that you have completely messed up the route plan due to forgetting about important details, you closed the laptop. It was hard to think when all your brain did was give reasons for why Neil would never actually want to be with you. To summarise: you were not enough, naïve, hopeless, and dumb enough to think that someone this incredible could think about you seriously. Stifling the sudden desire to breakdown and give up on everything, you dialed his number. He picked up almost instantly.

“Yes, my love?” your heart clenched at the nickname.

“Hi… um… Do you have a moment?” you cringed at the awkwardness.

“For you? Always”

Maybe, on another day, that would have made you smile. But that was not that kind of a day.

“Neil, I’m serious,” sighing, you rested your head on the cold wall behind your bed.

“What’s wrong?” his tone switched from playful to concerned.

Okay… now there’s no turning back.

“I’ve just been thinking...” you started, debating on the best way to breach the topic.

“Oh no”

Damn him. You cracked a small smile, knowing that was the intention. You could almost picture him at this moment, sat in some absolutely strange position in the armchair, nothing but long legs and ruffled hair. You did have it pretty bad.

“Shut up” you took a deep breath and blurted out “It’s probably stupid, and feel free to ignore this but... what even are we?”

There it is. Your whole existence hanged on his reply. But, of course, Neil needed more clarification than that…

“How do you mean?” his careful tone made your heart rate elevate.

The result was a string of sentences you shot out with the speed of a machine gun.

“Because everyone here assumes we’re dating. And Ives called you my boyfriend last night, and I don’t... I don’t know if that’s what’s going on and-”

“Okay, calm down,” he interrupted your rant “Take a deep breath” he waited until he could hear you exhale to continue “What do you want this to be? Because we’re the only people who have a say about it” the diplomatic tone made you frown.

But then maybe he just wanted to get your point of view before saying anything substantial… Trouble was you had no clue. Picking on a loose thread on your sweater, you sighed:

“I don’t know” maybe this was the right time to give him another piece of mind? “I always hated labels because when you name something, it becomes real” you admitted, letting yourself slide down onto the pillows.

Nothing could hurt you there. Apart from potential rejection from the likely love of your life. Basically, fml, as the kids say.

“What about good things?” his question caught you off guard.

“Well, yeah, but… once there’s a couple, then there can be a break-up” the insecurity had an answer for that too.

Your cheeks heated up upon saying the word. Because even that felt like a step too far. Like maybe you were clingy. Obnoxious. Someone he could want to get rid of as quickly as possible. Before you decided to back out of the conversation, he replied:

“That’s a rather bleak way of looking at things” it was still that thoughtful tone.

A burden then.

“I know” you groaned, frustrated with yourself.

But the next thing he said was rather surprising…

“I’ll need to work on making you more optimistic. Not because I don’t like you the way you are, but because I want you to realise how wrong you are sometimes” the conviction and practical implications of the statement made you speechless.

The future tense. The admission that he did like you, with your countless issues and overbearing anxiety. It couldn’t be, could it? Neil took your stunned silence as permission to say more:

“From my side, let me say that dating doesn’t quite cut it because it implies not being sure... And…” despite yourself, your ears perked up, wanting to know what he meant.

“Yeah?” you prodded, trying to toe that precarious line between curiosity and fear of rejection.

“I’m not really in the trial stages anymore. Don’t think I’ve ever been” he clearly wanted to tell you more but was holding back.

Maybe it was for the better. Before you could think about a response to that, Neil added:

“Basically, we don’t have to use any labels. We’re just us” the simplicity of that statement broke through your resolve, making tears well up “Me and you. We know best what that implies and no one else matters” quietly, you sobbed, and he laughed before choosing to put that final nail in the metaphorical coffin “You’re my love, and that’s the only nickname I need” Neil sounded happy, as though despite your worries, he wanted to say that “I can be your idiot, as long as I’m yours” the punchline came with an audible smug smile.

Oh my god. You laughed, with tears still silently falling down your cheeks and heart hammering in your chest. He was impossible. Absolutely impossible. Suddenly asking that crucial question was not that scary. Because maybe today was the day when would tell you, without alcohol or worries prompting the confession. Taking the plunge, you spoke:

“Neil, do you-”

“Yes, I do,” he interrupted you with an answer.

“I haven’t even asked the question” you frowned, unsure whether that kind of an answer was better than a confession.

Because, yes, he already said it once (almost twice), but both those have been anything but thoughtful. And your ever doubting brain was quick to use that fact against you.

“But I know the answer” he sounded certain.

Perhaps too certain.

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to tell you over the phone” Neil sighed heavily on the other end “Listen, I have to go… but call me or text if you need to talk” he hesitated before adding, “No matter what I want you to remember what I said that night in London”

Oh… It was the first time any of you brought it up. You just assumed it was one of the things that just slipped out in an unguarded moment. You wanted it to be true, but then that was too risky. But maybe not…?

“I heard you” you whispered despite being alone in the room.

“I know” you could picture the soft smile he sometimes gave you “Goodbye, my love. Good luck with work” at the reminder of the piles of papers still waiting, you groaned, causing him to laugh.

“Will be needed since what you’ve assigned me is close to impossible” the change of the topic was dearly welcomed.

Grabbing the laptop again, you opened it up and felt all the motivation dissolve upon the sight of the route waiting to be planned. Coffee will be needed. And maybe whiskey too.

“I believe in you,” Neil broke your brooding with a comment, “And it’s not really me who assigned it” you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, yeah. Bye, idiot” unable to stop the grin on your face, you ended the call.

So maybe it was worth calling… Even if only to learn that he was in fact yours. And that he did not mind your insecurity or moments of anxiety. Maybe all this had some more potential than heartbreak and tragedy? Ignoring all the thoughts, you focused on the workload. After all, someone had to get all those bloody vehicles on time for the boys to play with.

*** The closer it got to the day, you could feel the tensions rising within the team. Partially it was your own fault and the fact that you were nervous. The plan was vague enough. What you and Ives’ squad knew was that TP intended to take over the plutonium 241 on the move, specifically on the highway leading out of the city. For some reason, he needed a fire truck and a firefighter suit for that. You had no clue why, but you blamed it on the boyish dreams of being a firefighter. Sure they all had those.

Neil was simply the designated driver and mission coordinator, and you hoped that meant he would stay out of harm. As much as that was possible for an idiot like him. You were not allowed to meet to stop TP from getting suspicious, and so all you could do was rely on texts and daily phone calls to keep you from going insane. The downside of the situation was that you could not slap Neil when he said questionable things. Examples being referring to the heist car as sexy (“And what if I told that it’s not the BMW that’s sexy?” “I’d be flattered”) and calling you his girlfriend on the call with Ives. That second incident resulted in the squad leader acting all smug because he apparently ‘figured it all out’. He did not, but who were you to prove him wrong.

And so, you perfected the plan, finished all the assigned tasks, and waited on instructions concerning the day of the mission. When they came, the message was simple – sit on your assess and wait, just in case the Cavalry was needed. You did not specifically like that ‘waiting’ part. Especially since Ives began insisting that you do not actually join them in the field. In his mind, the safest place for you was the flat. Not being a part of the squad and not having enough experience were the main factors acting against you. And you hated the fact that he was right. That is until the evening before the mission when an unexpected text from TP came. You were busy trying to understand the rules of a strange competition show on the television when your phone buzzed. Expecting something nonsensical from Neil, you picked it up instantly. Only to get shocked by the number on display. The message was straightforward:

“Join the squad in the field in Tallinn. You must be there”

Right… When you were asking the universe for help, you did not expect that. But it was better than nothing.

Without a further ado, you got up and wandered over to Ives, who was sat with Wheeler and Michael at the table. Upon your approach, the Brit looked up:

“Don’t tell me you’ve got some last-minute changes from Neil” his blue eyes were hazed with concern.

“No, I’ve got something better” you passed him the phone and waited for a response.

The widened stare and arched eyebrow was the initial reaction.

“He wouldn’t have sent if it wasn’t important” you added, hoping to win the case.

“I don’t get it” Ives sighed heavily, leaning back in the chair.

He glanced at Michael, who nodded and left the room. You just assumed that the discussion was not meant for any ordinary squad member.

“Apologies for my language, but you’re not a bloody soldier, and it might get rough out there” Ives spoke up again after a beat “And I don’t want to fucking worry about your safety amidst all the other mess” he met your gaze warily.

It was a little embarrassing to be considered a burden. You flinched internally before trying another approach.

“I know, but Neil might need me” as soon as you said the words, Ives scowled.

Of course, that just sounded like a lovesick teenager fighting for a hopeless case. And you hated that. But his very next words triggered the remains of resolve.

“Frankly, darling-”

You broke into a laugh, knowing the quotation well.

“I swear, if you quote Gone with the Wind right now, I’ll do something stupid” as a warning, you grabbed hold of the knife lying on the table, making Wheeler snicker quietly “Please, let me go out there. I can track his GPS signal or something. And well, you know that I’ve got a good aim. It might count for something” pleading was not your forte either but at the end of the speech, Ives’ gaze softened.

Maybe? He sighed once again before leaning his forehead on the folded forearms on the table.

