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impala-dreamer · 5 months

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Tourniquet - Chapter Six

A Supernatural Dean x Reader Series Told Backwards

~Y/N has been by Dean’s side through his worst days, always there if he needs her, forever just a call away. Love is impossible to fight and more impossible to live with. Just a side character in his epic life, Y/N would give anything just to give Dean a moment’s peace.~

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The Man Who Lost Too Much

Life moved quickly in the background. Sometimes it was hard to remember the day or the month. Time was counted in miles and blood. Age was measured in how many bodies you laid in the dirt.

It wasn’t without good times, though.

Y/N hadn’t spoken to her father in a while, but she wasn’t always alone. She would run with other hunters when they crossed paths, hook up with a stranger or two when she was in the mood. Hell, a few times she’d run into the elder Winchester himself and spent a quick weekend getting lost in the sheets.

There was nowhere she couldn’t go, nothing really she couldn’t do. She was a feather on the wind, tetherless and free.

But late at night, her thoughts would drift to him. The Boy with the Green Eyes who could always make her feel better, make her feel like she mattered. No matter how many lives she saved, how many thank yous and hugs from survivors, she never quite thought she was helping. Her efforts in doing good always seemed so small next to what Dean was up to.

Sure, his heroics always came with a price, but Y/N longed to be closer to him, to be a part of the action. She wanted to see it up close, to live in the spotlight, if not right behind it. Skirting the edges of the light and holding him up- that’s what she really wanted.

Rumors of the Winchesters were never lacking and never dull.

Wherever she went, she’d hear stories, often exaggerated, about their adventures. Most were ridiculous.

‘Dean Winchester fought forty-seven vamps all by himself and came out without a scratch!’

‘Sam was born with horns and John had to get a witch doctor to remove them… he was still cursed, though. Poor kid.’

‘Those Winchesters are friends with the King of Hell and have traveled back in time twenty-six times.’

‘That car is haunted. I’ve seen it drive itself.’

‘Dragons. They fought dragons.’

‘Dean Winchester slept with my daughter and three of her friends. And I’m pretty sure, my wife.’

Sadly, that last one she believed. Usually, it didn’t bother her to hear about his sexual exploits, but when the moon was full and the wind was warm, she remembered nights in the tall grass behind the junkyard and his arms so gentle around her body.

She was working when he called; laptop burning on her lap as she scrolled through bits of scanned articles and photographs from decades ago. The phone buzzed on her nightstand and she peeked at the caller i.d. An old picture of Dean leaning on the Impala lit up her screen. She couldn’t remember when the photo was taken, but it always made her smile. His hair was short and spiked, his necklace fought with the buttons of his green henley, his leather jacket more than a whole size too big.

Y/N smiled and dragged her fingers across her own necklace, that worn hexagon that she clung to when overwhelmed, sucked on when thinking. A little bit of Dean always with her.

“Yo, Winchester. Been a while.”

Instead of a hello, Dean replied with a heavy exhale that instantly dropped her mood and upped her anxiety.

“Hey, Y/N/N…”

She closed her eyes, clutched the phone tight. “Where are you? Are you OK?”

His swallow was thick; he’d been crying, she could tell.

“Yeah. I’m- I’m OK. I… I don’t even know where I am. We pulled over for the night and I just-”

Y/N held her breath for a split second and then fell into crisis mode.

“It’s OK, Dean. I’m here. Just tell me what’s going on.”

There was a rustle of fabric, a sharp inhale; the scratch of nails down an early beard.

“Y/N/N… I fucked up. I- this is the worst thing I’ve ever done.”

“Dean, not for nothing, but you’re gonna have to narrow it down a bit, babe.”

He laughed softly and the tightness in her chest eased. He would be OK.

“Talk to me. I’m right here.”

Dean sniffed back a tear. She could almost see him there, eyes leaking freely, bottom lip trembling.

When he started to explain, the words shot out in a ramble that would have made little sense to anyone else. Y/N knew how to decipher his language, knew what each pause meant, why this word was harsh and that one softer. She knew.

He spoke of the last two years. He talked about losing Sam and then finding him again- without a soul. He explained about his deal with Death and the wall that was put up in Sam’s head so his soul wouldn’t shatter and kill him. About Castiel and Crowley, about deaths and near-misses, about everything.

