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ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds · 8 months

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Too Late I'm Dead

After rushing out from a Jigsaw survivors meeting, you meet another survivor who isn't exactly intent on attending group therapy. A companionship blossoms, and then a friendship. And then, something else.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom: Saw Pairing: Amanda Young x AFAB!Reader Word count: 5.1K Content warnings: Gore, mentions of self-harm (both in the Jigsaw trap context and the more typical context), trauma, PTSD, angst, discussions of disability (since a lot of Jigsaw traps are disabling), Saw is its own warning, smoking, alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing, making out, biting, vaginal fingering, friends to lovers, as is Saw tradition gay shit goes down in the bathroom, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 link: Here

Author's Note: And here’s Blood Fest Week 3, with the keywords “twisted” and “fixation” and the prompts “traps” and “rage”!! “Traps”, of course, got me thinking about Saw. And since I’m down terribly bad for Amanda and have seen appallingly few fics for her…. well, why not? Underrated characters are kind of my signature anyway. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

“Hi everyone. My name is Brandon and…. I’m a Jigsaw survivor.”

A subdued chorus of Hi Brandons echoed around the small church room. You barely even bothered to mouth the words. The gesture felt about as empty as the tipped over plastic water bottle you’d discarded by your chair some time ago. There was coffee at the sad makeshift snack table too, as well as a box of pastries that looked a few days past their prime, but you figured you didn’t need the caffeine to make you any more jittery than you already were. Your leg was bouncing enough as it was.

“It’s been about a year since uh. Well.” Brandon smiled nervously and made a vague, fluttery gesture with his hands. “Well. You know.”

A quiet, obligatory response from the other people – a murmur, a nod of heads. You stared at your bouncing knee.

“I’ve made great progress with my recovery. My knees have healed really well. I can fully walk on them again, even run if I’m careful. My dog Rex doesn’t really like it when I’m careful though.” He laughed fondly. A couple others offered the obligatory chuckle. “They hurt if I get too eager with stairs. Or if it’s too humid. But it’s going really well. I’m really, really proud of the progress I’ve made.” He nodded, as if assuring himself.

He’d had to break both his knees in order to get out of his trap. Was in a wheelchair for months and only recently started moving around without it. Or so you’d been told.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to break your own knees.

“Somedays, though.” Brandon looked away from the loose circle you all formed. Blinked rapidly. “Somedays, it feels like I haven’t made any progress. Somedays it’s hard. Really hard. And it feels like I didn’t survive that trap. Or if I did, some part of me got left behind.”

Everyone else was nodding, some with sad, understanding smiles on their faces. Your own pulse thundered in your ears like a distant, approaching storm.

“It’s really hard to have hope on those days, but…. what else can I do?” He shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. “Give up? Wallow around in my own misery? I can’t live like that. No one can live like that. Not forever. You just have to choose. You have to make a choice, just like the choices we made to be here. You have to choose to live. You have to choose hope. Or else you just can’t survive.”

You shot to your feet, heartbeat pounding in your ears, chair scraping back. Every face in the room turned to look at you. The church felt too small. Your ribs felt too tight. You felt too…. seen.

Who was he to judge you for wallowing in what you’d fucking gone through?

You spun around and bee-lined for the exit.

The cool city air against your face was a relief as you barged through the church’s double doors. But you stopped in your tracks as you spotted someone else already there. A woman was sitting on the church stairs. She twisted around, eyebrows raised and half-hidden by the choppy, irregular bangs across her forehead.

“Uh. Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

She paused, as if uncertain. Of what? You weren’t sure. “Hey,” she eventually said back. Then, after another pause, she twisted further around, a frown crossing her features. “Is the meeting over?”

“No. I just needed some air.” Fuck, you needed something to calm yourself. You dug around in your jacket pockets until you found a lighter and a cigarette. “Um. Do you mind if I…?”

She stared at the cigarette in your hand with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but eventually shook her head no. You internally shrugged and lit up. The first drag uncoiled the tension that had built up in your muscles, and you breathed the smoke out on a relieved sigh.

The woman glanced between you and the church doors. “Having fun in there?”

Did she know? The place didn’t exactly advertise, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. You scanned her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her. Had you seen her in the meetings before? “Oh, yeah, lots. You know. Fun therapy shit.” Supposedly, anyway. It was supposed to be some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous shit, but instead it was for the few survivors of an active fucking serial killer. Jigsaws Anonymous or whatever the fuck.

“Must be going well if you’re out here,” she said dryly, resting her chin on a propped-up fist.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Well…” Did you really want to tell her about how Brandon’s words had hit just a little too close to home? How they’d made you feel too small, as if the sticks you’d used to prop up your fragile post-trap reconstruction of the world had suddenly snapped, and the weight of it all was now bearing down on you? She was a stranger waiting outside the church. She could’ve been some Jesus freak for all you knew.

Not that she really looked like one. Not with the sheer red shirt over a black bra and fishnet undershirt, or the combat boots, or the sheer exhaustion around her eyes.

She looked less like a Jesus freak and more like you did on the days you could bear to look in the mirror.

So you just shrugged again. “It can be a lot,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing out here?” You hesitated. “There’re still seats open if you wanted to…”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She offered you a close-lipped smile. “I’ve heard enough of the sob-stories.”

Yeah. You could understand that.

She didn’t look like she was going anywhere, and you didn’t exactly have plans of your own. So you gestured to the stairs next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

You sat to her right so the wind wouldn’t blow cigarette smoke into her face. The smooth grey stone steps were wide enough that it didn’t feel quite so awkward sitting in silence together. Even though you could feel her analyzing you as you took another puff.

You blew the smoke away and smirked dryly at the cigarette. “Think Jigsaw’s gonna put me in another deathtrap for smoking?” You ignored the tightening in your chest as you said the words. Ignored the tremor of unease. Surely it wouldn’t be enough. Surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

“He wouldn’t do that.” She said it with such simple certainty, as if it was an inarguable fact. Even still, you found yourself stubbing the cig out and searching for a trash can to toss it into. You didn’t want to just flick it into the grass. Maybe Jigsaw would get you for littering. Maybe he was really passionate about saving the planet.

Who needed to be God-fearing with the possibility of Jigsaw watching your every move?

You shook the thought off. Introduced yourself to the woman. You smiled awkwardly. “Um. I’d offer you my hand but my, uh–” Personal hell “–Trap involved a hand thing so. I’m not a big fan of handshakes these days.” It had taken a long time for the nerves to repair themselves in your hand. A long time and a shitton of agony and medication and physical therapy. You still hadn’t totally gotten rid of the tremor. Fine motorskills were still harder than before.

Before. That.

But the woman just gave a rueful, understanding sort-of smile. Funny how people smiled so much in the presence of trauma and pain. “Amanda. I still have trouble going to the dentist sometimes.”

Shit, that’s where you knew her from, wasn’t it? You’d heard of her, read about her before, seen a clip of her punching a journalist square in the nose when she tried to follow her. All the photos you’d seen had been such shit quality that you hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Amanda Young. The person who killed a man and rummaged around his guts to free herself from the machine hooked into her jaws. The first person to walk away from a Jigsaw trap. The first survivor. In a weird, fucked up way, it was almost like meeting a celebrity. A celebrity for the most depressingly specific thing possible.

You weren’t sure whether it would make things weird to bring that up. So you just nodded. “So. What’re you doing here then? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Mm no, not really.” Amanda scraped at the chipped black polish on her nails. “I just like to come here sometimes.”

You stared at her. Something about her reminded you of a deer, twitchy and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Or maybe not a deer. Deer looked like they’d snap in half if the wind blew too hard. Amanda…. did not. She was twitchy, but for some reason you got the feeling that she was just as likely to start kicking as she was to start running

Permanently caught between fight or flight.

You went with freeze, yourself. Or wallow, as Brandon had put it. Anger and embarrassment burned against your ribs.

“Hell of a place to visit.” You weren’t sure if you meant it as a light-hearted joke or a deadpan remark. The words came out somewhere in between.

“You’re one to talk.” She finally turned to you. It was the first time she’d actually met your eyes, you realized. “You actually believe all this bullshit?” she asked, gesturing to the church.

“Not really,” you admitted. “My therapist wanted me to go. Said it would help me to be around others who understand what I went through. That it would help me get closure or something. I didn’t want to. But he insisted.” You shrugged. He’d pestered you about it until you finally gave in a few weeks ago. He thought it would be good for you. Would help you heal. Really, it just made you want to fling yourself out of one of the church’s fancy stained-glass windows.

Amanda gave a derisive snort. You almost took offense until she said, “Half of the time these therapists don’t even know what they’re talking about. It’s a bunch of bullshit, too.” She propped her cheek on her fist again, giving you a side-long grimace. “People don’t change until they have to. Or until they’re forced to. A bunch of psychoanalyzing isn’t going to do anything.”

You…. strongly disagreed. But the slim scar peeking out from her sleeve kept you from saying that. “Bad experience with a therapist?” you asked, flicking your gaze away.

“It never really worked for me.”

“What did?” you asked cautiously.

She paused. Thought about it. Stared at you with an intensity that had you wondering what the hell was going on inside her head. Until eventually, “Jigsaw.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to figure out how to respond to that.

She thought…. Jigsaw helped?

You didn’t want to judge. Fuck, that was exactly why you’d stormed out of the church. You were self-aware enough to realize that. Different things worked for different people, and different people responded to trauma in different ways, but….

The church doors squealed open. You both shot to your feet and turned around. Your fellow Jigsaw Anonymous members were leaving, the meeting over, spilling out from the doors with all the speed and excitement of molasses being poured out from a jar. You stepped to the side to let them come down the stairs. Amanda did the same, arm brushing yours, and you wrestled the urge to jerk away. You weren’t sure of the last time you’d actually touched someone, or the last time someone had touched you, aside from the gentle but coldly professional hands of doctors and emergency personnel. It was as startlingly foreign as it was familiar.

Amanda seemed completely unaware of your clashing emotions as her gaze locked onto something. You followed her stare to Brandon slowly making his way down the steps. A man with sandy-blond hair and a cane was with him, chatting, the both of them completely oblivious to either of you.

Did she know them? She was staring at them with such an undecipherable intensity and it was the only explanation you could think of. You glanced at the two men again, then back at Amanda. No… she wasn’t staring at them. She was staring at the blond man specifically.

It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two know each other?”

“Sorta,” was as much of a response as you got.

Once Brandon and the man reached the bottom of the ramp and went separate ways, Amanda turned back to you. It was just the two of you on the stairs now. And it was a little embarrassing how flustered you were just by her proximity. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know her.

Maybe your therapist was right. You did need to get out and be around people more. So you could remember how to fucking act normal again.

“Well.” Amanda bumped her arm against yours again. This time deliberately. You were pretty sure the facial expression you made was not a normal one. “See you round.”

Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, hopped down the steps, and just. Walked away. You stared after her for longer than necessary.

She was impossible to get a read on. Weirdly confrontational, weirdly evasive, and weirdly magnetic anyway.

You kind of hoped you’d see her again.

She didn’t appear for the next few meetings you obligatorily dragged yourself to. It wasn’t until about a month later that you found her sitting out on the steps again. When you, again, had rushed out to clear your head when the room got too small.

“Hey stranger,” she said, tone somewhere close to teasing. It made you smile. Just a little.

“Hey,” you replied, approaching the stairs. And again, you gestured to the space beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

And so you developed a bit of a routine. She appeared on the steps about once a month, for a reason she never shared and that you never really minded. You would sit on the stairs with her, and the two of you would shoot the breeze. It was a comfortable, casual companionship born from a common factor and convenience. It was never anything very deep. Neither of you were there for therapy, not really. You kept it light, casual. That was the point, wasn’t it?

At least until one day when Amanda was standing by the stairs before the meeting had even started. You didn’t bother to hide your surprise as you approached her and exchanged your usual heys.

“You coming in today?” you asked.

“No. I thought we could head somewhere else.” She tilted her head at you. There was a playfulness to her expression, her smile. A playfulness that made you both a little bit cautious and a little bit excited. “Somewhere a little more fun. Unless you want to stay here. For therapy.” She pointedly lifted her eyebrows at you as she said therapy.

You glanced at the church doors behind her. Really, talking to her about anything but the fact that you were both Jigsaw survivors had done a lot more for you than going to these stupid fucking meetings had.

“Only if you promise not to put me in a death game for smoking,” you joked. Or tried to, at least. It really wasn’t that funny. You winced at yourself. But Amanda, to her credit, just linked her arm through yours. You almost preened at the friendly touch.

“Deal,” she said.

She ended up taking you to a bar. A gay bar, more specifically. You were a bit surprised she’d clocked you so easily but never said a word – but then again, neither had you about her. So you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised.

From there, your casual companionship escalated into something much more like a genuine friendship. You got to know each other properly. You talked about your personal lives and hobbies and interests. You even talked a little bit about Jigsaw, and everything after that. You told her how you’d been struggling with insomnia and how you’d lost your job when you stopped showing up. Because of, y’know, being stuck in a deathtrap. And being too terrified to set foot outside your door for a while after. You told her about the new job you’d gotten and struggled to adjust to. And you told her about your hands.

Nails through the palms Jesus-style. Because according to the hoarse voice on the tape that now haunted your nightmares – “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. She’d winced as you told her the story one evening. You’d winced as you’d recollected it. The pain shooting through your fingertips, up your arms, into your very fucking bones. The squelch of blood and muscle, the way you hadn’t been able to stop from screaming or the tears from spilling as you twisted and ripped your hands free of the metal spikes.

It was a miracle they didn’t introduced any infections into your bloodstream, the doctors had told you. A miracle.

You told Amanda how your hands still shook, were still a bit weak. How some days they were worse and some days they were better. And how fine motor skills had become hard now, whereas before you’d taken them for granted. God, had you taken them for granted. You’d been able to write your name, use a knife and fork, all that shit, so damn easily.

It had taken a lot of getting used to.

Amanda has just listened and nodded her head. Understanding. Not offering the grating sympathy people so often flung your way, all the while looking uncomfortably unsure of what to do with your presence and your hands and your experience and your trauma. But Amanda understood. Because of course she did. She knew what you’d been through and where you were coming from.

And she’d even smiled a bit mischievously, glancing down at your hands on the bar counter, and said, “Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m pretty good with my hands. I could always lend a finger or two.”

Maybe it was the little smirk on her face, the glint in her eye when she said it. Maybe it was the loneliness and then the sudden friendship. Or maybe you’d just been a little too buzzed, but her words had remained lodged in your mind as you tried to go to sleep that night.

Amanda had shared things about herself, too, in the time you’d spent together. It had taken a little longer for her to open up – she was a bit slower, a bit more cautious. She seemed a lot more eager to listen than to do the talking. And you couldn’t fault her for that. But eventually, you learned that she worked as a mechanic, knew a lot about fixing and building machines and shit like that. She had a pet guinea pig that she’d acquired entirely by accident. His name was Pigeon. Her favorite color was red, her favorite bands were Nine Inch Nails and Hole, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride. Her dad was a piece of shit she hadn’t seen in over a decade, and her relationship with her mom was strained at best. She was an only child.

You’d also learned more about her Jigsaw trap. How she’d become a drug addict in prison, how she’d woken up in a Jigsaw trap for it. How the little puppet with swirls on its cheeks had rolled out of the darkness on a tricycle and told her that she’d survived. And how she’d ended up in a trap a second time, a hellish prison of a house with several other people, most of whom had died.

The news had nearly brought your drink back into your throat. Lighting did strike twice after all. He did pick the same victims more than once.

God, maybe you really did need to quit smoking.

Amanda had placed her hand on your arm. Touch gentle but grounding all the same. And she’d assured you that that wouldn’t happen to you, Jigsaw wouldn’t choose you again. He had no reason to. She said it so confidently, and you so desperately wanted to believe her. That you wouldn’t be taken a second time. Or that she wouldn’t be taken a third. Not that she seemed too concerned about it.

That was the strange thing about her. When she told you about what had happened, she stared down at the counter. Her hands shook a little bit. The memory terrified her.

And yet…. she had this fixation on the idea that Jigsaw had helped her. The trap had gotten her off drugs. It had put her on a completely different path in life. Rather than dying from a drug overdose, she’d gotten clean. He saved me, she’d said, eyes wide and earnest and afraid.

You’d fought against the urge to argue that, to say No, he didn’t save you, he almost killed you. The idea of Jigsaw possibly helping – all while you struggled to sleep and were plagued by nightmares as you did, while you struggled to make your handwriting legible, while you fought the urge to bolt back home as soon as the sun started lowering in the sky? The idea felt like swallowing glass.

Had Jigsaw ever made anyone do that?

But you didn’t say any of that to her. People dealt with trauma in different ways. You supposed this was just her way of dealing with it. And it wasn’t really hurting anyone, so who were you to judge?

It certainly didn’t stop you from going to the bar with her regularly. It didn’t stop you from laughing with her, from getting close to her both emotionally and physically till the edge of your seats were almost touching and your arms were practically interlinked.

It didn’t stop the spark of warmth in your chest when she offered a genuine smile. Or the electric feeling that shot through your veins when she traced her fingers over your knuckles one night, after the conversation had lulled and your drinks had gone lukewarm.

“I wanna try something,” she said, voice soft enough that you would’ve missed it had you not been sitting so close your thighs were pressed together.

Eye contact right now would’ve been like staring into the sun. So instead, you stared at her hand on top of yours. Her knuckles were scratched up as if she’d gotten into a fight. “Sure,” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Amanda turned to you. You cautiously met her gaze. Christ, it really was like looking at the sun. Warm and beautiful but intense. Burningly intense.

Confusion turned to shock as Amanda hooked two fingers into the neck of your shirt and tugged you closer till her lips were hitting yours. You must’ve made a noise of surprise, because she drew away almost immediately. It was all you could do not to chase her and ask why did you stop? A small crease appeared between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth. And God for a second you thought she was going to apologize, when in fact she really didn’t need to because holy shit.

“Oh thank fuck,” you blurted. “You were flirting with me.”

Concern turned to surprise. Then Amanda laughed, the sound pure relief. “Yeah, I was. Did it take you that long to figure it out?” she teased.

“Uh.” Your face warmed. “Maybe.��

She grinned, then grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you again. Gentle but insistent. Her other hand curled around your nape. You didn’t know what the hell to do with your own hands until one curled around her back and the other ended up braced against the bar counter.

The bar counter. Right. You were very much in public. Sure, it was a queer bar, but it was still public.

So you reluctantly pulled away. Amanda looked confused for a moment before you said, “Hey, maybe we should… do this somewhere else?”

She blinked at you. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you off your seat. She dragged you past the other patrons and tables – it was a quieter night, so you didn’t have to fight through a sea of people – and pushed through one of the bathroom doors, yanking you in with her and locking the door behind you.

“There,” she said. There was a look to her eyes, a look that made your heart stumble and your entire body go warm. “We’re somewhere else.”

This time when she kissed you, you let her fully take the lead. You slid your arms around her and melted into the kiss, sighing against her. It just made her more eager. She prodded at your lips with her tongue, slipped inside with a sweet little moan that had your heart racing. Sent your head spinning. You backed up till you hit a wall, dragging Amanda with because fuck you weren’t breaking this kiss. Not as she was getting to know you with her teeth and her tongue. She tasted like alcohol and peaches, smelled of loam and sweat and faintly of men’s store-brand bodywash. It was heady, intoxicating. Addicting.

Her hands slipped under your shirt. You shuddered at the exposure to the overly air-conditioned bathroom. Shuddered harder at her warm touch roving across your skin, the slight drag of fingernails over your stomach. Amanda broke the kiss with a wet smack as your muscles tensed underneath her.

“You’re so cute,” she teased. She dragged her fingernails over your skin again with just a little more pressure. You arced into her touch. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished you could come up with some kind of response. Something to convey just how much you were aching for her, both emotionally and physically. How badly and how deeply these emotions were running through you. But words were currently beyond your grasp.

Amanda leaned in and nibbled at your neck as her fingers slid past your waistband and teased the edge of your underwear. You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip. Heat swirled through your veins, in your stomach, at the base of your spine. You moved your hips a little, just a little, to urge her on. Nails dug into the soft flesh there. A whimper escaped.

“Mandyyyyyyy.”

“Yeahhhhhhh?” She was all mischief and smugness as she looked back up at you. It just made you more desperate.

“Mandy. Please?” You gave her your best pleading look.

“You’re so impatient.” She said the words lightly, playfully. But she must’ve been impatient too, because she was pushing your underwear down. When her fingers brushed against your clit, you gasped and dropped your head back against the wall. Fuck, God, yes, right there –

“You sure you only just figured out I was flirting with you? You seem pretty fucking wet already.” She punctuated her words with a slide of her fingers against you. Because yeah, you were fucking wet. It would’ve been a little humiliating if you weren’t so achingly desperate for her touch.

“Yeah, well.” You drew in an unsteady breath as she circled your clit. A teasing touch that wasn’t quite enough. Fuck, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. “You’re just…. really fucking hot.”

It was hardly eloquent. But her breath puffed against your neck in a laugh. And you figured it would do for now.

She kissed the hollow of your throat, firmly rubbed her thumb against your clit. You practically bucked against her. Her other hand hooked under one of your thighs and lifted, and you threw your leg around her waist. Let out a moan at how it changed the sensation. “Yeah, like that,” Amanda breathed. “Just like that.” She said it as if you were touching her, as if she wasn’t the one doing all the work, wasn’t the one making you writhe and whimper and leak over her precise fingers.

Christ, you hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The pace was languorous, exploratory, testing what made you shiver and dig your nails into her shoulders and gasp for breath. As if she was intent on taking you apart and finding out exactly what got you going – a machine to figure out and put back together. Slowly, slowly, but in a way you savored, you felt the tension inside of you building up and coiling tight like a spring. You were quivering. Your clothes clung to your sweat-sheened skin. The music spilling into the bathroom from the bar wasn’t quite enough to cover the ragged breathing and wet, rhythmic noises, and it just made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Especially with how Amanda was panting against you, as if she was getting off just from you getting off and fuck it made you clench.

When she picked up the pace, you weren’t able to stop the gasps and moans that spilled out of you, the way you panted and pleaded her name. The sound of her fingers squelching against you had you burning. And when your release hit you cried out, clenching, shaking, clinging to Amanda’s shoulders and digging your nails in as you rode out the high. She didn’t stop, didn’t relieve the pressure against your clit. White hot pleasure burned through your body till tears pricked at your eyes. Distantly, she said something. Soft, sweet words that didn’t quite reach your ears as they rang from the intensity of your orgasm.

She only stopped when you went limp against her. Only pulled away from the mess you’d made – that she’d made too, really – to wrap her arms around your hips and kiss you, deep and slow, as if trying to commit you to memory. You lazily brushed your tongue against hers. Your muscles felt like taffy, worn out in the best way.

“You were right,” you said when you parted. “You really are good with your hands.”

Amanda grinned so widely and genuinely that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing her lips again. Fuck. You might’ve been a little bit in love. Or maybe that was the post-sex endorphins talking. You weren’t sure. You didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think I owe you an orgasm,” you said.

Amanda brushed her nose against yours. For the first time since you’d met her, she actually seemed truly, fully relaxed. As if she’d properly lowered her guard just now, just in this moment, just for you. “Maybe next date.” The words sent a flutter through your chest. Next date. There’d be a next date. “But first,” she said, moving away to grab some paper towels, “we gotta get you cleaned up.”

#ace writes #sfbf23 #amanda young #amanda young x reader #saw #notsft #not totally satisfied with how this turned out but fuck it we ball

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queers-gambit · 2 years

Note

Pls can I get something for billy cheating on his s/o and how he wojkd try to fix everything, if it could be fixed at all. I need angst with maybe a haply ending

i know i went on a whole thing about how eddie wouldn't cheat and XYZ, cool. but Billy? different thoughts are being thunk. okay, so, Billy cheating on his significant other? gotta be a legit reason 'cause that boy wouldn't risk it otherwise.

Cheating HCs

pairing: Billy Hargrove x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Stranger Things

warnings: uh, look, i know it's on my no-go list but this alludes to someone drinking too much and not remembering sleeping with someone, which, we all know, doesn't make someone in the mind to consent. so, just be aware of that going through this blurb. probably cursing, maturity advised.

so -

• you and B get in a massive fight that leaves you both going for the jugular. it's intense, it's messy, it's frightening.

• so he storms away 'cause he doesn't want to make it worse than it already was. you beg him not to go - to at least fight it out using words - but Bill's already grabbing his keys and shouldering his jacket.

• he definitely shows up at Tina's house party to blow off steam, words said and unsaid ringing in his ears.

• it's crazy suspicious that he's alone and almost instantly starts hammering beers. you don't show up and it's kinda assumed you guys broke up, or at least were in a fight.

• so, couple ladies make themselves known to him and things escalate. he isn't thinking straight, he's not sober, he doesn't feel like thinking beyond whatever's in front of him. he's angry, he's hurt, he actually felt like crying but his chest was too tight and frustration too high - so, he drank, and leaned into the attention given to him.

• he feels sick when the early morning wakes him up, stumbling to the bathroom and hurling the moment he saw messy, unfamiliar lovebites peppering his chest and chest.

• and your confusion grows because he won't pick you up for school like he always did. rain, shine, sleet, fight, no fight - Billy drove you. he didn't like the idea of you taking the bus but now you don't have a choice.

• he avoids you in school.

• he avoids you for days. you're not much better 'cause you're still angry but you're also confused because Billy doesn't often avoid you.

• so you'll linger at your locker a little but he never shows. you'll look for him in the lunch room, but he's never makes an appearance. when you get into class, he's sitting in the far corner, no seat around him saved and empty, which forces you to sit at the front of the class.

• you're angry, sure, but you're more sad now. you hated fighting, but B hated it more - so, you started to feel fucking guilty because you felt it was your fault he was so distant.

• your mind flashes back to the fight and you admit you were defensive, but so was Billy, and nothing was said that was overly concerning. at least, in your mind, it didn't warrant this kind of reaction.

• so your confusion leads you to his house. you're careful because of his father but Neil's car isn't in the driveway and Max is skating on the street. so, you push the redhead into admitting, "Billy doesn't want to see you."

• she looks sad when she admits it because she loves hanging out with you, but when Billy showed up home and had tears ringing his eyes, locking himself in his room, she knew something was up. B never tells her what, but he admits that he just can't see you right now - that he can't face you.

• so, when those words slip past her lips, your heart plummets.

• and Billy smokes more than before. chain smoking through packs a day, he's fucking wracked with guilt and doesn't know how to filter his thoughts.

• you don't wear make-up to school following that 'cause you're used to crying at random times. look, B's the greatest love you've known and Max' words cut you deeper than you realized - his avoidance of you wounding and to top it off, it felt like everyone was staring at you.

• you couldn't decipher their expressions until on the third day when the locker room was set ablaze with Stephanie Peabody gossiping loudly about how she hooked up with Billy that past weekend.

• you thought you were hearing wrong but then Tina's worried eyes found yours and she stuttered some response that confirmed the cheerleader's loud mouth.

• you stormed into the gym - without changing - and head straight for Billy. he looked confused by your determined step but when you got closer and the tears were clear, he knew you knew and didn't turn away when your hand rose to flatten across his cheek.

• you've never rose a violent hand to him - especially because of Neil - but your anger is tangible, and he knows it's the absolute least he deserves right now. you, on the other hand, are just blinded by betrayal that you don't think about your reaction.

• those who are present in the gym all gasp and 'oooh' at the sight before them. again, you hate fighting, B hates it more, it's literally next to never in public, so this was jaw-dropping to them.

• "i never thought it'd be you - never thought you'd stoop so low!"

• "baby, let's talk about this - "

• "talk about it!? i wanted to talk before - you decided to cheat on me! i-i never thought it'd be you who did this to me."

• "doll, listen, it's not - no, just - "

• "don't assume to speak to me again. you're fucking disgusting."

• Billy watches you storm away and shakes his head, desperately thinking in his mind what to do to make this better. you don't return to gym, and Billy doesn't see you the rest of the day.

• he doesn't see you the next day, either.

• it's like you're a ghost.

• but come Monday, you're back - but oh, my God, his heart plummets because you look, well... terrible. hair is tiredly tied or wrapped up, no make up, bags under your swollen eyes to indicate tearful, sleepless nights. you don't dress up, either, and wear a pair of sweatpants and regular white teeshirt.

• Billy tries to talk to you but you don't utter a single word. you silently load up your locker as Billy begs you to say anything to him, but you just close the door and turn to head for class.

• according to your friends (who you don't sit with at lunch due to Billy's mutual association), you don't show up at your club or sport that whole week. you don't show up in the cafeteria, either - afraid of the stares and murmurs.

• Billy has enough and shows up at your door two weeks after the "incident". your mom answers the door and coos at Billy, who's standing there with a thick bouquet of your favorite flower in his hands. she lets him in because you never had the balls to tell your parents what happened.

• you've thrown yourself into studying. your mind wouldn't let you focus on extra-curricular activities but schoolwork was doable. so you're sat crossed-leg on your bed, books spread around you, and barely glance up when there's a knock at your door.

• glancing at your bedside clock, you sigh and go back to writing. "it's not dinner time, Mom, what's up?"

• the door will open and someone shuffles in, a throat clears, and your pen jerks to a stop over the lined pages of your notebook. you'll sigh, shut your eyes for a moment, and then glare up at Billy.

• "get out."

• "hear me out - "

• "i don't need to hear shit from you, i know more than enough."

• "sweetheart," Billy sighs. "you deserve an apology."

• "i deserve a million dollars, but i won't get that, either."

• "i'm trying to apologize now."

• "i don't want it, cause you won't mean it," you sneer, throwing your pen down to the side. "who the fuck do you think you are, huh? some kind of God's gift to man? you pick a fight with me because i have to tutor Patrick in English - then storm away when i wanted to talk. i don't want to talk anymore, William, you made a decision to walk away from me, and obviously, into the arms of another woman. so, do me the favor of fucking off."

• your mom hears your elevated voice, but not your distinct words, and turns on the radio in the kitchen. Billy showed up with flowers, you've been home for two weeks, she knew he was apologizing for something and that you'd fight it out.

• "baby, i'm sorry," he begs. "please, i know i fucked up. but we can fix it - "

• "fix what? you shattered any trust we had. you wanna get back together, and then, what? every time we fight and you get mad, i can then agonize over where you are and who you're doing!?"

• it rages on, Billy trying to 'explain' as you're not hearing it. all you know is that he cheated and it hurt and you were now in the anger stage and you wanted him gone.