“If you get hurt, he’ll kill me” he muttered gloomily.

“You’re exaggerating” you bit back a dry chuckle.

“No, he’s not” your head snapped up at the sound of Wheeler’s voice “But I’ve got to back you here if TP sent that text, then it’s probably important” she looked at you with a small smile.

“Thank you” you grinned back, grateful for the support.

With the days spent among men almost exclusively, Wheeler’s company meant a lot. Soon she became the only person you were willing to discuss your worries with. Because she was not keen on cracking dumb jokes about your relationship and asked questions that did not only concern Neil. And that was a welcomed change.

“You really need to be careful though, because Neil cares about you. Which probably makes you the most important person on this squad” her voice broke through your thoughts.

You knew she meant well, but the statement still made your cheeks heat up. Because did he really care?

“Don’t. You’re making me all flustered” deciding you’ve had enough of the awkwardness you got up to fix a tea.

“Well, I’m only speaking the truth here” turning back to the table, you saw Wheeler shrug “The physics boy took his fancy upon you, and that’s no funny business” she grinned at your perplexed expression.

Briefly, you glanced at Ives, who seemed to have given up on fighting with you and instead was listening in to the conversation with a neutral facial expression. The kettle boiling was your cue to respond:

“Great” semi-aggressively, you threw the tea bag into the mug poured the water “Did he though?” you asked, not even looking at them or expecting an answer.

“Yep,” Wheeler stood up and gave you a quick reassuring shoulder squeeze.

“I’ve never seen him like this before” Ives added once you turned to face him again.

That tea could not brew any longer…

“Not even with…” you hesitated before adding quietly, “Alex?”

“Not quite,” the man gave you an enigmatic smile, only increasing your frustration “You’ve convinced me though. You’re coming with us. Just please, for the sake of my sanity, be careful out there” you resisted the urge to jump up in relief “Because I’d rather not deal with an angry Neil. He’s a pain in the ass enough” Ives added darkly before getting up and joining you by the kitchen counter.

Smiling, you finished the tea.

“Thanks. I’ll do my best” playfully, you nudged his shoulder with yours “You can always blame me though” picking up the mug, you turned towards the corridor.

“As though he’d care” Ives muttered at your back.

The sudden surge of confidence was surprising yet also inspiring:

“I’d make him care. There are some things even he can’t say no to”

The last thing you heard upon closing the door to the bedroom was Ives choking on water.

*** The Tallinn mission for you began with an early morning phone call from Neil. You got as far as getting out of bed after having been staring at the ceiling anxiously for the past three hours when the phone rang.

“Morning,” you muttered, stifling a yawn.

Espresso was certainly needed. Maybe two, before you would have to head out.

“Hey,” the soft tone felt like a mild punch “I’m glad you’re up already” Neil’s sleepy voice made you wish you could wake up together again.

There was always that slightly husky tinge to it, the way he lazily pronounced some words just because it was early still. So different from the enthusiastic overenunciation when he was preaching another messed up plan of his. Or the cheeky inflections he tended to use with you during banter. It was terrifyingly easy to get to know him that well because of how open he was with you.

“I couldn’t sleep. But it’s okay I’ll manage” you admitted, distracting yourself from the sudden thoughts “I didn’t tell you last night, but I got another text from TP… he wants me to join the squad today”

From the moment you have shut the bedroom door the previous night, you have debated calling Neil about it. But then he initiated another rather amusing texting exchange focusing on his fashion choices, and you felt bad disrupting the peace. It could wait. Not anymore. You held your breath until Neil responded with a simple question:

“Why?” he was careful, and you could not blame him for it.

You perched on the windowsill and looked out at the quiet cityscape. The streets were strangely empty for a weekday morning. Sighing, you answered in the best way possible:

“I don’t know, but Ives said yes after some coaxing, so I might see you out there” smiling despite yourself, you waited for his response.

Since recently you had to rely on phone calls, it became increasingly easy to determine his mood based on the tone of the reply. Or on the various nonverbal noises he sometimes made. Now there was a quiet hum proceeding the sentence. A surprise, mild confusion, and worry. Brilliant.

“As much as I’m happy we might meet… and that you can see me in that sexy car,” you rolled your eyes awaiting the point “Please, be careful. I need you safe”

It was not disappointing. You knew he did not intend it that way, and yet the anxiety fuelled brain was onto it instantly. I need you… safe. Unable to stop the comment, you muttered:

“Just safe, then”

“What?” any hope that he might have missed it dissolved with that single question.

Could he for once not listen to what you say? You know, like men tended to do. But then Neil was by no means an ordinary man.

“Nothing. Don’t mind me” the attempt at saving your dignity failed too.

“I thought it goes without saying that I do need you. And that I want you”

Oh god. At once, you wanted to smash your head into the wall and to kiss the bastard for being the way he was. Adding to that sentence, the mental image of his sheepish smile was enough to make your heart speed up. When the silence stretched, becoming awkward, you whispered a reply.

“It’s good to hear it sometimes” the coldness of the window glass cooled off your blazed cheeks, “Especially when I don’t actually believe it” he knew that by now, undoubtedly.

Here the nonverbal cue was a half-choked sigh. Annoyance. Frustration.

“You should. I don’t go around telling everyone that” Neil’s confident voice was trying to pull you back “And I certainly don’t have moments as we do with anyone else” at the implication, you felt flustered again.

Because there did not an hour go by without you thinking about what happened. The pull between you was startling at times. The absolute desire you felt. The way Neil knew exactly how to make you remember every second of every moment. With the memories flooding your brain, you could only utter a single question:

“Why me?”

It was curiosity. Because apart from that evening months ago when you first tried to make sense of your budding relationship, he never said why he cared about you. And you would never dare ask. But now, with everything that happened, it was worth trying. And Neil was willing to deliver:

“I’m not sure. Maybe it’s because you’re the bravest, kindest, most beautiful person I know” you could only keep on listening with your mouth agape “You fascinate me, and I want to discover all that you’re willing to give me” he finished in a reverent whisper.

That was not what you expected to hear. Not now. Not ever. Speechless, you wondered whether maybe this time it was not a mistake to give your heart away. It was too late. He had everything but your body; that was just a matter of time.

“Neil, I…” this was all you could manage, afraid you would give away another confession.

“Well, you’ve asked,” he chuckled lightly and then asked, “Are you okay?” you could picture that crease between furrowed eyebrows.

“I suppose-” a loud knock on your door interrupted the sentence; it was time, “I think I should probably join them for the final briefing…” hesitantly, you jumped off the sill.

Only two of you could be interrupted during such an important conversation.

“Go, I won’t keep you. Believe me, though, when I say that I want nothing but to be with you. In every way possible” your breath hitched at the connotation behind the sentiment.

Jesus, this man…

“That’s rather mutual,” like a secret you passed it to him on a sigh “But only when you’re not an ass” that was a much-needed distraction for you both.

There was work to be done, after all. You could hear the commotion in the apartment rise in volume and strength.

“I’ll do my best then. Good luck, darling” you grinned at the nickname he was determined to use.

Darling, you could do with. It was better than the ‘love’ that always made you feel like you were just another one among many.

“Don’t do anything stupid I still owe you a few slaps… and a payback” you added the necessary suggestive tone to the last word.

The rest was up to him to figure out. Which he did, if the pleased laughed was anything to go by.

“I’m very much looking forward to all of those” you missed that smirk.

“You should. Bye, my idiot,” you debated saving his number as that in your phone.

Maybe it was the way forwards.

“My love,” laughing, you ended the call when he uttered the words just for the sake of it.

But then that was Neil’s essence – doing things just because. Or to get a reaction from you. And you would not have it any other way.

*** Only when sitting in that bloody SUV, you learned the true meaning of waiting. And how much you hated to do that. There was nothing to do apart from sweating in the protective gear and avoiding the awkward small talk others were susceptible to. The squad has cramped into two non-descript vehicles, and you being the so-called precious cargo, ended up in the same car with Ives who have sworn to protect you. Only, for the first half-hour, there was nothing to protect you from. Apart from anxiety, boredom, and frustration.

Your role was rather simple – follow Neil’s signal on the map to know where you might be needed should he call for backup. As much as you did enjoy the possibility of tracking his movements somehow, you did not appreciate the cheeky smile Ives had on his face when he gave you the job. Or the comment combined with it: “Well, he’s your boyfriend, it’s only fair you keep him on the metaphorical leash here”. That is how the small blinking dot on the map of Tallinn became your sole focus for the past hour. Just before everything kicked off, Neil radioed you with a simple message: The mission is about to start. Wait for further instructions.

Ever since your morning phone call and the revelations that came out, you only exchanged a few texts concerning the practicalities of the action. Despite the nerves, you did hope to see him in near future. Even if just to check whether what he said was true. Looking for a distraction from the sudden thoughts, you glanced at the screen again. They were near, on the main junction of the highway, heading towards the port. Your SUVs were parked underneath a small overpass, five minutes away in the current traffic conditions. Which proved to be convenient, as it turned out.

“Is he still following the set route?” Ives’s question brought you to the present moment.