Finally, Dean told her cautiously about moving in with Lisa and feeling like a father to her son Ben. He rambled on about civilian life and how much he loved doing stupid simple things like mowing the lawn or fixing stuck drawers. How he thought he’d finally gotten his due, that maybe, while it wasn’t perfect, Lisa could have been his salvation after a lifetime of pain. He cried again while recounting the ways he’d hurt them, scared them, gotten them kidnapped or worse.

When he was ready, Dean explained about the hospital and how he’d asked Castiel to erase him from their memories. How he’d sacrificed something he loved yet again for the good of someone else. They’d never remember him, never know who rearranged the tools in the shed, who bought all the cheap whiskey in the cabinet.

“It’s the worst thing I’ve ever fucking done,” he said, rounding out his confession as it had begun.

Y/N rubbed her hand down her cheeks, pushing the tears deeper into her skin. Her stomach ached in that horrible way it did when Dean hurt her, but she knew it wasn’t his fault. He needed to tell her and she needed to hear it.

She sighed.

“Yeah, it’s- it’s not great, Dean. It’s really fucking horrible, actually. You can’t just- take someone’s memories like that.”

“I know.”

“What if someone did that to you? What if I came along with my own buddy angel and had them erase your dad? Or Sam? Or… or me? You can’t play with people’s heads, Dean.”

“I know!”

She didn’t even flinch, she was too heated to be startled. “What were you thinking?”

Dean ground his teeth hard, growled through the clench. “I was trying to keep them safe!”

Y/N fought back. “From what?”

“From me!”

The friends fell silent for too long. Dean’s words hung in the space between them, electrifying the air and stabbing through their veins.

“Dean, I-” She couldn’t stand it. She needed to see him. “Fuck it. Turn your camera on.”

“No, Y/N/N, I can’t-”

“Just fucking do it, please.”

And there he was. Green eyes wet, freckled cheeks gaunt and hugged by the shadows. He wiped at his face and smiled, but couldn’t look at the camera. He couldn’t look at himself, couldn’t face her.

“Dean…”

He closed his eyes and refused to speak, so she did.

“What you did was fucked up, I can’t let you think otherwise, but Dean… you are… the most selfless, caring… brave man I’ve ever known, and I… I can’t imagine what you’re feeling right now, but I know you. And I know that you are going to be OK. You’re gonna get through this and, well, maybe you’ll never be over her, but…”

The spike in her gut twisted enough to make her pause and he opened his eyes, found hers on the screen.

“It’ll be OK,” she said softly. “I promise.”

He took a breath and let it out, and with it, a million pounds fell off his back. His shoulders fell, his jaw unclenched, the tightness in his face eased.

“I don’t fucking deserve you,” he whispered, staring so hard at the phone she was sure he’d break right through.

Y/N shook her head and smiled that secret smile that was only his.

“Shut up, Dean.”

Tourniquet Tags:

@prettyinplaid94 @winharry @muhahaha303 @cookiechipdough @ladysparkles78

2024 Forever Tags (Always Open! Send an Ask!)

@babysimpala @beardburnsupersoldiers @chenshemesh1 @cosicas-cuquis @deans-baby-momma @deanwinchesterswitch @feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @hobby27 @impalaspixie @jackles010378 @kazsrm67@k-slla @leigh70 @lyarr24 @nancymcl @peachy-vans @pizzagirlxnsfwx @rachiem4-blog @sexyvixen7 @the-wounded-healer05

#spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean x reader #angst #tourniquet

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bunbeeplays · 3 months

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The Lemon Legacy: Generation 1, Chapter 31 - Extra Extra

This temporary version of the Let Them Eat Cake wedding band has one more rehearsal before the big day tomorrow! However, during a break, Moses gets a very interesting alert on his phone…

Moses: Uh, guys? Ty Harper just posted a feature about Penny and Miko’s wedding.

Drew: Tiff’s husband? I thought Penny said she didn’t want a feature on PlumBright.

Moses: Judging from the title, it looks like it’s not the kind of piece they would have run by her.

Moses: “Penny Pizzazz and Miko Ojo: The Disaster Before The I Do”

Ophelia: What?