• your chest hurt and you were so confused, you were enraged, you had every emotion known to man flying through you while Billy stands there, eyes slowly turning red, begging you to give him a second chance.

• but how could you go back to him when the whole school knew he cheated? you'd try to mend it but the weight of society's opinions would chip away at the fragile state of your relationship.

• however, as an hour ticks by and you're still standing there, yelling at each other, Billy's finally telling you what happened. the anger he felt, the confusion, the sadness, the guilt - all spurring him to drink. then came the comments, the women, the drinks got heavier, and before he knew it, he was waking up and throwing up when he realized what happened.

• he admitted he didn't even remember seeing, let alone sleeping with Stephanie Peabody.

• it makes you go a little quiet, mulling over the situation and shaking your head. "i can't blame you for getting taken advantage of, but you still walked away from me. you went to Tina's, and you started drinking recklessly - instead of just talking to me."

• "and i don't regret anything more, baby, you gotta believe me. i'm sorry for walking away - and i'm sorry for whatever happened with Stephanie, but i'm so fucking sorry for how i made you feel."

• you felt a little less angry and a little more cautious, just nodding, "i need time."

• "anything you need," Billy promises. the flowers are set on your desk, your fingers fiddle with each other, and your eyes won't meet his. "i'll make it up to you."

• you'll sigh and nod, assuming he'd take your reluctant acceptance and go. and he did - but guess what?

• he's there with Max early the next morning, coming to your door, and asking if you'd like a ride. he acts like things aren't different, but he'll reserve his physical affection out of fear of rejection. he brought flowers this time, too, because he likes watching that little smile sprout over your lips as you try to suppress your excitement.

• he'll talk to you like normal, too. he maybe even convinces you to take lunch with him outside in the sunshine, content to listen to you give him a full rundown over some movie you had seen on TV the other night with your Dad.

• you know what? he brings you flowers every morning. he doesn't know what else to do, so, he'll spend a heft check at the florist and bring you something every morning.

• takes special maneuvering and planning with Max to keep Neil from damaging them.

• he's stuck to your side. won't wrap his arm around you like usual, but he's walking you places and keeping conversations light.

• and after a week of this, he's bucking up the nerve to ask you out again. you glare and ask, "what happened to giving me time?"

• "you can say no," he nods, "but i just... i thought we could go to that farmers market you like. always said you'd show me how to bake one of 'em peach pies, right?"

• and you sigh, a small smirk tugging on your lips, "it's a cobbler."

• "and they got that hand-churned ice cream," he taunted. "which, if i remember correctly, you said said was, 'like an orgasm in your mouth, but the kind you want.' think we could pick up a pint, have it with fresh, uh, cobbler?"

• "you're trying to butter me up with baking," i accused with a warning finger.

• "maybe," he shrugged. "or maybe i'm just ready to learn."

• you're suspicious now.

• "you're... ready to learn how to bake?" he nods. "why? getting you in the kitchen with me is like pulling teeth."

• he nods again, "just realized that i'd do anything to put a smile on your face, so," he sighs dramatically, "yeah, if you'd let me, i'll take you out and learn to bake."

• he's helpless in the kitchen but holy shit - was it a good time.

• it leads into fucking WEEKS of Billy taking you out every Friday - and never making a move past stretching his arm around your shoulders at the drive-in.

• if you wondered if he wanted to date anyone else, it was silently answered by his persistence to date you. bastard picks you up, drops you home, encourages you back into your daily activities, and takes you out every Friday before visiting you at work on Saturday's.

• if nothing, Billy's persistent. he knows a big, grand gesture isn't the way to earn your trust back - it's a slow process that he's uncharacteristically patient through.

• patient, persistent, and headstrong.

• when he hears that Jason Carver was thinking about asking you out, he's bullying the boy over in basketball practice, and like he once did with Steve Harrington, offering his hand. when the other boy clasps his hand in Billy's, he tightening his grip and tugging Jason closer to hiss in his ear, "ask them out, and you and i are gonna have a real problem."

• he's determined to be the only man in your life.

• obsessive? a bit. but Billy feels justified because he's never met someone like you, and the idea of you being with anyone else send his stomach to his feet.

• about 9 weeks after the "incident", Billy's got you out at the quarry again - leaning back on his car's hood and sharing a lazy joint. thing was, he'd weaseled his way into my heart and even though he shattered it, he was patient in piecing it all together again.

• he's quiet for a time, one arm bent behind his head as the other rests against his stomach to accept and pass the joint to and from you. but he needs to know, "do you hate me?"

• you're confused, "hate you?"

• "for what i did?"

• you're quiet for a moment before nodding, "i thought i did. but i don't think i could hate you, even if i tried to. yeah, you fucked up, but you're making it up."

• "i am?"

• you giggle, "yeah, i think so."

• he'll nod and look up to the sky before asking breathlessly, "can i kiss you?"

• "i think that'd be okay."

• he smirked at you before pushing onto his side; hand now keeping his head up as the other reaches to pinch your jaw, pressing forward slowly until his lips locked with yours.

• it's slow. slower than he'd ever usually let it get, but he's fucking ecstatic on the inside because shit - he's missed this.

• after a lazy make-out session, Billy's pulling back to look in your eyes. his lips will pucker to drop over the tip of your nose, your lips stretch in a familiar smile, and he's asking, "be mine again, baby, please. i'm sorry for what happened, and i'm going crazy without you."

• "all right - "

• "really?" he gasped, looking honestly shocked.

• "yeah, i mean... you've really proven yourself these past few weeks. but if something like this ever happens again, Billy, i swear to God - "

• he'll press his lips to yours again, pulling away to mutter, "don't ever gotta worry about that, baby. never walking away from you again."

• oh, and you beat the shit outta Stephanie Peabody. positively wrecked her shit.

author's note i implore you all to read:

Cherry wants you ALL to know that no matter how they beg, and plead, promise to change, and try to deflect the issue at hand - you do not ever deserve to deal with a significant other who cannot provide the love, respect, encouragement, growth, and support you deserve. i have personally always thought cheating was simply unacceptable because it's not hard to NOT fucking cheat. every person is different and all relationships function on their own merit, but if you have doubts or anxiety or feelings of discomfort regarding the relationship you're in, i implore you: DO NOT write off that feeling. your comfort, safety, and healing is all that matters.

i love you all 🖤

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove headcanon #billy hargrove x you #billy hargove imagine #billy stranger things #billy hargove x reader #stranger things #stranger things imagine #stranger things x reader #billy hargrove angst

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slytherinlesbians · 7 months

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Whumptober 2023, Day 29: "What happened to me?"

fandom: criminal minds | characters: spencer reid (centric), derek morgan, jennifer jareau, aaron hotchner | ship: none | trigger warnings: past addiction, gunshot wound | content: spencer is shot on a case, pain relief used in the hospital brings up bad feelings, team as a family, dad!hotch | word count: 888.

Spencer comes to slowly. His brain feels thick with fog, like he can’t form a clear thought. His mouth feels like it’s full of cotton, his head heavy. He blinks a couple of times before he realizes there are other people in the room. He blinks another couple of times before he realizes what the room even is - he’s in the hospital.

“‘S happening?” he mumbles lethargically. Morgan, sitting next to his bedside, jumps.

“Kid! I didn’t realize you were awake! You good?”

“Uh…” Spencer says, swallowing a few times, trying to get his bearings. “Thirsty?”

“I got you,” Morgan says, leaning over to the bedside table and pouring a glass of water. He helps Spencer sit up - his whole body feels like it weighs a ton - and helps him sip the water. As he lays back down, a significant wave of exhaustion hits him.

“Wha’ happened t’ me?” he asks. He falls back asleep before he gets his answer.

When he wakes next, it’s dark outside. JJ is at his bedside, and Morgan and Rossi are standing at the end of the bed, talking softly. JJ is watching him, and she gives him a small smile.

“Hey, Spence, welcome back.”

“Jayje,” Spencer mutters, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as best he can. “Where’d I go?”

She laughs quietly. “Sorry, nowhere. I just meant you’ve been asleep for a while.”

“Happened?” he asks. It takes incredible effort to ask such a simple question. She sighs.

“You were stabbed, sweetheart. You passed out before the medics arrived, but you got through surgery fine. You just need to rest now.”

“Oh,” he says. “‘M tired.”

“Yeah, you will be for a while,” she says sympathetically. “You take as long as you need, okay? We’re not going anywhere.”

He strains himself for a moment to look up at the end of his bed where Morgan and Rossi stand.

“Where’s…” he struggles for a moment to put the pieces together, but JJ does so for him.

“Emily and Hotch just went for a walk to get some food. They’ll be back soon.”

Things get fuzzy again after that - he doesn’t remember what he says in response to JJ, or whether he says anything at all. The next time he opens his eyes, he aches all over. The pain is dull and throbbing and he trembles in bed. He must moan or say something, because he squints to see Hotch spin around from talking seriously to two people he doesn’t recognise - doctors.

“It’s okay Reid,” he says soothingly. “You’ll be okay in a moment.”

“It… hurts,” he gasps, and he has no idea where the pain is coming from, only that it’s everywhere and his skin feels like it’s on fire. He's so hot. He’s drenched in sweat, and Hotch comes over to push his hair back off his head.

“I know,” Hotch says, something in his voice Spencer can’t quite place. “It won’t soon, Spencer. It’ll be over soon.”

A nurse comes over and takes Spencer’s arm. Something flits across Hotch’s face - regret? Spencer can’t tell, everything hurts too much. The nurse produces a needle and injects it into Spencer’s arm. The relief is almost instant. He slips back into sleep easily.

The next time he wakes up, it’s still dark, and he feels… good. Really good. Pleasant, even. Is he still in the hospital? It all feels very nice, truly. Like he’s floating. A little euphoric. A little bit like…

The recognition of the feeling hits Spencer with full force, slamming into his chest. He gasps and sits up, dizzy and hazy as ever. Emily and JJ sit on one side of him, Hotch on the other. All three look at him with the exact same expression, somewhere between sympathy and pain.

“I’m - they gave me - why didn’t you tell them-,” he still feels so foggy and distant, he can barely string three words together. He slumps back against his pillows and looks at Hotch, who shuts his eyes for a second and wipes a tired hand over his face.

“Give us a moment,” he says to Emily and JJ, who nod and take their leave. Once the door is shut behind them. Spencer tries again.

“I’m - on something,” he says, stilted. The words feel ugly in his mouth. His lower lip trembles, and he presses them together to stop himself from bursting into embarrassing tears in front of his boss. “What did they give me?” he whispers.

“Morphine,” Hotch says quietly. “I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“It’s - in my records. That I don’t-,”

“I know. But I’m your medical proxy, and you couldn’t keep pushing through the pain without it. You burnt through all the other stuff and you-,” Hotch inhales uncharacteristically shakily. “I didn’t have a choice, Spencer. I am so sorry. We can talk about it more when you’re a little better, but please, don’t strain yourself now. Please. Just rest.”

“I-,” Spencer chokes, wrapping the blanket around him tighter. He wants to sink into it. He wants to disappear. Even his fuzzy, drugged up brain can understand why Hotch did what he did. But the irrational part of him is beginning to panic.

“I don’t want it,” is all he can manage without sobbing.

“I know,” Hotch says tiredly. “I know, Spencer. I’m sorry.”

#whumptober2023 #no.29 #“what happened to me?”#criminal minds #fanfiction #addiction tw #gunshot wound tw #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #the bau

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drawmanations · 6 months

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Tagged by @cyanichexanthine a while ago to list 9 favourite characters (ty for tagging me). This is very much late, my brain was just blanking. So, here's the list. It's in no particular order, apart from the first two

Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)

You gotta expect Rick to be in here. RnM is my main fandom right now, and of course Rick would be a favourite character. He's sarcastic, snarky, an asshole and has a lot of emotional baggage.

I wouldn't say he's too complex, but definitely not simple.

2. Rick Prime (Rick and Morty)

Prime is very interesting. We somehow get so much information with how little time we have. Although, most of it may be headcanonning. Tbh, I think that's why he's fun, we can headcanon Prime bc of how little screentime he has when you step back and look at the series as a whole.

Of course, we do know a lot about him from what we were shown. Like he's also a snarky asshole who likes to toy with other people and mess with them. Even when he was dying he could still get under Rick's skin.

3. Louise Belcher (Bob's Burgers)

Louise has that kind of chaotic energy I vibe with. I think she and Bob are two of the best characters in the show, though that's not saying the other characters are worse.

4. Peril (Wings of Fire)

Peril is a very complex character with a very fucked up past.

When she was young, her mother was forced to give her to Scarlet, where she was then forced to grow up as a killer. Scarlet was very much abusive and she was isolated from everyone and everything.

Because of that path, everyone sees her as a killing machine and nothing more. Her attachment to Clay is unhealthy because of him being the only dragon to hear her our and see her for who she is, a traumatized dragon who only knows how to kill because of how she was raised. And I guess her having firescales and him having fireproof saes helps with that.

I like Peril because of how complex she is. And I hate how some of the fandom is victim blaming her.

5. Ex-Queen Scarlet (Wings of Fire)

She's a villain. A queen. She slays. Scarlet is my favourite villain in wof. Her design with the melted face is awesome, I really love her sadistic attitude too, bc off course I do.

I would strangle Scarlet lovingly

6. Steve Harrington (Stranger Things)

Mom Steve is all I have to say, and the fandom will get me. (I think... I'm not in the stranger things fandom, I just watched the show).

At first, I hated Steve, I thought he was an asshole and I watched to punch him. Now, if he dies, I will punch my TV. I've never switched so quickly with my liking for a character between two seasons of a show. I think... idk I don't watch many shows.

7. Jim Hopper (Stranger Things)

Jim is a cold and distant person turned adopted parent and I love him for that.

I also thought I would hate him. He seemed like lazy dude who would do nothing during the case. (Fun fact, I thought all the adults would be clueless and I would only like the kids, since most shows are like that). But he actually steps up in a big way.

I was worried that they would fuck him up in season 3 with him trying to break up Mike and Eleven. But, they made up for it, and I cried at the end of season 3.

I love him and Steve sm. Pls don't die.

8. Clive (Littlebigplanet 2)

Okay, this may be a bit weird, but hear me out.

This man is the best character in lbp2. He's so fucking depressed and I love him. Clive and his world are my favourite in LBP2.

9. Bob Belcher (Bob's Burgers)

Best cartoon dad, hands down. He's so chill and actually pays attention to his kids. Plus he isn't rude, offensive or a baby waiting for his wife to clean up after him. He's just a dad trying to do his job while also having 3 (if Tina counts) chaotic kids.

One of my favourite characters in Bob's burgers, fr.

That's the list. Idk who to tag so uh-...

👍

#rick and morty #wings of fire #bob's burgers #stranger things #lbp2 #rick sanchez #rick prime #steve harrington #jim hopper #bob belcher #louise belcher #peril wof #scarlet wof

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scenetocause · 7 months

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Twenty Questions for Fic Writers 💫

i got tagged by @verycoolwearsleather and now i have to pretend i have a writing process haha

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

it says 52 but there's actually a lot more due to orphaning/anon-ing things.

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

345,519 but again i'm not sure how much tha's counting

3. What fandoms do you write for?

gross f1 twinks

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

just telling it like it is (lando/maxv)

pretty sure this is just cus it's the oldest fic i have since the account reboot because it absolutely does not merit being anywhere near the top 10 lol it's just a 5+1 about other mando being obvious (it's anon'd cus i got bored of a load of my fics and didn't want them as part of the emptyhalf canon anymore)

every colour illuminates (george/lando)

for something i started writing offhand cus some of my friends were saying there should be more trans men in f1 fic, this one sure grew legs. i'm still insanely moved by the comments it gets and the way it seemed to resonate with people. i'm not sure i can really convey how dumb i actually am in a way that'd make people believe me but i really did just write this on vibes and it's one of the things i can say i'm genuinely glad i did. idk, it's just queer porn really but maybe we need more of that.

(i) just wanna get a little bit closer (mando)

you know i don't even think this is close to my best mando fic (personal choice is no plans of staying on) so there's no accounting for taste and you absolutely should practice death of the author or whatever. anyway, it's mando cohabitation era boundary breakdown stuff where they fuck and then go on a date about it.

shoreline i see when i'm off course (loscar, mando)

people rly are thirsty for a/b/o huh. how'd this little fic get into the top five so quickly?

the usual, upside down (alex/george/lando)

literally THEE most head empty omegaverse threesome fic in history y'all are horny as fuck. it literally only got written bc george did some dumb insta post where he called lando and alex his mates and also then was walking around looking horny af in the black fireproofs and mask when he stood in for lewis. there is NO nutritional content here even by the fast food standards of emptyhalf fic.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i uh. i should. i would like to but my brain is quite severely broken. i do read them all and i bookmark a lot in open tabs to come back to and reply to because they mean a lot but then i have 6000 tabs open and no executive function.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

we don't do that here. i guess maybe if you dig into the far distant past then it was probably i'm not just a fuck up, i'm the fuck up you love which is 18k words of jev not really getting over daniel that ends on a sort of optimistically blasted-open note.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

most of them are happy but probably actually pick me up, no headlights where george and max end up with their weird little family worked out and the kids are doing well, y'know

8. Do you get hate on fics?

no i don't think enough people read them to beef me lol

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

hahahaha oh yea. i like to think i write something along the lines of realistic queer sex, with the way that means it's mostly kind of funny and sometimes awakward and isn't elegant or arch or even particularly romantic except that you're getting to do it with the person you do it with. writing lando and oscar being straight with each other, even if it's in a cringe fail way, made me realise i really do not write straight people and i feel a bit like one of those painfully hetero actors who does a gay kissing scene and talks about how they had to get themselves in the mindset by watching the l word or whatever haha. what do straight people do? who are they?

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

i was gonna say no but then i remembered i wrote logan and oscar going ghosthunting and being kinda pass-agg horny about it because. idk? logan gave me ryan bergara vibes.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i think someone reposted some of mine awhile ago and it got dealt with before i really knew anything about it idk

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

i don't know tbh. someone made a podfic of one of my fics a way back.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

yeah i used to do that quite a lot but now. i am a lone wolf. (too perverse for other people's minds)

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

jenson/lewis but society has never been ready for this

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i don't. i don't wanna let doubt enter into it but my daniel goes to fe fic is up against a number of the dark souls boss level demons in my own brain 😔

16. What are your writing strengths?

uh. i uh. i can write on my phone? i have a relaxed attitude to whether what i write is any good at all? i don't actually think i really have any.

people quite often say i have a lot of emotional intelligence in my fics which is very funny to me because i am a deeply unemotionally intelligent person so idk how that's happened really.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

look we could be here all day.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i guess it has never bothered me so long as the reader could be reasonably expected to work out the meaning from the context.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

cardcaptor sakura (i was 14)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

hmmm. in terms of thinking it's like, good or whatever it's probably don't say no or you'll have to go, the fucked up valtteri/george mutual seat envy/horror of being compared to lewis hamilton thing. or really, it's an old spy au fic called ten seconds before sunrise that i deleted ages ago so: sorry about that.

but favourite is probably some dumb mando shit or i have extreme recency bias so maybe logan and oscar go ghosthunting or whatever. oh wait, no, it's genders maxy the how-to-find-your-identity-post-racing-in-your-pussy treatise that was born of crack but ended up. no, it's still crack. anyway, classic emptyhalf shit tbh.

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venus-giirl · 2 years

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Yuji Itadori- Breeding Kink

Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen

Yuuji Itadori x fem reader (Nsfw).

Pairing: boy x reader.

CW: reproductive kink, dirty talk, overstimulation play, Itadori being too Soft, mentions of pregnancy and parenting.

Words count: 1771.

N/A: Sorry, Itadori gives me so many soft, lovey-dovey boyfriend vibes with his partner that I couldn't think of anything other than that, but deep down he has a big dominant part (not counting Sukuna, of course). I feel like I was left wanting to write more but here it is. Sorry for the possible mistakes, today the tiredness is killing me.

Itadori had a serious problem to which he had to add the frustration of a frustrated college student at exam time. For almost two whole months, the boy had to stick his nose in his books if he wanted to pass the semester, or at least you forced him to do his homework properly. If it weren't for you that boy would be going from party to party instead of digging his elbows in to get a decent grade.

After those horrible, stress-filled weeks were over, he was ready to spend the rest of the vacations clinging to you like a little puppy dog to its mother.

And he saw you just like that, as a mother figure. In fact you were the mom of the group. Countless times you had saved Nobara when he didn't know what outfit was the best for a fun night out and you lent him some clothes, or when Gojo forgot to bring condoms in case he wanted to...anyway. And Itadori admired you so much for that, falling madly in love with you.

After arriving at the cafeteria Itadori jumped out in search of you, eager to tell you how well his exams had gone.

"T/n, T/n!!!" he shouts as soon as you pass the door frame of the cafeteria, some people turned their heads at such voices.

"Hey, bro!" greets Todo "if you're looking for T/n he's not here yet, apparently he has his last exam right now and just barely finished leaving."

Itadori lowers his smile into a puppy pout "But it's already six in the evening, he's supposed to be done by now."

"Don't be whiny, besides, she already told you she would finish late, since she had exams in the afternoon this semester, instead of the morning." Nobara growls, bringing the steaming coffee to her lips.

"What can I do then? I was planning on snacking with her when we were done, but by the time I'm done it'll be too late and you'll be exhausted."

"Oh well then let me enlighten you." Nobara puts her hand to her chin, ready to blurt out your great idea "Go home and run her a nice bubble bath and set up the room with a nice romantic atmosphere, us girls like those details, I'm telling you, I'm best friends with T/n and I know her tastes."

"Yes, but not more than me" replies Itadori.

"Uh-huh..."

"Fine then, I'll do that to please her." Itadori's smile flashes at the idea. It's not like she'd never had that kind of detail with you before, but after two months of not touching you it was her perfect opportunity to let off some proper steam, and she'd had an idea in mind for far too long.

The boys watch Itadori walk away almost running away at the speed of light.

"Will T/n survive what's in store for him?" questions Megumi in a whisper.

"Not if he slips in the bathtub first and breaks a limb." She blurts out Gojo in a huff.

"Gross." They all say in unison.

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The keys jingle as you pull them out of your pocket and a second later the apartment lock clicks, indicating that you have safely opened the door. As soon as you enter you take off your jacket "Baby, are you home?" you say as you walk into the kitchen, rounding the small island to open the door to the living room. The clock read past eleven o'clock at night.

"Here I am, baby." His distant voice indicated he was in your room.

"What are you doing at this hour and why aren't you sleep-" Your voice was interrupted by his tempered hand, silencing anything you had to say.

"Sh, sh, sh, sh, don't growl anymore" he says in an apologetic smile. "We're done with our exams so just relax and listen." You nod your head to indicate to him that you were attentive to what he had to tell you, breathing with some difficulty through your nose.

"I've prepared a surprise for you, come." He gently pulls his hand away to take yours and pull you into the room.

You make your way into the room and look at the bed with wonder and surprise in your eyes. The boy had spent what was left of the evening to set the mood and decorate the bed with candles on the nightstands and some rose petals strewn across the sheets.

"Itadori, you didn't have to do this for me, honey. I'm sure you'll be very tired too." You turn to him, stroking his pecs as you look up at him with slightly guilty eyes. Your heart leapt with joy at how special your boyfriend had been to want to pamper you and take care of you for tonight, but on the other hand, you held back knowing that he was also tired and needed to get some rest.

"Easy my girl, this is for both of us, so let's enjoy each other together for the whole night, will you do that for me?". He begs bringing your hands to his mouth to kiss them slowly as he looks at you. "You're freezing, what a fool I was not to come pick you up." He moves on to kiss your knuckles, biting them a little.

"Oh no, my love, I'm fine now that I'm with you." You lean in looking deep into his eyes, capturing his attention with the nickname that so melts him.

"Fuck...I can't take it anymore." A hissing sound rings out, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss and without being begged he thrusts his tongue in as far as he can.

Itadori squeezes your hips and begins to guide you backwards towards the bed in stumbling, sloppy steps without breaking the kiss at any single moment. You grab onto his back as you feel yourself falling backwards without any support and pull Itadori along with you, crashing both of you into the softness in a thud.

You lift his hoodie eagerly to see his body and he does the same with his shirt, freeing your bra-less breasts.

"Fuck...don't tell me you went to the exam without a bra...oh, baby, you're so hot." Silva biting her lips as she eats your breasts with her eyes.

"Shut up and don't make me wait." You reply feeling your juices overflowing down your already wet panties. It was so amazing the ability Itadori had to turn you on like a misto and get you wet with almost no need to do anything.

The smell of the cologne you gave him for his birthday and the slight hint of body sweat made your nostrils flutter inhaling his scent. This man drove you so crazy.

"Yes, my lady." Itadori rips your pants from your waistband along with your panties and throws them somewhere unimportant in the room, then does the same releasing his aching erection.

"Love, I don't care what you had planned to do, but please fuck me now, I can't wait for you to be inside me...". You see stars as he settles between your legs, aligning his shaft against your center and with one thrust he inserts himself deep inside you. You cry out in relief. You'd almost forgotten how well this boy stretches you when he's inside you.

"Just what...I...wanted." He moans, starting to give you a few slow lunges so you can get used to him.

"Did you need it so badly, my love?"

"Yes..." He hisses in pleasure "I so needed to be so deep in you." Itadori begins to work magic with his hips and moves in the way he knows you like best. Her hips gyrate looking for your sweet spot without waiting a few more seconds.

You wanted to carry out what you had read a few weeks ago when, instead of studying, you rambled on your cell phone looking for something that had been troubling your mind and needed answers, even asking good old Megumi for her opinion.

Your eyes sparkle as you feel it deep inside you, too deep, pressing a new button that made your back arch and your eyes squeeze shut letting out a deep moan of insatiable pleasure, generating a tingle in your lower belly.

"There it is love, I just touched your cervix" he again delivers a few thrusts in the same spot and your mouth opens in an O-shape from the constant pleasure.

"Where...mmh...have you...have you learned...e...that..." you say interrupted by each lunge and moan escaping your lips.

Itadori doesn't respond concentrating on your own pleasure and his, the head of his cock was pounding the new warm bulge he just unlocked, being so sorry he didn't realize sooner how much he could feel if he concentrated just a little more.

"Deeper, aa...love, I want to fill you so.... thoroughly with my cum." He grunted increasing his thrusts. "I want to fill you until I . overflow.... and get you pregnant." You groan in response and your skin crawls with goose bumps at the words of a newly unlocked Itadori. I've never spoken in such ways before, let alone to confess all that to you.

"See how well you take me, princess, promise me you'll take my entire orgasm in your womb?". You roll your eyes as his thumb caresses in circular motions your clit.

"Yes.. Yuuji...I will do whatever you want..."

"That's my girl, you are so...good to me." Your hips start to waver and move carelessly. You already feel how she was about to climax and you were too close too.

Yuji lowers his back to kiss your lips in a passionate and tender kiss of love. You were in heaven with him so deep inside you, fucking you so good and so deep, showing that new reproductive side of him.

"Love I'm going to..." You say no longer holding the knot in your belly.

"Shh love...I can't hold on either..." he couldn't finish his sentence as the walls of your womb suck his head and you reach the peak of your orgasm as he touches your cervix again, your rubbery, velvety walls contracting in heartbeats over his length pulling him into his orgasm as well.

His grunt echoes throughout the room along with a few babbles of your name. You feel thick strips spread filling to the bottom of your womb with a soft warm sticky mass that disperses until you feel it dripping down your ass and dripping down the bed. Itadori had stuffed you to the bottom.

"Holy shit, baby, that was amazing." He comes down to give you a quick kiss, biting your bottom lip as he pumps his slickness next to yours so he doesn't waste any of it.

"Itadori." You say after a few seconds realizing what had just happened.

"Yes?" he hums in a sigh of love as he looks at you a little too pleased.

"Tell me you put on a condom."

"Oops...I forgot." He says as he bites his tongue throwing you a wink.

"ITADORII."

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darkhymns-fic · 7 months

Text

Pilgrimage

Lloyd had never seen Colette's grandmother, who she goes to visit everyday and bring food. It is only when the wolf decides to follow the girl, dressed always in her red riding hood down a long and winding path in the woods, that he finally realizes… [Werewolf AU]

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters/Pairing: Colette Brunel/Lloyd Irving, Phaidra Brunel Rating: T Word Count: 5599 Mirror: AO3 Notes: A special treat for Halloween, where I decide to visit this AU once again! Visit AO3 for previous chapters of this story. May or may not have some spooks.

It's autumn again, when Colette comes to see him.

For the past few months, Lloyd found himself needing to keep moving through the forest, no longer keeping to one cave or a small glade. He was being tracked—even when he wasn't entirely sure by whom. Sometimes he thinks it's that same huntsman, who had held a gun over his knees, finger over the trigger, watching him with caution. He'll hear a familiar step over the dead leaves before he rushes away, hoping to evade another encounter.

Even if the man’s eyes no longer seemed distant or cold. But Lloyd didn’t feel like speaking with him yet. Some other time, he would think, rushing off to somewhere else so he could be alone.

Sometimes, usually at night, he thinks he’s being tracked by the bear named Mithos. He hasn't heard sounds, anything at all. But at certain moments, when the moon is full, or the night was unnaturally quiet, he would feel something. A shadow, a cold shiver in his spine, one that makes him run even faster until his lungs hurt. Those are the days he couldn’t really stand still, or even really sleep. He would prowl among the brush, searching and waiting, searching and waiting.

And then, the hollow, empty feeling would leave. But such nights happened too often now.

It was different with Colette. With her footsteps, which always landed over the fallen leaves carefully, as if afraid she would crush them too harshly, Lloyd would catch a scent. Sometimes it was of the food she was carrying, other times it was of the lavender in her hair.

He couldn't run away from that. He'd just run towards it instead.

Lloyd found Colette leaning against a tree, tracing the intertwined roots beneath with her left shoe. A thought briefly lit up in his head, one to surprise her with a tiny growl and his hands reaching for her own. His tail thumped against the ground as he waited behind her, but before he could do anything, Colette leapt from her spot and jumped right into the brush. Her hands found the sleeves of the jacket he wore, fingers tracing upward.

"Ha! Caught you!"

Lloyd blinked before he gave a little snicker, revealing sharp teeth. "Hey, no fair! I was about to get you first!"

"You're getting sloppy then." Colette smiled as she tugged at something around his neck, a little chiming sound echoing around them. "I know the sound your collar makes. I’m surprised you’re still wearing it.”

Sometimes Lloyd forgot he was still wearing the small gift from her. It was of red leather, clasped around his throat when she brought him home one day, In case you get lost! He had never really understood the logic, but he wanted to keep her happy and wore it with no complaints. He looked down, watching Colette press the shiny tag with her thumb.