“Yeah, they’re-” you glanced to double-check the exact location when you realised that something has changed.

The dot was not moving. It was still blinking, but clearly, they have stopped at a crossing. Traffic lights? Your brain somehow knew that it could not be that simple. You opened your mouth to voice the thoughts when the comm came alive on the dashboard with static crackling:

“We need back up here. ASAP”

“Roger that” Ives tossed you the radio “Ask him about the details”

Without waiting for more information, Michael fired up the SUV engine as Ives contacted the second vehicle.

“Neil” you spoke into the receiver “What happened?” you flinched at the louder noise from the radio.

Gunshots?

“We’ve been ambushed by Sator’s people. TP’s status unknown”

Bloody brilliant. Swallowing down the rising worries, you asked another question:

“How many people?” another gunshot pierced the silence.

“Not sure. They’ve gotten clean up orders” a strained breath from Neil told you how bad the situation was.

“Okay. We’ll be there soon” you glanced at the road ahead.

Still, 2 mins to go. Anxiety was threatening to overpower you at any moment. But now was not the time.

“Hurry up” Neil closed the channel with a final dose of static.

Fuck… Forcing a deeper breath, you could only watch as you got closer to him. The sheer thought of something happening to Neil was unimaginable. That was enough to trigger panic. So you pushed the idea to the back of your head, focusing on the distance disappearing.

There was no mistaking the fact that you have been led to the right place. Crashed cars, asphalt littered with glass shards and broken parts, gunshots piercing the air. The destination looked like a car pile-up from an action sequence. Frantically looking through the windows, you tried to spot that blonde head. To no avail. The SUV came to a sharp halt as the squad members began jumping out of the vehicle. Once everyone else disembarked, you moved to follow them, only to be stopped by Ives:

“You’re staying here. I can’t have you out in the shoot-out” his blue gaze was stern, hand blocking exit out of the car.

The idea that you were so close to Neil and could not see him was enough to make you angry.

“I can handle myself. And he’s-” you spit out the words in the face of the squad leader while trying to push him away.

“I said no. The conversation’s over” with a final glare, he stepped away and scanned the horizon for immediate danger “If someone approaches the car, you know what to do,” he threw as a parting remark and disarmed the rifle.

Fucking hell! Groaning in frustration, you kicked one of the seats. He was so close. You glanced at the device in your hand. He could not be further than behind the first line of crashed cars. Biting on your lip harshly, you quickly went over the options. One was to obey Ives and stay inside the bloody SUV like a well-behaved child everyone apparently took you for. No one seemed to care about the vehicles you parked on the outskirts of the action. Flinching at the further salve from the heavy artillery, you knew that the squad had joined the fray. You could be safe here… but… Taking a deep breath you knew there was no possibility you could stay away from the action. Not when Neil was there, potentially in danger. It was not possible to give up on someone that important just because you were told to. Christ…

Glancing through the windows again, you could see Sator’s people attempting to clear the place. The squad evidently attempted to push at them from one side, hoping to get a clean sweep that way. Then, just as you were about to go back to the internal crisis overwhelming your thoughts, you did a double-take. Surely not? You would recognize that hair colour everywhere. There he was attempting what was looking like a skirting manoeuvre to circle the mercenaries with the Cavalry on the opposite side. Only that left him completely uncovered, in the direct line of fire. Bloody idiot. The instinct to jump out and run to him kicked in. The only thing holding you back was the fact that you would disobey the orders. And leave the car unguarded. All the hesitation disappeared once the comm in the car crackled with static:

“Emergency assistance needed. ASAP” the tension in his voice made your pulse quicken.

The lack of response from the team made all the blood drain from your face. You could see him trying to hide behind some overturned car. The henchmen were near enough to get him with no problem.

That thought was all the convincing you needed. Swearing, you quickly pocketed the tracking device, adjusted your protective gear, and grabbed the gun. You have been offered a rifle (just in case), but you preferred the classic. At least it was something right?

In two leaps, you have covered the distance. With the team trying to get through the attack line on the other side, it was just you and Neil. You shot a round in the direction of the approaching merc, missing the target yet earning attention from the main object of your focus. His eyes met yours across the plane. You could see shock, worry, and something else there. Suddenly a salve whizzed past you. The bullets cutting through the air all around, shooting past your head and piercing the car behind. A strangled yell from Neil was a surprising reaction, yet you did not blink twice. He was all you could see. With a final surge through the field, you reached him. The pure fury and anguish in his eyes took you aback. Have you missed something? But there was no time to ask questions.

“Go, I’ll cover you” you whispered, looking at the approaching group of mercs.

Neil took an additional moment to stare at you as though he could not quite believe you were there. But then he jumped up, aiming the gun at the man closest to you. The same that undoubtedly attempted to take you out seconds prior. When the mercenary fell with a bullet in the head, you stared in shock. There was no time to recover as Neil pushed through, barely looking behind at you. It was surprisingly easy to tune out the emotions, taking out anyone who could threaten him or halt your advances. You worked well together, movements in sync enough to stun the opponents on a few occasions. For a second, you wondered whether it was only bound to get better the closer you get to each other. That was certainly an interesting idea… In no time you have met with the line of the squad, watching on as Ives dealt with the last man standing. You have won. The adrenaline started to leave your body, resulting in tremors and shaking hands. Clutching the gun to prevent it from cluttering to the ground, you met the exasperated gaze of the squad leader. Your only response was a shrug. You did not regret the decision, seeing as you have evidently helped them in the field.

“Neil? Do you know where TP is?” Ives took his attention off you and looked at the blonde man.

You followed his gaze, for the first time actually looking at Neil since you spotted him across the plane. At the moment, you were struck by what a sight he was. Navy shirt with sleeves rolled up to expose the forearms covered with veins. The same tie he had on during your walk. Your pulse quickened. The vest drawing attention to the ratio between his broad shoulders and narrow hips, accentuated with a belt. Brown loose-cut trousers and scrapped leather shoes adding a classy touch. You were aware that you were staring yet unable to look away. Not knowing whether to blame it on the adrenaline rush, you wanted nothing but to touch him. Take off those driving gloves that piqued your interest at the first sight. Or have them be wrapped around your throat with just enough pressure. Get rid of the tie again. And…

“Think Sator took him” Neil’s response broke through your increasingly hazy thoughts.

Shaking off the images that started appearing, you looked up at his face again. The ruffled hair and flushed cheeks were not helpful. Fuck’s sake. It had to be stress. Because what else?

“Their place in the port?” Ives asked, his tone nothing but strict business.

“That’s my bet” Neil shrugged, looking around with something dark in his eyes.

He was tense, like a feral animal that could lash out any moment. You were not wrong. The cold blue gaze settled on you almost remorsefully, but before you could open your mouth, he snapped:

“What the fuck were you thinking?” the hostile edge to his voice was new.

You flinched as though you have been hit. The lack of physical impact did not matter. Your heart stammered. He need not explain what it was about. Please no.

“You needed a cover. They weren’t responding, so I did the obvious” you shrugged, feeling the anger grow “And I could ask you the same question” spitting the sentence into his face, you took a step closer.

You have never seen him that furious. Not even in Oslo after your little fuck-up. The sight was both terrifying and alluring. The dark blue eyes blazed with fury. Jaw clenched. Slight pink tint on the cheeks. And yet, still, you had no idea why he reacted like this.

“I knew what I was doing. That’s the difference” the coldness of his voice threw you off.

So it was real. He did mean it. You tried to save him, and here he was, pissed off at you. Making you almost regret it. Almost, because the love was there too. Not giving away no matter what.

“That’s bullshit” it felt good to admit, “You were reckless, as always, and expecting me to-” your rant got interrupted by a strangled yell.

Nothing prepared you for the revelation then. Or the sudden anguish on his face.

“You were almost shot!” Neil’s eyes glistened as though he was close to tears.

Suddenly it made sense. The rain of bullets you were hit with just before getting to him. The way he reacted. But you made it. Nothing happened. So why was he acting like that?

“Almost” ignoring the growing pain in your chest, you pointed out the obvious.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Ives and the rest of the squad observing you. You would rather not have an audience, but then Neil seemed determined to drive his point forward. His face scrunched into a pained scowl.

“Fucking hell,” turning away from your gaze, his back tensed even more “You can’t do shit like that just because I’m involved” the defensive tone took you aback.

What? It was getting worse. You could feel the confidence leaving your body as you struggled for a response. You would never think Neil would do something like that. Not after everything you have told him. Figuring out the only way you that could work, you took your own line of attack.

“Who says I did it only because it was you?” the implication hurt because it was partially correct “Quite an ego you’ve got there” his back was still turned to you.

That angered you even more. Crossing the distance, you placed your hand on his shoulder, making him turn to you. He flinched upon the contact as though your touch burned him. Oh my god. The tears welled up in your eyes. It could not be real. But the emotionless look in the eyes you thought you knew was very much real. It was as though before you realised Neil has built up a wall, guarding himself against you. And there was nothing you could do to get through. You got shocked by the cruel smirk that split his face.

“I can see the way you look at me. As though you wanted to-” you interrupted him sharply.