Moses: “Self-obsessed blogger Penny Pizzazz recently proposed to mousy, irrelevant Social Justice Worker Miko Ojo. Why?”

Moses: "We all know Pizzazz's taste in clothing is horrendous, but who knew her taste in women was so dull? These two are a train wreck waiting to happen, but we love mess. We’ll bust out popcorn when Pizzazz inevitably leaves Ojo for someone way hotter and way more relevant.

"They’ve already started fighting, about something as silly as the guest list. A nobody like Miko bossing around Penny Pizzazz? Where does she get off?”

Drew: What? That was barely a fight! He’s one to talk, he’s married to the bossiest Sim in Tartosa!

Ophelia: I can’t believe this. What kind of person writes something like that?

Moses: Oh Watcher.

Ophelia: What? How could it possibly get worse?

Moses: Because it mentions what day the wedding is happening on… and that it’s happening here.

Ophelia: What? But we’ve kept it so under wraps! Penny and Miko had to make their own parents sign confidentiality agreements!

Moses: Ty claims he has an inside source.

Drew: Oh wow, whoever could it be?

Ophelia: There’s no way Tiff would go that low. Is there?

Moses: “Dumb bartender who couldn’t make a good wrench if you held a SimRay to his head?” Guess that’s Xander. He even insults the catering staff. But the lead violinist “overshadows” the other two “hacks” with her raw talent.

Drew: Gag me. Of course Tiff gets off scott-free

Moses continues to scan the article.

Moses: “Hector Laurent’s family has hosted weddings at La Coppia Serena for generations, and as owner has continued to keep the venue a success. Or, at least he tries, no thanks to interference from his nagging shrew of a wife.”

Ophelia: You’ve got to be kidding me! Tiff definitely told Ty to write that in.

Moses: “Our source states Mrs. Laurent is overbearing, argumentative, and takes every chance she gets to sabotage her husband’s legacy.”

Drew: The only person I’ve ever seen her argue with is Tiff!

Drew: Not that I wanted him to get dumped on too, but of course Hector doesn’t get any crap. Tiff’s such a suck-up, she’d never let Ty write anything negative about him.

Moses: Oh no. Hope you guys weren’t feeling left out. They mention us.

Moses: “Sources state that Pizzazz and Ojo, thanks to their lack of taste, have an inexperienced friend with a stupid name singing at the reception with the Laurents’ tone-deaf band instead of someone with an ounce of talent. Notable Newcomer? More like... Unknown Nobody."

Ophelia: I can’t believe this! Tiff used her husband as a mouthpiece to talk shit about every single one of us to the entire world! He wouldn't know half of this stuff if she hadn’t told him. We signed confidentiality contracts but of course Tiff’s mouth is too damn big to care!

Moses: Hey, I get that it must suck you were singled out but it could be worse. At least the article didn’t mention you by name.

Ophelia: Yeah, because Tiff’s so vain she can’t even let her son of a llama husband give me credit when he’s trashing my reputation!

Drew: Did you… want your name attached to this?

Ophelia: Of course not! But Penny’s going to post pictures and word’s going to get out the singer was me! Not to mention people will know you’re the band they called tone-deaf! That’s llamashit! How are you guys not mad?

Moses: I can’t speak for Drew, but trust me, I’m angry too. There’s nothing we can do about it now, though. It’s out there. Luckily, nobody takes PlumBright seriously.

Drew: Oh Drew is pissed. Tone-deaf?! Tiff’s gonna be completely deaf when I slap her upside the head!

Xander runs over from the bar, looking concerned.

Xander: Did you guys see the PlumBright post?

Drew: Unfortunately.

Xander: Dude, three people I went to high school with have texted me and asked if I could sneak them in so they could meet Penny. This is bad.

Ophelia: Penny’s fan base has some dedicated stans. You know people are going to try to come meet her!

Moses: We’ve got to tell Hilary and Hector the day and location got leaked. Maybe they can hire extra security or something.

Xander: Hey, hate to interrupt here-

Hilary: If you’re going to tell us about the PlumBright feature, we already know. Reporters and fans have been blowing up our phones for hours. Hector and I have been trying to do damage control.

Ophelia: Has anyone talked to Miko and Penny?

Hilary: I did, extensively. I assured them extra security would be hired and detain any trespassers within a 5 mile radius. I offered to move their date but they didn’t want to let the paps win. As of now, the wedding is still on.