“Guess I’ve gotten used to it,” Lloyd said with a shrug. Then he leaned down to kiss her, as he always did when she came to see him. A gentle brush against her lips, no longer as worrying or shy as before. The lavender scent was even stronger the closer he was to her, his hand reaching up to cradle her cheek.

She kissed him back, feeling her fingertips at his neck—but it ended too quickly. She pulled back, looking towards her right briefly before she smiled again. “Sorry. I didn’t bring any extra food with me this time. I only have enough for my grandmother when I go see her later. Father was around the house today so I couldn’t sneak in another helping.”

“Oh, uh, that’s fine. I already feel full from the last meal you gave me.” Lloyd raised an eyebrow. “Is…everything alright?”

“Yep!” Colette had said that way too quickly, but already she was taking his hand, further past the trees into the glade. The sun’s rays couldn’t push through the boughs overhead, the leaves still hanging on despite their gold and orange colors. It was dim, with the occasional spider web blocking their path, but Colette would simply avoid those, pointing at an orbweaver or two, fascinated by their patterns.

On their walk, she avoided his eyes, and her grip on his hand was tight.

“Here seems nice,” Colette said, taking a seat on the grass. Her red cloak spread among the leaves behind her, like a shimmering crimson lake. She also put down her basket to her left, but it was as she said. She had brought no food, and though Lloyd was a little disappointed, it’s not like he was starving.

She patted the leaf pile next to her. “Sit!”

Lloyd tilted his head at her. “You’re doing that thing again. Where you think I’m a dog.” But he obeyed, quickly sitting himself next to her, his tail brushing aside the leaves.

“Oh, whoops,” Colette said, pushing aside a lock of her hair over her ear. “It must be because of the collar.”

Still, he noticed she wouldn’t look at him—not unless she needed to. Her hands fidgeted with each other, and her eyes kept shifting to the trees. Was she nervous about him? Or about this part of the forest?

He knew something that could help.

Lloyd moved a little closer, and then put his head right into her lap. “Whoops. Maybe I’m a dog after all…” His tail wagged rapidly. “I want some pets!”

If this had been a few months ago, he would have been embarrassed. Well, he still kinda was, but he had to admit that Colette was way too good at petting…

He got the expected reaction from her. Now she was all smiles, laughing cutely as she began stroking his ear and rubbing his furry pointed ears. “Aw, Lloyd! You’re so cute when you’re like this! Of course I’ll pet you.”

Success! But, her pets also made him a little sleepy. With a great yawn, he made himself a bit more comfortable over her knees, feeling her relaxing strokes. “Mmhmm….”

The glade was dim, but he felt what few rays of the sun continued to shine down. Bits of warmth against the chill breeze. The occasional pockets of birdsong around them. The scent of Colette’s hair.

She continued to pet him, to play with his hair, her fingers sometimes reaching to caress his cheek. She had never been afraid of him, of his claws that he dug a little against the grass, or his fangs that she must have felt in their kiss.

Her petting slowed. He could hear a soft stutter in her throat. She was still worried about something.

"Will you always be here?" Colette asked him, fingers running through his hair. "In the forest?"

Lloyd tried to keep himself awake, but her pets were always so soothing. His eyelids came dangerously close to lowering. "Huh… Y-yeah. It's just easier for me being here." Maybe she was going to ask him to stay in town again, but she should know it was still a bit impossible for him…

"Um, that's not exactly what I mean." Colette traced patterns across his scalp; the shapes of stars, of spirals, of little animal faces. "Just…will you be here five years from now? Ten? Or….will you have to leave someday?"

Lloyd blinked, suddenly more wide awake. He looked up at Colette's face, and even from the awkward angle, he could see her worried expression. In the way her lips pressed firm, in the way her eyes seemed so far away.

"Colette, what are you talking about?"

Cruel of him to ask, when he half-suspected, he realized.

She paused before speaking again. "You've been wandering more and more lately. I've noticed." Her fingers rubbed against his ear. "And going farther… like you're running from something."

Lloyd waited. How had she noticed? Then he remembered that Colette was one of the few people who knew these woods more than most. She had found him so easily, after all. How she came upon a scared shaking thing in the forest, so happy to offer him food.

"If it's Mr. Kratos, I can talk with him. I can tell him it's okay. I think…I think he's just worried about you, that's all."

His hand reached to find hers, interlacing their fingers. "It's not just him."

Colette may have seen the bear that night, but she had no idea how much it wanted to tear at her throat.

How much it pushed Lloyd to do the same.

“Lloyd?” The hood of her red cloak bundled up around her neck. Maybe it was the dim lighting, or the way his mind was still fuzzy from her touch, but, if he let his mind play tricks…

It would have almost looked like blood on her skin.

“There’s things out there that you don’t know about,” he whispered. “I’m just…watching out for them.”

And leading them away, if he needed to.

“I’m not going anywhere though, I promise.” He tried to give her an easy-going smile, brushing his tail against her knees as he looked up at her. Still, he saw the small worry lines at the corner of her eyes, even in the dimness. Her hands stilled within his hair, no longer stroking or petting.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” she said, her voice softer. “If you’re afraid of something, I want to help you. Won’t you let me?”

Lloyd had to do all he could to not deny it outright. He couldn’t let Colette be in danger again.

He couldn’t let Mithos find her again. The bear was slow. It always lumbered through the woods, even with no sound, leaving no tracks behind. But on most nights, Lloyd could feel that creature near.

He reached up to take the hand that has been petting it, clasping it tight. “I know. But, it’s okay. Like I said, I’m not going anywhere.”

And when Colette finally smiled back, maybe, he realized, he was getting better at lying now. Because he knew couldn’t keep throwing off the bear forever. He knew that one day, it was going to find him again. And anyone that happened to be too close to him.

I’ll protect Colette, he thought to himself. Even if it means leaving her.

—

However, Lloyd couldn’t follow his own advice sometimes.

When Colette finally left the glade, waving to him goodbye and going down the same forest path she always took every day, Lloyd decided to see where she went. He had never really done so before, too anxious and skittish in those earlier days, of both her and the huntsman that would occasionally appear by Colette’s side.

And the only other instance had been on that night, when he felt the bear so close, when it had been hunting Colette down.

Maybe, if he followed her now, he could still protect her from anything that got too close. That was his excuse as he moved through the brush, astounded at the steep slopes that Colette walked on, and through dark thickets. He had to be careful, aware of Colette’s good hearing, so he didn’t crinkle any fallen leaves or step on any twigs. It’s what he learned after all these years when hunting, to stalk and slink through the brush until he was ready.

Though, if someone were to see him now, they would think he was hunting Colette…

Soon, she arrived at her destination—a small, lone church made from stone. It was perched on the top of a hill, embedded against the cliffside. Lloyd had never seen it before, which was surprising. He had lived in these woods for as long as he could remember, yet had never stumbled upon this place.

But why was there a church that was so far from town? Lloyd couldn’t imagine most people would walk this far just to pray.

Who would they even pray to? he also had to wonder. He felt he should know but couldn’t remember…

The hillside had another path to climb on, one that Colette went to with little hesitance despite how easy it looked to trip over. Lloyd watched nervously as she occasionally stumbled, gripping the tree he was hiding behind with his claws. She was getting farther away, and there was barely anything to hide behind on the hill besides the occasional bush.

But what if she fell and hurt herself? He had to get closer! He held his breath, following along that same steep path. So light that he barely made tracks, so quiet that even the nearby crickets didn’t scurry away from him.

Somewhere on the hill was a small stump, its ends all ragged and the roots half-rising from the soil so that it created a little enclave beneath. Maybe a storm had destroyed it, though there was no sign of a log anywhere. Still, Lloyd made sure to hide within its opening, settling in the dirt but keeping his eye on Colette who finally made it to the top.

Lloyd watched her give a little sigh once she did, gripping the basket she carried more firmly in her right hand. He could also see more of the church, moss crawling along its sides, a banner flying from the breeze, with a symbol he couldn’t recognize. Again, it was such an odd place for a church, being in the middle of nowhere.

Twin doors fashioned by oak opened then, as if knowing Colette was here. She waved, rushing up to the front. “Good afternoon, grandmother! I brought some lunch!”

Lloyd stared. Wait, her grandmother lived in a church? He always thought she lived inside some tiny cottage!

The woman that walked out was quite old and very much looked like a grandmother in Lloyd’s opinion. She had a bit of a hunch, bent over a wooden cane she gripped in her left hand, tapping it against the dirt. Her hair was a similar shade to Colette’s, arranged in a bun, but in a style that let her forelocks frame her face, wrapped in ribbons. An old-fashioned hairstyle that Lloyd could somehow recall, vaguely.

“Colette, it’s so good to see you.” She lifted her head, the wrinkles around her cheeks and mouth so deep and pronounced. Despite her soft tone, Lloyd could pick up her voice, his wolf ears catching even the faintest breath. “And just in time for the tea to be ready.”

There was something sharp about her eyes, he thought. At first, he had wondered why an old lady would be living by herself so far from town. But clearly, there was something more to her.

Through the open doors, the grandmother led Colette by the hand, both of them careful in their steps. The wind blew somewhat strong, lifting up her red cloak, its color catching Lloyd’s sight. It was the last thing he saw before the doors shut, the sound of it so loud within the woods, and oddly final.

Lloyd peeked out his head a bit more from beneath the stump, sniffing the air. He could still catch the scent of food that Colette brought—of honey-glazed ham, crisp apples, and some freshly-baked bread—on the breeze, but little else. And what he could catch from the church itself was strange; of something old and musty. Such a place must have been built decades ago, the walls crumbling, with only the stained glass windows on the side well taken-care of.

He stared at the building, his tail occasionally thumping the ground in thoughtfulness. Lunch didn’t usually take too long, so he could just wait until Colette was done and make sure she got back home safe! He nodded at the idea, satisfied. Maybe she’ll still have some leftovers?

Lloyd yawned wide, enough to crack his jaw, then scratched at his fur. The sun was pretty warm, and this space beneath the stump was warm and cozy. It’d been a while since Lloyd had napped at a new place…

—

It's too dark.

Ever since Lloyd became this, shadows are no longer an obstacle. His eyes can pierce through the dark nearly as well as his nose can, catching scents of a fleeing rabbit, or a skittish bird. Prey.

Foliage is outlined to him in all its details. He can see the eyes of other creatures stare back at him, confused at his existence. He can see the dips in the ground, careful to not slip, or the ridges of roots ahead.

But now he can't see anything.

Lloyd half-got up, his claws scrabbling at the ground. It feels different, no longer as loose as soil. It’s hard like stone, but he can’t understand why.

This no longer feels like the forest.

Something is breathing. Near him. On him.

Lloyd tries to move away, but there is a wall in front of him, one that he can’t see. He tries to move left, and meets another wall. To his right. Another. Even up top, something blocks his way. Trapped. Closing in. Suffocating.

The thing behind him breathes, and speaks, and reaches for him. What it says is unintelligible in every way. It blocks the exit. Or maybe there is none at all. Maybe Lloyd is stuck inside. Forever. In this place where he can’t sense anything, where he can’t feel the earth anymore, where he can’t hear anything except someone’s breathing.

But he catches a scent. It’s sudden and overwhelming. It stinks of rot and decay.

Like he’s trapped inside with a corpse.

Lloyd tries again, tries again to leave, his claws digging deep into the stone. It’s not enough. The thing behind him speaks again, opening its jaws to make it even more unbearable.

“You’ll be just like me.”

The air leaves him with nothing left to breathe in. Lloyd scratches at the wall.

“Everyone will see you as the monster you really are. Even her.”

A great weight crushes him to the ground. Suffocating him. Devouring him. He tries to scream, but no sound leaves him. He feels he’s gone deaf except for the voice that’s all around him.

“Why else do you stalk her through the woods if not to hunt her down?”

—

When Lloyd woke up, it was to the sound of his own shouts.

“Let…let me go!”

It clutched at his ribs, made him feel as if thorns were sprouting all around his throat. Breathing, once something he sought after desperately, was painful. Terrifying. His arms scrambled against walls again, and faintly recognized the feeling of bark against his claws. There was dirt on his knees, clinging to his fur. The earth again. Not encased in stone.

Lloyd had to calm himself to breathe normally again.

It’s not here, he tried to tell himself. It’s not here it’s not here.

But he still felt trapped.

With a shake of his head, Lloyd controlled himself well enough to finally squeeze himself out of the hollow beneath the stump. Fresh air hit him, ruffled his fur, his hands gripping the grass and feeling every soft blade against his palms. He breathed in and out. In and out. He clenched his sharp teeth, his fur standing on end.

It was sunset. The shadow of the church fell over him, and the stained glass windows reflected the sunlight in varying hues of orange and pink. Lloyd rubbed at his eyes, hoping for the images of the nightmare to finally disperse in the light.

It was dim, but not pitch black. He could still see the church and its crumbling walls, its strange spherical rooftop, and its moss-covered columns. He took in the sight, in the details that transformed from blurs to sharpness, until he realized there was something else there.

A person. One who stood before a nearby well that was placed by the side of the church and near the tree stump. The old woman clutched at a pail in one hand as she faced Lloyd, her body framed by the watercolored sky.

Lloyd was in the open now. He remembered then how he had just burst out from beneath the ground, shouting and breathing roughly. How he must look to her, with his ragged tail and sharp claws, and his eyes still shining bright from his nightmare.

Too late to run away and hide. He faced her, but slowly tried to back away.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered out, not meaning to. The words had just come, leaving his throat in all its coarseness. He winced at the sound of them, the half-growls escaping with those words.

“Now, hold on,” spoke the old woman. She set the water pail down the path, placing both hands on the top of her cane. “Have you come for salvation then?”

The question was unexpected. Lloyd blinked, unsure how to answer the woman who didn’t seem bothered by his appearance—or at least, it wasn’t obvious she was. “I… I was just…sleeping before..”

The woman clucked her tongue. “Dangerous to sleep out in these woods. Many things hunt at this hour, you know. We have beds for those seeking help, or those who may have lost their way.” She gestured to the church with her cane. “You must have been guided by Martel Herself to us.”

The name sparked something in Lloyd’s head, but only slightly so. Like an electric shock against his fingertips that left him warm and a little in pain. He knew about Martel…A friend? A name said in passing?

“No…It was Colette,” he said, rubbing his head. “She said she was going to visit…”

He didn’t realize the old lady had hobbled closer. She was gazing at his great ears, and then at his tail that brushed away the dead leaves on the ground. “You’ve gone through so much trouble, haven’t you?”

Lloyd paused, watching as this old woman looked at him with a strange curiosity that was so familiar to him. He didn’t know how to react, instead eyeing her hands that were wrinkled with bones jutting against the skin.

He couldn’t help but ask, “Why aren’t you afraid of me?”

The woman smiled, the wind shifting her golden hair. Though in her age, it had lost much of its shine. “I’ve known many like you. A curse like yours has existed for as long as I can remember.”

She shifted towards the church, gesturing to him to follow along. “We don’t turn the afflicted away. Come inside. I still have some food leftover from when my granddaughter visited.”

Such words prodded again at Lloyd’s memory, making him shake his head from the sleep that still clung to him. “Wait, about… Is Colette your granddaughter? Where is she?” Did he ask too roughly? He could still hear his own growls in his voice, at how unkempt his fur was now, which stood up more in the cold night that was coming.

“Oh, Colette? She’s already long gone, dear.” The old lady walked up to the side of the church, with Lloyd trailing after her quickly. She then entered through a small kitchen door, one that Lloyd had missed earlier. It blended in with the stone, its wood painted in the same color. “No matter how much I ask her, she never stays here until the morning. But she’s strong. I believe she will be safe.”

How had he already missed her? “I need to find her. I—” He winced, feeling himself shake. “Agh…”

“Have you eaten today? It wouldn’t be wise to go anywhere on an empty stomach.” The old woman reached for a woven basket on a nearby table, the dim sunlight streaming in through the door to highlight the iron pots that hung on racks, and a fireplace where some tea was still brewing in a hanging kettle.

“Th-thanks, grams,” Lloyd said, already reaching into the basket to munch on the first thing he grabbed: a few slices of the honey-glazed ham. The delicious taste of it brought a little more warmth to his limbs.

The old woman smiled, somehow not put off at all by his ravenous hunger, or how his sharp teeth must have been obvious by now. Then, as if propelled by a memory he couldn’t even remember, he swallowed his bite before speaking again.

“Sorry, I didn’t even give you my name. I'm Lloyd… Um, just Lloyd.”

She chuckled at his sudden politeness, and only turned away so she could grab the tea kettle with a well-used dish rag. “My name is Phaidra Brunel. I’m the priestess of this church, the last left.” She raised blue eyes to meet his own. “We don’t get many visitors here.”

“Yeah, I…can see that.” Lloyd stilled as he realized what he said and how rude it must have been. “Uh! I mean it’s so far away from town, and I barely see anyone else on the roads.”

Phaidra nodded, pouring the tea into a pair of porcelain cups, etched with blue whorls all around their surfaces. Lloyd noticed an extra cup off to the side, one with a small picture of a dog on its side. Had that been Colette's?

"Many would once make the pilgrimage here to the temple of Martel, but now it is mostly Colette who does so regularly. And she only does so to visit me instead of pray." She smiled softly and with sadness, gripping her own teacup with gnarled knuckles. "Very few remember the goddess nowadays."

Lloyd sipped at the cup she gave him, the flavor of it reminding him of Colette's home. This place sounded so lonely—maybe that was why Colette visited all the time. Especially if such an old lady lived here by herself, taking care of such a grand, if old, church.

"But, you know of the goddess, don't you?" Phaidra asked. "You know her name."

He stared, still holding the cup. "I do," he said. "But, I can't remember from where…"

She nodded. "Then please stay here. Maybe, with time, you'll remember her."

—

At Colette's home, she had also made him tea.

"It's a specialty from my grandmother," she had told him then. The cup she gave him had been worn with use, the paint on its side chipping away. But he had felt the tea's warmth through the porcelain, its dark color reminding him of the earth.

"Oh, is it too hot?" And as she leaned close, her hair brushed against his. He watched her blow the drink, making ripples along the surface. "There!"

"I'm okay with it being hot," he had said, but when he sipped, it was nice that the tea wasn't scalding. It let him taste the honey she had mixed in more easily.

"Then next time, I'll make it hotter," she had teased. And by her side was the same woven basket he always saw her carry. Because, once again, she was off to see her grandmother who lived deep in the woods…

—

It wasn’t a dream Lloyd was recalling as he walked down the hallways, night already settling in. Yet the memory played out in his head as if it happened right in front of him, brought on by the tea Phaidra had made, by the familiar symbols etched into a tablecloth, similar to what he had seen at Colette’s home.

He wished she was here still. He hoped she was safe.

The hour was getting late when Lloyd went to see the main chapel, placed within the front of the church. Phaidra had said she needed to check on the rest of the church, such as the food storage and her own herb gardens. "You can see the others who made the pilgrimage here," she told him. “The goddess calls to those who are lost like you.”

He still didn’t really understand who this goddess was, but, if such a goddess made Phaidra accept him despite how he looked, maybe she wasn’t bad. Could such a goddess have an answer to what was going on with him?

Could…such a goddess heal him of what he was? He looked down at his hands, at the claws painted black, sharp enough to rend through most things. Maybe I really was supposed to come here…

Lloyd entered the great room from the side, and the first thing he saw was the statue of a woman. Placed in the far back, she seemed to tower over everything. Her right hand held a staff, its top framed with wings, while the other was turned palm-up, facing the heavens. The expression chiseled on her face was beautiful and calm, and her long hair flowing from her like some winding river, circling her form. On her dress, he saw the same familiar symbol as the church displayed on its tattered banner outside.

In the daylight, she must have looked amazing once the sun streamed in through the stained glass windows. But tonight, there was not even a full moon—thankfully, as it left him feeling less feral. She was only highlighted by the circle of candles placed around the statue’s base, elongating shadows down her face and across the carpeted floor.

And she was facing a roomful of empty pews, each row crumbling and empty.

Lloyd blinked, looking around the room, confused. “No one’s here?” he said aloud. “Phaidra said there were others…”

He felt awful for thinking it, but he began to suspect that Phaidra wasn’t exactly…all there in the head. It would explain why she didn’t seem to show any fear to his looks. She probably just thinks I’m having a bad hair day or something. He sighed. Maybe it was for the best that no one saw him now. Especially when it was so late at night.

Lloyd walked up to the statue, looking at her more, trying to pinpoint her to a place, to a person—to anything. It was there, sleeping in the back of his mind. But why did looking at her bring some other feeling to him? Something that loomed behind him like some hulking shadow. He felt his heart beat a little faster. He gripped a hand against his chest, clutching the shirt, his fur standing on end.

Something was wrong.

Movement shifted to his right. Someone was here, sitting at the pews. Someone was here. And he hadn’t seen them.

There was a boy sitting in the front row, but he didn’t kneel in supplication. He only sat there, looking up at the statue. The candles highlighted his pale face, his light blonde hair, and a white overcoat that cut through the dark. He continued staring, as if unaware Lloyd was even there.

Lloyd held his breath. He tried to edge away, a soft and soundless step on the carpet.

The boy turned.

The eyes of the bear stared back at him—along with a white-toothed smile. “So, you’ve come,” said Mithos.

Lloyd couldn’t move.

The boy walked towards him gracefully and quickly, as if all in one motion. It wasn’t lumbering, and didn’t stink of rot, and maggots weren’t digging through his skull.

But even so, Lloyd felt some great shadow fall over him, rooting him in place. Or was that the shadow of the statue?

“Martel always accepted those who were different,” spoke the voice that had been a constant in his nightmares. It was soft and slithering, writhing through his chest like debilitating poison. “Because she was different too. She was tortured for it. She was killed for it.” Mithos faced Lloyd, hands clasped before him, near the hem of his coat. He smiled, but the smile was lifeless and cold. “I make sure that her suffering is never forgotten.”

Lloyd couldn’t make much sense of what Mithos was even saying—every word was pain in his ears. Every sentence made him want to wretch onto the carpet, made him want to tear and destroy everything and rip this entire church to the ground.

He must have fallen at some point. Because Mithos was soon kneeling over him, his eyes as dead as a corpse’s. “She shouldn’t be the only one to suffer. That just wouldn’t be fair, or just. And you, you’re all about justice, aren’t you?”

“I…I don’t…” Lloyd shook. His claws clutched at the carpet, ripping through the fabric.

A hand reached out, gripping him by the collar Colette had given him.

“But you made it into some twisted little game with her.”

Lloyd couldn’t breathe. Just like before. Just like when he had clutched so desperately at his swords, but they had slipped from his hands as a great paw pinned him to the dirt. He had tried to fight back. He had tried so much. But the sight of great teeth took everything from him, until he was lost to the sound of his bones breaking apart, of his own skin being torn through again and again and again and again—

Furious barking echoed throughout the chapel.

Lloyd could suddenly breathe again, and he could move, so he swiped at Mithos before he could even think. Claws caught onto fabric, and in Mithos’ face, he saw rage twisted beyond anything else. It grew fur and fangs, and a skull was reflected in the candlelight, that of the bear that had haunted him ever since. There was barking again, sharp and angry.

And then Mithos was no longer there.

Lloyd breathed hard, falling back to the floor. Soft footsteps padded up to him, a wet snout ruffling his hair. He opened his eyes, barely, to see green fur and big ears above him—and black eyes that had always been so anxious.

“...Noishe?” he whispered, unbelieving. But then darkness took him again, last seeing an old friend, standing before the statue of a stranger.

#tales of symphonia #halloween #lloyd irving #colette brunel #phaidra brunel #fanfiction #multichapter

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gretchensinister · 7 months

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20 questions for fic writers

Thank you @marypsue for tagging me!

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

732 oh gosh it needs to have text next to it to not show up giant

2. What’s your total word count?

1,316,095 aha you can tell most of my fics are short

3. What fandoms do you write for?

What I am currently preoccupied with is The Dark Crystal/The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance. The vast majority of my fics are for Rise of the Guardians, and I have one fairly substantial fic each for Thor and Venom.

4. Top 5 fics by kudos

Give You Everything, not surprised about this one, it's Eddie/Venom and I published it a little less than four months after Venom came out in theaters. 2. Single Snowflakes, this one is a surprise? It's barely over 1K, T for subject matter, Bunny/Jack where Jack talks about past trauma with Bunny. I wouldn't have written it except that this was part of my project to fill every prompt on Round 1 of the Rise of the Guardians Dreamwidth kinkmeme. I guess it resonated with people??? 3. How Old? Another Bunny/Jack fic, G-rated and very short. 4. What it Means to Ask, yet ANOTHER Bunny/Jack fic, G-rated, but about how serious the concept of being a "mate" is in Pooka culture. How Old? was also related to that. 5. Down and Dirty-a wrestling-type fight between Jack and Bunny turns into sex.

What have we learned? The Jackrabbit fans, they are legion.

5. Do you respond to comments?

For the past several years, yes, pretty much always. Back in 2012 when I was just starting to post on Ao3, I was like unto a nervous deer and sometimes didn't respond. But I did print out all the comments on Without Contraries There Is No Progression (Pitch/Sandy that got me writing big complete things) and put them on my fridge at the time. It helped me get my master's degree.

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

The one that comes to the top of my head is Warmer Than I Thought. Jack's dying because he just didn't have enough believers when he became a Guardian. He's not going to come back with continuity of self. Pitch is there to offer him some scant comfort as he goes.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I mostly write happy endings, honestly, but the honor of the most happy and resolved ending goes to His Time, which is chronologically the last fic in my Rise of the Guardians Apotheosis AU. It's a far-distant future, OT8, everyone is together and essentially the pantheon of a new planet they made after Earth is gone due to the expansion of the sun. They are trying to make it go well this time, and so far succeeding.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

The closest thing to hate I ever got was on my explicit Thorki fic...from a person complaining about how much I had Thor and Loki talk to each other.

9. Do you write smut?

I write a lot of explicit sex, yes.

10. Do you write crossovers?

I've written a fair number in my prompt-fill project, but it's not something I'm drawn to write.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I've never known about any of my fics being stolen.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Someone talked to me about translating one of my fics and I was very excited and I said yes. However I don't know what came of that because things happened and I fell out of communication with the potential translator. Maybe they finished it and I don't know about it!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No, and I don't think I would, unless it was part of a strictly structured event/project.

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Well, it's Pitch Black/Sandman. Conceptually, the ships I'm drawn to have ties to dichotomies of dark/light, good/evil, cosmic opposites kind of thing. Pitch and Sandy, as personifications of nightmares and dreams, were a perfect vessel for that obsession.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I told my friends, "I'm not going to rewrite The Phantom of the Opera." And I'm not. But there's a version of PotO that I wanted that uh, isn't what any of the big official versions gave me. So I started writing and I have 49,615 words so far. If I don't find a way to finish it I think I will end up posting it as something permanently unfinished, because there's a lot that I like in it now.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I have been told in a real graduate writing workshop that I have good dialogue. I also like to think I'm pretty good at sensory descriptions.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

The things I find extremely difficult are endings and like, plots where things happen--I want so badly to write a big complicated Space Empire story but like. How is does political intrigue? (This house is FEELINGS ONLY.)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I don't think I'd ever do it.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Almost certainly Dragonball Z. If all goes well, my friend and I may have the chance to excavate some of my old notebooks during the holidays and then--it's archive time and that is a threat.

20. Favorite fic you’ve ever written?

It's A Draught of Light, which I love as it is, and for proving that I could write an alternate-world epic fantasy novel as long as I didn't like, admit that's what I was doing. I do admit though that I have an edited version that takes it farther away from being fanfic that I like even better. Maybe I should, hmm, start taking steps to making that version available, if you understand what I mean.

Who do I know writing out there that hasn't been tagged yet? @queerpyracy, @purplebloodedmajesty, @incurablenecromantic

#meme #writing #rambling

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lotusthewriter · 1 year

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And you're angry (and you should be)

Fandom: The Owl House

Rating: T

Relationships: Romantic Hunter/Luz, Hunter & Camila

Characters: Hunter, Luz Noceda, Camila Noceda, Flapjack; other characters are only mentioned

Summary: Everyone notices the way Luz has grown quieter and distant, so Hunter tries to be there for her. Yet he would never have expected it to be so serious.

Word count: 5.240

AO3

A/N: This was kind of a mash up of ideas I had and it ended up being extremely long 😅

PLEASE be careful because this story tackles self-harm (cutting). Other trigger warnings will be detailed below. There's nothing graphic here, not that I ever write anything explicit in any of my stories, but it can be triggering to some people. Take care of yourself. <3

TRIGGER WARNINGS - self-harm (cutting), injury, depression, implied/mentioned past abuse, scars, mental health issues, self-hatred, and self-blame

Hunter and Luz are not siblings. Hate will be blocked.

P/roship DNI.

He’s nearly done when he hears the same tired but mellow words:

“Aw, Hunter, you don’t need to set the breakfast table every day…”

“It’s fine, Camila,” he says easily, no longer slipping up her name. “I like doing it for you guys.”

She smiles, full of fondness. “You’re such a gentleman.”

Hunter blushes. “Thanks.”

Camila takes a seat while the boy returns to the coffee machine. Despite her yawning, she already wears her work uniform and her hair is neatly done. The woman hums as Hunter fills a cup with coffee.

“Mmm… that smells delicious,” Camila observes.

“Yeah, I hope so.”

The teenager heads to the table with the cup, handing it to her.

“Muchas gracias,” Camila grins, taking the object like it’s a precious jewel.

Hunter can’t help standing there awkwardly as she takes the first sip. He knows the last times he made the coffee were disastrous, but he’s almost certain that he got it right for once.

Luz’s mother makes a very satisfied noise.

“Oh my, this is perfect,” she compliments, so genuinely that Hunter can’t contain a dumb, relieved laugh.

“G-Good to know! I’ve been meaning to, uh, learn how to make human food. For you and Luz.”

The woman is visibly proud. “You’re on the right path.”

Finally, Hunter places the coffee pot on the table after getting some for himself. Hunter doesn’t enjoy all human food, but he likes coffee. He was first introduced to it on his first morning in the Human Realm. Hunter has always been a light sleeper, so he usually wakes up before everyone else, besides Camila and sometimes Vee. In more recent times, Hunter awakes even earlier so he can set breakfast for everyone else. But above all to help Camila out, who looks after six teenagers all on her own. She does her best to adapt to their differences. Hunter always catches her exhaustion, yet she keeps smiling to take care of them.