“Neil”

It was too much. Perhaps because it was true. But he was not done. Persistent to keep going.

“Admit it. It’s because you said some things, and now you can’t bear the thought of losing the object of your affection” the careless tone and the words pierced your heart with gut-wrenching pain “Well, you see, sometimes feelings need to be put aside” he added, almost casually.

Fuck. You gasped, unable to keep a straight face. He might as well see what he has done. Some things. So this is how much your confession meant to him. Good to know. You wanted to slap him, but you felt like that could turn back on you. So instead, you made sure to straighten your back, putting on the familiar mask of neutrality. You have done this before. Probably should have expected it. Only why did it hurt ten times more?

“Can we leave the bloody lovers quarrel till later?” Ives’s voice pierced through the tension.

But you were not ready. Raising your hand in a stopping motion, you turned back to Neil. His face was terrifyingly indifferent. Maybe it was all an act. Or maybe it was just that easy for him to get over whatever you thought you had. A lie. Gathering the smithereens of confidence, you forced a levelled tone:

“Says you. As though you’re acting out of reason right now” you gave him your best impression of the sneer visible on his face.

You could crumble at any moment now. Only the pounding in your ears and the wounded pride were keeping you upwards. But Neil wanted to destroy everything.

“More than you” he glanced at the team waiting impatiently “I really thought you’d know better than this” the punchline was more than you could take.

No. Please no. Your knees buckled, and you swayed. But then you caught the flash of concern in his eyes. Just for a split of a second. So it was not all cold and hatred? You heard Ives huff out a string of curses. There was no time for this. Whatever it even was. Honesty it was then.

“Better than to give away my heart to someone like you? Evidently not” you met his eyes for the final time before walking away in the direction of the SUVs.

The shock you saw in Neil’s face was enough to fuel the survival instincts. With the heart broken or not, the mission was still on. And the rest was silence.

#tenet #neil tenet #neil tenet x reader #neil x reader #neil tenet imagine #neil tenet fanfic #tenet fanfic #robert pattinson #the art of inversion

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coffeestainsandcashmere · 3 years

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Let No Man Steal Your Thyme - (older Dramione) Part Five

I hope you enjoy this one! It features a surprise snooty owl (I wonder who could own such a creature???) and some well-meaning concern from a friend. And some banter. And an expensive lunch. Because Theo is extra and can’t help himself. And it’s 4.6k words long...

I also realised that, since I wrote the first chapter basically out of the blue and not really intending for it to blow up into a big multi-part story, I’ve messed up the timeline a little with Harry’s kids, so I’ll have to go back and fix that when it comes to a re-edit before it goes up on AO3, but for now, just handwave it, ok? :)

Finally, many thanks for your lovely owls, anonymous or otherwise, about this story and where it’s going! I was honestly floored by the feedback I’ve got, and thank you to those who’ve reblogged it and helped get it out there for folks to read. I have a very small following since this side-blog is fairly new, so all reblogs are very much appreciated. I did a quick doodle for the cover of the story which you can find here, if you’re interested in how I pictured Draco and Scorpius standing in the steam from the Hogwarts Express from chapter one.

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

___

Far earlier on Monday morning than she was accustomed to these days, Hermione woke with a start and frowned, confused. Eyes dry and prickly, and hair absolutely everywhere, she sat up and looked around, straining her ears as she blearily tried to work out what had yanked her so unceremoniously from a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep. Her Muggle alarm clock silently showed 05:54 in harsh red numbers, and nothing had touched the wards or tried to get in, though there was something thrumming against them, like the lingering reverberations of a plucked harp string.

The temporary stillness was shattered when a wild scrabbling of claws and the beating of enormous wings started up against her bedroom window. With a flailing shriek of surprise, she nearly fell out of bed, but after taking a deep breath, she stumbled out from under the covers to wrench the curtains open.

“Bloody owls!” she began, but drew up short when she saw the unfamiliar bird waiting impatiently on the other side of the glass.

There, battering its truly monstrous talons against the glass, was a colossal eagle owl. When it saw her, it stopped its fussing to perch haughtily on the brick windowsill outside and fix her with a fiery red glare. If owls could have raised their eyebrows, she got the impression that this one would have done it at the sight of her.

“Yeah, well, it’s early. What did you expect?” she groused as she slid the window panel to one side and the bird looked around her bedroom with obvious disdain. Imperiously, it stuck out one leg, like a noble expecting a servant to remove a dirty boot, and she saw a rolled-up piece of parchment with a green wax seal and a green ribbon to bind it together.

“Who do you belong to then?” she asked, going automatically to stroke the bird’s flight-ruffled chest plumage. It instantly hissed and nipped at her fingers, and she barely drew them back in time. “Christ! No need for that,” she gasped. She’d never met a postal owl as cantankerous as this one. “I usually give visiting owls a treat, but I don't think I like your manners one bit.”

With the letter in hand, she slid the window closed again, leaving a gap just small enough that the bird wasn’t going to barge its way in. She wondered if it had been instructed to wait for an answer because it began almost immediately clicking its beak against the glass and hooting indignantly.

“Manners makyth bird,” she snapped without looking up, and broke the unfamiliar wax seal on the letter.

It had a cursive ‘M’ within a circle, but was otherwise unadorned. Unfurling it, she glanced at the name on the bottom and her eyebrows rose as her growing suspicions were confirmed. It was signed in a princely English roundhand by none other than Draco Malfoy.

She snorted, glancing back at the bird who was doing its best basilisk impression from the other side of the glass. “Who else would have such a snotty owl?”

It hooted childishly at her again and she laughed.

Dear Hermione,

I must beg of you to forgive the unspeakably rude hour of this correspondence, but I am leaving this morning for France by portkey for a couple of days and I had hoped to get your answer before I left. I should add now before you read any further — although with your kind heart I fear it may be too late already — that Cassiopeia here is not fond of physical affection, but is very partial to owl treats. She can be bribed into doing almost anything for food, but affection is sadly not in her nature, so please be careful with your fingers around her beak. The only reason I was able to get her to fly at all at this time of the day was to bribe her lavishly. She’s terribly spoilt, and for that, I’m sorry too.

Hermione shot another look at the bird, who narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Cassiopeia, eh?” she said and the enormous owl bobbed a few times. “Prideful about your good looks then, are you? You should know how your namesake’s story ended then. But, I suppose you could be forgiven since you are an inordinately pretty bird. You’ll still not get a crumb from me after trying to take my fingers off though. I’ll be having words with Malfoy about that.”

Cassiopeia ruffled her feathers and promptly turned her back on Hermione. The bird didn’t take off, so she returned her attention to the letter.

I spent all weekend thinking about our evening together on Friday, but it will come as little surprise to you to learn that it has taken me all that time to muster up my limited courage to ask you to dinner at your next convenience. Naturally, I left it to the last possible moment to ask you. I have a place in mind in London, but it’s a little more out of the way than the restaurants on Diagon Alley. I have it on authority from the owner that you have never been there, and I would very much like to surprise you, but if you would feel more comfortable knowing in advance, then you can ask Theo while I am out of the country.

Staggered, Hermione stared at the letter and found her vision swimming a little. Blinking, she was shocked to find tears blurring his formal — almost painfully formal — words.

But how long had it been since anyone had actually asked her on a date? ‘Too intimidating’, ‘too boring’, ‘too work-orientated’, ‘too bossy’, ‘too driven’ were all things she’d heard at one point or another, and admittedly many of them from Ron.

Thirty seven wasn’t even old - especially by magical standards - but she didn’t exactly have the same bright-eyed charms as someone like, say, Lavender did anymore. Hard work, and a draining marriage seemed to have sapped much of the youth and vigour from her. And, if she were honest, being replaced by someone supposedly ‘more attractive’ had damaged her more deeply than she cared to admit, even to herself. There were certainly days when she felt like a washed-up, burnt-out, dowdy old matron. She had crashed out of a sparkling career in the Ministry to run a scruffy old second-hand bookshop next to the newly-refurbished Florian Fortescue’s ice cream parlour.

“Why are you even bothering, Malfoy?” she murmured aloud as she stared blankly at the letter in her hands. With looks like his — and a groaning Gringotts’ account if the rumours were to be believed, not that that mattered a jot to Hermione — he could probably have had almost any witch he wanted, his past and reclusive behaviour be damned. And yet he was asking her to dinner after having only met twice since they turned eighteen? Three times, she supposed if she included that brief encounter at the Ministry on the night of the attack.

Perhaps he was lonely just wanted the company. Perhaps she was just… convenient; a chump with a soft spot for outcasts…

Before she let herself go too far down that unsavoury rabbit hole, she forced herself to read on, heart pounding. Outside on the windowsill, the owl had gone very still, watching her with curious, orange eyes.

Please feel free to send Cassiopeia back with your response either way. I hope I have not overstepped or misread how things are between us now, especially given our history, but I find my thoughts returning over and over to our evening, and to that surprise lunch on the 1st of September. I’m not sure what I had expected when you asked me to join you that day, but I certainly hadn’t expected to enjoy myself as much as I did. In the years since I became Scorpius’ sole guardian, I have not sought the company of others, nor have I particularly enjoyed it when it has been inflicted upon me, but those two occasions spent with you have drawn me out of myself. You truly are a remarkable witch, and I’m more moved and honoured than I can express that you have given me even this much of your precious time already.