Hilary: I still need to finalize everything. It’s going to be hard to get as much security as we need on such short notice, but we’ve done much more with much less. And hopefully we can get another violinist to take Tiff’s place.

Hector: Why would we need to replace Tiff?

Hilary: You can’t be serious, dear. Penny and Miko’s first demand when I called was to have Tiffany removed from the wedding plans. Of course they don’t want her anywhere near them anymore after what she and Ty did. I’m sure when the rest of the staff read it, neither will they.

Hilary: The only issue is Tiff isn’t picking up my calls.

Ophelia: I wonder why. Probably because she knows she’s going to get fired for breaching her confidentiality agreement.

Hilary: Trust me, once I’m done putting out fires, it’s the first thing I’m going to do.

Hector: Now now, let’s settle down. We don’t know for sure where Mr. Harper got that information.

Drew: Hector, with all due respect, are you woohoocking stupid?

Hector: Excuse me?!

Hilary: No, they’re right. You and Tiff are the only staff members in that feature that weren’t insulted. That’s far too convenient for my liking. And I highly doubt you would tell Mr. Harper I’m a ‘nagging shrew’, unless you want to sleep on the couch for the rest of your life.

Xander: Why are you still defending her? This thing says stuff that Tiff specifically said to our faces and behind our backs. She’s guilty. You’re going to stand by someone who said those horrible things about your staff, your own wife? Do you respect my sister that little?

Hector: Of course I respect my own wife!

Xander: Then start acting like it, you son of a-

Hilary: Enough! Fighting is getting us nowhere. We will deal with Tiff in the morning, since she’s not responding. Right now, we need to make sure everything goes smoothly tomorrow.

Hilary: I hate to ask this of any of you, but we're on a time crunch. If you can stay and help arrange more security for tomorrow, we'll pay you overtime.

Hector: Overtime? We'd be losing money on this if-

Hilary: I suppose that's your favorite employee's fault then, isn't it?

Ophelia: I don't need overtime. Penny and Miko are my friends. I'll do it so the best day of their lives isn't ruined by a mob.

Drew: I'll do it so I have more reason to rip Tiff to shreds the next time I see her.

The guys agree too.

Hilary: Thank you all. Let's get to work.

And so, that's what they spend most of the night doing. The four are able to research and find last-minute security guards that will keep the venue safe for the employees, Penny, Miko, and their guests. It'd be a real beautiful night if this wasn't how they were spending it.

#The Sims #The Sims 4 #The Sims 4 Legacy #The Lemon Legacy #TS4 #The Sims 4 gameplay #sims 4 #generation 1 #ophelia #xander #drew #moses #tiff #hector #hilary

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darklydeliciousdesires · 2 years

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Not One of Many - Chapter Five.

I’m so happy that this is being enjoyed so much! Looking forward to your thoughts as ever, guys.

Previous chapters - Prologue One Two Three Four

Tag list - In the comments

Words - 3,507

Warnings - 18+ for later chapters. Minors DNI!

With the lounge to herself, save Alfie popping his head around the door a couple of times to say hello, Beth had made a start the preliminary notes of her article, the bare bones, by the time 3pm rolled around. She just hoped that Mimi was friendlier than Talia, when she finally got to meet the newest girlfriend of the three. The only other interruption she’d had was from the gigantic dog who had ambled in when his master had visited, the bullmastiff Cyril, who was currently lying at her feet, snoring loudly.

“Where the flippin’ hell did I put my soft cast, is it - oh, hello!” Mimi spoke upon entering the lounge, holding her wrist, her tone brightening considerably when she noticed her houseguest's presence on the sofa. “You must be Beth, hi! I’d shake your hand but I’m in pain, so, mwah!” Leaning down, she kissed her cheek instead, Beth returning the gesture, breathing a sigh of relief. Two friendly girlfriends out of three was better than none at all. “Have you seen a soft cast around? Thought I’d left it in here.”

She scanned around, turning to look over her shoulder. “There, on the bookshelf.”

“Ah, yeah! Went and fell off my bloody horse again. He’s being a nightmare at present. Anyway, enough about me, how are you settling in? Actually, let me quickly go have a shower and change, since I stink of mud and horse. Be back in a minute.”