Besides all that, Camila is Luz’s mother, so he seeks her approval but hopefully not in an unhealthy manner. He wants to be good both to her, and to Luz herself. Basically, this is the least he could do for the woman.

Now, Hunter and Camila drink coffee on opposite sides, facing one another. The latter’s mood seems to have been lifted by the former’s gesture. He smiles at that.

Camila hums again, but thoughtfully.

“I don’t think I ever asked… How did you and Luz meet?” She wonders, smiling in curiosity.

Hunter almost chokes but silently, thank the Titan.

“A-At school, obviously, haha!” He clears his throat, memories of the boiling sea resurfacing. “I was… mostly on my own, when I met her. Luz was… my first friend.” (In a way.)

Despite his tension, Camila doesn’t pry. If anything, her grin widens.

“It makes me so happy that Luz found friends that connect with her,” she says. “That understand her and like her just the way she is.”

Although she doesn’t go on deeper details, Hunter can sense some melancholy in her words. Either way, Camila’s gratitude doesn’t fade.

“I’m glad you have friends, too, Hunter,” she adds. “You’re so considerate and kind… I can tell why Luz likes you.”

At the wink she gives him, Hunter’s cheeks heat up again, as if he’s been exposed. But really, he’s so obvious. He’s never had… anyone like Luz his whole life. Despite that, Hunter replies simply with a bashful smile (secretly hoping Camila is right).

His coffee buddy suddenly frowns once she glances at the clock hanging in the wall.

“Ai ai, where’s Luz? She’s going to be late!” Camila exclaims, almost leaving her chair when Hunter stops her by immediately standing on his feet.

“I’ll go get her.”

She doesn’t object, instead she gives him a trusting look. Hunter returns it with a nod and a determined smile, then he’s off to the stairs. He immediately reaches Luz’s bedroom, as slowly as possible as to not make any noise.

The girls sleep peacefully…

Hunter, however, doesn’t find Luz. She must be awake, then.

The next logical place is the bathroom, a light coming from under the door. He feels stupid for not noticing earlier, but that doesn’t matter.

It seems… quiet. Very quiet.

He lightly knocks on the door.

“Luz? Are you there?”

Hunter hears a tiny gasp and some quick shuffling. Before he even gets to ask what she’s doing, Luz opens the door wide.

“Hi! Morning!” She smiles but… it doesn’t feel right. “Sorry, I kinda lost myself there.”

Luz isn’t in her pajamas, instead she’s very much ready for school, even holding her backpack with one of her arms.

“It’s- It’s okay,” Hunter reassures her regardless. “I just wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Oh, yeah, totally. I’m totally okay.”

He frowns in suspicion and concern, silenced by Luz’s sudden, “Right, school!”, soon she’s already downstairs, leaving Hunter speechless.

“Careful, mija, you could choke,” Camila points out, voice distant from him.

“I’m fine, mom!”

Hunter doesn’t join them just yet. He takes a quick peek inside the bathroom. There’s nothing odd to be seen. The boy hums, thus leaving and seeing the Nocedas again.

“Oh, there you are,” Camila states when he returns.

“Mamá told me you made the best coffee she’s ever had,” Luz prefaces, “and I second that.” She winks at him.

Hunter does blush shyly, yet his mind is full of questions. Luz must’ve stayed a long time in the bathroom since she was ready for school, and excused it with “losing herself” in there. The girl appears to be… hiding something.

She was doing something there. Something she’s not telling him or Camila.

Hunter, of course, doesn’t point this out now. He lets the two of them enjoy breakfast as he also has his share. Eventually, Camila and Luz leave, the latter smiling in the way that makes Hunter’s chest pound. The first time that happened, he thought he was going to die. Willow, Gus, and Amity were the ones who explained it to him, and Hunter only gradually realizes how much he… likes Luz. As in, like like.

But again, this is not the focus.

Luz has grown distant; she’s no longer the bubbly and cheerful girl he met long ago. She’s quiet, tired, withdrawn. Everyone can see the way her smile never meets her eyes, the way she spends more time alone than usual, and the growing dark eyebags exposing her poor sleep.

Hunter doesn’t approach her the way Willow, Gus, Amity, and Vee do. The four of them are familiar being her friends, after all Luz has known them better than she knows Hunter. After Belos’ mind, he only saw her again right before the Day of Unity. He hasn’t been her official friend for so long.

They have gotten closer, yes. Luz even switched places with him so Belos wouldn’t hurt him. Other than that, they’ve never had a full interaction. He hasn’t had the opportunity to hang out with Luz, just the two of them. Hunter usually sticks in with Willow and Gus, but lately he’ll find Luz distancing from them, and Hunter wishes he could follow her. Yet Hunter always hesitates. One, they’re barely close friends. Two, he likes her but he’s not sure if she feels the same. Three, Luz has hidden herself inside a hard shell, never coming out of it. He doesn’t know what to do to help her.

The only thing Hunter has with her is their quiet talk in that small restroom, the first time they were finally alone since Belos’ mind. Luz already looked so hurt, emotionally speaking as well. She almost cried just by imagining everyone finding out about her secret and hating her for it.

Hunter has his own weight to hide, too, but even then… he can get by. He always wanted to visit the Human Realm, to feel the non-boiling rain, to feel the sun in his skin, to smell the trees, to take the dirt in his hands… Obviously, he hates imagining what could’ve happened to everyone in the Isles, like Darius or the Owl Lady. Still, Hunter has been adapting well to this new world. He engages with everything, and has learned so much.

Everyone there has their own personal turmoil, but they can rely on each other, no matter where they are.

Luz… can’t.

The more time passes, the more detached she becomes.

She needs someone.

Hunter isn’t really good at it.

But he can try.

No, he will try.

–

The gang is having a movie night, an animated film Gus was really excited to watch. They’re huddled on the couch, sharing popcorn, openly reacting to the movie together. Their palismen will join in to steal their food when they’re not looking. Sometimes the teens have a deep discussion about the movie right in the middle of their watch. It’s fun.

Yet in the meantime, Hunter finds Luz in the corner, her brown eyes devoid of any emotion. She hasn’t eaten anything, she has rejected popcorn and snacks whenever she’s asked. He can’t focus on the movie, either, as he’s unsure what to do about his friend.

That is, until Luz stands up, and argues she’s tired so she’s going to bed. Everyone is concerned, they’ve all been since the film started, but they don’t question. They give her a good night nonetheless, and Luz just waves indifferently before she walks away, her head lowered.

Gus, Willow, and Amity briefly whisper to themselves what they could do about Luz. They’ve tried everything and she still won’t open up to anyone. Hunter only listens, trying to come up with any solution. The film goes by without anyone noticing, not that it matters, of course.

Hunter knows he cannot stand still anymore. Luz needs their help. She needs to know that it’s okay to rely on them. To rely on him.

When he sees Flapjack, Hunter feels as though a light spell illuminates his head. He rushes to the kitchen without any explanation, much to his friends’ confusion. They find him making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, Luz’s usual breakfast or night snack every time they have trouble falling asleep. The older teen also makes sure to grab the not-so hot chocolate that he made for them tonight.

“You guys think what we should do next,” Hunter suggests, “while I make sure she eats something, at least.”

Gus, Willow, Amity, and Vee nod determinedly, the same way Camila does. Which is quite a relief considering they’re all very much aware of Hunter’s feelings for Luz, and they certainly don’t back down on their teasing whenever Luz is out to school.

Either way, the other four stay in the living room while Hunter carries the small plate and the hot chocolate with him upstairs. Flapjack is on the top of his head, comfortable in his hair like it’s a nest. The boy assumes that Luz must be in her room, though not asleep. He truly hopes he’s not stalking her, he just wants to check on her and see if she can eat something before bed. Hunter doesn’t want to make her talk. He just wants to take care of her.

But in the dark corridor, the bathroom is lit. The door isn’t closed this time. Luz has her back to him, sighing deeply as if she’s held it for too long.

Hunter hesitates, not wanting to scare her since she doesn’t acknowledge his presence at first. He only clears his throat quietly, making Luz turn around with a slightly startled look, but in the sense that she’s been deep into a black hole and has just returned to reality.

“Oh, hi,” Luz mumbles, masking her pain with a little fond smile. She then notices the food. “Did you make that?”

“Y-Yeah, since you didn’t eat a lot during the movie… we don’t want you getting hungry, right?”

“Right…” Luz blushes, taking the plate and sitting right there on the corridor, not sharing much eye contact with Hunter. She takes a silent bite out of the sandwich and mutters, “Thanks.”

Hunter doesn’t smile as he kneels in front of her, realizing she’s wearing the sweater he customized for her, full of Good Witch Azura elements. Hunter doesn’t understand those books that well, but Luz is certainly passionate about them, and he surprised her with the sweater, colored purple and yellow gold. To think it used to be an old sweater that she had wanted to get rid of…

Luz eventually faces his magenta eyes, smirking in a teasing manner, but it only looks sad.

“What?” She asks.

Hunter blushes, then crosses his arms as they’re shaking slightly.

“I’m…” he swallows. “I’m just worried about you, that’s all.”

Luz’s face starts crumbling.

“I mean, I’ve been worried for a while, we’ve all been. Most of the time, you’re… sad ,” he points out, not meaning to chastise her. “Even when you’re smiling, even when you’re laughing, you’re still really sad…”

She doesn’t try to excuse her way out of this. Luz just listens, holding the remaining half of her sandwich, her eyes not locking a gaze with Hunter’s.

“I- I know why you’re sad, or at least some of it,” Hunter continues. “You’re allowed to be sad. It’s okay to be sad. It just hurts me seeing you hurt like this and I’m not able to help.”

Luz lets go of her sandwich to rub her face. Her eyes.

She doesn’t make a sound.

“Obviously, if you want to be alone, I respect that,” the boy insists. “But if you need someone… I’m always here.” He approaches a little more, lowering his voice, “You can trust me, just like I trust you.”

That’s what convinces Luz to look up. She’s mostly covered in shadows, away from the light, but Hunter can still see her exhausted expression showing something akin to hope. He’s the one who smiles for them both. Finally, Flapjack chirps and quickly flies towards Luz to show her his affection. She even lets out a giggle. A real one.

“Thanks, Hunter,” Luz whispers.

Hunter just nods and grins, supportive.

Luz slowly finishes her whole night snack and Hunter waits until the very end. She hands him the dirty dishes, only to stretch her arms and yawn dramatically.

“I’m going to bed now,” she tells him. “Long day…”

“Okay. Sleep tight.”

…

Except the girl doesn’t leave just yet.

Luz is moving her arms back and forth repeatedly, while making repressed noises. Is she nervous?

Hunter isn’t fast enough to ask, as Luz hugs him, tipping on her toes to reach his shoulder. Nor is he able to wrap his arms around her, because she lets him go rather rushedly.

“Good night!” Luz releases, soon hurrying to her bedroom and closing the door.

The taller teenager stands there for… hours, probably.

He doesn’t move an inch. He could drop the plate and the empty cup.

Not before Flapjack snaps him out of it by “biting” his ear.

“Ack, okay! Okay! Ugh,” he glares at the cardinal, for one second.

Hunter truly did not expect the hug.

And how quick it was, and how nervous Luz acted…

If he thinks too much about it, he’ll never leave the corridor. Before he does, Hunter realizes the bathroom light is still on. He turns it off without thinking too much, and he goes downstairs just to tell the others what happened. He only becomes a tomato when he gets to the hug part, due to the knowing smirks everyone gives him. As for their next action, they’ve considered exploring more of Gravesfield to learn about the portal and the history behind the town. Obviously, for now they’ve decided to plan it better starting tomorrow, once Luz is out, so they all go to bed, deciding to watch the film more properly another day.

Hunter, as usual, takes more time to sleep than Gus. But this isn’t just his regular insomnia, it’s all Luz in his mind. The warmth of her hug…

He just truly hopes that Luz feels comfortable around him with the more difficult things. She doesn’t deserve to suffer in silence like that. She doesn’t deserve to hurt alone.

He sighs at all the good and the bad feelings in his gut.

“I need some sleep…” the blond witch groans to himself.

Strangely, he can’t even tell when exactly his eyes close.

Hunter does remember dreaming about warmth.

And love.

–

Luz hasn’t come to Hunter to talk.

But she does start noticing him more while they’re around other people.

Silently, the younger girl will smile at him only.

Hunter returns the gesture.

That’s pretty much what they’re doing lately.

That’s a good thing! She knows Hunter is there for her now, and she’s grateful for it.

It’s a crucial step. The right path.

They have more alone times, although quick. Luz talks about her daily life without any tension. It’s nice. She’s loosening up around him. Hunter retributes, then they have more lighthearted conversations.

Luz doesn’t look so sad anymore.

Maybe things will be fine.

–

It’s been two weeks or so since that night.

Today is a weekend, everyone is out to help Camila with groceries. Hunter was pretty much put on time out by Camila, yet at the same time she told him he could make Luz some company. The younger Noceda hasn’t gone on grocery trips as of late, because everyone wanted to give her time to wake up and slowly sort out her day. Hunter wouldn’t contain the blush once Camila winked at him with an entrusting look, silently telling him to be with Luz. His friends share the same support.

Thus, it’s only Hunter and Luz at home this morning. He doesn’t think he’s ever had such an opportunity before. She told him she was going to bake brownies, insisting she didn’t need help since brownies are easy to get done. Consequently, Hunter can be found in the bathroom upstairs, doing everything to make his light blond hair look good. It’s grown a little, and he doesn’t want to make that mess again, so he decides to get the combing cream Camila bought for him.

He opens the mirror cabinet, and while he does find the cream…

He finds red, too.

It’s a small razor blade, so small that Hunter can take it with his fingers. Even if it’s sharp and it might cut his skin, Hunter doesn’t find it very painful. Instead, he looks very closely…

The metal is supposed to be shiny gray, yet it’s stained with…

It falls on the ground, the sound too loud to his pointy ears.

Hunter rushes as fast as he can to the kitchen, which smells like chocolate and butter.

“Oh, hey! The brownie still needs more time to–” Luz looks back, growing concerned. “Hunter, what’s wrong?”

He’s panting and sweating, pretty much panicking. Luz looks so normal, so casual…

But Hunter knows the truth.

“Luz,” he risks seriously, “let me see your arm.”

He doesn’t even sound demanding, only desperate.

It has to be a lie, Hunter doesn’t want to believe it.

Yet Luz hugging her sleeved arm, cowering in fear of getting yelled at, is the only answer he needs.

And he feels a stab right through his heart.

Hunter is too shocked to take a step forward. Luz’s brown eyes fill with tears.

“I…” she manages. “I-I…”

Once she begins sobbing, Hunter is out of the trance.

“Luz…”

She only hides from him.

“Luz,” Hunter tries again, “it’s okay, I’m not angry with you.”

The girl keeps crying.

“I’m not angry or disappointed, I swear,” he insists. “I just want to–”

“Why?” Luz raises her voice. “ Why aren’t you angry?”

Even if his heart aches, Hunter inhales.

“Because you deserve help, Luz.”

“No, I don’t!” She yells. “This is all MY fault! I trapped you here, I hurt all of you, so I’m the one who should be hurt!”

“That’s not true.”

“I put everyone in danger, worse, I don’t even know if Eda, King, Raine, the entire Isles are even ALIVE!” Luz’s tears are burning with rage. “It’s NOT FAIR!”

She’s sobbing miserably, the only sound heard in the empty house. Hunter watches, hands shaking. Magenta eyes so wet the tears can’t stay inside.

Luz is hiding her face in her hands. She’s been holding all of this in for too long, and she never had any support.

Before he can break down too, Flapjack has come to the rescue, letting Hunter know what he can do. With this, the boy shuts his eyes, takes the deepest breath, then…

Luz is suddenly silenced, stiff.

His arms aren’t engulfing, but they’re tight. They’re not at all awkward. Hunter is truly, genuinely hugging her, and he’s not letting go. She hasn’t moved or talked at all.

That’s his cue.

“... You saved me, Luz.”

Somehow, she tenses even more. Still not making a noise.

Hunter reaches her brown curls, running his fingers through them.

“I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you,” he resumes. “You always see the good in others. Even me, the Golden Guard. You opened my eyes, you- heck, you gave me Flapjack! I never thought I’d get in touch with wild magic, I never thought I could have friends, I… never thought I could be me .” He sniffs. “And you faced Belos all on your own just to protect me. I could never thank you enough for everything you’ve done for me, Luz. You literally saved my life.”

She starts relaxing, until two other arms tighten around Hunter, clinging to him desperately. Luz cries again, her sobs tiny and vulnerable. Hunter just soothes her in silence, knowing he’s said everything he had to tell her.

Flapjack manages to squish himself in the hug to comfort Luz, too. Their hug is only interrupted when the oven pings, and Luz is the one who lets go. She dries her face with her sleeve, the Owl Lady’s jacket, to grab the oven glove and take the brownies. Luz appears to use a fork to check if the snack is ready, and it appears to be since she places the brownies on top of the stove.

“We just gotta wait for it to cool down, okay?” Luz tells him, giving him a sad, broken smile.

He knows better than that, of course.

Flapjack is still sitting on her shoulder, nuzzling against her cheek. Luz snorts at his cuteness, but her hands seem to tremble as she tries to hide it from Hunter. They clutch the region of her lower arms as if they hurt.

Hunter steps up – but not meaning to cross any boundaries – to put a gentle hand behind her back.

“Does it hurt?” He whispers, even though nobody’s home.

Luz only nods without saying anything.

“Can I… see them?” He wonders. “You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.”

Still… she does.

Luz’s right arm is red, but the cuts are no longer bleeding. They’re mostly red lines that fill her lower arm. Her left one is the same.

Hunter’s heart shatters, his hand almost touching the cuts, only to retract his fingers.

Except Luz takes his hand and squeezes it, telling him that it’s okay to touch the wounds.

Although he has her permission, he still tries to be as light and gentle as possible while his scarred fingers soothe the cuts. Luz doesn’t flinch, even though they look like they’re burning her brown skin. Hunter’s thumb rubs each of her arms, all of her cuts.

He knows pain, but this kind of pain? Self-inflicted pain? Even if Hunter is a Grimwalker, he never felt like punishing his own body. The only thing he did to change it was cut his hair, which could still be fixed with the proper haircut. He knows that self-injury will leave scars.

He thought the only scar Luz had was the one above her left eye. Not these. And that’s because he doesn’t know about her mental scars.

Luz looks guilty, probably noticing how concerned Hunter is.

“I didn’t mean for it to go this far, I swear,” she explains as if she’s going to get yelled at. “When I started it, I thought I wouldn’t keep it up. But I was tired and- and angry at myself for everything that happened, and suddenly I was hurting my arms like it was a daily habit I always had.”

Hunter doesn’t question it, but he feels something inside him sting just imagining how long Luz has been doing this.

“No one was supposed to find out,” Luz continues. “But I didn’t think it through, again ”– he winces at the word choice –“and now I just made you upset.”

“Luz… of course I’m upset that you’re hurt. But again, I’m not angry with you for being hurt.” He carefully holds both of her hands. “I know what it’s like to be in pain and not see a way out of this. I know that isolation seems like the better option. That’s why I told you, and I’ll keep telling you, that you don’t deserve to hurt, least of all alone.”

She doesn’t look entirely convinced, as the guilt still reigns in her mind, but Luz’s eyes do look less… heavy, if that’s the right word. And most importantly, she’s not masking her sadness around him anymore.

He stares back at the red, stinging cuts.

“We should try treating them,” Hunter suggests.

“I already disinfected them…”

“Yeah, but we could do a little more than that, to lower your pain.”

Hunter offers her a hand, to which she takes with reddened cheeks. He takes her to the same little restroom they were right after they arrived in the Human Realm, the only place they felt safe in.

He knows humans are different from him, and he also knows he’s not exactly a witch, but Camila has taught him the basics to first aid. Hunter wastes no time to bandage both of Luz’s arms, after gently putting some ointment on her skin. Once again, Luz doesn’t flinch at all during the process, which is alarming to him considering that even he would let out pained protests, as someone who’s dealt with injuries his entire life, treating them all on his own.

Maybe Luz doesn’t react to it because she believes she deserves to hurt.

She stares at her bandaged arms, like she’s trying to figure out the answers to the universe.

“W-What are they going to do when they see these?” Luz asks. “What am I going to tell them?”

Hunter goes beyond and cups her left cheek, wiping a falling tear.

“I know they would do anything to help you feel better,” he reassures her, “and they would never force you to talk. You don’t have to tell them, Luz, at least not yet.” He hums. “I could talk to them for you, too, if you’d like.”

Luz melts into Hunter’s hand, her own reaching it.

“... I’ll think about it,” she mumbles.

He smiles. Flapjack chirps.

“You want to eat some of those brownies?” The magenta-eyed teen suggests.

“Yeah, that sounds great.”

Flapjack chirps again.

“No Flap, I don’t think you can eat those,” Hunter rolls his eyes.

Luz giggles maybe for the first time today. “He already eats everything he wants, doesn’t he?”

“Well, he shouldn’t .”

The cardinal makes a wounded animal sound, much to Luz’s big sparkling eyes.

“He’s such a wittle guy,” she squeals, like she would give all of her possessions to Flapjack.

Hunter grins like an idiot seeing her and Flapjack bonding. His palisman is really attached to her, maybe more than anyone else in the house, which only makes everything more obvious, and it only makes Hunter look more of an idiot. But that’s not really a bad thing, he supposes.

He realizes brownies are actually the best thing he’s ever eaten, so they end the whole thing in at least half an hour. Hunter, of course, apologizes for ending Luz’s brownies so quickly, but she just snorts.

“Don’t worry, I made them for you,” she reassures him. “Thought it’d be a thanks for everything you’ve done for me.”

Hunter’s cheeks flush red. “O-Oh. You didn’t have to.”

“I had to, actually.” Luz’s grin is small but meaningful. “Knowing how far you go to make me happy… you really care and it means the world to me.”

“... you mean the world to me.”

Luz’s eyes widen a little.

Shoot.

“I-I mean-! I mean…” Hunter groans in embarrassment, internally cringing at his tone just now. “Luz, you are great, okay? Not just GREAT, you’re… you’re incredible and- and brave, and you always work so hard even in the hardest moments… Which is why I, um…” he holds his own hands. “I want to be there for you, always. Especially the hardest moments. Because I…”

He doesn’t think he’s ever said this out loud, not even to his own uncle when he was younger. Hunter doesn’t recall Belos saying the words he wants to tell Luz right now.

“... I…” he gulps. “I love you.”

Luz’s eyes are bright like stars, like the light spells that became her brand. Hunter feels his entire face heating up, as well as his ears.

“Y-You don’t have to feel the same, we don’t have to- to change anything about us, it’s fine,” he quickly reassures. “I’m still unsure about a lot of things, I still don’t know how to feel about myself, but I do know that I feel alright just by being around you. That’s really more than enough for me.”

Even Flapjack seems awestruck by the sincerity in Hunter’s words, while Luz… tears up again.

“Luz?” He says in alarm, about to apologize when…

She hugs him again.

“I love you, too,” the girl says, muffled by his sweater.

Hunter sighs in fondness, squeezing her in return.

This hug doesn’t last very long, nor is it too rushed. Luz seems to be tired but it’s the good kind of tired. They end up on the couch, the house smelling like chocolate and home. They’ve turned on the TV to some random show. They’re holding hands, glued to each other. Hunter will make stupid comments every now and then, to which Luz always replies, until he realizes that she only hums and never expands on it.

When he finally looks back, Luz has fallen asleep on his shoulder.

Hunter smiles affectionately, hearing her peaceful breaths, feeling her warmth against his pale skin.

The front door opens, yet Luz doesn’t even bat an eye at Camila’s voice calling for the two of them. If anything, Luz just clings closer to Hunter, and he only blushes harder when her mother and the others find the two alone in the living room.

Camila looks like she’s going to cry of joy and take a picture of them, Vee smiles supportively, and Gus, Willow, and Amity are proud, yet of course teasing. Hunter just gives them an awkward thumbs up.

The gang puts away the groceries, doing their best not to make a lot of noise, while Hunter also decreases the volume of the TV. Luz breathes in and out without a care in the world. He puts an arm around her to settle her better. She mumbles something incomprehensible but pleased.

Hunter feels like he could be here forever.

#the owl house #toh hunter #luz noceda #lunter #camila noceda #toh flapjack #food mention #self-harm tw #sh tw #cutting tw #injury tw #depression tw #abuse mention tw #self harm tw #fanfiction #long post

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pa-stella · 1 year

Note

Hihihi bby. I love those kisses prompts. I would die for #8 for GenDice. Or #17 for HitoJaku huehuehue 🥰🥰🥰💞

Title: Cheering up Fandom: Hypnosis Mic Pairing: Jakurai/Hitoya Prompt: “You uh… You taste amazing.” Warning: Ice cream in the middle of January lol

“Forty different flavors of ice cream and you really had to choose… that?” Hitoya shook his head and glared at the sesame seeds covered parfait in Jakurai’s hands.

“I can’t help it. I like traditional tastes.” He simply explained, smiling.

“Ok, grandma.” The other snickered as he focused on his own dessert.

The two had just finished the entrance exam to one of the most famous universities in Tokyo and had decided to enjoy the metropolis’ life for a few hours before going back to Nagoya. Even if snow had just stopped falling slowly from the sky, they had chosen to get an ice cream in a parlor in the middle of Shibuya. The contrast between the cold of their food and the warm atmosphere of the shop was very pleasant.

But what was even more enjoyable for Jakurai was being able to see Hitoya relax a little again. During the last few years his smiles and laughters always seemed distant and forced. After the tragedy that occurred in the Amaguni household, his gray eyes carried a faint veil of sadness that nothing would take away.

That day, though, the young man looked more carefree than usual. Not even the nausea that accompanied him during the entire three hours of their train ride ruined his mood. The fact that the exam turned out to be not too difficult only boosted his cheerfulness.

Being the target of his light-hearted teasing. Hearing his low chuckles. Even feeling his frustration before an important exam… Jakurai was grateful he could witness those things once again. He was so happy that his smile grew even wider.

To his side, Hitoya noticed his expression. “What?” He asked. “Is it really that good?”

Before Jakurai could answer, Hitoya stole some of his ice cream with his own spoon. He grimaced slightly while he got used to the not overly sweet taste, but in the end he nodded. “You know what… it’s not that bad.”

“Next time I’ll order the one with natto topping.” Jakurai commented, making Hitoya almost gag.

“Don’t expect me to join you next time, then!”

They kept chatting and laughing and Jakurai couldn’t feel happier than that. All the troubles, all the worries… everything seemed so far. If only they could stay there forever, forgetting about exams, grades and their own families’ problems. If they could do that, would Hitoya keep smiling? Would he forget forever about the past?

Jakurai looked at their ice creams, relieved when he saw they were far from finished. There was still time before going back home to their routine.

“Oh, sorry, do you want to taste mine too?” Hitoya asked, after seeing his subtle glances, and offered the small cup.

Jakurai eyed the tiramisù ice cream for a second before his eyes moved to Hitoya’s face again. He wasn’t stupid. He knew that Hitoya was talking about the dessert, but his mind was refusing to cooperate. They were sitting on a sofa in the corner of the café, hidden from anybody’s curious stare. Would that be so bad if, for once, he indulged in his own desires?

Gray eyes looked at him in confusion when Jakurai moved Hitoya’s ice cream out of the way. It all happened in an instant. Their cold mouths were touching, just lightly brushing. On Hitoya’s chapped lips, Jakurai could taste the faint bitterness of coffee and cacao.

When he moved away, Hitoya still had a stunned expression and Jakurai felt the need to end the heavy silence. “You, uh… you taste amazing.”

“Jakurai, I was…” The young man was struggling to find his voice. “I meant… a taste of my ice cream…”

“Oh, really?” Feigning surprise, he avoided his stare. “From what I tasted, yours is not that bad either.”

They finished their own treats without sharing any other word, but Jakurai couldn’t help noticing the small smile that kept appearing of Hitoya’s face.

#hypnosis mic #hitojaku #hitoya amaguni #jakurai jinguji #so short #and not really shippy??#sorry T-T #writing? in this economy?#the title is taken from tiramisu actual translation 'cheer me up'#i'll do the gendice one too!!

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itsgeecheebitch · 2 years

Text

TITLE: Ruined

FANDOM: FMAB

PAIRING: Scar x reader

RATING: Mature

AO3: Whenlovesurvives123

WORD COUNT: 4746

Chapter 2

You mindlessly nibbled on the end of your pen. Your eyes glazed over from countless hours spent hunched over a desk filling out reports on the East City Explosion. A chaotic jumble of thoughts clashed in your mind. You didn't know what to focus on or what to think. So much has happened in such a short amount of time.

The explosion that happened recently was somehow related to your brother's killer. Mustang's unit didn't find a body at the scene of the explosion, you weren't sure if you should feel relieved or angry. Relieved that your right to vengeance wasn't stolen from you or angry that a bloodthirsty killer still roamed the streets.

But that has been the least of your concerns for the past few days. It has been a week since the Elric brothers discovered a source for Dr. Marcoh's notes and three days since they ventured into the fifth laboratory.

Your grip tightened around the pen as you recalled the phone conversation you had with Edward three nights ago. Philosopher stones are created using human lives. You shuttered at the thought despite the revelation no longer being new to you. Who would do such a thing? Sacrifice innocent lives just to create a stone? You gritted your teeth and combed your fingers through your hair. You didn't know what to think. It was truly a devil's stone, but does that also make you a devil? Are you evil for still wanting a philosopher stone? Yes. Yes I am. You thought somberly, your reports forgotten. The stone could be forged out of the lives of a hundred souls and you would still use it, you know that. You were prepared to accept the consequences of your choices the moment you decided to seek vengeance.

The sudden smell of autumn leaves and pumpkin spice filled your nose and you were instantly dragged back to reality. A distant murmur of voices filled your ears as you dived back into your work. The voices became louder and louder until they became recognizable. It was the members of Mustang's unit.

"Yo." A masculine voice called to you. You looked up to find Jean Havoc leaning against the doorway of the enormous office room. The space was completely empty except for you, all the other soldiers took off a few hours ago. "We were wondering if you were still here."

"Yeah" you sighed, relaxing in your chair as you regarded the alpha. His scent wrapped around you in a warm embrace, filling your lungs and reminding you of a nice cup of tea on a crisp autumn day. "Unfortunately I still have a ways to go with the paperwork". And tonight's supposed to be my last night in East City too. You internally groaned. Hopefully Mustang would allow you to take the paperwork back with you to Central and complete them there. "I might be here for a few more hours." Or at least until the night cleaning staff kicks me out.