Before I begin to ramble too freely, I think I must sign off here.

Yours,

D.M.

P.S. Scorpius did write to me in the end. He has a detention already, and Potter’s youngest is also involved somehow… I will get more details from him anon, and no doubt a letter from McGonagall in due course.

For a long time, Hermione stood in her bedroom, with her hair in a wild halo around her head and her scruffy old pyjamas hanging low on her hips, just staring at his signature.

When Draco’s owl began to fidget and fuss again, she sighed and looked up. “Sit tight,” she breathed. “I’m going to get a piece of paper and if you keep quiet, I might bring an owl treat with me when I come back, ok?”

Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes and ducked her head suspiciously, but remained put on the windowsill, so she took that as a ‘yes’ and disappeared into her tiny study.

Grabbing a biro from the chipped mug that served as a pen and quill pot, and tearing a sheaf of paper from a muggle notebook, she scrawled a note back to him.

With that done, and before she could talk herself out of what she had just accepted, she returned to his owl with a treat. The bird mobbed her for it instantly, but Hermione scowled at her, snatched her hand back, and barked, “Wait! My goodness, you are spoilt. Let me attach this first, and if I manage it without you drawing blood or otherwise maiming me, not only will it be a flipping miracle, but you’ll get your sodding treat, alright?”

The bird went still with a tiny shuffle of her wings, and stuck out her leg.

“Thank you,” Hermione said tartly.

Cassiopeia took off with her note attached by the same green ribbon and secured with a basic sticking charm. The downdraft from her departure sent bits of accumulated detritus from the window ledge spiralling up into Hermione’s face, but she coughed and blinked, and watched the bird soar way up into the sky. The receding dot of her silhouette banked west, out of sight and in the eventual direction of Wiltshire and Malfoy Manor.

Malfoy Manor.

She’d hardly given the place any thought since that fateful night ten or so years ago when Malfoy had been attacked, a whole wing had been burned to the ground, and Scorpius had nearly been killed. They’d never said in the papers who had done it, and the Auror Office had been distinctly tight-lipped about it. Not that she’d really bothered to find out more, if she were honest. Once Malfoy’s little yowling mandrake had left her office in his father’s arms, she had been almost instantly reabsorbed with her own caseload, and Harry had never mentioned the outcome of the investigation to her. A twinge of gilt shot through her but she pushed it down. It was hardly a topic for dinnertime conversation either, so she doubted she’d find out immediately.

She thought vaguely about clambering back into bed, but since she was up, she headed to the kitchen and put the kettle on for a cup of tea. It had been a while since she’d been up before dawn, and she had some paperwork to do anyway.

Cassiopeia’s appearance was not the only unusual thing to happen to her that day. She had no visitors to the shop at all for the entire morning, but when the brass bell above the door did finally chime, she looked up from the desk at the back of the shop to find Theo striding in.

“Hi, love,” he grinned, stepping deer-like over the stack of recent arrivals beside the counter and stooping to hug her where she sat. “Lunch. You and me. Now.”

“Theo, I have a shop to run,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I can’t just… leave. Besides, I brought sandwiches.”

“I will literally pay you the price of an entire chest of first editions to spend the next few hours in my company if things are that tight. Or I could just… buy you an entire chest of first editions,” he said, adding with his most dangerous puppy-dog eyes, “Seriously, please come to lunch with me?”

She flicked her wrist and the ‘open’ sign hanging in the glass-panelled door flipped over to ‘closed’. “I’m not accepting your money, Theo. What’s the occasion?”

He twitched slightly and then flashed her a grin; a combination that made her instantly wary. “Does a gentleman need ‘an occasion’ to ask a beautiful lady to lunch?” he asked, his brown eyes wide with feigned innocence.

Hermione slowly raised one eyebrow. “You’re gay. And happily married. And that’s a terrible line. Try again.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t take my very best friend out,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

Something was definitely up.

“Draco Malfoy is, and always has been, your very best friend in all the world. Try again.”

“You,” he said, actually growling the word this time with comical frustration, “Are one very persistent witch.”

“Mmhmm. How do you think I made it to Minister by twenty-seven, darling,” she grinned, still without getting up from her chair. “Last chance or I turn that sign around and forcibly evict you from my shop.”

Theo whipped his wand out from his inner jacket pocket like he was in a duel, and apparently vanished the offending sign from the door altogether. “There. Your threats are empty. Come to lunch with me.”

“Theodore Nott, you return my sign this instant.”

“Say you’ll come to lunch with me, and the sign goes back up.”

“I will not be threatened in my own shop!” she laughed, arms folding across her chest like a petulant child. “Put it back. Now.”

“Say you’ll come with me,” he said with a wide, playful grin, planting his hands on the counter and leaning his long frame forwards.

She had to bite her lips to stop from giggling. The charming scoundrel knew she’d say yes anyway. “I’ll tell Dan you were bullying me,” she said.

“Tell him; he’ll never believe you. He thinks I’m lovely. Come on, Hermione,” he added, softening from playful to plaintive. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“You and my ‘very best friend in all the world’, that’s what,” he said, and levelled her with a flat stare.

Her stomach dropped and she remembered the letter from that morning. And its contents. ‘…if you would feel more comfortable knowing, then you can ask Theo while I am gone’ Draco had said. He’d spoken with Theo about asking her out. She didn't know whether to be honoured or embarrassed.

Seeing her expression slip, Theo came round the side of the counter to stand beside her and leaned his hips against the wooden desk. “So you like him?”

“I… Why would that be a surprise?”

Theo blinked, and then his gaze flickered down to her left forearm. Everyone knew about the word engraved into her skin with the point of a cursed knife — she’d never tried to conceal it — but not many knew the real truth of just how the slur had come to be carved indelibly into her flesh. Theo was one of the few who did. “You’re really asking me why I’m surprised you like him?” he said in a hoarse whisper. “You, of all people?”

She took a very deep breath, held it, and then sighed. “Let’s go. You’re paying though. And I’m drinking.”

He managed a shy smile, and as they approached the front door of her shop his shimmering illusion around the sign dissolved to reveal it once again.

“Cheeky bugger,” she smirked at him and he waggled his eyebrows disarmingly. An undercurrent of anxiety still lurked beneath his jovial expression though.

A number of new restaurants had opened up in Diagon Alley, but Theo’s and Dan’s favourite was a sleek, modern establishment, quite different from the fusty old decor of the Leaky Cauldron or the other more traditional restaurants in wizarding London. It also sat overlooking the crooked columns of Gringotts, and was eye-wateringly expensive. Naturally, Theo was greeted by name at the door, and the pair were shown without fuss or fanfare to one of the nicest — and most secluded — tables.

With food ordered, and enormous balloon-glasses of wine in front of them, Theo fixed her with a serious look and steered the conversation around to the real reason for his impromptu lunchtime kidnapping. “He finally grew a pair and asked you to dinner then?”

“Mmm,” she nodded. “I take it this is… unusual for him?”

Theo tipped his head back and chuckled softly, sounding more tired than amused. “That’s putting it mildly, love. Until Friday, I had the devil’s own job trying to get dear Draco to leave his gloomy little manor house and come to anything. I had to blackmail him into coming to our anniversary, you know?”

Hermione just frowned, not entirely sure if he was being serious or not.

Theo let out a slow breath and stared into his wineglass, idly twirling the stem between long fingers. “Don’t get me wrong,” he said without looking at her, “I’m beyond grateful that he finally seems to be opening up to the idea of… being somewhat… vulnerable again, but…”

“You’re worried I’m going to hurt him,” she said quietly, and Theo bowed his head. “Theo, I’m… You know me. This isn’t just some one night stand with a rich, attractive bloke I met in a bar. I haven’t —” she leaned in close over the table and hissed, “I haven’t even had sex with anyone in years, Theo. Years!” She brushed an errant corkscrew of hair back out of her eyes, embarrassed.

His lips twitched at that, but his eyes remained stormy.

“I’m not going into this lightly. I was honestly as surprised as you are, but I wouldn’t even be considering going on a date with Draco Malfoy if I wasn’t completely convinced that he was no longer the bratty little owl-pellet he was back at Hogwarts.”

At that, Theo barked such a loud laugh that the patrons at the tables nearby turned to look at him like he’d sworn in a church. He covered his mouth with his hand and snickered himself into silent tears for a good thirty seconds before she rolled her eyes and sat back with her glass in her hand, waiting for him to control himself again.

“I’m telling Dan you called him that. And Pansy. They’ll love it.”

“Right,” she said, cheeks suddenly hot. “Well, as much as he might have been an owl pellet, let’s not have it become a ‘thing’, hmm?”