She expected her to take much longer than she actually did, Mimi returning, dressed in comfy grey linen trousers, a matching cropped top and a bright pink Balenciaga cardigan, her soft cast now in place on her right wrist. “So, yeah! How are you settling in?”

“Just fine so far, thank you. I’ve only been here since eleven this morning, though.” Mimi nodded vigorously, pulling her phone out.

“I’m ordering some sushi, do you fancy sharing?”

She could eat, her stomach running on empty. “Yeah, okay. I’ll go halves on a tray.”

Her comment for splitting the cost was waved away, Mimi shaking her head with a puzzled look. “Why? It might sound a bit, what’s that word for old fashioned?”

“Archaic?”

“Yeah, that,” Mimi confirmed. “It might be a bit archaic, but if you’re female, you pay for nothing in this house. Alfie wouldn’t hear of it. Believe me, I used to work and my wages just kept mounting up because he would let me buy anything, so I quit in the end.”

“What did you used to work as, prior to meeting him?” Again, her voice notes were casually accessed, pressing record and placing her phone onto the large, contemporary coffee table before them.

“Oh, nothing much, just working with the horses at the stables I keep mine at. I come from quite a wealthy family, so I never really needed to work. Dad paid for Bryn and Sunny, my horses, and then daddy took over when I moved in.”

“You refer to Alfie as daddy?” Beth asked, arching an eyebrow, but keeping her tone neutral to curious, not wanting to offend or seem judgmental. She did find it just that, though, curious.

“I do! He likes it. Don’t get it mixed up, I don’t see him as a father, oh no!” she began, holding out her hands in objection at the idea. “It’s a sex thing since he’s dominant, but because he’s a protector too, a very masculine, old school gentleman type. He’s a good daddy in those respects.” Beth noticed how excited she looked at revealing that, revelling in her relationship. “I like being his spoilt little princess.”

“And how did you two meet?”

“I was in Bacchus – that's one of his bars - one night with friends, and he saw me and called me right over to his table, where I annoyed the shit out of his other girls by plonking myself straight down on his lap! Well, not Amira, because we kinda have a little side thing too away from our relationship with Alfie. She liked me just as much as he did from the moment they met me. Tiff and Talia not so much, but Tiff is out now and Talia has warmed to me a little more.”

There was a lot to gain more detail there in her statement, Beth thrilled with how unguarded and forthcoming she was. “So, a side thing with Amira? She’s your girlfriend, or is it undefined? Also, are you permitted to see other people outside of your relationship with Alfie, or persons under this roof, to be more specific?”

“Oh no, absolutely not! That’s one of the stipulations he has prior to any girl moving in, no other boyfriends. It’s too much of a headache to deal with on his part,” she began, Beth interjecting.

“There are stipulations?”

“Yes, not many, though. No drug users, no smokers, no outside boyfriends and a clean bill of health, STI wise, as he hates using condoms. But anyway, back to your question about Amira. We aren’t like, girlfriends or anything, but we play, we have sex as just the two of us, we’re really good friends as well, so there’s that. He likes it.”

“So do I take it that all three of you have found yourselves in bed with him at once before?”

“That’s happened, yes. Not anymore, though, or at least not with Talia as she’s straight and it makes her feel uncomfortable. But Alfie really likes playing with me and Amira at the same time. He’s amazing at pleasing two women at once.”

Gold. This was absolute, salacious gold, Mimi as unguarded as she’d hoped one of them would be as they chatted, Beth nodding with interest as she continued. “I can’t deny, though, I do like having him all to myself when that happens. I’m totally fine with him having other women, it’s his world and we play by his rules, but yeah. When it’s just the two of us in bed, it’s great to have his full attention. A bit exhausting, though, since he had a lot of stamina!” Her booming giggle filled the room, Beth noting what a happy little soul she seemed.

Much to her displeasure, she felt a little flicker of envy within at hearing that detail about Alfie’s sexual appetite. ‘Work first, Beth. Work first.’ she reminded herself, smiling.

“Where do you see it going in the long run?”

“I’m just having fun right now. I mean, obviously I’m in love with him, but I wouldn’t expect marriage or anything. Fuck, I’m only twenty-one, so I’m not even thinking along those lines yet, not about anyone! I might not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I know that when he does settle down eventually, which I reckon he will in a few years, it won’t be with any of us. We’re not Jewish.”