"That's a bummer." Jean replied. "We were going to ask if you wanted to go out drinking with us tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah." Kain interjected. "It's our way of saying thank you for all your hard work this week."

"I don't know, I would like that but I can't leave when I still have all this paperwork to do."

"Oh Riza could help you with that! She could ask the Colonel if he'd let you take them back to Central with you. Right, Riza?" Kain chimed in, looking at the blond beta expectantly.

She sighed. "I'll see what I can do."

"Now that that's settled, how about it?" Jean asked.

“Well…uh”. Your voice trailed off. The group looked at you expectantly, you almost felt like you couldn’t say no even though you knew you could. You didn’t know the Mustang unit very well but after spending a week in their care you knew without a shadow of a doubt that they were kind and understanding people. They wouldn’t mind if you said no. You looked back at your reports and bit your lip. You should really complete your work, who knows if Riza could persuade Mustang into letting you take them back with you. You weren’t sure if you wanted to risk getting written up for submitting incomplete work, but then again, after everything that happened recently you could use a drink or five.

Returning their gaze you said, “sure why not.”

“Then it’s settled, let’s go.” Came the fair haired alpha. Grabbing your belongings, you rushed out of the office after the group.

You followed them down the semi-crowded streets of East City, you must’ve walked for 15 minutes until you reached your destination. The name ‘777 Pub’ flashed in green neon lights above the establishment.

“Here we are”. Jean announced as he opened the door for everyone to walk in. You signed as you shimmied out of your coat, grateful to shake the night’s chill from your bones. You gazed around the establishment, taking in the sight and the smell. A discordant mixture of voices filled the large space as the patrons chatted over their brew.

Your group was then escorted to a large table at the center of the pub. You took your seat and grasped the tiny menu that sat on the table. You hoped your group wouldn’t notice your obvious inexperience with visiting places like this. As a former aristocrat it was considered distasteful to frequent venues that catered to the common folk. But as you sat there soaking up the lively sounds and scenery of the place, you suddenly felt more at home here than at any of those stuffy balls you frequented, sipping tasteless champagne and engaging in shallow conversations with catty nobles.

A waiter came to your table soon after and took your orders. Your beverages came after a few minutes. You took an appreciative sip from your beer and hummed as the cool earthy taste coated your tongue.

“So Ms. (L/N)”. Came the graying beta, “how do you like being a state alchemist so far?”

“It’s great.” You answered Falman, taking another sip from your beer. “I’m doing what I love, which is more than what most people can say. It’s a lot of work but I expected as much.”

“I dreamt of becoming an alchemist once way back when” Jean interrupted, shoving a cigarette into his mouth and lighting it.

“Really? But you hate science.” Kain asked in disbelief.

Jean took a long drag from his cigarette before responding. “Precisely why I didn’t become one. Anyway, as you may’ve already guessed, I’m not much of a science guy, couldn’t tell you the chemical makeup of a toothbrush let alone convert it into something else.”

“How shocking.” Riza deadpanned.

You giggled as you watched a vein bulge from the side of Jean’s temple.

“Anyway”, Jean said a little too loudly, then he turned to you and took one more pull from his cigarette.. “As I was saying, before I was rudely interrupted.” He sent a playful glare at Riza who only shrugged in response. “I can’t recite the chemical compounds of anything to save my life, so I’m always impressed everytime I see someone perform alchemy so well. You shouldn’t have a hard time moving up in rank with your skills. Who knows, you may even join the Mustang unit someday.”

“That’s the dream.” You uttered. “But in all seriousness my skills aren’t that impressive, nothing that should garner such praise. If you think I’m good then you should see my brother.” You revealed before mentally kicking yourself. Why did you bring up your brother?! You took three large gulps from your cup then and suddenly wished you ordered something stronger than beer. You didn’t think they knew your brother, if they did then they would’ve recognized your last name. But still, it was an error on your part to bring him up. All it takes is for one of them to know your brother and then put two and two together, before you know it your mission to get a philosopher's stone has just become a lot more complicated.

Breda lifted an eyebrow at that revelation. "So your brother is also an alchemist, does he work for the military? Maybe we know him."

You felt your heart catapult to your stomach. You took a sip of your beer and hoped nobody noticed the slight tremble in your hand. "Oh, no, no." You wave your hand dismissively at the notion. "He doesn't live in Amestris anymore. He decided to take his skills abroad, he wanted to deepen his knowledge of alchemy and figure out ways to make it better."

What you said wasn't true, of course, but it would've been if your big brother was still alive. He had dreams of traveling the world after his four years of military service was complete, he wanted to see Xing, learn more about alchemy and perfect his craft. You closed your eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay that threatened to spill down your cheeks. The table was still alive with chatter and cheer but you couldn't make out the words that were being said. It was as though you were submerged under water, all sounds muffled by its murky depths.

You didn't notice when the table grew silent, not until Riza's voice reached you. "You okay?" The blond beta asked.

"Huh?" Just like that you were snapped out of your trance. You felt the weight of the table's stare upon you, some concerned, others guarded, even suspicious. You hunched into yourself slightly, wishing you had a shell to crawl into to escape their prying eyes. "I'm sorry, were you guys saying something?"

"We were." Answered Breda. "We were asking what country your brother went to, but it looks like you got lost in thought there for a moment."

"Oh I'm sorry. The truth is I don't like talking about my brother much." You said. "I haven't seen him in a while, so speaking about him makes me sad sometimes."

Falman nodded in understanding. "You must be very close to your brother."

You gave the older beta a weak smile. "I am. He's the reason why I fell in love with alchemy, he's the one who taught me everything I know, I owe it all to him."

The alpha looked at you with concern in his azure eyes. "Would you like us to change the subject?" Jean inquired.

You nodded. "Yeah, I would appreciate that."

You heard Riza hum then. "In that case indulge me a little." She sat her cup of ale down and turned a scrutinizing eye your way. "What's your reason for seeking out a philosopher stone, does it have anything to do with your brother?"

Your body suddenly seized with tension. A slither of fear shot down your chest and straight into your stomach. You looked around the table and found that everyone was staring at you, obviously waiting for an answer too. A cold sweat trickled down the back of your neck. Fuck. "Ah." You cleared your throat, struggling to find your voice. "What makes you think it has anything to do with my brother?"

The beta shrugged. "You mentioned your brother is an alchemist and you have not seen him in a while due to his adventures around the world. Perhaps he's looking for a philosopher stone and you're aiding him in his search." She hummed, her analytical eyes narrowed in deep thought. "Maybe that's not it, you would have accompanied your brother abroad if that was the case." She said more to herself than to you. "You were sad when you spoke about your brother, why?"

"Why are you doing this, Riza?" Jean questioned, his warm scent soured with his rising annoyance. You fought the instinct to shrink away from an aggravated alpha. "She already said it's because she hasn't seen her brother in a long time. We should drop this."

"Answer the question, the truth this time." Riza demanded, ignoring her irritated comrade.

This is bad! The beginnings of panic shot its way up your throat like bile. You stared at the table trying to calm your racing heart. Think, think, think! You silently demanded yourself. You searched your mind for a story you thought the cautious beta would buy, but the more you thought, the heavier the dread in your chest became. You were never a great liar, you couldn’t weave tales on the spot while also controlling your body language. Your brother used to tease the way your nostrils would flare every time you told a lie. Despite knowing that, it was a hard physical reaction to control.

But these people don’t know me personally. You thought. Maybe they won’t take my flaring nostrils as a sign that I’m lying. They would need to see a pattern in my behavior before they’ll be able to draw a connection. Since this is your first time actually working with the Mustang unit, and you haven’t lied to them until now, they wouldn’t conclude that your flaring nostrils are a sign that you’re lying. They wouldn’t be able to until they see it happen a few times. Sighing, you let your stiff shoulders droop. With that settled, all you have to do now is come up with a good lie. You narrowed your eyes. There has to be something you could say. You think back to the novels you used to read during your adolescents, maybe you could use something from the stories you used to read.

Before you could answer, Kain was the first one to break the silence. “I think Jean is right.” The young beta said. “We shouldn’t bother (Y/N) with a topic she isn’t comfortable talking about, at least not right now. We came here to have fun and relax.” He looked at the rest of his comrades. “Right?”

His words made you smile. Kain was truly a sweet guy, he stood up for you despite barely knowing you. Him and Jean. They seemed to be your only allies at the moment but you knew you couldn’t leave Riza’s question unanswered, that would only encourage her suspicions. You needed to cut it at the root before her suspicions could spoil your plans, and you think you figured out the best story to spin.

With a smile, you placed your hand on the beta’s shoulder.”It's alright, Kain, Riza is right. I haven’t been completely honest.” You sighed and looked at the table, giving yourself a second to flip through the mental pages in your head. You captured your comrades’ eyes and hoped they didn’t read the story you were about to use as your tale, well at least part of the story. “It is true my brother is currently traveling the world but he’s not doing it for himself. He’s abroad looking for a philosopher stone just as I am here. Our mother is very sick, she’s too far along in her illness that the doctors can’t do anything to save her.” You lied, paying close attention to your nose to make sure your nostrils don’t flare. You look at Mustang’s men for a moment before continuing. Riza still donned a mask of indifference but you could tell that her eyes were softening. That’s good. She’s buying it. You think, triumphant in your victory before that feeling quickly morphed into shame. Gosh, what am I becoming? Shoving the feeling aside, you continue your story. “They’ve prescribed her medicine to slow down the process but there’s not much else they could do. The philosopher's stone is our only hope now.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Riza commented. “What ailment afflicts her?”

“Cancer.” You mentioned without missing a beat. It was an illness that claimed your father many years ago. You didn’t enjoy imagining your mother succumbing to the same illness. As much as you two argued, she was the only family you had left and you loved her, without her you would truly be alone in this world. That thought sent a slither of fear down your spine.

“Hey are you alright?” Jean asked, concern polluted his crisp autumn scent.

You nodded, allowing his soothing smell to wrap around you in a hug you desperately needed but knew you shouldn’t get. “Yeah…uh…”You shook your head, snapping yourself out of your depressing thoughts. “Could we change the subject now if that’s okay with everyone, I don’t really wanna think about my family right now.”

Falman, the graying beta, nodded in understanding. “Of course, let’s see, what should we talk about?” He wondered out loud, bringing a hand to his chin.

You heard the younger beta gasp suddenly. “I know!” Kain beamed, nearly jumping out of his seat in his excitement. “Wanna hear about that time Jean tried to hit on General Armstrong’s younger sister?”

The alpha nearly choked on his drink. “What?! Why am I suddenly the topic of conversation?”

Breda shrugged his shoulders. “Because your love life is too hilarious not to talk about.”

Jean scoffed, his faux irritated look made you giggle. “Some friends you are! And besides I’m sure (Y/N) doesn’t wanna hear all the boring details anyway so-”

“But I do.” You cut him off. You turned to Kain. “Don’t spare any detail no matter how small.”

Jean bowed his head in defeat and you couldn’t help but smile. “And here I actually thought I had an ally at this table.” He moaned.

You laughed freely at that, and whatever tension held the table was soon forgotten. It felt good to laugh, to hear the sound of your own happiness, even if it's only brief. The rest of the night went on like that, Kain and Breda continued to regale you with colorful accounts of Jean's misadventures with romance, some of the stories even made Riza crack a smile. Breda even began to discuss some funny situations that happened in his own life.

A few hours passed while you were exchanging stories. By then you were up to your fourth cup of beer, you hiccupped, feeling the earthy liquid course through your veins and numbing any anxieties you still had about the evening. You rocked a little in your seat. Maybe I should've taken it easy on the beer. You thought with a quiet giggle. Looking at your wrist you checked the time. You felt yourself sober up instantly.

"Gosh, I didn't realize it was this late. I gotta run." You said while shimmying into your jacket.

"Same here." Kain replied before throwing on his own coat.

"Guess we should all go then." Jean suggested, taking a long pull from his cigarette before grinding it into the ashtray.

Once the group was all bundled up, you paid and tipped your server and left.

An icy wind gushed into your face, chilling your bones and causing your legs to quiver. "It's so cold!" You cried, wrapping your arms around yourself in a futile attempt to regain warmth.

"Yeah." Jean agreed, shoving his hands into his coat pockets as he spoke. " I didn't realize it would get this cold tonight.

"Would you like my scarf, (Y/N)?" Kain asked, already unwrapping the fabric from around his neck. "It's not so cold to me and you could always give it back to me whenever we see each other again."

"Oh no it's fine really. I'm a short walk from here actually." You explain as you point your thumb behind you in the direction of your destination. "So I should be alright."

That's when a fluffy weight drops onto your shoulders. You look up quizzically at Jean as he wrapped his scarf around your neck. "Huh? It's truly fine Jean, I'll be alright. I don't want you to go without your scarf."

"Don't worry about it, you said so yourself it's a short walk for you and it just so happens that I live in the same direction you're heading. You could wear it until we reach your hotel." Jean said with finality, it was very alpha of him but you didn't mind. You unconsciously nuzzled against his scarf, bathing your senses in his autumn scent. His smell made you think of pumpkin pie, the smell was so palpable it made your taste buds come alive at that moment, awaiting the dish as though it was right in front of you.

Shaking your head, you discarded the thought. You mentally kicked yourself for allowing your omega instincts to bleed through. Betas didn't get hypnotized by an alpha's scent and they definitely didn't nuzzle their faces against an item that smelled like an alpha. Ugh, I really hope they didn't notice. You looked up from the scarf to find the entire group staring at you. Your cheeks instantly burned with mortification. If only the ground could open up and swallow you in that moment.

"I-its a very soft scarf…" You mumbled. When you didn't get a response, you cleared your throat and decided to say farewell. "Well, uh - it was nice hanging out with you guys tonight. Thanks for inviting me, I had a great time."

"Likewise." Breda smiled. "Don't be a stranger once you get to Central."

"Yeah, we should definitely do this again sometime whenever you're in East City." Kain exclaimed.

"Or whenever you guys are in Central."

"You bet." Breda clipped before turning to leave.

"Safe travels." Falman waved before joining Breda.

"I'll be sure to bring up your report to the Colonel tonight, I'll call your hotel room once I receive an answer." Came the blond beta.

You nodded. "Thanks Riza, get home safe." With a wave, you all part ways. Jean walks with you in comfortable silence. As the wind blew you couldn't help but draw closer to him, unconsciously looking to him for warmth. He responds by wrapping a strong arm around your shoulders.

"This okay?"

You nodded and he relaxed against you. "So which hotel are you staying at?"

"Oh I'm staying at the Western Inn, the one at the corner of 4th Street."

Jean hums in response. You walk like that for two more blocks, just enjoying each other's company. It wasn't until the Western Inn came into view that Jean broke the silence. "So did you truly have a good time tonight?"

"Yeah I did. It started off rocky but it wasn't like that for the entire night. I started having a lot of fun after a while. To be honest I can't remember the last time I had this much fun, or even laughed." You admitted while nervously fiddling with the knitted scarf around your neck. "It felt good to let my hair down and just be."

"That's good, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself." Jean said before falling silent again. You could feel him grow tense against you. From the corner of your eye you swore you saw a light dusting of pink against his cheeks. "Listen…uh…I'll be in Central this weekend visiting a family friend if you wanna grab a cup of coffee or….something."

His nervousness made you smile. You've never seen an alpha blush or act shy before and the sight of it was very enduring. "I would love to, it just so happens I know of a lovely cafe by my apartment."

Jean beamed at that. "Great, it's a date then."

"Yeah". You smiled up at him. Your heart fluttered in your chest with excitement. You knew you shouldn't be courting anyone, not while you were plotting your vendetta, but Jean was cute and charming despite being terrible at romance. Who knows, if all went well maybe you two could become an item after you finish off the State Alchemist Killer. But would he want me after finding out that I lied about my intentions with the philosopher's stone? Before you could wallow on the thought, a foreign scent immediately invaded your nose.

You gasped, your steps slowed before coming to a halt. Jean looks down at you and you could tell he's speaking to you but you couldn’t hear him. It was as though all five of your senses were seized by the presence of this new smell. You've never smelled anything like it before, the smell was so delicious it caused your mouth to water.

Jean gently tugged on your arm but you didn't look back at him, your eyes focused on the direction the smell was coming from.

"(Y/N)? Are you alright?"

"You don't smell that?"

"Smell what? (Y/N)? (Y/N)!" In an instant your feet bolted in the direction of the scent. You couldn't stop your legs from moving, it was as though they had a mind of their own. You raced across the street, causing cars to steer off their course. A chorus of beeping cars screamed at you but that wasn’t enough to shake you out of your trance.

You dipped into an alley and weaved into another. The smell was getting closer, becoming more potent. It smelled so rich and earthy like spice and hot like the sun beaming against scorched desert sand.

Taking a right you skated to a halt. Euphoria filled your chest at the thought of meeting the source of that delicious smell. You walked a short distance down the alley before two figures materialized in the dark.

W-what?...Your eyes snapped wide open as you peered at the person responsible for your trance. It-it can't be!

Standing in front of you was none other than the man responsible for your brother's death, the State Alchemist Killer…Scar. He loomed over a much shorter figure he pinned against the wall. His unforgiving grip dug into the man's throat. You realized he was in the middle of killing yet another State Alchemist.

The murderer turned his head, his eyes were red like blood. Pain shot through your abdomen the moment your eyes met. You sunk to your knees as heat curled in your belly. You trembled in fear and another feeling you shouldn't be experiencing right now. Why? Why is this happening?! Your body became hot as a furnace. You clenched your thighs shut against the ache between your legs. You doubled over as another cramp claimed you. You couldn't understand why you were entering a heat, and this fast. You took your heat suppressants today and you never miss a day, not to mention you didn't receive any indication that you were about to enter a heat.

It didn't make sense….unless. A slither of fear shot down your spine. He couldn't be…

Lifting your head, you gazed upon the red eyed man standing in front of you. His eyes were wide too and you saw your shock reflected in his gaze. His grip on his victim slacked and the body dropped to the ground.

For a moment time stilled and you didn't feel the icy wind against your cheek, you didn’t hear the wailing cars in the distance, or the sound of people walking by. You didn't know what to feel, your mind was screaming at you to run, to fight, to will your traitorous body to its feet. But your body had a mind of its own, it called out to the man bathed in the sun's scent. That could only mean one thing and you were afraid to even think the thought, as though the very act would solidify the fact into existence.

Footsteps stormed down the alley followed by the refreshing smell of pumpkin spice. You released your breath and time seemed to resume. Jean came racing to your side.

"(Y/N), why did you-" His voice faltered the moment the scent of your heat assaulted his nose. The alpha gasped and stood rigidly a few feet away from you. "That scent, it's coming from you." Before he could finish the thought his eyes snapped towards the other figure in the alley with you.

"Scar!" He shouted, sobering up instantly.

The Ishvalan took off then, disappearing down the dark maw of the alley.

"You won't get away!" Jean moved to follow him until he heard you cry out.

You withered on the cold concrete. The smell of flowers and lavender spiced the air around you, no doubt alerting all other alphas in the area that a distressed and unmated omega just fell into a heat, and a strong one at that.

Now someone else knows you're an omega. To make matters worse, Scar might your soulmate!

#fma scar x reader #fmab x reader #full metal alchemist brotherhood #anime #a03 fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #omegaverse #omega reader #chapter update #not beta read

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companionwolf · 1 year

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pride month drabble challenge fill #4

prompts: 26. Closeted/Coming Out + 1. Sex + "Well, what's so strange about that?"

fandom: XCOM 2 (gen verse)

TWs/CWs: sex mentions, implied past repeated sexual assault, internalized transphobia?

The world is sheets and skin and breath and heat and yet the Commander shakes. Not sensually, not now, now when--

Central, shirtless and above them, his face in their neck, pauses as he feels them stiffen. He rises up and back, looks down at them with worry.

"Are you okay? You've gone quiet."

"'M pretty quiet anyway," they answer.

Central shrugs. "Touche. Really though, is something up? We can stop."

"I--"

They hesitate.

They have never done this before, not the real way, not the way it should be, never imagined they would get to. They want to, for them and for him, but...

He will leave, when he sees.

He won't ... he won't like who they are, when he sees.

When he realizes.

"Commander?"

"I-I need to tell you something," they manage.

He sits back further, gives them space. For a moment the Commander is breathless at his form, at the sheen of sweat on his skin and ripple of muscle as he streches a little. They want this, him.

But...

They swallow.

"Central," they say, "Central, I-- I'm not what you think I am."

Central raises an eyebrow. "What, you're gonna tell me you're an alien?" He's laughing, but then he trails off when they don't laugh with him.

Somewhere, in a high ethereal voice, distant in their mind, Asaru giggles. The Commander internally glares back at him and then tries to re-center to here and now in their quarters, where Central waits so patient for what they are about to ruin for them both. Their heart thumps hard.

"Central," they say.

"Commander," he replies.

A moment of silence between them. Then Central says, "You're not an alien, right? I mean, that'd be--"

"I'm trans, Central," the Commander says. Their voice shakes like their shoulders do. They take off their shirt now, revealing a makeshift binder. "I've always been."

Quiet between them.

The Commander's trembling rachets up a notch. He's looking at them, expression they can't decipher, and they wonder if he's trying to see what he missed, if he feels tricked, he must feel that, if--

Then their XO's face softens.

He closes the gap between them and pulls the Commander to his chest, kissing between their shoulder blades before pulling at a strap of the binder.

"Can't do this in that," he murmurs. "You'll hurt yourself."

The Commander stares at him.

"You aren't...mad?" they ask, slowly moving to slide out of the binder, not quite believing that they aren't being hurt right now, that he won't.

"Commander, why on Earth would I be mad? You just came out to me, that's admirable as hell," he says.

"But you didn't know and we're gonna have sex and--"

"Well, I know now," he says. "My only real worry is if you're okay with that kind of stuff. We can do something else, if you're not comfy with, uh..."

The Commander takes a breath, steadies themselves, is still half in disbelief. "I ... I don't know," they say.

They shrink into Central's embrace, they shake with their entire body, and they cry.

He gently rubs circles into their back as they sob, other hand stroking their hair. "It's okay," he says. "It's OK. You're okay."

Through tears they muster, "It's alright if you want to go. I won't be hurt. Maybe it'd be better. You can find someone you actually want and--"

"When did I say I didn't want you?" Central asks. He pulls back, gingerly takes the Commander's face in his hands. "Commander, I have and do and will always want you. In this and in romance and everything else."

They struggle hard to compose themselves. "But--"

"Hey," he says, "don't finish that sentence. Kiss me instead."

"Okay," they say, voice small, and melt into him. They stay like this, tightly pressed together, going no further, until Central pulls away again.

"What do you want, Commander?" he asks. "What can I do for you?"

"I--I want--" Their voice breaks.

"Whatever you want, it's okay," he says. "Whatever you want, I'll do my best. All I can do, really. All I ever want to do."

"I want to help you," they say.

Central's gaze is soft but focused. "And how do you want to do that?" he asks.

The words "make you feel good" are a mumble. Their XO smiles, a small upturn of lips.

"Well, that's not so strange, is it?" Central's smile widens.

The Commander swallows hard. "...If what I wanted was strange, would you...?"

"I'd be willing to try," he says.

Tears well up in their eyes again. "Why are you being nice to me? After--"

"Should I not be nice?"

"I don't know," the Commander says. "The others weren't."

Central stiffens. "What others?"

The Commander takes a shaky breath. Their heart is shallow and fast. "When-- when I was younger, and a few times later, I-- well, I didn't want to, and they did, and then then they found out about the trans thing and--"

Central's face makes a shape they don't understand.

"Commander," he says, and his voice is very quiet, "Commander, did they hurt you?"

The Commander shakes.

Central's hand hovers over their knee.

"You know what," he says, "we don't need to do this. Not that we ever had to--"

"I want to!" It's a wail. "I want to and they took it away from me and now I can't even when I do say yes and I--" Their voice dissolves into sobbing.

Central slowly, deliberately, with intent and obvious allowance to them to stop him or move away, rests his hand on their knee.

"Hey, let's just hang out," he says. "If you want me around. No sex, just us being together. Would that be okay?"

"I don't know."

"Do you want me to leave?"

The Commander looks at him helplessly. "I don't know," they repeat. "I don't know. It probably doesn't matter if I did."

"What you want matters a lot," Central says. "Least it does to me."

He paws through the sheets, gathers up the Commander's clothes, and offers the bundle to them. "Let's get dressed and go stand on the flight deck. I think that might be helpful," he says before he quickly adds "But it's your call."

The Commander takes the clothes with trembling hands. Central begins to get dressed himself. Once he's done, he looks at them-- they've not moved.

"Can you please, uh, leave the room?" they ask.

"Of course, I'll be right outside," he says.

The Commander watches him go, sitting in the tousled sheets and shaking shaking shaking. When he does not burst back in, they slowly stand, slowly pull on their binder and then their shirt.

The Commander crosses their room, the world feeling like it's behind a buffer. Like they're back in the simulation but they know it, like they're a step removed from reality.

Central is leaning on the wall beside their quarter's door, cleaning his nails with his knife. He straightens up as they appear in the doorway.

"C'mon," he says, jerking his head in the direction of the flight deck.

They tail him, dragging a hand along the walls of the ship, trying to convince themselves the metal under their fingers is real. Central absent mindedly talks, and they can't really understand him right now with the world behind glass, but they appreciate it.

Why is he being nice? The question rings in their head. Why did he not, is he not--

They've stepped out onto the flight deck, followed Central to the railing, where he stares out toward a mountain range. He looks over his shoulder at them. "Sunset's pretty, huh?"

The Commander makes a noise, one they hope is appropriate for the situation.

Central frowns.

"Hey, can you do me a favor?"

Their breath catches.

He continues. "Name some of the colors you see in the sky right now."

They blink. That's not... they shake their head. Nothing clears. "Um," they say. "Yellow? Orange? Pink?"

"Yeah," says Central. "What about, let's see, what do you hear? Besides me, obviously."

The Commander listens. Tries to listen. The wind, the hum of the ship, their quick fast breathing...

"Any of this helping?"

They aren't sure, shrug.

Central reaches toward their hand, pauses. "Can I touch you? Like, your hand."

They nod.

Central takes their hand in his, squeezes. "Focus on the sunset," he says. "On the wind, and the feeling of your weight and gravity. Focus on here."

The Commander stares at him.

Central's face is... they don't know what that face means, but it isn't a cruel expression. "You're safe," he says. "Well, as well as you can be. Please come back, Commander. I won't hurt you."

And a question squeaks out of their tight throat: "Why?"

Central blinks. "Why?"

"Why won't you hurt me?"

His turn to stare at them. "Because--" He starts, falters. Tries to figure out how to say it. Can't. "I don't want to hurt you," he settles for instead. "I never have and never will."

The Commander inhales. Focus-- sky mountains wind ship Central. Exhales. Focus. Focus. Come on, damn it, focus!

"Aren't you angry?" they ask.

"About what?"

"Who I am," they say. "What I am."

"No," he says, in stern finality.

The Commander stares at him. "I don't understand," they say finally.

Central looks away out toward the setting sun, as it sinks behind the mountains. "That's okay," he says after a bit. "I'd like to help you to, though."

He looks back at them. "You know what happened to you shouldn't have, right? That you didn't deserve it?" he asks.

The Commander says nothing.

"You didn't trick anyone," he continues. "You were keeping yourself safe."

Still, they're silent. Central squeezes their hand again. "You dont have to talk," he says. "We can just stand."

So that's where they stay, at his side on the flight deck, watching the sky darken.

Central never lets go of their hand.

#wolf barking #tailstrokes #hello commander #pride month drabble challenge #ummm no rb allowed on this one . likes r ok #'wolf are you good' this is a important piece to me #for me to have written #what happened to me isn't the same as this commander but.#i need the words central says in this as much as they do

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takaraphoenix · 3 days

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What is the difference between percico/nicercy? /gen /nf

Well, the glib/short answer would be that it's kinda like in anime/manga fandoms where name-order indicates top/bottom and top/bottom (still) indicates a lot about how the characters are portrait, because tops tend(ed) to be portrait as the ones who got their shit together and could even be cocky about their romantic attraction while the bottom is always the one who blushes a lot, etc.

Back in ye olden days, all the Nico and Percy content was... very exclusively top!Percy/bottom!Nico... and it reflected in the way they were written too.

Percy very often ended up this cock-sure flirt who just knew exactly what he wanted and got it, which... does not align with Percy "I am blushing and stammering as I am alone with my girlfriend at night" Jackson.

And Nico was this blushy "smol bean", which... just does not align with canon!Nico imo, but hey it's still a huge trope about Nico. For being such a badass Ghost King he gets uwufied a lot.

And! That's. Fine. I'm not saying these portrays shouldn't exist or that they're necessarily wrong - OoC behavior is fun too, I know I intentionally leaned too far into the other end in the past myself, and sometimes it's even fun to just go hog-wild off-script. Everyone gets their own headcanons and interpretations and preferences.

It's just not what I vibe with. I always found Percy's canonical cluelessness about romance - with Rachel and with Annabeth alike - as well as how easily flustered he always was - with Annabeth, Rachel and also with Nico, when Nico confessed to him, Percy was flustered. Like, that's one of his canonical behaviors that endeared me to him, so I'm not gonna seek fanon content out that deliberately ignores it.

Meanwhile, Nico had a distant brashness to him. He didn't blush and stammer around Percy, even when he canonically was in love with Percy, he was loud and angry and stubborn. Like, we canonically know how Nico acted around Percy while hiding a secret crush from Percy. Sure, he hid his feelings, but not in the blushy uwu kind of way?

So, that's what Nicercy became, to me, when I started writing it, and how it has been written/interpreted by the majority of writers who've taken to using the ship-name Nicercy and deliberately write Nicercy fics instead of Percico fics.

Top!Nico/bottom!Percy, if you wanna boil it down to its essence. Not just in sex, but also leaning into what those stereotypes usually represented - you'll see a more easily flustered, blushy, cute-acting Percy and not a flustered Nico. And, as I admitted above, I did like to deliberately lean more into the opposite, so a more self-assured Nico, which yeah sure that's not as in line with canon either, but, again, everyone gets their headcanons ;D

I, uh, hope this explained it well enough? ^^

#feels like a lesson in fandom history #funsies haven't done one of those in a while xD #PJOverse #Nicercy

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archived-kin · 2 years

Text

sharp blade, soft heart

note from kin: i know i said on the gorou piece that everything upcoming was fluff, but it turns out i was lying. anyway in this one childe falls in love with the spirit of a long dead wandering warrior - very loosely inspired by the presence of the iwakura guys and ‘masanori’ in inazuma

this one’s kinda long, so strap in! it's also a bit of a fixer-upper in regards to plot tbh, but i like it even so

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn! reader, childe

pairing(s): childe/reader

warning(s): references to death, and also i still haven’t read up on childe’s actual lore so this is not canon compliant at all

genre: uh oh! angst time (not the devastating kind, more the ~yearning~ kind. man i really do love writing this sort of thing for tartaggle huh)

You first appear to him in the distant peaks of one of Snezhnaya’s coldest mountain ranges.