The mirth in his face simmered back down and he looked at her steadily over the rim of his wineglass. “Look, I care about both of you, and I can see this going two ways. One: you realise that the two of you actually have an awful lot in common, he takes you to increasingly fancy places for dates, you have lots of steamy sex, and finally settle down together. Two: the past gets in the way, you both say hurtful stuff you don’t really mean, and you both end up single and twice as miserable as you were before you went for lunch at the Leaky. Don't think I didn’t know about that, either,” he added.

“You’re such a gossip,” she snapped.

“I was being serious, Hermione,” he said, leaning to one side as their food arrived.

She paused until the waiter had left but didn’t make any move to pick up her cutlery. “Are you looking out for him or for me?” she asked.

Theo sighed. “Both of you. But…”

“Mostly Draco, huh?”

“He’s like a brother to me, Hermione. He was there for me when no one else was. You know the things my father did to me as a child, and Draco helped me through all of it. And ‘Cissa too. And I couldn’t believe it when he actually showed up at drinks the other night. Watching him, it… it was like the old Draco had come back to me. The nice ‘old Draco’, I mean.” His eyes glistened and he blinked rapidly, voice cracking as he continued. “After the attack, he shut himself away at the Manor with Scorpius, as if he could keep the whole world out just to keep little Scorp safe. I thought… I thought he’d never leave, Hermione.”

“You never talked about any of this,” she said gently, forcing herself to make a start on her linguine despite the fact that her appetite had vanished almost completely.

Theo shrugged. “I guess… I guess I wanted to give him the privacy he craved, and to be honest, I didn’t think you’d be all that sympathetic to him after your history.”

At that, she scowled, but she could see his point. “Theo, I held his screaming infant in my arms for hours while he was being questioned by the Aurors that night. I saw his face when he came to my office for Scorpius afterwards.” She shook her head. “No one who saw him then could believe he was even a shadow of the person he had been at Hogwarts.”

At her words, Theo had stopped eating, fork held loosely between perpetually-ink-stained fingers even as it rested on his plate. “You did? He never said.”

She tried not to examine that last comment too closely. “Mm. Harry didn't know what else to do with him, so he brought Scorpius to me to see if I could quieten him down. In the end all it took was a handful of my hair and a few poorly-sung folk songs. But you’re missing the point, Theo. You could have trusted me with things that were worrying you. I would have listened to you.”

“I —” he cut off and cleared his throat. “I know. I’m sorry. I just… Aside from Dan, I don’t think I love anyone as much as I love him.”

It was Hermione’s turn to choke up a little, but she swallowed and said, “Then I can think of no greater accolade for his character.” She looked up at him and added, “So where’s he taking me then?”

“You said yes?”

“I did. I like him. And not just because he looks like a flipping marble statue brought to life. He’s thoughtful, and he always was extremely intelligent and articulate. I’ve really enjoyed talking with him this time around. I think… I think…” she pursed her lips and took a too-big gulp of wine. Luckily it all went down the right way, and she forged on. “I think… we could work. Or at least… I want to see where it goes, Theo.”

With a slow nod, Theo finally relaxed his shoulders and let out a shaky breath. “He wants to take you to The Foundry.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” she mumbled. It wasn’t one of the ones in Diagon Alley, for sure.

Theo made a side-to-side movement of his head. “I’m not surprised. It’s…”

“Oh God, is it horrifically expensive?” she asked, eyes wide with a sudden abject terror. “Theo, if he’s going to take me somewhere hideously fancy for our first date, I’m going to back out right now…”

The corners of his lips lifted and he shook his head. “Not in the way you’re thinking. You have to know the owners to get a table though, and there are no menus. They’ll ask if you have any allergies, but other than that, you eat what they serve you.”

“Holy fuck, Theo…”

“Trust me, you’ll love it. The place used to be a bell foundry in the seventeenth century — hence the name — and it’s this gorgeous brick building with arches and vaults, and cosy little corners,” he added, raising his eyebrows. “You’ll forget where you are and be as comfortable as if you were in your own pokey little Muggle living room. I promise.”

She narrowed her eyes and took another gulp of wine. “I’ll take your word for it, Nott,” she said. “What should I wear?”

Without hesitation, he said, “That burgundy number you haven’t worn since Pansy told you to buy it.”

She blanched at that. “Theo, it’s…”

“Gorgeous? Revealing in all the right ways, yet modest enough to suit you? Dead sexy? Exactly the kind of thing that will make Draco lose his goddamn mind when he sees you in it? The kind of thing that will make him spend all evening simultaneously admiring you in it and mentally tearing it off you —”

“Theo, stop!” she hissed, flushing darker. “For God’s sake shut up!”

He cackled into the remainder of his wine, but refused to give any more sartorial advice.

“Burgundy dress and heels it is, I guess,” she said, and the two of them focused on their food again.

“I hope,” Theo said as they left a very leisurely two hours later, “I hope you don’t think I was too…” he jiggled nervously on the balls of his feet as he held the door open for her, “Overbearing…”

“I mean, you did ambush me, blackmail and threaten me into having lunch with you at the fanciest restaurant in Diagon Alley where I couldn’t reasonably kick up a fuss, and then proceed to tell me all sorts of heartrending stories about Draco and yourself…”

When she saw the wounded look in Theo’s brown eyes, she stopped and turned to face him.

“Theo, no. You’re one of my best friends, and you clearly care about us both. Stop panicking,” she added when she saw the slightly wild light in his eyes. “You didn’t try to tell me what to do or who to see. You’re looking out for your friends, and making sure we’re both… serious about this. And I appreciate that.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and added, “But know that if you keep meddling beyond that, I will hex your bollocks off and make you explain it to Dan.”

“Understood,” he said with a watery smile. “I was worried I’d overstepped.”

“I’ll forgive you if you tell me one thing.”

“Name it.”

“Did you have the same talk with Draco about breaking my heart?”

His handsome, freckled face split into a blinding white grin. “I did.”

“Forgiven,” she said. “Now, some of us actually have to work for a living.”

“I work!” he squealed. “I work bloody hard up in the Department of International Magical Cooperation, thank you very much!”

“I know you do,” she conceded. “Not that you actually need a job, you filthy rich prick.”

Theo laughed long and loud, scooping her hand up in his and walking arm in arm down the bustling, cobbled street towards her bookshop. “And to think,” he chimed with a sidelong look down at her, “You used to be Minister for Magic with that mouth.”

“I know,” she said. “It nearly got me into trouble on many an occasion.”

Kneazel and Quill’s little sign swung jauntily in the breeze and Theo gave a slight bow from the waist when they stopped at the door. With anyone else, it might have seemed foppish and insincere, but with Theo, she knew he meant it. He was only silly like this with his closest friends.

“Good day, fair maiden of the dusty bookshop,” he said. “And thank you for giving my idiot best friend a chance.”

Hermione nodded and smiled. She stood and soaked up the autumn sunshine for a while as she watched his retreating back, until he eventually disappeared into the Diagon Alley entrance to the Ministry and she slid back into the musty quiet of her little sanctuary.

Chapter Six

___

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter of friendship! Next time, Hermione and Draco go for that date...!! Things will start to gain momentum too, fear not. It’s not going to be an eternal slow-burn...

writing masterlist | Ao3

#dramione #dramione fic #draco malfoy x hermione granger #hermione granger x draco malfoy #draco x hermione #hermione x draco #theodore nott #hermione granger #let no man steal your thyme

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crystal-snowing · 4 years

Text

fake dating | seo changbin

synopsis: in order to take over the family company there is one condition that you need to fulfill, and in the heat of the moment and without thinking things through, you happen to mention your best friend, seo changbin.

genre: best friends to lovers!au, rich! reader, idol!au

word count: 4.6k

warnings: alcohol consumption and some light swearing

a/n: i am now trying to restrain myself from starting any new series until i finish these uncompleted ones, join me on my journey to see if i actually follow through with this :)) also, this gif was edited by me, but the original gif belongs to @/changbeanie

seo changbin has been a constant figure in your life for as long as you can remember.

it only made sense, after all, you were a part of the wealthy and illustrious [l/n] family, owners and inventors of some of the most high-end technology in south korea.

when you were both children, fancy socialite gatherings were definitely not your scene, and being the only two kids there, it only made sense that the two of you would strike up a friendship.

and this friendship continued to last as the two of you grew older, and even though you both went on separate paths, you both continued to stay in contact.

it wasn’t a surprise to you when you learned that he had become an idol, especially debuting under the coveted company of JYP, he just had this knack about him—some kind of drive, that made you know he was going to go far.

you, on the other hand, had your life planned out for you since the day you were born.

it was only natural that you were going to inherit the multi-million dollar company from your parents, they would want it to go to nobody else except their own child, and you didn’t have a choice to decide otherwise.

all your life you have been groomed for this position, and while attending school and then university, did you retain some of your independence and freedoms, you knew that it would all be over as soon as you graduated.

it was pointless to try and delay your future, but there were nights were you longed for the freedoms of just being a normal person, instead of the heir to the [l/n] cooperation.

and in more ways than one, did you envy the freedom and fun that your best friend seemed to be having in comparison to you.

but as you grew older, you couldn’t imagine yourself doing anything else but running the company, it was your life and it was in your blood.

in more ways than one, you were determined to succeed in all the ways that your parents failed, and you would make yourself worthy of the position CEO rather than a spoiled brat who simply inherited the position.

however, what you were not expecting was a second request from your parents the day that you were signed over as the new CEO.

“you want me to do what?”

“it’s simple [y/n], sweetie, it’s not like we’re asking you to make a life altering decision!”

“mother, with all due respect, but i don’t want to get married.”

“well, then i’m afraid that you don’t really have a choice. i’m sorry for giving you an ultimatum like these, but either you find yourself a suitable husband, or the company will have a new heir.”

to say that you were baffled was a complete understatement.

but, you needed this, the company, this lifestyle—everything, and you were not willing to let a slight hiccup in your plans deter you from getting what you wanted.

and before you could stop yourself, the words had already spilled out of your mouth—a desperate attempt to keep everything that you have worked for still within your grasp.

“i’m not sure i’m going to need to find a husband, when i already have a boyfriend.”

oh how the tables have turned.

turning away you fiddled with the hem of your clothing underneath the table, it was a blatant lie for sure, but you were desperate and if this was the only way that you could acquire the company, then so be it.

however you weren’t in the clear just yet, your mother narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, still skeptical of your statement.

“you’ve never mentioned a boyfriend, who is this boy and when can we meet him?”

crap, you didn’t think this far ahead—the jig was up, you were done for, and now you were going to be in even more trouble for lying.

you had to think quickly, something, anything that could possibly get you out of this predicament and quickly.

and once again, as if you didn’t learn from your mistake just a few minutes ago, you opted for saying the name that came to mind.

“seo changbin, he’s my boyfriend.”

finally, that seemed to render your mother speechless, as you quickly bid your parents goodbye with a promise that you would call them later and set up a meeting.

it was only when you stepped out of the building, could you feel the cool breeze on your heated cheeks, did you finally understand the gravity of the situation that you were in.

somehow, if it was even possible, you seemed to have dug yourself into an even deeper hole than before.

slumping against the building and sliding down to the concrete sidewalk below, you placed your head in your hands and roughly scrubbed your face, wondering how you could have possibly ended up in a situation like this.

in all honesty, both you and changbin had not lost contact per se, but kind of drifted apart—both of you had become preoccupied with other responsibilities, and texting nonstop was more harmful than beneficial.

you weren’t on terrible terms, so you could assume this fact was at least a partial silver lining in this fucked up situation.

but, on the other hand, it was kind of awkward for you to suddenly call him out of the blue, and ask him to do this relationship-altering favor for you after you both have spoken to each other in so long.

but, once again, what choice did you have?

reaching into your pocket, you pulled out your cellphone before dialing the familiar number, waiting only three rings before he picked up.

“i made a boo-boo,” you couldn’t help the phrase that tumbled out of your mouth as soon as he answered.

he chuckled slightly before answering, “well, hello to you too, we haven’t talked in almost three months and that’s the first thing you say to me?”

letting out a deep sigh, you hastily explained the predicament that you were in, everything from inheriting the company, to how your parents set up this ridiculous condition in order for you to do so.

“and so i kind of may have, sorta, mentioned your name,” you mumbled, clutching the phone close to your ear as you gnawed harshly on your lower lip.

there was silence on the other end of the line for a couple of seconds, and you could vaguely heard what sounded like screams of other boys in the background, with the sound of laughter and loud music following them.

“i completely understand if you can’t do this, i mean with your career and everything and this could really jeopardize everything, i mean i honestly don’t even know what came over me when i—” you continued to stammer, tapping your fingers rapidly against the back of your phone.

“[y/n], relax, take a deep breath and relax,” and upon following his instructions, you could easily feel some of the stress leave your body as he continued, “right now isn’t really the best time, but let me call you back later tonight, and we can talk about this.”

but that didn’t answer your question, in fact it only seemed to cause a resurgence in your anxiety, and before he could hang up you mumbled out another question.

“this means you’ll help me, right?”

it was almost inaudible, how softly you whispered, and you weren’t sure if he even heard you, but as soon as you heard his laughter, you were a bit perplexed to say the least.

you weren’t sure what to think about the chuckling on the other side of the line, but it filled you with a sense of warmth—a sensation that you haven’t felt in a long while.

“yes, i’ll be your fake boyfriend,” changbin confirmed softly, before bidding you goodbye.

currently, it was close to eleven o’clock at night, and still there was no sign of life from the electronic device, and you were stressed to say the least.

he said that he would call, he said that he would call—a mantra that was currently repeating like a broken record inside your head.

however, your anxiety soon turned to confusion as soon as you heard a faint knock at your front door.

visitors at this hour were unheard of, especially for you, who lived in a penthouse on the top floor of the apartment complex, the most secluded portion of the building.

taking a look through the peephole, you were surprised to see changbin there, dressed in casual grey sweats and sneakers with a black mask and cap covering most of his features, but to you it was completely obvious that it was him.

quickly you opened the door and ushered him into your apartment, closing it behind him and prompting him to take off his makeshift disguise.

“what are you doing here, i thought you were going to call?” you asked, turning around and facing him, your eyes widening a bit as you drank in his appearance.

he looked good, honestly, good was not even the word to describe how good he looked.

even though it has been a couple months since the two of you last texted each other, it has been maybe a couple of years since you both have seen each other—and you had to admit, whatever they have been feeding him at jyp entertainment has certainly done him well.

he has muscles now and long-gone was the lanky boy from middle school, his skin was glowing, and there was something about the way that he carried himself, perhaps with more confidence that was perhaps kind of attractive.

“we haven’t seen each other in so long, i was thinking that you wouldn’t mind me paying you a visit,” changbin grinned, flashing his pearly whites.

yikes, suddenly it was feeling a bit stuffy in the room, as you turned away and adjusted the baggy old t-shirt that you were wearing, suddenly self-conscious about the way that you were dressed.

grabbing some drinks from the kitchen, you offered one to him as you both sat on the couch, popping the top of the bottle, you took a long sip before whipping your mouth with the back of your hand, before speaking.

“so, this is what i need you to do.”

it was simple, really, you were going to schedule a dinner with your parents and introduce him as your boyfriend and in the meantime you just needed to fill both of your phones up with “memories” of the two of you in order to really sell the story that you have been dating for months.

now, the tricky part was revolving everything around changbin’s situation as an idol.

there was no way you were willing to drag his name through the mud and absolutely tarnish everything that he has worked for, but this relationship had to be believable and in order for that to work there was bound to be conflicts in scheduling.

perhaps, you had thought too rashly about this whole situation, who were you kidding, you weren’t even thinking when you blurted out his name, and now you were in a deep dilemma.

and after voicing your concerns to him, he waved his hand, telling you that it was no problem at all—promising you that he was going to keep this, his personal life, private from his idol life.

and so everything started to be set in motion.

it began with the cryptic posts that you started posting on instagram, most of the time they showed a picture of you in the city or some food that you would eat, nothing typically out of the ordinary.

a few days later, changbin would post something on the official stray kids account, a similar picture to your own, as if he was mirroring everything that you posted.

none of your antics seemed to draw suspicion from the public, which was a good sign, so you decided to up the ante.

“no, you’re standing all wrong,” you pouted, crossing your arms over your chest as you glared at changbin.

“what do you mean, i’m standing exactly how you want me to,” he chuckled, mimicking your stance, “maybe you’re the one standing wrong.”

instead of answering, you slapped him lightly on the arm, “let’s just do this again, and make sure you follow exactly what i tell you!”

he rolled his eyes playfully before doing what he was told.

you stood in front of him in front of a mirror, his hands came to wrap around your hips, as his head nuzzled into your neck, and for the final touch, your hand interlocked with one that was resting on your hip.

he smelled good, like really good, perhaps a mix of sandalwood and some kind of light citrus.

you couldn’t deny the heat that flooded your cheeks, feeling the warmth radiate off of him, his scent making you feel a bit lightheaded.

this was your idea after all, but you didn’t think that you were going to get like this swooning over your best friend as if you were back in middle school all over again.

that’s right, seo changbin was nothing more than just your best friend, and thinking these things about him was only going to drive a wedge between the two of you.

snapping the picture quickly, you pulled away, causing a small frown to flash across his lips, before vanishing.

“so, how did it come out?” changbin asked, peeking over your shoulder as he shoved his now empty arms inside of his pockets.

“uh, really good! don’t worry, your face is completely covered, so nobody will know.”

“we should probably meet by the pier next week to take some more, i heard that was a popular spot for couples,” he nodded, pulling away slightly from your figure.

you couldn’t help that warm and fuzzy feeling from tingling up your spine as the word “couple” left his mouth.

it was foolish to think this way, and you knew that, but in all honesty, how could you possibly help yourself?

somewhere in these past few weeks, the line between “newly reconnected best friends” and “perhaps something more” began to blur and you found yourself lost in a sea of emotions and feelings.

he was a successful idol, with seven other successful members that were counting on him, and something like this, would be detrimental to his career.

something like this could never happen, and even indulging in it for a second was not worth the wasted time and effort.

but, only for a second, you could wish that the two of you were different people in another life, perhaps ordinary people and then maybe things wouldn’t be so complicated.

somehow you had attempted to convince yourself that you were content with the way life was right now, trapped in the limbo that you called a love life, and perfectly happy with the very real feelings you were currently experiencing with your fake boyfriend.