Childe is here on a self-imposed test of courage, one hand clutching the hilt of his sheathed blade, and the other trying to keep his hat from being blown clean off his head. The snowstorm has died down, but the wind continues to roar past his ears in great, howling gusts - it knows that he’s an intruder on this mountain, and it’s determined to blow him away.

If he hadn’t been looking in the right place at the right time, he probably would’ve missed you - but the sun is still high enough in the sky for him to spot your figure, standing there amid the stark white snow. At first he contemplates ignoring you, assuming you to just be another odd Snezhnayan about on their own business - but then he looks a little closer, and realises that you’re translucent.

Now that’s unusual...

“Who goes there?!” You bark as soon as he approaches, yanking his hat off his head and stowing it in his bag to leave both hands free. “I hear your footsteps!”

“Whoa there!” He raises his left hand as you abruptly turn to face him, and he sees the telltale glint of a notched arrow aimed his way. “Calm down, we’re all friends here.”

You narrow your eyes at him, fingers still poised at the bowstring. “You have a weapon.”

“So do you,” He points out in reply, though he does take his other hand off the hilt of his blade, and lifts that as well. “So, have you noticed that you’re see-through?”

“My arrows are not,” You growl, and Childe notes with mild surprise that you’re right. The weapon in your hands seems perfectly solid compared to the rest of your body. “I aim to kill. What are you doing here?”

“It’s a free estate, isn’t it?” He spreads his arms to gesture around himself. The wind immediately bites at his exposed torso; he quickly brings his arms closer to himself again. “No one owns the mountains. Anyway - isn’t killing a bit harsh? Why can’t you aim to incapacitate instead?”

You regard him with mild disdain, then very slowly and deliberately move your arrow to point to his groin. At this, his eyes open wide with horror - only partly exaggerated. “Oh, never mind, killing’s fine, killing’s fine…”

For a moment you don’t move, but then you sigh and lower your bow. “...I will not fire. I have limited arrows as it is.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” Childe observes you for a moment, then continues, “Can we go back to the see-through thing, then?”

“We cannot,” You dismiss almost grumpily, then look him up ad down. He wonders vaguely if you’re checking him out. “...are you an able fighter?”

At this, he practically inflates like a pufferfish with pride, your translucency forgotten in a heartbeat. “Ha! Well, I’d like to think so! Why - are you looking for a brawl?”

You cock a brow at him, drop the bow, then quite suddenly unsheathe a blade of your own - for a second he thinks it’s come out of nowhere, then realises that you’ve deftly pulled it out from your left sleeve. He doesn’t even know how you were hiding it in there without it being noticeable, but… well, all he can think for a few moments is whoa, that’s hot.

“I have not had a good fight in a very long time,” You announce, pointing the sword at him. He notes its oddly thin blade - the style of blacksmithery doesn’t seem local. “Amuse me.”

“Heh…” He pushes down on that familiar rush of adrenaline that always comes with a chance to draw his weapon. “What’s in it for me?”

“A satisfying battle is its own reward,” You reply, and that’s enough to bring a grin to his face. It seems you have similar ideologies. “We will fight to disarm. I doubt you will be able to strike me directly, anyway… if you manage to survive the first five seconds.”

He unsheathes his own blade. “What makes you think—”

Next thing he knows, he’s lying in the snow and staring up at a cloud so white that it makes his eyes hurt a little. There’s a dull aching sensation in the centre of his chest - after some extremely perplexed thought, he realises that you’d slammed the hilt of your sword into him.

“The first moments of a fight are some of the most important.” You lean over him - against the sky, your face is barely visible. You’re shimmering, like some sort of desert mirage. “You can win in a flash if you simply make your move swiftly enough.”

“Wh—” He sputters in outrage, sitting up quickly - you don’t move back in time, and his head phases through your torso entirely. “—oh, that’s not nice…”

“I suppose not,” You observe as he hops to his feet, wearing a marginally disturbed expression. “You were saying?’

“Huh...? Oh, right!” He points at you accusingly. “You didn’t tell me the fight had started yet!”

“Will your enemies do you the honour of warning you before they strike?” You ask in reply. Childe opens his mouth, then slowly shakes his head in defeat. “...this should be common knowledge to you. It is the first rule taught by any master worth their salt.”

Now that he thinks about it, he has heard something along those lines before. It’s just that he’s usually the enemy striking without warning - not the one being struck. “...well, I’ll concede. I let my guard down. Will you let me fight you for real now?”

You respond with a deft jab of your sword. Had he not kept his grip on his own weapon even as he went down, he’d have been skewered in seconds - but, thankfully, he manages to deflect the blow. As you draw your blade back to your side, he takes several long steps back, cursing the snow obstructing his boots.

“Good reaction time,” You note, then suddenly aim a slash at him that he only just parries. “Hmm. Your technique is sound.”

“Yours isn’t bad, either,” He replies, shifting his stance and tightening his grip around his blade hilt as he prepares for an attack of his own. “This’ll be fun.”

It’d probably do him well to be less arrogant next time. He attacks with the same deftness of movement that has been more than enough to fell countless opponents before - each move calculated and swift, almost mechanical in their accuracy. But you counter each one by a hair’s breadth; it almost takes his breath away, the way you match his every blow.

It’s as if the two of you are engaged in some kind of deadly dance, set to the tune of clashing steel. Your expression is muted and flat; the only hint that you’re engaged in the battle at all is the subtle spark in your eyes. Childe, meanwhile, feels his grin grow wider with each passing moment, heart thumping louder and louder each time your blades cross.

The thrill of an equal opponent is such that, when you finally knock the blade from his hands and send it spinning into a nearby snowdrift, Childe can’t do much other than throw back his head and laugh. He laughs for a while - long enough that he’s sure you’ll think he’s gone crazy when he finally stops. But he just can’t help it! He feels too good!

“...you enjoyed the battle, I assume,” You say drily as his laughter finally dies down. “Was it worth it?”

“Worth it?” He brushes away a tear. “Oh, it was worth it alright. Where did you learn to fight like that?”

“I learnt a little from every nation I visited,” You reply mysteriously, stowing your blade back in your sleeve. “From the masters I met, and from the many defeats I encountered along the way.”

“I’d expect no less,” He sighs with a smile, trudging over to retrieve his fallen blade. “So where’ve you been ‘along the way’?”

“All over the world,” You say, sweeping your arm out theatrically. Then you pause, looking around at the snow, and frown. “...my journey was not supposed to end here.”

“No?” Childe looks you up and down. Your clothes are hardly suitable for Snezhnayan weather. “Well, it’s true you don’t look like you’re from around here...”

You follow his gaze, then scowl a little. “I assure you, this is not my usual attire. I was not wearing my armour when I passed.”

“Oh. Oh.” He should probably be more surprised by that, “So you’re a ghost, then?

“I prefer spirit,” You say grandly.

“Spirit, right. How did you die?”

“...straight to the point, I see.” You give him a look, folding your arms. “...a once-friend murdered me. I had assumed they were as honourable as they appeared… as you can tell, they were not.”

He raises an eyebrow at you, intrigued. “...care to elaborate?”

“I suppose.” You pause for a moment, then begin matter-of-factly, “They had a little green stone that they used to aid them in battle. They used it to create a plant of poison, and used it alongside another herb to brew me a sedative tea. I lost consciousness within minutes and died in my sleep.”

That’s an… unorthodox way to use Dendro. Childe feels his own Hydro Vision burning a hole through the pouch hanging from his waist. “...how long ago was this?”

You ruminate on this for a long while. “If I have observed the seasons correctly, then it should have been at least one hundred and fifty years by the next thaw.”

“One hundred and—” He chokes on an inhale, and has to spend the next minute or so doubled over coughing. Meanwhile, you just stand there and watch him with a mildly concerned look on his face. “...why have you stuck around for so long?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” You reply. Now that he thinks about it, the way you talk makes a lot more sense when he considers that you’re from more than a century ago. “I do not wish for vengeance. Even if I did, my once-friend will be long-dead by now.”

“Probably,” He agrees, then pauses. “...why did they poison you?”

“I won a precious artifact during my travels,” You say, a distant look passing over your face for a moment. “A beautiful goblet. I suppose they coveted it… or else I wouldn’t have watched them steal it from the pack strapped to my cold corpse’s back.”

Childe winces a little. He’s not afraid of death himself, but it’s odd to hear someone talk so casually of their own demise. Not least because you’re the first (and only) not-yet-departed soul he’s ever met.

“...well,” he starts, rubbing hesitantly at the back of his neck, “I hope I… made your afterlife a little more interesting.”

You quirk an eyebrow at him. A transient smile passes across your face. “You did, indeed. You are the first person I’ve met since I passed.”

He feels an odd little throb in his chest. Sympathy, he supposes. “Does it get lonely?”

“Perhaps. It has been too long for me to remember the difference between isolation and company.” You pause. “...but I would welcome another visit, if you ever have the time.”

He offers you a smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

And so he does. At first, he only comes by sparingly - to have a word, and exchange a few blows. But then, more and more, he finds himself making the long trek, not just to fight you, but to see you again. He hadn’t quite realised how easy you were on the eyes the first time he met you; he hadn’t quite realised how soothing your voice was, either.

The cold stops biting as much soon enough, and the bracing exercise does wonders for his stamina. Which is a good thing, because the lengths of your fights are getting almost ridiculous… even though you always manage to best him in the end. That’s alright, though; it just means he can keep getting stronger. It helps that it’s really quite alluring when you smirk at him after yet another defeat, too.

He gets questions from the other Harbingers about his constant absences, most of them accompanied with ill-intentioned jabs questioning his loyalty. He ignores all of them - until he’s given a mission to complete, he’ll spend his free time however he likes, and at the moment he really quite likes spending his free time with you.

The only problem would be that it reduces the time he gets to spend with his family, but there’s a silver lining to that cloud, too. Soon enough into his series of visits, you begin to tell him stories - of the landscapes you have traversed, the battles you have both fought in and witnessed, and the endless amount of other lives that you passed through like a leaf on a stream. And those stories most certainly go down well with the kids back home.

It’s clear that, even though it was cut short prematurely, you still lived an impressively full life; even after almost half a year has passed, you don’t seem anywhere close to running out of experiences to recount. Childe’s grateful for that; his siblings have gotten so accustomed to having your thrilling tales relayed to them that, were he to go back to telling them his own poorly-improvised stories, they’d be extremely disappointed.

Childe himself enjoys your stories greatly, too. In fact, he’s hiding something about that - there is one story that he never re-tells to his family, that he keeps close to his chest like a precious childhood toy. He can’t quite put why he does it into words, but he keeps doing it, anyway.

And, out of the many you tell him, it’s only that story that he asks to hear again. It isn’t one about conquest and conflict, as would be typical of him, but a fairly mundane one about your time in the nation of Liyue.

In it, you speak of a distant peak in Minlin - Mount Hulao, which towers over the Huaguang Stone Forest, and is hell to climb if you don’t know where to put your feet. You describe the amber crystals - prisons of the purest colour, locking everything they incarcerate into an eternal stasis that lasts for as long as the stone remains unshattered.

Above all, though, you talk of the view - of cloud-shrouded peaks, distant blue waters, and rippling green grass. You talk of how the sunset would cloak the trees with the most vivid golden glow you’d ever seen, and of how the pale sunrise and chilled morning dew served as a far better wake-up call than the sound of an ambushing enemy. Rather unusually, your favourite time to go gazing on the mountain was deep in the night - at the right time, it’d seem like the moon and stars had cast a silvery shroud of gossamer over Liyue.

This, above all others, is Childe’s favourite story of yours.

He’d be lying if he was saying he was still paying complete attention to the words, though; rather, he likes to watch you. It’s when you describe that view that you look the closest to corporeal that you’ve ever been, when a true smile comes closest to actually lingering on your face. The sparkle he sees in your eyes then is different to the one he spots in the midst of a fight, and though the latter was bolstering enough to warrant several returns, he thinks that it’s the former that keeps him coming back to you now, over and over again.

Is it possible to love someone across so many years? He’s not sure - but he’s also not sure what other word he could apply to how it feels to be near you these days. And it’s not the sort of term that Childe throws around lightly, but somehow it feels right.

He’d never say it, of course. 'I love you’ - he can’t even touch you; he doubts that you’d believe him if he suddenly made that confession. But he thinks it to himself, practises whispering it into the night when he’s about to fall asleep, and shouts it silently - a thousand times for each smile that passes across your face.

Childe doesn’t do things by halves. Like his thirst for battle, his feelings are all-consuming, and sometimes it’s all he can do to keep himself from screaming with the intensity of it all. It’s such an odd thing, something straight out of a folk tale - to have fallen in love with a piece of the long-forgotten past. Those stories never end well, nothing that brings the living and the dead too close does… but Childe allows himself to dream.

In many of your stories about Liyue, you talk about a so-called adeptus who lives upon that Mount Hulao that you love so much - an adeptus named Mountain Shaper. Somehow you earned the honour of being able to call him your master for a short while, and it was he who gifted you the bow that you aimed at Childe when he first met you.

“It was buried by its first master,” You tell him, holding it out for him to take a closer look. “Mountain Shaper presented it to me just before I left Liyue, and I have wielded it since. It fires well, even if it is rusted. Perhaps you could learn to use it one day… after all, I have no use for it.”

“Sounds fun,” He agrees, reaching out, then pausing when his fingers pass straight through the bow’s handle. “...that’ll be a bit of an obstacle, though… and I warn you, I’m hopeless with anything long range at the moment.”

You don’t seem fazed. “Ah, the instrument is never as important as the one who wields it. As long as the bow you find is sturdy, it will serve well as a weapon - and, as long as you polish your craft, you will find your aim is true before long.”

He agrees with you then, but the topic never quite seems to crop up again after that day. The two of you fight with your respective blades, as always, and as always you send his flying away in the end. Somehow, though, the idea of finally being able to hold that bow of yours nestles at the back of his mind, and never quite leaves.

Maybe it’s because you don’t seem to place much sentimental value in your blade - at least, not nearly as much as you do in your bow. Maybe it’s because of the link it shares with your story about Mount Hulao. Or maybe it’s just a matter of principle - if he were able to touch the bow, he might be able to touch you, too.

Childe has grown soft, it seems. He’s let his guard down. He becomes too comfortable with you, too comfortable in your existence, too comfortable in this routine he has fallen into. He forgets himself and the position he has been given; a position that is flimsy as it is, recent as his appointment has been. He supposes that what follows is some kind divine retribution for forgetting his place.

Precisely two years to the day he met you, he finally bests you in battle. He doesn’t register it at first, but then he catches it - the shine of your blade as it’s flung skywards. In the sudden burst of excitement that follows, he doesn’t realise that your sword does not return to earth - it fades away in a cloud of mist and dust.

“I did it! I beat you!” He drops his own blade - it sinks into the snow with a muted thump - and pumps his fist in the air, suddenly feeling like a little boy again for the first time in years. “Oh, wow— I really have gotten stronger, huh?”

“You have, indeed,” You agree, and he realises you’re smiling at him - properly, without it fading within seconds as it always does. “Congratulations, Ajax.”

He feels an odd little shiver shoot up his back. It’s been a long time now since he told you his birth name, but he hadn’t expected you to suddenly use it so bluntly. “Well— it’s all down to you.”

“Perhaps.” Your smile is the brightest he’s ever seen it - but, for some odd reason, he feels his own falter. “Ajax - take this for me, would you?”

You’re holding out your bow. His smile truly drops at this; a cold sense of dread steals over him. “...what? You know I can’t touch it.”

“I have reason to believe that that might have changed.” You push the bow forward, and he takes a step back, hands held stiff by his sides. “...what’s wrong?”

He’s silent for a long while, staring at both you and the bow warily. The realisation had hit him as soon as he saw your smile, he thinks. When he speaks again, his voice is small - almost child-like. “...you’re leaving.”

“I don’t have much of a choice in the matter,” You chuckle, and he curses the fact that he can’t appreciate the sound. “Besides - I left a hundred and fifty years ago. It isn’t quite a recent development.”

“But you didn’t,” He says, and he hates how petulant he sounds. “You’re still here. You’re… you’re still with me.”

“I was never going to stay around forever, Ajax,” You say gently. “I died a long time ago.”

You reach forward again, with your hand instead of the bow, and this time he does not move away. When your hand meets his cheek, it doesn’t pass through it - for the first time, Childe feels your touch.

“You fight well,” You say gently. “And you’ve grown stronger.”

“There’s no point to it,” He mutters bitterly, fighting the urge to turn away. “I wouldn’t have bothered if I knew this would happen.”

You give him a stern frown“That’s a foolish thing to say and you know it.”

He looks at you. Everything rushes in on him so quickly that, for a fleeting moment, he feels as if he can't breathe. Something inside him aches, keens, whimpers - it wants to grasp your hand, hold on tight, and never let go. But... he can’t move. He can’t do anything but stare at you, drinking in your face greedily, as if he’ll never see it again - because he won’t.

Slowly, you draw away from him. He follows your motion; in that split second before your hand leaves his cheek, he thinks a million words - but he can’t find it in himself to say any of them aloud.

“It isn’t fair,” He murmurs finally, face crumpling. “We didn’t have enough time.”

“Of course we didn’t. It’s cruel - that I had to remain here for over a hundred years, and only spend two of them with you. But my time has always been stolen. You have to remember that.”

You hold your bow out to him again. This time, he doesn’t reject it. He only looks at it, then back at you. “...so this is it, then?”

“This is it,” You repeat back to him, and take a small step forward. “Take it. I know you will wield it well.”

He reaches forward, agonisingly slowly - hoping that, if he can drag this moment out for long enough, he can make it last an eternity. But time stops for no one; finally, his hand closes around its solid handle.

You smile at him, one last time. “Thank you, Ajax.”

The bow weighs heavily in his hand. Childe’s breath catches. All he can do is stand and watch you disappear.

Everything after that feels like an echo. He takes the bow back home with him, trudging through the snow, feeling the bitter cold for the first time in a long while. In the months that come, his fellow Harbingers question his sudden obsession with the weapon he’s neglected ever since he joined their ranks, but he has no answers for them. He only practises harder - until the string of your bow is as familiar to him as his own palms.

He goes back to keenly awaiting the next outpost to take, if only to avoid the too-familiar Snezhnayan snow. Eventually, a mission comes up - and he receives several disparaging looks from his fellow Harbingers when he practically jumps at the opportunity, but he couldn’t care less. Within a week, he’s on a boat bound for Liyue.

His first move upon arriving in the Harbour is not to scout around for info regarding Rex Lapis, as he was advised to do. Instead, he stops a passing local, and asks for directions to Mount Hulao.

The golden-eyed gentleman is detailed in his instruction, and kind in his warning about the adeptus who will surely strike this insolent human down for daring to enter his abode. Childe barely hears his talk of sigils and permissions; his mind is already set on one track, and by the time he sets off, the only thing he remembers is the route that has been dictated to him.

Funnily enough, he meets no obstruction on his way up the mountain. No crystal comes to swallow him up; no adeptus comes to smite him. Perhaps it is the presence of the bow that he has carried since the day he lost you, or perhaps it is something else entirely, but it seems Mountain Carver will allow him passage on the mountain for now.

It’s dark by the time he reaches the peak. He barely feels the exhaustion weighing down his legs - only the relief as he finally sits down, and breathes in the cool night air.

He looks out across a sea of mountain peaks, the tips painted silver by the moonlight, and smiles. The view is every bit as beautiful as you said it was.

#unedited #so very unedited #folks i am Insane at 4AM again #genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x reader #genshin childe #genshin tartaglia #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #ghosts #angst #uhhh #pining #yearning #childe x you #tartaglia x you #oh that reminds me i got my tartaggle to crit 300k the other day #it was on a bounty but still

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candlewaxandp0lar0ids · 4 years

Text

For the First Time (What’s Past Is Past)

Pairing: Neighbor!Hoseok x f!reader

Summary: After your eight years relationship comes to a brutal end, you don’t really see yourself getting back into dating — ever, probably. And then, your new neighbor who has the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen needs to borrow a corkscrew, and you don’t realize it just yet, but your resolve doesn’t stand a chance.

Also available on Ao3.

Word count: 15.7k

Genre: Fluff, (light) angst, eventual smut

Warnings: heavily discussed/referenced cheating, cursing, soft and gentle smut, penetrative sex, some pining, alcohol consumption, reader is not great with feelings, hoseok is good with feelings, the boys make cameos

A/N: Woohoo, first work in this fandom! This is actually the longest one-shot I’ve ever written (by my standards it’s LONG). Enjoy!

He doesn’t beg you to stay. He doesn’t tell you that “it’s not what you think”, doesn’t tell you that “it didn’t mean anything”, doesn’t ask for your forgiveness, doesn’t tell you that the two of you can work it out, that you can get through this together.

Instead, he tells you that he loves her, and when your entire world shatters in front of you, there is nothing you can do. You are completely and utterly alone.

When you first meet Jung Hoseok, he’s coming out of his apartment right as you’re getting into yours. He looks a little startled at first, but then he smiles at you, and you just stare.

You’ve never been good at interacting with people, especially strangers, especially when you’re not expecting it. You have to prepare yourself for those things, and right now, you’re very much not.

“Oh,” you say, looking at him.

The thing is, you recognize him — sort of. You’ve seen him around the building, and you immediately noticed him. You think it would have been impossible not to, frankly. You have ever seen someone who shines as bright as he does.

There is no other word for it. Hoseok shines.

It’s everything about him, and nothing at the same time. It’s his bright smile, first and foremost, and the way his brown eyes sparkle. It doesn’t hurt that he looks the way he does, all tall and thin and muscular, carrying himself like a dancer, but it’s his smile that you can’t get out of your mind. You’ve barely seen it, he gave you a quick, polite one when you passed him by in the parking lot, and yet you’ve thought about it more than you should have.

You’re surprised to see him here, though. You’ve been here for a month now, and you had never met the person who lived right next to you. You certainly never even considered that it could be the man with the bright smile and kind eyes you saw around, though the laugh you got used to hearing through the walls certainly completes that picture beautifully.

His smile widens a little, and he has a silent chuckle at your reaction.

“Hi,” he says.

You nod. You forget to reply, or to smile back, and you only realize that after you’ve closed your door behind you and Hoseok is already in the elevator.

You decide, firmly, to push that encounter out of your mind and to forget it ever happened.

(You can’t.)

There’s a gentle knock on your door, and you go to open it, surprised and a little confused. Your friends don’t live in the area and aren’t the type to drop by unannounced, and you don’t know anyone in your building. You wish you could add ‘yet’ to that sentence, but you are quite terribly antisocial, so you doubt you’ll ever get there, unless someone actually wants to get to know you. Which is not going to happen.

Hoseok’s smile greets you, and you blink. You note that his cheeks are slightly flushed, that he’s wearing a nice shirt, and that his hair is a little ruffled. He looks good — very good.

“Hi!” he says, when you forget, once more, what your lines are supposed to be in such a situation.

“Hi,” you remember to reply, but you’re late and offbeat, so you actually interrupt what he’s trying to say next, and you know you would be furious at yourself if you cared.

It’s been a long time since you’ve last found the energy to do that though.

“Sorry,” he smiles again, “I— I was wondering if you had a corkscrew I could borrow?”

You look back at your kitchen, mentally making an inventory of what you own. You know for sure you’ve never bought a corkscrew, you wouldn’t have the use for it, but there is a distant memory of—

“Just a second,” you say, walking to your kitchen.

You rummage through your cupboard for a few moments, before emerging victorious, holding a corkscrew you’re pretty sure Hyejin bought you when you first moved after The Break-Up, telling you that you would need it. You hadn’t, but you didn’t like throwing things away, so you had kept it, even after you had changed apartments a second time.

“Ah, you’re a life savior!” Hoseok rejoices when you hand it to him. “I’ll give it back to you as soon as possible, okay?”

You want to say that he doesn’t have to. You don’t.

“Sure,” you say, lifting a corner of your lips in a poor attempt at a smile. “Enjoy yourself.”

He seems a bit taken aback by the comment, but then he nods, and something strange twists in your stomach because of how he looks at you. Fondly.

God. You must be terribly deprived of affection if that is all it takes.

“Thank you, I will! Have a nice evening!”

The “Thank you” you reply with sounds awkward to your ears, and you grimace as you close the door. You’re pretty sure you’ve handled that interaction terribly, and you half regret not telling him to put the corkscrew back into your mailbox when he returns it, to save you the embarrassment of going through something similar again.

But you also don’t regret it that much, and that’s something.

Hoseok catches you again a few days later. This time, he pokes his head out of his apartment as you’re turning the key into your lock. You’re not that surprised. If he can hear you half as well as you can hear him, it’s no wonder he hears you coming in.

“I have your corkscrew!”

The weirdness of that sentence, out of context, amuses you. You wait for him to reappear, and when he does, he gives you the corkscrew back with a strange reverence, like you did him a huge favor.

“Thanks,” you say. “Did it, uh, did it help? Was the— was what you drank good? Was it wine?”

That’s too many questions.

“Yeah— Yeah, it was good!” Hoseok lightens up, like he hasn’t even noticed that you can’t, for the life of you, have a normal conversation with someone. “We had some wine. I don’t have wine often, but I thought it was good. Not that I know much about it, though,” he laughs, and the sound is extremely nice. “You drink wine?”

You shake you head.

“No, the— the corkscrew’s a gift from a friend. I barely use it. You can keep it, actually.”

His eyes widen.

“You’re sure?”

You nod.

“I probably— I shouldn’t accept that. It’s yours. And it’s a gift.”

He looks genuinely worried, and you find it extremely endearing. He seems so worried about whatever rules are to be followed when it comes to accepting gifts from a neighbor you’ve met twice and— You think it’s sweet, is all.

“It’s fine, I don’t really drink. And when I do, it’s usually beer.”

And mojitos. You’re a big mojito fan. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Well, if you’re sure…”

The corkscrew changes hands. Again.

“I’m Hoseok, by the way,” he says.

You don’t tell him that you know that. You do, because you’ve looked at the mailbox to see what your neighbor’s name was — when you moved in, mind you, not after finding out what he looked like — but you think that maybe that’s not the type of things people normally do.

Instead, you tell him your name, and Hoseok’s eyes seem to twinkle when he smiles at you.

You part awkwardly, the awkwardness mostly coming from you, as usual, and you think that’s the last you’ll see of your neighbor, outside of the occasional run-ins that you should be able to escape without having to talk to him. So that’s a relief.

(But it’s also just a tiny bit disappointing.)

You don’t drink, but Hyejin does. Especially wine, especially after a break-up, which you guess explains the corkscrew gift. When she arrives at your apartment, you’re first worried that she’s going to get offended you don’t have it anymore, but it quickly becomes clear that she doesn’t remember giving it to you. That doesn’t stop her from sending you out to get one from one of your neighbors. Usually she’d do it, because she knows how much you hate asking strangers for things, but she’s not herself tonight. The relationship was nearing the six months mark, something she had been really excited about, so you want to do what you can to help

That leaves you in an uncomfortable situation, though. You could ask another neighbor, but there’s the risk that they wouldn’t have a corkscrew — you’ve thought of that word way too much recently and it’s starting to lose its meaning in your mind — or that they wouldn’t want to give it to you, or that they’d slam the door in your face, or—

That’s irrational. You know that’s irrational and unlikely to happen. Still, knocking on Hoseok’s door is going to be awkward, but at least you’re pretty sure that he will be nice about it. So you do.

“Yeah— Oh, hey, (Y/N), what can I do for you?”

He does have a truly beautiful smile.

“Well, I have a friend over, and she actually drinks wine, and—”

Hoseok lets out a loud laugh that has you freezing like a deer in headlights first, then brings a careful smile to your lips.

“I’ll give it back,” you mumble sheepishly.

“It’s fine, it’s yours,” he chuckles, stepping back in his apartment, but leaving the door open behind him. You wonder if you should follow, then decide against it. Instead, you stand in the hallway, shifting your weight from one leg to the other. About as uncomfortable as can be.

You do take a peek inside, though. The rooms seem to be laid out pretty much the same as in your own apartment, with the kitchen on the left when you walk in, and you guess the bedroom door is the one you can see facing you, after the lounge. The interior design is simple, but stylish, and you notice movie posters on the walls. It’s nice and, though you barely know him, you can’t help but thinking that it’s a distinctively Hoseok place.

You haven’t really done anything to decorate, apart from bringing in your plants. It’s not your thing. At all. Maybe Hyejin will do something about it tonight. Wouldn’t be the first time she decorates your place while drunk. Last time, she’d ordered wallpaper. You’d forced her to come to help you put it on, and she had found it hilarious.

That was probably why she’d told you you were ‘better than therapy’.

“A-ha!” Hoseok exclaims before quickly returning to you. “There you go,” he says. “Is the wine your friend brought any good?”

You honestly have no idea. You don’t know the first thing about wine. Hyejin does, but you doubt that is something she feels very concerned with tonight.

Right as you’re thinking that, she opens your apartment door, calling out your name, way too loud, and seems satisfied when she sees you so close.

“Got one,” you tell her, waving the corkscrew. “Thanks, Hoseok, I’ll—”

“You look like you need a drink too,” Hyejin says bluntly, eyes set on him. “Wanna join?”

You look at him, surprised. You didn’t notice anything. You thought he looked fine. A little tired, maybe, and not quite as nicely dressed as he was that first night he had knocked on your door, but not any different from when you’d see him around. Hyejin is good with those things, though, so you suppose she’s probably right, but you don’t want Hoseok to feel pressured.

“You don’t have to—”

“You know what? I think I’ll take that invitation,” he says, and Hyejin nods in approval. “If it’s fine with the hostess,” he adds politely, giving you a wink.

As if. You already can’t deny Hyejin anything, so there’s no way you can deny him, especially when that wink has you weak in the knees.

“Sure,” you smile. “Let’s get you guys drunk.”

“That’s the spirit!” Hyejin shouts, raising a hand for high-five, which Hoseok gives her enthusiastically, a light-hearted laugh leaving his lips.

You shake your head, but you’re grinning.