“you have that look on your face again, is it the food?” changbin asked, tilting his head to the side with his eyebrows furrowed, “i can call the waiter back and you can order something else if you want, i don’t mind.”

the salty breeze surrounded you, and for a second you thought you were going to be sick.

it was almost nauseating the way that he was looking at you, there was so much care and consideration in his eyes, that you were practically ready to yeet throw yourself off of the boardwalk and into the ocean below.

it was unfair the way that he was acting right now, it was almost as if he expected you to fall for him and at this rate, you weren’t sure if you could stop.

the candle light illuminated his features perfectly, casting a soft shadow on his handsome face that your heart already skipped ten beats since you’ve got here—and with his white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows, exposing his muscles, it was already game over.

you had already finished taking pictures, and you had already uploaded them to your account, the picture of you and him (his face obscured of course) was already generating thousands of likes, and you were both just enjoying your food and each other’s company.

“it’s nothing! i don’t want to ruin the night,” you dismissed his worries with a wave of your hand, taking your fork and shifting the food on your plate from one side to the other.

while your attention was fixated on the plate in front of you, you were oblivious to the deep frown that was etched on his lips.

in one swift motion, he reached across the table and grabbed your wrist, forcing you to look at him.

“your problems are my problems, at the end of the day we’re still best friends, and i don’t want that to change between us.”

the intensity and sincerity that reflected through his brown eyes caused shivers to travel down your spine, but ouch did his words sting.

flashing him a sheepish smile, you gently tugged his hand off of your wrist, the warmth almost a painful reminder of his words, before speaking.

“i’m fine, don’t worry about me!” you paused, swallowing the lump in your throat, “how about we go play some carnival games after dinner, those used to be our favorite when we were kids.”

he didn’t put up much of a fight as you grabbed his hand and dragged him away from the table after paying, both of you getting lost in the bright lights and sounds of the boardwalk.

and at the end of the night, when he dropped you back off at your apartment with a giant teddy bear and polaroids in your hand, you couldn’t help but somehow taste the bittersweetness on your tongue.

that night, the words “best friends” were the only thing ringing through your head as you drifted off to sleep.

fast forward a couple of months later, and you found yourself stressing out at the most upscale restaurant in the city, practically guzzling the entire bottle of wine that the waiter left unattended at your table.

sitting on your right sat changbin, dressed handsomely in a tie and suit, eyeing you as you finished your second glass within fifteen minutes of arriving.

“woah there, don’t you think you should chill out with the alcohol,” he scolded you grabbing both the bottle and the glass, moving it away from you as you merely shrugged.

“they’re not here yet, plus if i’m sober, they are definitely going to see right through this lie.”

there was already a slight haziness to your vision and your whole body was filled with warmth, but you were definitely not as intoxicated as you wish you were.

and that wasn’t exactly the whole truth either.

you see, changbin looked absolutely dashing in that suit, and well that was making your heart hurt a little more than you expected.

it had nothing to do with the suit itself, no, in fact he hasn’t done anything wrong per se ever since he picked you up for the dinner tonight.

instead, you were completely and utterly upset at him, and everything about him frustrated you to no end.

this dinner right here was the end game, it was simple really, after your parents accepted him and with the promise that the two of you would get married, the company was yours.

then, the two of you would “breakup” and your parents cannot rescind their offer without looking like fools in front of the media—therefore, everything that you could ever want was waiting for you as soon as this dinner ended.

however, was it really everything that you wanted?

because the man that was currently sitting next to you was certainly not excluded from the list.

he was making you reevaluate if this was all that you wanted for the rest of your life, like yes, you would have the company—the sole thing that you have you wanted since you were a child, but you wouldn’t have him.

and you weren’t sure if the company was even worth it anymore if you could never truly have him.

and as you were about to reach for both the bottle and glass, the ding of the elevator stopped you cold in your tracks, and you instead opted for sitting gracefully back down in your seat.

there, entering the room were your parents, a composed expression etched on their faces as they made their way over to your table.

“[y/n], my darling, it’s nice to see you,” your mother greeted you, before turning her attention away and onto your companion, “and who is this?”

holding back a sigh, you cleared your throat before speaking, “this is my boyfriend, seo changbin.”

pleasantries between your parents and him were exchanged, and now it was time to commence the most dreadful dinner that you have ever attended.

it was so obvious that your parents were suspicious of changbin, and unlike you, they were not as good at concealing their feelings.

they started with the usual questions, “oh, how long have the two of you been dating?”, “what do you do for a living?”, “what are your intentions with my child?”, etc.

and while the both of you have prepped for these questions, he definitely answered better than you could have hoped, some of his answers seeming so genuine that it made your chest ache.

throughout the night, you could feel his gaze lingering on you as you continued to sip more wine, the alcoholic beverage making you feel warm and slightly numbed the pain of sitting here and having to listen to your parents incessantly brag about their jobs.

the night was soon drawing to a close, and you were absolutely certain that changbin had won over your parents, they would not stop laughing at his jokes and their whole demeanor was like something you have rarely seen, for once, they looked happy.

“thank you for coming tonight, and i really enjoyed meeting you,” changbin bowed slightly, as your parents dismissed him with a wave of their hand.

“it was our pleasure meeting you again, and make sure you tell your mother hello for us,” your mother smiled as she made her way towards the elevator.

she walked over towards you and gave you a hug, whispering in your ear that by tomorrow the company was yours, before both of your parents walked into the elevator and the doors closed with a firm click.

this should have been your moment of victory, your moment of joy—your moment of realizing that everything that you have worked for was finally being realized, but it wasn’t.

walking out of the restaurant, you couldn’t help but admire how brightly the stars seemed to twinkle in the sky tonight, despite the ever bright lights of seoul.

“oh no, i know that look, do you wanna tell me where your head is at, [n/n]?”

your eyes glanced up to meet his own, before looking away admiring the bright lights of the city instead of having to confront him and talk about your problems.

you were perfectly content with walking back to your apartment this way, in complete and utter silence, but your last straw seemed to be when he draped his jacket around your shoulders.

“you need it more than i do, plus it’s cold ou and your parents would never forgive me, if you caught a cold.”

that seemed to be the straw that broke camel’s back, and you weren’t sure what came over you, but you suddenly exploded.

“just stop alright, it’s over, whatever this is between us is over.”

you could feel him slightly flinch at your words, pulling away from your figure as his eyes narrowed at you.

“what are you talking about? what is ‘this’? i was just helping you, doing a favor for a friend, and this is the thanks that i get?” he scowled, folding his arms across his chest as you both stopped walking, standing merely three feet away from each other on a deserted street.

friend, that word just slapped you in the face, as you scowled and turned away from him.

“y’know what, just forget i even said anything, i can find my way home alone.”

turning your heel, you were about to stalk away in a huff, cheeks burning with embarrassment and anger, but before you could even take another step, you were tugged back towards him.

his warm hand enveloped your wrist, holding you firmly in place as you frowned at him.

“there’s no way i’m letting you walk home this late at night, if anything happened to you, i would never forgive myself.”

you couldn’t help but scoff at his statement, “you can stop pretending, it’s fine, you can drop the act.”

you could practically see the gears turning in his head, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he attempted to follow along your haphazard thought process.

you weren’t sure if the alcohol was impairing your judgement or not, but before you could stop yourself, you blurted out what you have been thinking the entire night, “you can stop pretending that you like me.”

cue the awkward tension, the grip on your hand loosened, and you were free to escape perhaps one of the most embarrassing moments of your life, but for some reason you feet was rooted to the ground—waiting, wishing, and hoping for a response.

“who said i was pretending?”

ah, there it was the rejection that you have been waiting—wait.

his voice cut through the silence like a knife, and you jerked your head up so fast that you almost gave yourself whiplash.

“you, me, like, what?”

your less-than grammatically correct sentence seemed to lessen the awkward tension, his laugh warming you despite the coolness of the night.

“yes, me like you,” he grinned, pulling you closer to him until you were pressed against his chest, “and i agree, we should stop whatever this is and start dating for real.”

“wow, aren’t you a charmer, changbin,” you chuckled lightly, practically feeling his heart beat in sync with your own.

you weren’t sure if you were hallucinating or not, but you could swear that the distance between both of your faces was starting to get smaller and you could practically feel his warm breath tingling your lips.

“i’m going to kiss you now, is that okay?”

you meekly nodded, before his lips were pressed firmly against your own, his hands coming to wrap around your waist as you moved yours around his neck.

of course, he had to be such a great kisser, and you were wondering if there was possibly anything that seo changbin was bad at.

his lips were slightly chapped, but with the way his hands were moving through your hair and the way he was making you lightheaded and unsteady on your feet, was enough for you to overlook that.

pulling away, he pressed his forehead against your own, and the only sound that could be heard was the soft breathless gasps from the both of you.

“now that i have you, i swear, i’m never letting you go.”

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