As you expected, Hyejin passes out on your couch, drunk and sad and tired. Her and Hoseok had an amazing time, talking about their love life, while you sat on a stool by your kitchen island, sipping the same glass of wine for the entire evening. You don’t drink, you don’t even like alcohol that much, but you want to be supportive, and you’ve noticed it makes people feel better when you at least have a glass in your hands.

You listen to them, though. They have the same type of chaotic energy, and they get along immediately, in a way you could never dream of getting along with a stranger. Hyejin talks about her break up, and she’s as devastated as she always is. Hoseok nods along with just the right amount of intensity, at just the right times, and punctuates her talking with gasps. When it’s his turn to share, he talks about ‘people who don’t know what they want’, and his bitter tone worries you a little. You guess things didn’t go that well with whoever he was sharing that bottle of wine with. It comes as a surprise, because you certainly heard that it was going fine, that night.

After Hyejin falls asleep, Hoseok looks around your room, and, as soon as his eyes lock with yours, he walks over to you. He’s a little tipsy, and there’s a red tint to his cheeks. He sits across from you, then leans on the island and rest his chin on his hands.

“So, what about you? Any terrible break-up you want to talk about?”

The question almost makes you jump, but you manage to keep your composure. Still, you can feel a cold hand wrapping around your heart and squeezing it. You hate that you’re still so affected by any mention of it. You should be over it by now. You certainly don’t have any feelings left for Minsu, so you don’t understand why this is still so hard.

At the same time, it feels kind of refreshing to hear him asking that without sugar-coating it. You friends have been walking on eggshells around you ever since The Break-Up, and none of them know exactly what happened. They just know that Minsu has a new girlfriend now.

“It’s been almost a year,” you tell him, keeping your voice light. “I’m okay. You two look like you need to talk a lot more than I do.”

“That depends,” he says, frowning, though you’re not sure if it’s because of what you said or because he has a hard time focusing with all the alcohol running in his blood. “I wasn’t serious. Were you serious?”

Ah.

“Yeah.” You shrug. “I was.”

You don’t date someone for eight years unless it’s serious. Sure, it started when the two of you were in high school, and a lot of people probably didn’t think you would make it that far, but you felt— you felt comfortable with Minsu. You felt good around him. You liked talking about your work with him, liked hearing him rant about video games, liked how you goofed around when you did the dishes. You hadn’t seen anything coming.

A third of your life. When he’d broken up with you, you had spent a third of your life with him.

“Then you probably should be drinking some more,” Hoseok says decidedly, grabbing the bottle of wine to refill your glass. You remove it just in time, and he stops in time not to spill anything Looks like his reflexes aren’t too bad, even after drinking. He pouts at you, and it’s, actually, adorable.

“What about you?” you ask, trying to change the subject, trying to push aside memories you want nothing to do with anymore. “Things didn’t work out with the girl you had over the other day?”

His face falls, and you feel bad, but at least you’re not talking about yourself anymore.

“I thought it was going good. I mean we— You probably heard it, right? I can hear you walk around at night. At ungodly hours, by the way. Your rhythm of sleep must be fucked.”

You laugh.

“I did hear you,” you admit, unable to stop yourself from grinning. “So I thought it was going good too.”

“Well, she ghosted me,” Hoseok sighs dramatically. “I couldn’t even get a nice ‘it’s not me it’s you’!” He tilts his head. “Wait. No.”

“You’re drunk, Hoseok,” you say affectionately. “You should get back to your apartment.”

“I’m not drunk,” he protests. “Hyejin’s drunk. I’m doing great. Could a drunk person do that?”

The second the words leave his mouth, you get ready to stop him. Every single time you’ve heard those, disaster followed. You’ve seen drunk men fall into bushes of nettles with their pants down, watched several girls faceplant, and, once, witnessed someone breaking a wrist. He’d been lucky, though, because his bike had never been the same after that.

You get out of your stool, worried both for Hoseok and for your apartment, and then he breaks into some elaborate dance moves. You can only stare in disbelief. You couldn’t do that at your most sober. You can’t take your eyes away from the graceful, efficient way his body moves, like he has absolute control over every single one of his muscles. When he shoots you a satisfied smile at the end, there’s only one thing you can think to answer.

“Wow.”

“Exactly.” He makes finger guns at you with his right hand, clicks his tongue, and winks. In doing so, he somehow upsets his balance, which was perfect only seconds ago, and has to catch himself on your table, but he doesn’t fall. That is, possibly, even more impressive. “So I’m not drunk,” he says, shaking his head to push some hair out of his eyes and leaning against your table like he’d planned for it all to happen exactly that way.

You look at him, and an unexpected softness blooms in your chest. Hoseok’s hot, you knew that already, but that’s not what you marvel at right now. No, you’re impressed by how endearing he is. How lovable.

All thoughts of Minsu are long gone. If you noticed it, you would probably hate the impact any mention of the break-up has on you, even though Minsu is such a small part of what you think about.

You would also realize how easily Hoseok takes your mind off it.

“You’ve convinced me,” you nod, hoping he’s too drunk to pick up on the sarcasm. “But I’m sure you’re tired.”

He tilts his head, considering it.

“This time, I think you have a point.”

He’s so serious that you have to laugh, and that makes him smile. It’s not one of those wide, bright smiles that you’ve gotten used to. It’s much more subdued, lifts only a corner of his lips, and yet it feels… intimate. It’s not performative. It’s just for himself, and it takes your breath away.

“I’ll get going,” he tells you softly. “Thank you for tonight. Your friend was fun and it was nice of you to let us bother you.”

“You didn’t bother me,” you answer honestly.

Hoseok smiles and looks down at his feet, and you wonder if he believes you. It’s true, though. You like listening to people talk. You don’t mind that you weren’t included. Him and Hyejin needed to vent, and you were happy to be there for it.

“If you ever want to talk to someone about that again, I’ll be here,” you find yourself saying, hoping it doesn’t come off as strange. “And Hyejin won’t mind either, if she’s around. I think she liked you.”

Hoseok laughs, and you feel relieved. You’ve noticed it before, but he does have a nice laugh, and you’ve gotten used to it since you’ve moved in. It would suck if you couldn’t hear it anymore.

You walk him out, then wait for him in his embrasure until he gets to his door. He sends you a mocking glance while turning his key into the lock.

“I’m not going to collapse in the five meters that separate our apartments, you know.”

“I don’t. What if you fall asleep between our doors and you spend the night there?”

He laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard, and you nod. Yup. He’s definitely drunk, and you’re definitely making the right choice by waiting for him to be back in safely.

“Say goodbye to Hyejin for me!”

“Don’t forget to lock the door behind you!”

Another laugh, but no reply. You smile, then close and make sure you lock your door behind you.

Inside, you cover Hyejin with a blanket, clean up around your apartment a little and then, after brushing your teeth, let yourself fall into bed. You’re exhausted, and you know you’re probably going to regret that one glass of wine in the morning — you can’t do alcohol.

It was a strange night, all in all. Fun, by your admittedly low standards, but strange. You don’t know where you stand with your neighbor now. You like things to be clear-cut, otherwise you risk getting lost in the awkwardness of the in-betweens, and they’re definitely not — are you friends? Are you neighbors? Were you too cold? Too friendly? Does he think you’re weird?

“G’night, (Y/N),” a sleepy voice says from the other side of the wall, and you smile. He’s drunk, and you’re sure that’s why he says that, but it’s still nice.

“Goodnight, Hoseok.”

Maybe, for once, the in-between you’re standing in is not that bad.

Hoseok has another date. You know, because he asks for the corkscrew back. He looks as excited as the last time when you open your door, and you can’t help but compare him to a puppy. You note, again, the nice white shirt, which does marvels for his arms and shoulders, with the top buttons open, revealing some skin. Hoseok looks— he looks good. You knew that, of course, and yet it still hits you.

You find yourself a little jealous of the girl who’s in his apartment. Not just for that, but because, from what you’ve seen of him so far, he’s a pleasant guy to be around. He’s nice, energetic, funny, he has a great laugh. There’s simply nothing not to like.

For the first time since— For the first time, you think that maybe you should date again. Not him necessarily, he’s probably way out of your league, but someone. Surely, you could find someone. You don’t think you’d look as happy as Hoseok does now, but maybe you could have some fun.

You give him the corkscrew, wish him good luck.

“You don’t need luck when you look like that,” he says, putting a hand under his chin and winking, and it makes you laugh. “Thanks,” he adds. “I’ll invest in one of those so I don’t have to keep annoying you, by the way. I promise!”

That night, you spend a lot of time with your headphones on, and you end up sleeping on your couch, in a weird attempt to give him some privacy.

(You hope he doesn’t keep his promise.)

You’re surprised to see Hoseok at your door the next time. Not because of the promise, though you remember it — you doubt that he does. You’ve learnt through time that people often forget things they don’t find important. You never do, and you wonder if it’s because your brain has trouble separating what matters and what doesn’t.

No, you’re surprised because it’s too early for him to have a date, and because he already has your corkscrew.

“Hey,” he says, and the smile he gives you is a little droopy and tired, “does your invitation still stands?”

Your eyes widen and you nod, pushing yourself out of the way so he can come in.

“Of course, but I don’t have alcohol. Do you want me to call Hyejin?”

He laughs, and you wonder if that was a weird thing to say.

“If she’s available, absolutely. I don’t know how I made it without a Hyejin in my life until now.”

That makes you chuckle, and you whole-heartedly agree. Hyejin’s indispensable.

Unfortunately, it turns out she can’t make it that night, but she sounds excited by the idea. She asks you to tell Hoseok you’ll invite him next time she’s around, so you do, and he’s as happy about it as she is. The two of them make an obvious pair, and you’re sure they’d grow to be good friends if they spent more time together.

After that, Hoseok gets a pack of beer from his apartment, and you grab one, which you keep in your hand while he downs several others. He talks about things that are happening around him. His job as an accountant — “Can you tell me why I thought that was a good idea?” —, the dance lessons he takes on the side — “otherwise I’d go crazy“ —, his friends — “Idiots! All of them! They’re lucky I love them so much!” —, and also, your taste in music, which he’s very aware of given the complete lack of soundproofing between your apartments — “Listen, sad ballads are well and good, but have you considered listening to something happy?”.

At this point, he gets on his feet and starts to dance, and just like the last time, you think he’s amazing at this.

“C’mon!” he says, dancing his way to you and grabbing your hands. “You have to join me!”

You try to protest, but you know you’re not going to be able to resist him. When he makes you spin, you let out a loud laugh, and you try not to think too much about the way his hand naturally falls to your hip to help you keep your balance. You’re sure he hasn’t noticed, that it’s normal behavior for him, and you don’t want to look too affected. Your cheeks likely betray you, but Hoseok doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he lets you go after rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, once.

“You need to enjoy yourself sometimes!” he says, almost threateningly. “If you don’t, I’ll come over and make you!”

You wish he would.

“So,” you say after he’s fallen back into silence, staring at his beer bottle with a little too much intensity, “things didn’t work out with the girl you had over last time?”

Hoseok sighs.

“No,” he mumbles. “She said I was moving too fast for her.”

“Were you?”

He looks taken off-guard by your question.

“I don’t think I was,” he replies after giving it a second of thought. “I didn’t pressure her or anything. I think she didn’t want a relationship, and she didn’t want to tell me that.”

“That sucks,” you say, shaking your head. Hoseok seems pretty calm about it, if a little dejected, but you feel annoyed just thinking of that girl that you’ve never met. “She put the blame on you instead of being honest.”

“Better now than later, though,” he says, sounding deep in thought. “I’m disappointed, but I’m not hurt. If she realized after the date that we weren’t a good fit, she did the right thing.”

For a fleeting second, you wonder when Minsu knew, how long he’d had doubts, what he could have done differently to hurt you less, but the thought quickly vanishes. You still think the girl should have been truthful about it. You’re about to say so when Hoseok lets out a little laugh.

You’ve come to realize that there is a lot of depth to both his smiles and his laughs. They don’t always mean that he’s happy. He does them even when he’s sad. You’re not sure why, but if you were to guess, you’d say he doesn’t like giving in to the sadness, and the smiles and laughs are ways of fighting it off.

“The thing is— I get it. I know I can be… a little too much,” he says sheepishly, and you can tell that the words are painful to say, even if he’s acting nonchalant. He might have heard them one too many times.

Hearing that makes you feel bad. It makes something deep inside you ache. Maybe because the corners of his lips are falling, or maybe because, for the first time since he’s walked into your apartment, he looks like he’s about to cry. Maybe it’s because of how unjustified it seems to you. You love Hoseok’s energy, his enthusiasm, but you’re not sure how to tell him that.

So, instead of trying to come up with something, you reach over the table and grab his hand gingerly. The gesture is not the most smooth, because you’re pretty bad at physical demonstrations, but Hoseok immediately squeezes your fingers in his.

“That’s fine,” you tell him, doing your best to smile at him. “I can be… a little not enough.”

“You?” he protests immediately, shaking his head, “No way! I refuse to believe anyone’s ever told you that!”

His offended tone makes you chuckle, but you don’t miss how relieved he seems by the distraction, and you don’t blame him.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” you tell him conspiratorially, “but I can be a little awkward, and I’m not the best at making conversation.”

At that, he bursts out laughing, but when he stops, the look he gives you is so soft that you feel yourself melt under his gaze.

“But you’re the best listener,” he says, and his tone is gentle and fond and you don’t know what to to do with yourself. You feel rooted to your spot, unable — and unwilling — to escape. You have the feeling your hand is burning up in his. You’re sure you’re blushing. There’s no way you’re not blushing right now.

“I don’t think you’re too much,” you blurt out. “I think you’re just the right amount.”

You really, really wish you were even just a little better at speaking to people.

Hoseok’s eyes widen at your statement, and then he smiles at you. It’s a genuinely happy smile that you couldn’t have imagined on his lips a moment ago.

“Thank you,” he says.

He doesn’t add anything. He doesn’t have to.

After that night, after you made sure once more that Hoseok got back to his apartment safely, even if he was far less intoxicated than the last time, and after he wished you goodnight from his room again, Hoseok and you start making small talk when you see each other. It doesn’t seem like much, but it’s a huge victory for you. Before that, you’d stayed years without exchanging more than a nod with your neighbors.

There are a couple more times at your place. Him and Hyejin meet again and, like you’d predicted, get along perfectly. Sometimes, your stomach twists a little when he puts his hand on her knee, or when she wraps an arm around his shoulders for a brief hug, but you try not to think too much about it. You don’t want to think about it, even if deep down, you know what is happening.

You’ve been through it before, after all, and it didn’t end well for you.

You blink when the lights turn back on, trying to adjust to the light. Next to you, Hyejin stretches.

“Well, that was something,” she says.

You feel too awestruck to reply just now, so you nod.

“Hoseok really is that amazing, isn’t he?”

“He is,” you say, and you let out a soft chuckle. You remember him dancing in your kitchen, completely wasted, and you remember how impressed you’d been then. You hadn’t realized then how much better he would be when he was sober.

“We owe him one for inviting us,” Hyejin continues. She’s used to making the conversation for the two of you anyway. “Think he could introduce me to one of the other dancers?”

You laugh and, in an unusual demonstration of affection, link your arm with hers. It’s not like you, but you’re feeling great after watching the performance. Hyejin’s right, of course. It was really nice of Hoseok to give you tickets to his dance group’s show. He’d looked so nervous, and after seeing this, you absolutely cannot imagine why. He has to know how incredible he looks, right?

You and Hyejin wait around for a little while, until Hoseok comes out. You’re not the only ones here to see him and the other dancers, and though Hyejin would happily call out to him, you manage to make her wait until he approaches you. His smile is bright and blinding when he finds you, and you feel your heart flutter. Hoseok’s smile has the strangest effects on you.

“So,” he starts, rubbing his hands together, “what did you guys think? Did you like it?”

“You were incredible,” you say, and the way his eyes shine when he looks at you disarms you completely. For a second, the world fades out around you. The people, the noise, the voices — gone in an instant. It’s just the two of you, and the affection with which Hoseok looks at you has you frozen in your spot.

You’re familiar with the feeling, have tried your best to dismiss it in the recent months, but this time, you don’t shy away from it. You like how Hoseok makes you feel, and even if a part of you is whispering in your ears that you’re taking a risk in letting anyone make you feel like that again, you ignore it. You’re willing to take that risk, and that realization makes your head spin.

You can’t look away from Hoseok, and he isn’t looking away from you either.

Then Hyejin starts to talk about the show, and the spell is broken. You don’t mind the interruption, and in fact, when you hear her speaking, you quickly find yourself interested. Hyejin is good with visual arts, in a way you aren’t, and it’s fascinating to hear her commentaries. Hoseok seems sucked in, too, but there is a strangeness in the air, a feeling, between you and him. You feel it in the briefest of looks, the softest of touches, his hand brushing against yours, in a smile that’s much softer than the ones he usually gives. You’re aware you could very well be imagining it, but there is also a chance you aren’t.

(God, you hope you aren’t.)

You weren’t too happy when Hyejin told you about the party. Now that you’re here, you want nothing more than to run away. You’re seriously considering it when Hyejin grabs your arm, and you know that she knows you were about to bail on her. Usually, you’d feel bad, but not tonight.

Minsu is here.

With his new girlfriend.

The one he cheated on you with.

You knew it was only a matter of time, because you have the same group of friends, and because it’s not like anyone knows what he did to you — you’re not sure they would pick your side even if they did —, but you still aren’t looking forward to seeing him again. In fact, it could never happen, and you would find it to be too soon. It’s not like this is still a gaping wound. It’, You don’t think you will ever forget about it, about the feelings you experienced then, sure, but the love you felt for him is long gone. Now it’s more like a phantom limb that throbs every once in a while.

Part of you is somewhat afraid that seeing him will revive it, though, and you never want to go through that again.

But it’s been over a year now. You need to be over this, and you guess tonight might as well be the acid test for that.

You expect Hyejin to berate you, but the look in her eyes is one of pity, which you hate. When she leans to whisper in your ear, you think she’s going to say some encouraging words. Instead, she hits with something else entirely.

“Hoseok’s by the drinks.”

…What?

“I invited him, I thought it would be a good idea.”

Right.

“You should go keep him company!”

Then she quickly vanishes, but not before you can throw her a piercing glance. You know your friend. You can tell when she’s trying to set you up with someone.

She’s lucky you don’t mind, but you’re pretty sure she knows that. You don’t tend to be the best at hiding your feelings, no matter how hard you try, and you’ve been in the situation before when she knew you liked someone before you did.

You guess the set-up merely confirms something you had felt building up for a while now, all while avoiding the obvious conclusion.

You like Hoseok.

You find him quickly, making small talk with some of your friends, and some more people you don’t recognize. The group isn’t what it used to be. Over the years, some people left, others brought in friends of theirs, and while there are still a good portion of your high school friends — well, of people you went to high school with — you definitely don’t know all of them.

For a second, you wonder if you should interrupt. Hoseok’s a natural when it comes to all this social stuff, a real extrovert. He looks amazing, right now, in one of those shirts you’ve seen him wear on dates, his hair nicely done. Everyone he’s talking to looks absolutely charmed, and for the second time tonight, you consider running away.

Then Hoseok sees you, and his smile widens, and he waves you over. You give polite nods and introductions, finding out that you actually do know some of the people you originally didn’t recognize, and grab yourself a glass of wine to feel a little more included. Hoseok puts his hand on your shoulder at first, and then if falls to the small of your back. You find yourself relaxing a little, standing by his side. You don’t know what it is about him and his touch that you find so grounding. You’ve never disliked physical contact, even if you don’t tend to initiate it, but with him it’s— different. Everything is.

That doesn’t stop you from feeling relieved when the group moves on and you find yourself alone with him. Maintaining a conversation with a lot of people is exhausting.

“Is everything going okay?” you ask. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Well, it’s not a party until I walk in,” Hoseok grins cockily, tilting his head towards you. “Why, are you tired of seeing my face everywhere you go?”

“I don’t think that could ever happen,” you laugh, and there it is again, on Hoseok’s face, that look he gives you from time to time, for a reason you haven’t figured out yet. His eyes widen, and his lips curl into that smile that’s not as bright as the one he usually gives, but just as sincere. It makes heat pool in your stomach.

“That’s good,” he says softly.

There is probably something more there than you realize, and you want to ask about it, but you see Minsu and his girlfriend from the corner of your eye. Before you can think about it, you’ve grabbed Hoseok so he can serve as a shield between you and the rest of the room. The move surprises him, and he grabs onto you to stabilize himself, fingers wrapping around your arms. He’s close, but you can’t think about this right now.

“My ex is here,” you mumble when he shoots you a questioning look.

“Oh,” he says, and you miss the hint of disappointment in his voice. “The one you were serious with?”

You didn’t think he would remember that.

“Yeah,” you reply with a grimace. “With his new girlfriend. I just— I don’t want to speak to them.”

A decided expression settles on Hoseok’s face.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he whispers at you.

You barely have the time to blink at him before he starts leading you towards the exit. You don’t know if it’s that much more discreet, not with the way he keeps his back turned to the room and his shoulders squared, taking his role as your human shield very seriously, but you’re still grateful.

The second you’ve set foot outside, you burst out laughing, and Hoseok quickly joins you.

“Thank you, Hoseok,” you smile once you’ve caught your breath. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

“Walked out the door, I guess,” he replies, lifting his hands to arrange your hair.

You stay still for him. You don’t mean just that, though. You can’t express how much you appreciate his support right now, instead of the pity you usually get. You like that Hoseok turned this into— a joke. That he made you laugh about the way you’re hiding from your ex, instead of making you feel pathetic.

Just as you're thinking that, a wave of affection for him bursts in your chest, filling you with warmth, and you have no idea what to do with it. Especially not when he’s standing so close to you, biting his lower lip with concentration as he runs his fingers through your hair.

You kind of want to kiss him, but something tells you the timing isn’t right.

Finally, Hoseok takes a step back with a satisfied smile.

“There. Perfect.”

“I’ll have to let Hyejin know you’ll replace her as my personal hairdresser,” you chuckle.

“Oh, I’ll fight her for that spot!”

And there it is again. You’re laughing. You just saw Minsu again, and yet you’re laughing. The very idea would have sounded ludicrous a few months ago. Not because of Minsu per say, but because you didn’t think there would be anything to joke about. Or anyone to laugh with.

But Hoseok is here. By your side, in your life.

In your heart.

Someone clears their throat next to you, and you know even before turning around.

Minsu’s standing there. He looks good, if you’re being honest. He doesn’t have the dark circles under his eyes that you had gotten used to when you were dating, from the all-nighters he pulled when he was in college, and he’s clean-shaven. He’s wearing his favorite jacket, and that might be what you’re most taken aback by. The fact that you know this jacket. He used to put it on your shoulders when you got cold.

You suddenly feel an unexpected hatred for it.

“(Y/N),” he says, softly, and you can only look at him. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect that he would say your name so gently, with such affection. It wasn’t— It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. You’d told yourself he hated you, that he would make fun of you, that he was such an asshole. This is so much worse, and yet you can’t say you haven’t thought about it. This is so much worse, because if he’s not an asshole, how could he do that to you?

What kind of person would you have to be to deserve to go through that?

“Hi, I’m Hoseok!” Hoseok exclaims next to you, filling the uncomfortable silence. He extends a hand to Minsu and, while doing that, wraps an arm around your shoulders, and you feel a little better.

“Hi,” you say, belatedly, while Minsu shakes Hoseok’s hand and smiles genuinely.

“Minsu,” he tells Hoseok before turning his gaze back to you “This is great,” he comments, pointing at you and Hoseok, and you don’t get it. “The two of you— You look great together. I’m so happy for you.”

You’d like to say that you snapped, that you lost control, that you didn’t know what you were doing, but that would be a lie. Sure, in that moment, you feel burning, seething rage running through your veins. Sure, you consider murder for a hot second. But you’re in control of yourself when you dismiss the idea, just like you’re in control of yourself when your hand makes a circular movement, splashing Minsu’s face with the entirety of your glass of wine and, hopefully, ruining that stupid jacket of his.

Minsu looks at you in disbelief. You look at him in disbelief, as wine drips from his chin.

Then you run. Hoseok’s hand slips from your shoulder, and you’re all too aware of the way people stare at you as you beeline towards the exit. You hear Hyejin, and perhaps Hoseok, call your name as you put your glass back on a table, but you’re out before either of them can get to you, and as much as you love them, you think it’s probably for the best.

You get home at 7 am, which is late, even for your fucked up sleep patterns. You feel a little better. You spent a good chunk of the night outside, walking, before finding a café that was open. You didn’t want to go home.

When you arrive at your door, and find a sleeping Hoseok leaning against it, you think you may have made a mistake. He looks peaceful, but he’s still sitting on the floor in the cold hallway, in front of your door, and guilt spreads through you. You kneel in front of him, and try to gently shake him awake.

He barely budges. You try again, and he lets out a sleepy groan, head rolling to fall on his shoulder. He looks adorable.

“Hoseok, hey,” you call out gently. “You can’t stay here. We need to get you to bed, okay?”

The only reply you get is another groan. With a sigh, you pull on his arm, trying to lift him up. He’s heavy, way more than you would have thought with his figure, but you guess muscle weighs a lot. You’re about to give up when you feel him straightening a little. Not enough to walk on his own, but enough for you to half carry him. You make it to his door, fish the key out of his pocket while trying not to think about his muscled thigh under your finger or— anything else, then struggle to open it and get the two of you through.

Inside, you bump against his couch, and you swear between your teeth. You’ve always met at your apartment, and you’ve only been in his for a few minutes at a time, so you’re not familiar with the lay-out. You make it to the bedroom, unsteady under Hoseok’s weight, and are delighted to be able to push him down onto the bed.

That delight lasts for less than a second, though, because as he falls, the arm that you’d put around your shoulders to carry him drags you down with him. Your exhausted brain manages a ‘fuck’ before you collapse into Hoseok’s chest. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, feeling rather hard under you, but that doesn’t change anything to the fact that your heart is beating like crazy. Your nose is pressed against his neck, and you breathe in the smell of his after-shave, and you want to stay here.

But, as tempting as the idea is, you can’t do that when Hoseok doesn’t even know you’re here. Gathering all your willpower, you push against his chest to get up.

And then Hoseok rolls over, suddenly covering you with his body while all you can do is squeak.

This is the dumbest thing ever, you think as you vaguely try to push him off, already knowing that this is a lost cause. There’s no way this is happening.

Yet, as the minutes pass by and Hoseok shows no sign of moving again, instead wrapping an arm around your waist with a contended sigh, you have no choice but to accept your fate. You’re trapped, in Hoseok’s bed, underneath him, he’s probably drunk — that would explain why you can’t wake him up — and tomorrow morning is going to be unbelievably awkward.

It should be hard to fall asleep, in those circumstances. In fact, you shouldn’t fall asleep at all, just wait patiently until he lets you go to slip away. But right now, engulfed in Hoseok’s warmth, you can’t manage to stay awake and, as you drift into sleep, you cannot find it in yourself to regret it.

You wake to the feeling of hands gently moving up and down your back. The second you stir, though, they stop, and the warmth they provided you disappears. Whatever you’re laying on also tenses, hardening under you, and you want to protest. Fortunately for you, even in that state, you realize that mattresses and pillows can’t harden, which helps you piece together that you’re not laying on a mattress, which means you have to be laying on—

Oh God. Your eyes snap open, and you sit up way faster than you probably should have.

“Careful!” Hoseok protests, sitting up as well, reaching out to steady you. He removes his hands quickly once he’s sure you’re not going to fall over, burying them under his blanket.

“You— you’ve been awake a long time?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.

“Um, a little while,” he admits, shifting under your gaze. “I assumed you needed the rest. You must have come home very late.”

There is a hint of reproach in his voice, laced with something else that you cannot identify, and you grimace. You take a second to rub your eyes, but even once that’s done, you find you can’t look at Hoseok.

“I did,” you mumble. “I’m sorry about last night, by the way. It must have been very— very uncomfortable. Especially after I left you with— I’m so sorry.”

Hoseok lets out a soft laugh, but you get the distinct feeling that it’s to make you feel better. You’re getting good at telling what his laughs mean.

“It’s fine. Your, erm, your friends told me about you and Minsu. I didn’t realize you guys were that serious.” Silence. “Eight years, huh?”

You press your hand against your forehead. Talking about you and Minsu’s long relationship always makes you feel weird. The fact that he was in your life, practically everyday, for eight years, and that he disappeared from it without a warning and now he’s gone and everything is practically the same is unbelievably confusing to you. Maybe you should miss him, and you do miss some things about the relationship, like being in love, and sharing an apartment, and having someone to come home to, but you don’t miss him. Not anymore.

You know Hyejin’s worried you moved on too fast, after him. That she thinks you didn’t take time to heal. Truth be told, it hurt for a lot longer than she knows, but it was still relatively short, compared to what you’ve seen her go through after some of her relationships. You don’t know what to say about it. After the break up, you couldn’t find it in yourself to still love him, or to miss him.

“Eight years,” you repeat, shaking your head. “Is that all they said?”

“…Not exactly, no.” Hoseok sounds so different from his usual self, all serious, looking at his hands, anywhere in the room but you. You can’t blame him, though, considering you’re doing the same thing. “They said you were high school sweethearts. That you were basically— perfect for each other.”

You want to scoff at that. It’s true that you got together in high school, and it’s true that people thought you made a nice picture. They were surprised that you would have gotten a boyfriend, usually, but the surprise vanished once they saw Minsu. You two clicked, in so many ways. The two of you worked. You made sense.

But you don’t believe there is such a thing as ‘being perfect for each other’. The two of you always had to try to make the relationship work.

Until one day he stopped trying.

“So I wanted to say— I get it. It must have been hard to hear him say that. You should try to deal with your sadness in other ways but—”

What? What is he talking about?

“—but I know what it’s like to see an ex you still have feelings for with their new partner, and it sucks, though, again, next time you could—”

“That’s not it,” you blurt out, and Hoseok stops in the middle of his rambling to finally look at you.

“What do you mean?” he asks, tone cautious, almost guarded.

You can’t believe what you’re about to tell him. You haven’t told anyone before, not even Hyejin. If she finds out, she’s probably going to kill you for not telling her and for telling someone else, and yet, in that moment, you can’t not talk about it. The thought of Hoseok thinking that you did that out of jealousy, that you still have feelings for Minsu is unbearable to you.

“What did they say about the break-up?” you ask.

Hoseok blinks, then frowns as he tries to remember it. He drank a lot last night, especially after you left. More than he had intended to.

“That no one knew what happened.”

“And Minsu didn’t have anything to say to that?”

“…I think he was cleaning his jacket at that point.”

You hope you stained it and he wasn’t able to get them off.

“We didn’t just— break up. I— We lived together back then. In an apartment. Because— That’s not important. What I mean is that— I walked in on him. And her. In our bed.”

You hadn’t made a noise for a few moments, so you’re not sure how they noticed you, but next thing you knew she was shrieking, covering her chest, and Minsu was walking towards you, awkwardly pulling up his pants.

“He— He told me he was in love with her. And that was it.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. Hoseok isn’t saying anything, and you don’t want to look at him for now.

“That’s why I got angry. It’s not that I was jealous, it’s that— He doesn’t get to say that to me. Not after doing that.”

Hoseok grabs your hand, intertwines his fingers with yours.

“You didn’t tell that to anyone?”

You shake your head.

“Why not?”

You stare in the emptiness for a while. Reliving the story had been unpleasant, even if you don’t feel anything for Minsu anymore, but it’s the answer to that question that brings a choked sob to your lips.

“Because— How can you do that to someone? How can you— how can you do that to someone you’ve been with for eight years? Someone you said you loved?” You feel small and the weight on your chest is painful, unshakeable. “What kind— what kind of person would they have to be for you to feel that it was— that it was okay to do that?”

At that point, the tears are rolling down your cheeks and your sobs make it impossible to talk. Not because of Minsu, but because of the fear that is building in your stomach even now. The fear that you deserved that. You hiccup loudly, and then you’re pressed against Hoseok’s chest and he’s holding you tight, hand gently caressing your hair.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells you softly.

“You don’t know that. M-maybe I’m a terrible person.” You don’t believe that, not when you say it out loud. But… what if?

“(Y/N),” Hoseok says, almost sternly, “you’re not a terrible person. Sure, you listen to Taylor Swift at two am, and you cook at two am, and you take your shower at two am, and— Actually, you could fix all of those issues by going to bed like a normal human being.”

That has the benefit of making you giggle.

“None of that makes you a terrible person,” he continues, satisfied with that small victory. “And I know we haven’t known each other for long, but I have never thought you were anything close to terrible.”

You let a long breath out. It doesn’t quite rid you from your fears — Minsu knew you for over ten years, he had much more time to discover all of your ugly parts — but it still helps.

“You know, I was doing really bad, the night you and Hyejin invited me to join you for a drink.”

“That was mostly Hyejin,” you say with a sniff. You’re not crying anymore, thankfully, but you don’t want to leave Hoseok’s embrace just yet.

“Because you’d rather die than talk to a stranger unless you absolutely have to,” Hoseok laughs, and you think that he’s gotten to know you quite well. “But you were really nice to me that night and I think I needed that.”

He lets go of you carefully, like you made of porcelain and he’s afraid you’re going to break if he’s too brusque. You don’t, obviously, but the world suddenly feels cold, without his arms around you. He grabs a box of tissue from the night-stand and hands them to you.

“Minsu’s an asshole for what he did to you,” he tells you, looking more serious than you’ve ever seen him. “He should never have put you through that.”

��But—” But if he didn’t love me, he was right to leave me. He had the right to fall in love with someone else, even if it was going to hurt me. Sure, he could have done it another way, but is he to blame here?

“Not buts!” Hoseok protests. “Look, I know you must have loved him. I know that it’s not easy to reconcile that image of him with his actions, but you don’t have to look for excuses for him. You don’t even have to forgive him.”

You stare at Hoseok and, without a warning, you feel the absolute need to kiss him. You’ve thought about kissing him before, certainly, but it’s never been such a powerful urge. You can’t think of anything other than his lips against yours, his body pressed against your own, and it takes all your willpower to resist it.

Because, of course, kissing him as you’re talking about your ex would be a terrible idea and send all the wrong signals.

“You understand that, right?” he insists. He leans towards you so that his eyes are on the same level as yours and you think you really shouldn’t be looking in his beautiful brown eyes right now.

“I do,” you reply, glancing away.

“I’m serious. You shouldn’t blame yourself for—”

“I get it, Hoseok. I promise.” Then, still without looking at him: “Thank you.”

He sighs.

“I’m so angry you had to go through that,” he says with a pout. “If I see him again, do you give me permission to break his nose?”

It should worry you that you actually consider the proposition.

“He’s not worth it,” you decide. “But I appreciate the offer.”

“What if I accidentally kick him in the shin?”

“Well, if it’s an accident…”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, and you’re utterly and completely in awe at the sound.

“You can count on me!” he winks, and he doesn’t know how he makes your heart flutter, how in this moment, you realize how utterly head over heels for him you are.

(It’s a pretty nice feeling, actually.)

Hoseok has another date over. You sleep on your couch again, and you try your best not to think about it.

(You take it back. It sucks.)

You run into Hoseok after coming back from doing your laundry. He’s in a good mood, and you hate that pang in your chest at the thought that it’s because of the girl he saw the other day. You should be happy for him. That’s the least you can do.

“Hey!” he greets you cheerfully. “Need some help with that?”

“Not really, I—”

But he’s already taken it from your hands. You shake your head with a smile as he gestures for you to get into the elevator before him. God, you like him.

“I can do that, you know,” you tell him at the doors close.

“Sure, but I can do it better.” Hoseok winks at you, then regains some seriousness. “How are you doing?”

From his tone, you know he doesn’t mean ‘in general’. He’s probably worried because of how you cried in his arms the other day, which you find a little embarrassing, but you still like that he asked.

“I’m doing great,” you tell him honestly.

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Then you nudge him playfully. “Thanks to you.”

He has a little laugh, sounding unsure what to make of that, but you mean it. Talking about the situation did more good than you would ever have expected, and you’re… you’re just happy you did it with him.

“What about you?”

“Oh, I’m fine!” he says, one second too late, like he’d been lost in his thoughts — except he wasn’t, he was looking at you. “Work, neighbors keeping me up, you know how it is.”

“Ugh, neighbors are the worst,” you grin.

“You’re telling me!”

The doors open with a ding, and the two of you step out, slowly making your way to your door. It’s silly, but you don’t want to leave his presence. You linger at your door for a few more minutes, talking about the weather, of all things. Finally, when all the small-talk you can muster has left your mouth, you hold your hands out to get your basket back.

“I feel like I’m constantly thanking you, these days,” you chuckle. “I wonder how I ever got anything done without you.”

“I think that deserves a kiss!” Hoseok exclaims, and your heart stops, but when you look at him, you see he’s tapping his cheek. He’s probably not serious and not expecting you to do anything.

But you get on your tiptoes and plant a brief kiss right where he was pointing.

“Thanks!” you say quickly, slamming the door behind you as fast as possible so you don’t see his reaction. “Have a nice day!” you yell from behind it.

Hoseok looks at your door. You’re leaning against it on the other side, dying to look through the peephole to see his reaction, and yet not daring to. Because of that, you miss the way he rubs his cheek, the amused smile that follows it, and the way he skips away. You do hear his happy whistle, though, so you decide you can’t have gone completely wrong, and you’re happy with that.

You hesitantly knock on Hoseok’s door. Things didn’t work out with the girl, and he texted you to come over for one of your usual pity parties, but he didn’t seem as down about it as he usually is. Still, you stopped at a grocery store to pick up some wine while coming back from the publishing house where you work as a proofreader. You usually work from home — hence your ridiculous schedule — but you had needed to drop by to discuss some things. The conversation had been difficult on your end, taking a lot of energy from you, and you were definitely happy about going home and blowing off some steam with your neighbor.

From inside, you can hear Hyejin’s voice, but also several others, and that makes you recoil. Talking with strangers is not something you want to do tonight. But before you can choose to run off, the door opens, and you’re greeted by Hoseok’s beautiful smile, so of course, there is no way for you to leave.

“(Y/N)!” he exclaims happily. “And you’ve brought wine! That’s great, Hyejin was worried we might not have enough. Come on, I have some people I want to introduce you to.”

You don’t even try to escape when he puts an arm around your shoulder — you have to remind yourself that it’s Hoseok and that’s just a thing he does, that it doesn’t necessarily mean anything — and leads you into the apartment.

There, you find Hyejin sitting next to a tall, dark-haired guy you recognize from Hoseok’s dance performance.

The introductions and the smiles they give you almost make your head spin, and once they’re done, you’re relieved to be able to fall on a chair next to the one that’s been the most quiet so far — Yoongi, if your memory isn’t playing tricks on you. That relief only grows when he doesn’t try to talk to you. Instead, you give each other a silent nod, and you both seem very content to let the others do all the talking.

As it turns out, they don’t limit themselves to talking. They clearly all have a lot of energy to spend, and you can merely stare at it, mesmerized. The blonde guy standing by the kitchen sink — Jimin, you remember, forcing yourself to recall their names — starts to demonstrate some dance moves with perfect grace, and it doesn’t take long for Jungkook to abandon his spot next to Hyejin to join him, not as precise, but very enthusiastic. Hoseok jumps in, too, and suddenly there’s a dance crew in his living-room. These three have no business being this good.

“Jin, aren’t you going to join them?” Yoongi yells to a guy who has carefully moved out of the dancers’ way.

“Do you want to fight?” Jin shouts back, and Yoongi chuckles, clearly delighted he got a rise from his friend. “Why don’t you join them?”

Then Taehyung — fluffy brown hair — seemingly comes out of nowhere and tackles Jungkook, Namjoon — tall guy with glasses — who’d been pretty quiet so far gets up and tries to separate them, everyone picks a side and— It’s chaos.

It’s kind of like watching a car crash happen, except you’re having a lot of fun.

“They’re always like that,” Yoongi says next to you. His expression is perfectly stoic but his voice betrays his fondness.

“I guess now I understand where Hoseok gets all that energy from. He just doesn’t have a choice,” you smile, and Yoongi sighs.

For a moment, you don’t speak, happy with simply observing the others’ antics. You’re not sure how or why it happened, but Jin and Jungkook are the ones fighting now, and Hyejin, who’s clearly in her element here, is shouting some encouragements from her seat, which she hasn’t bothered to leave.

“Hoseok’s doing well,” Yoongi comments suddenly.

“I was thinking that, too,” you admit. “Usually, after things go wrong with a girl…”

“Is something happening between the two of you?”

You… had not been expecting that bluntness.

“Um,” you say, taken aback. Yoongi turns to look at you, and the way he glares at you makes you feel compelled to answer. He looked harmless a second ago, but now you’re thinking if looks could kill, you would be seconds away from getting murdered. You’re not sure what you did to deserve that, though. “I don’t think there is.” You tilt your head, thinking. “There definitely isn’t anything official.”

“I think Hoseok likes you,” Yoongi says without batting an eyelid.

You’re pretty sure telling you that breaks some kind of code, but, with the wonderful warmth spreading in your chest, you don’t think about complaining. Not for a second.

“I think I like Hoseok too,” you reply instead. You don’t know why you’re saying that to a near stranger, but when Yoongi nods, you feel that there is a deep understanding going on between the two of you.

“Hurt him and I will kill you,” he says matter-of-factly.

“That’s a little dramatic.”

“Hurt him and I will steal your doormat.”

Yeah, that sounds more reasonable. If you hurt Hoseok, you’ll deserve to get your doormat stolen.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything else on the subject, so you’re happy to drop it. You bring your attention back to the room to discover that Jungkook has wrestled Jin to the ground.

“How…”

“Don’t ask. I stopped trying to understand a long time ago.”

But, despite what he says, when Jin calls him, Yoongi jumps to the rescue. Namjoon takes his place next to you, making polite small talk, and it doesn’t feel as difficult as those things usually are for you. You’d even go as far as to say it’s… pleasant.

When you look up, you meet Hoseok’s worried eyes, and he smiles at you, silently asking if you’re okay. You smile back, and it’s like something melts inside you. It’s because of him, you piece together. You feel comfortable because you trust Hoseok to make you comfortable. And because those are his friends, and he wanted to introduce them to you… You feel safe.

Yoongi’s words replay in your mind. You have a hard time believing them, if you’re honest, but something has bloomed inside you, something you haven’t felt in quite some time, and something you don’t want to get rid of so quickly.

Hope.

“Will you be okay, Hobi?”

“We could help you clean!”

“I’m sorry about your lamp…”

Hoseok is quick to dismiss his friends’ concerns.

“It’s fine! (Y/N) is staying to help me, so you guys get home safely, okay? Namjoon, we can figure something out for the lamp.”

The tall man grimaces at that, and self-consciously rubs the back of his neck. You haven’t known him long, but something tells you it isn’t the first time something like that happens to him, which might explain why Hoseok is so calm about it. Then again, Hoseok always makes the best of every situation, so you can’t be quite sure.

“Here are your keys!” Jungkook says, handing them to you. He had just half-carried Hyejin to your apartment, where she’s going to spend the night. It’s for the best — she’s too drunk to get home by herself.

“Thanks,” you smile. It’s obvious that him and Hyejin have taken an interest in each other and, well, you think it wouldn’t be that bad if something happened there. He’s nice.

“So you guys are good?” Jimin insists, sounding worried. “You don’t want us to help?”

Hoseok firmly shakes his head.

“You get a good night of sleep!”

Greetings are exchanged, and then the door finally closes behind them, and it’s just you and Hoseok. He lets out a little sigh, then smiles at you.

“They’re a lot, aren’t they?” he asks, proudly.

“They’re great,” you reply, and you mean it. Sure, you feel tired, but you actually had fun tonight, which is not something you can say about most of the parties you go to. “Namjoon knows a lot about books. It was nice talking to him.”

Hoseok hums, moving past you to start cleaning up.

“I’m glad you liked them! They were really looking forward to meeting you. Yoongi said I was talking about you too much and that it made him curious.”

“I think Hoseok likes you.”

“You were only telling them good things about me, of course,” you joke, picking up the dishes that are laying on the table to put them in the sink.

“Well, there’s nothing bad to talk about,” Hoseok replies with the same tone, but there’s an underlying note of honesty to his voice.

“That’s simply not true.”

Hoseok laughs. You wonder if he means it, even a little. There are bad things to say about you, no doubt, but you wonder if he at least thinks the good outweighs the bad.

You’d take that.

You do some more cleaning while talking about his friends, and you end up perched on a worktop next to him while he does the dishes. The rest of the room isn’t spotless, and you doubt that lamp can be fixed, so Hoseok will need to get rid of it, but you think you did a pretty good job, all in all.

Hoseok starts humming to himself, and in that moment, you feel— satisfied. There’s nothing in particular to produce that feeling, and yet it’s exactly it. Cleaning a room at one am with him and being by his side while he does the dishes… You’re happy like that, you realize. It’s a strange thing to think about, and maybe that’s why it gives you the courage to talk.

“Hoseok?”

“Hm?”

When you don’t reply immediately, he looks up at you.

“What is it?” he asks. You take in a deep breath, run your fingers through your hair.

“What would you do if I kissed you?”

His eyes go wide, and his movements stop completely. He just stares at you, and in that moment, you really, really hate yourself for asking.

“That’s— That’s cheating,” he manages to say after what feels like an eternity. “You have to try it to find out about that.”

That’s fair, you decide, and before you can question yourself further, you lean forward, choosing to take that as an invitation. You’re slow in your movements, in case he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t. He stays perfectly still as your lips part, centimeters from his, as you put your hand on his shoulder to stabilize yourself, and he’s still perfectly still when you finally press your lips against his mouth.

He tastes salty, like the snacks you had earlier. You don’t mind it.

The first thing to move is his mouth, pressing back against yours, and it’s the softest kiss you’ve ever experienced.

Soon after that, his hands come out of the water and he quickly removes the gloves he was wearing. The second his right hand cups your cheek, the kiss turns urgent, passionate. His tongue darts into your mouth, and you wrap your arms around him with a pleased sigh, running your fingers on the back of his neck. A shiver runs through him, and next thing you know, he’s positioning himself between your legs, one hand firmly pulling you closer to him.

His body’s warm, toned, everything you’ve wanted for the past few months. He feels so good, and you’re quick to pull him in, hooking one of your legs behind his knee. He buckles, catches himself on the worktop and his lips stretch into a smile against yours. He tilts your head up ever so slightly, kissing you like he’s starving and wants to devour you whole. You respond with the same energy, fisting your hands in his shirt. It’s like you can’t get him close enough.

“How dare you,” Hoseok finally whispers when he pulls away from you, out of breath.

You shake your head, confused and a little dizzy. He’s grinning widely and looking at you like you’re one of the seven wonders, so he’s definitely not mad at you, but you have no idea what he means by that.

“How dare you make the first move?” he says, pressing a kiss against your jaw. “You’re the— the most infuriating person I know.”

You laugh at that, let him kiss his way down to your neck. You trail your foot up his thigh to wrap your leg around him, beckoning him closer.

“Yoongi said he thought you liked me,” you admit to him, with one hand in his hair, softly caressing his scalp.

“Seriously? I feel like I should beat him up— but right now I kinda want to buy him flowers.”

“A cactus.”

“Joke’s on you, Yoongi loves cacti. Hey—” He stops kissing you, straightens, and looks into your eyes. Affection is dancing in his, but you can tell he’s being serious. “I like you. Like, really like you. So, um, if you’re not— if we’re not on the same page here…”

He can’t think that.

“I’d just— I’d just appreciate if you could let me know. Because I don’t think I can have something with you if you don’t— don’t really want it.”

He sounds worried, genuinely so. He’s looking at you, and you know he’s baring his heart out to you in that moment. It almost shatters you, this moment, this honesty, his fear. Somehow, the idea that you could hurt him, without meaning to, is the most terrifying of them all. Your mind flickers to Minsu, and you wonder how he could hurt you like that, if he felt that way about you even for a second — but you don’t care. All that matters is that you know you would never hurt Hoseok like that.

You kiss him and he closes his eyes, hand tightening on your waist.

“I really like you,” you whisper. “Really like how you smile,” He smiles softly against your mouth. “really like how you laugh,” You start unbuttoning his shirt. “really like it when I see you in the hallway and you always take the time to ask me how my day has been,” You run your fingers over his chest, enjoying the feeling of his skin underneath yours, “really like the way you shine.”

“I shine?” he asks, stopping your hand to bring it to his lips, placing soft kisses on your fingertips.

You hum.

“More than anyone else.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but decides against it. He can’t find the words to respond. Instead, he kisses you.

“Bedroom?” he asks. As much as he would love to have you, right here, it’s not the most comfortable setting for the first time, and he wants to give you an opportunity to back out, if you don’t want that now.

But you very much do.

“That sounds perfect.”

It’s a small miracle that you make it to the bedroom when you can’t keep your hands or mouths off each other. On the way there, which is extremely short when you actually look where you’re going, you manage to bump into the table, several walls, and to kick down a plant.

“We’ll blame it on Namjoon,” Hoseok mumbles into your mouth, and you laugh. You’ve been doing a lot of that, ever since meeting him.

He pulls away from you to take off his shirt, and you’re quick to get rid of your pants, discarding them on the floor. You’re about to do the same thing with the top you’re wearing when Hoseok’s hands stop you.

“May I?”

Of course he can. He pulls it over your head, and kiss you when you emerge from it. First, his hands settle on your naked shoulders, then, slowly, he trails them down your arms, intertwining your fingers with his. He’s taking his time, savoring the moment, and you yourself get lost in the sensations, in how he’s towering over you, in how his hair brush against your temples, in the heat that radiates from him.

You inch closer to him, and he lets out a soft moan when you press yourself against him. You reach behind to get rid of your bra, and when it falls to the ground, your finally feel his skin against yours.

“Fuck,” Hoseok whispers in a low voice.

You pull him towards you as you climb onto the bed, and he follows, just like he follows when you lay down. Everything, his kisses, his touches, his body on top of yours— it all feels slow. Intimate. His long fingers run over your side, and you shiver. You want so much more than this, and yet it already feels overwhelming.

“Are you sure?” Hoseok asks you.

You look up at him. He’s kneeling between your legs, still wearing his black pants, draped over you. His pupils are wide, his body is so hot it could be on fire, and you can definitely feel his hardness pressed against you. He’s perfect.

“I’m sure,” you say, and when you kiss him again, his response isn’t slow anymore. Instead, he rolls his hips into you, and the friction forces a low moan out of you. That makes him smile.

One of his hands runs over your thigh as he gently spreads you open.

“I want you so bad,” he tells you in an urgent whispers.

“Then what are you waiting for?”

“You’re impossible.”

But he listens, and after that, you don’t know what to focus on. His lips and his tongue, making their way down your neck, kissing your breasts, teasing your nipples, or his hands, as his thumb rubs against your clit and he slides a long finger inside you.

Your fingers dig into his hair and you bite on your lower lip harshly. You’re not usually loud in bed, but you know that moans and whimpers and pleas will come cascading out if you don’t stop them. You wouldn’t normally have a problem with that, but Hyejin is sleeping in your apartment, and you would appreciate it if she didn’t hear you.

Hoseok easily pushes another finger inside you, scissoring you open, and your entire body arches into him. You close your eyes, quietly calling out his name.

“You’re doing so good,” Hoseok whispers to you, voice so full of affection you feel that your heart is going to burst. “You look so, so beautiful for me.”

You’re so wet, so tight around his hand, and you want him so badly, want more than that, but there is no way you can stop him right now. You feel at his mercy and, fortunately for you, he’s the kindest tormentor there is.

“Fuck,” he says one more time, eyes roaming over your body, the way you’ve completely abandoned yourself in his arms, head thrown back, eyes closed. He wants to give you everything.

He increases his pace and wet sounds fill the room. You can’t think of anything other than him, and your mind is filled with Hoseok, Hoseok, Hoseok!

You come when he adds in a third finger. You tighten around him, letting out a high-pitched moan over which you have absolutely no control. Hoseok lets you ride your orgasm before removing his hand, still whispering praise in your ear.

It takes you a few moments to come down from your high, and when you do, you’re only too aware that he hasn’t gotten much from this at all, still painfully hard against your hip. You reach out to cup him through his jeans, and he groans, burying his head in your neck.

“You don’t have to,” he says, despite bucking against your hand. “I’m fine with—”

“Hoseok, trust me, I want this as much as you do.”

You kiss him, fumbling around to unbutton his jeans, and he joins you in pushing his pants down. He moans, louder than you did earlier, when you wrap your hand around him. You stroke him at a devilishly slow pace. His body is tense as a bow, his kiss turning sloppy when you tighten your grip ever so slightly. You love it, love the way he moans for you, love how vocal he is, love how his hips jerk to meet your movements even though you’re pretty sure he’s trying to keep still.

“If you keep that going, I’m going to—” Hoseok starts, small gasps breaking off his sentence, and you regretfully take your hand off him.

He’s thankful for it, because he desperately wants to have you, but he still can’t help the moan of disappointment that escape his lips. Someone else might feel embarrassed at how it makes you giggle, and maybe he would, but he sees adoration in your eyes when you look at him, when you lift a hand to stroke his cheek, and he simply doesn’t. He can’t when everything about you screams how much you care for him.

You slide your drenched panties down your legs and wait not so patiently as Hoseok reaches in the nightstand for a condom, then struggles to open the wrapper. Your foot rubs against his calf as he struggles to open it up, working as a painful reminder that you’re there, so close, so wet, so ready…

“Not helping,” he mumbles, fucking finally opening it. You join in to roll it on, your hand feeling so damn good around him, and when you lay on your back, there’s impatience in your eyes. He kind of wants to tease you about it, make the moment last, but he doesn’t have the strength to do that right now.

Instead, he lines his cock with your entrance and slowly pushes himself inside you. Your moan sounds loud, even with you trying to muffle it, and he replies with a groan. You push yourself on an elbow, shifting to find a more comfortable position, and you end up sitting on his thighs, straddling him. One of his hands comes rest on the small of your back, stabilizing you, while he puts the other one behind him to support his weight.

It’s overwhelming already, you around him, your breasts pressed against him, the kisses you’re peppering against his mouth.

And then you start moving. At first, you roll your hips experimentally, making sure you’ve adjusted to his cock inside you. When Hoseok throws his head back, though, you start bobbing up and down. It’s not a movement you could do for too long, but you don’t think you’re going to need long.

You wrap your arms tightly against him as you find just the right angle. You barely know what you’re doing, hips moving almost uncontrollably so he keeps hitting that sweet, sweet spot. Your thighs’ muscles start burning, but Hoseok’s moans, the desperate way he repeats your name like a mantra, keep you going.

“(Y/N), I’m— I’m gonna—”

You reach down to touch yourself, fingers rolling over your clit so you get just what you need to get over the edge.

Hoseok comes seconds before you do, with a loud moan. His fingers dig into your hip, and it’s probably going to leave a mark, but you’re doing the same thing with his shoulders. You chase your second orgasm of the night frantically and find it as he’s starting to soften inside you.

You collapse on top of him, both your bodies sweaty and exhausted but so, so deeply content.

It takes a while before either of you speaks again.

“Shower?” Hoseok asks, sleepily, and you nod. You feel good. You feel good against him, and you feel good when the two of you stumble towards the bathroom. You feel good when your body is pressed against him inside, all tensions gone, and you feel good when you rest your head on his chest in bed, drowsing into sleep next to him.

That’s all him, you realize. That’s all Hoseok.

And you’re more than happy with that conclusion.

As you’re getting ready for the marriage of two of your high school friends, you idly wonder how it’s going to be, to see Minsu there again, and then it hits you. You haven’t thought about him in a long, long time.

It’s not like he was always on your mind, after the break-up, but it did feel like you took a piece of him everywhere you went, a pain that never quite disappeared, a constant thorn in your side. You had tried your best, fully aware that it wasn’t doing you any good, but it was hard, after eight years, to get used to a world without him again. You wonder when you became okay with it again.

There’s a knock at your door, and you find Hoseok waiting for you when you open the door. He looks amazing. Perfect. Like all you ever wanted. You've been together for months now, and yet you can't seem to get used to it. You don't know if you really want to, either. You like being dazzled every time you see him. He flashes you a smile and leans in to give you a quick peck on the lips.

“You remember that you have a key, right?”

“Oh, I do remember, I just like knocking here. Brings back some memories I like.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you, eyeing your dress, and you humor him with a little twirl.

“Hyejin helped me pick it.”

Hyejin is probably the reason you’re invited to the wedding, actually. She had never cared about your outburst against Minsu, but some of your friends definitely hadn’t appreciated it, and you understood why they wouldn’t want that kind of crazy to their wedding. However, after you’d told her about how the break-up went down, she had pleaded for you, and gotten you off the persona non grata list.

She would probably have murdered you for not telling her sooner, but you used that same conversation to tell her about you and Hoseok, and that had overshadowed the first half of that discussion entirely.

Yes, you’re aware, that was a little manipulative, but it was that or being killed by your best friend, so you have no regrets.

“Hyejin has great tastes.”

“Don’t tell that to Jungkook, or we’ll never hear the end of it.”

Hoseok bursts out laughing, something akin to pride shining in his eyes. He loves that his friends are your friends now, loves that his favorite people all enjoy each other’s company.

He extends his hand to you, smiles when you take it. He initiates physical contact more often than not, but you never decline it.

“All good to go?”

You nod. You don’t tell him that honestly, he’s all you need to face the rest of the world.

It doesn’t make it any less true.

You don’t like weddings. You know, shocker, considering how sociable of a person you are, but seriously, the more weddings you go to, the less you enjoy them. It’s not that you don’t love your friends and don’t want to see them happy, because you do, and they’re the only reason you put yourself through that. You guess you’re put off by how many people there are, and how big it all is. Hyejin’s a bridesmaid here, so you heard a lot about the planning, and it sounds like something straight out of your worst nightmares. It’s simply not for you.

Hoseok puts his hand on the small of your back, palm open, and it immediately ground you, calms the anxiety that had been bubbling inside you. Your anxiety is such an old companion when you’re in a public setting that it’s almost weird to feel it disappear. It’s not like Hoseok is a magical way of making it go away, it doesn’t always work, but it definitely helps. Just another one of the many perks of being with him.

“Everything okay?” he asks gently, and your heart explodes with the love you feel for him.

Without thinking, you push yourself up to kiss him. It’s a chaste kiss, appropriate for the situation, but Hoseok closes his eyes, loses himself in it. When he opens them, he looks a little surprised, like he always does when you’re the one to initiate a kiss.

“Everything’s fine,” you say.

His eyes glide to stare at something behind you, and you turn around before he can stop you.

There, of course, are Minsu and his girlfriend. It looks like it’s working well between the two of them.

You can’t say this doesn’t make you feel anything. That would be a lie. You don’t think you can forgive Minsu, don’t think you want to, and you certainly don’t want to be his friend, or even to talk to him, but you’re not angry anymore. If he did come over, you’d probably handle it better than you did last time. Hyejin might not, though, and judging by the way Hoseok tenses next to you, he might not either.

But instead of walking over and throwing a glass of wine at Minsu’s stupid face, Hoseok wraps an arm around you and you put your head on his shoulder.

You definitely like that better.

“They—” He clears his throat. “Your friends told me they thought he was the love of your life.” You snort at that. “That you guys had so much in common, and that they didn’t know how you’d ever find someone you were as compatible with.”

It’s so strange to you that Hoseok is the one who has insecurities about your relationship. As if he let you any choice but to be completely and utterly taken in by him.

You put his hand over his, which is spread over your stomach.

“They were wrong. He’s happy without me,” you tell him quietly. “and I’m definitely happy without him.”

At some point, maybe Minsu was the love of your life. When you were sixteen and you thought you would never love anyone else, or when you were twenty and moving in together, or even when you were twenty-four, the day before he shattered your heart.

But he isn’t anymore, and you can’t even imagine what your life would be if you had stayed with him, can’t imagine what your future would have been like. Can’t imagine your life without Hoseok.

“I love you, Hoseok,” you say, and he takes in a deep breath. “I don’t care how compatible I was with him— clearly, it didn’t change anything in the end. You’re the only one I want.”

“We’re not very compatible,” he comments.

“That’s true.”

“Your schedule is the absolute worst.”

“I think it’s fine.”

“You like horror movies.”

“Horror movies are great, but I promise I won’t make you watch them.”

“You refuse to ask the landlord to break down a wall between our apartments.”

“That is objectively a terrible idea.”

“Then we should find a place where we can live together.”

That quiets you for a few seconds as you think about it, before turning towards him. Hoseok has a cautious look on his face, but hope is shining in his eyes. No matter how scared he is, he is always willing to try. That’s only one of the many things you love about him, but that’s exactly what gets you right now.

“We should,” you say.

Minsu disappears from your mind, goes back to the oblivion where he belongs, and you only focus on the present, on the man you have in front of you.

“I love you,” he says before kissing you, and in that moment, everything feels perfect.

As long as Hoseok is by your side, you know you can take on anything.

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