“You wouldn’t consider converting?”

“There’s no point. He wants a born Jew. Like you, but obviously not you yourself, since he told us you’re not open to that. And he isn’t ready yet. When she comes along, if I’m still here, no matter how much it’ll hurt, I’ll leave before he finishes with me.”

She might have been young, a little naïve, perhaps, and very unguarded, but Mimi was no fool. She had just the right amount of cynicism to be able to live in Alfie’s world without her sweet little heart taking a battering. She knew what she had with him was subject to an expiration date.

“Did he tell you this in as many words?” Beth asked, thinking it a trifle cruel of him to be so brutal with the truth.

“No, but I overheard him talking to Steve about it one night, that’s his best mate, by the way. You’ll know him when you see him, big Jamaican fella with dreads down to his arse, but speaks with a real proper British accent because his parents are fancy lawyers and sent him to private school. He’s lovely. But yeah, I heard him say that long term, when he’s ready to settle, it’ll be with a Jewish woman, that it was important he married within his ethnoreligious group. Do I have that right, ethnoreligious, or did I make it up?”

Beth chuckled softly, thinking how sweet and unassuming she was. She carried no fear of being wrong about something, as long as she could learn the right thing to say. “You did, you got it right.”

“What about you, since you’re Jewish as well? Is it the same, and you’ll only marry a Jewish man?”

She nodded, switching off her laptop and setting it down on the table beside her phone. “I will, yes. I think for a lot of us, we just can’t forget what happened to our people, therefore have the desire to continue populating, considering once upon a time, someone tried so very hard to wipe us all out.”

“Oh, you mean Hitler?” Beth’s grave nod confirmed that, Mimi poking out her bottom lip. “I watched a documentary with Alfie one night, about the holocaust, because I told him I wanted to learn more. I felt it important, since I’m with a Jewish man. I never thought I’d see someone as strong as him cry, but he did when we watched that. I saw him wipe away tears. It way beyond horrific, what happened to your people. I just... I can’t get my head around such hatred.”

“It’s unfathomable, truly. Anyway, let’s keep this light!”

“Yes, good idea! Oh blimey, I need to order that sushi, I’ve just had my phone out on the Deliveroo page and not pressed anything! What shall we get?” They browsed the menu, choosing on a selection, everything non-shellfish for Beth, and a mix of things for Mimi, deciding on a side of cold noodles to go with as well. “Carb fest! I need some after this morning! Riding for two hours is exhausting!”

“That’s not what you told me on Saturday night,” Alfie piped up as he entered, grinning at his girlfriend.

“You’re much less likely to buck me off though, daddy,” she cooed, opening her arms to him as he bent to hug and kiss her, shifting up to make room for him. He pulled her onto his lap, gesturing to her wrist with a tut. “A-bloody-gain?”

“I know! He’s such a shit, but Sunny was well behaved,” she confirmed, Alfie smiling.

“That’s because Sunny is the purest little mare in the world, she’s so bloody sweet,” he smiled, his hand moving to stroke Mimi’s thigh.

“He stands there stroking her eyelashes while she rests her head over his shoulder, Beth, and then she falls asleep on him!”

“Oi, I’d like to be left with a modicum street cred intact, Mims! Making me sound like I’m the fucking ‘orse whisperer!”

“You are, though! Animals love him. Bryn doesn’t like men, his first instinct is to lay his ears back and bite them, but when he first met Alfie, he just walked right up to him, waved his finger and went, ‘Oi, none of that bollocks, right? You don’t bite me, sunshine. You get me, yeah?’ to him, and there’s been no issues since.” Beth was in fits at her spot-on impersonation of Alfie, the man himself looking tickled as he smiled.

“He’s still bit me once or twice, though. Usually when I’m hangin’ onto the cantankerous bastard while he’s having his shoes done.”

“Oh, he doesn’t like the farrier? I knew a pony like that, once. Even having him cold shod, he’d still try and play silly buggers,” Beth revealed, Mimi’s eyes widening.

“Oh my god, are you a horsey girl, too? You must be, if you know about cold shoeing. That’s what I have to have with Bryn as the smoke freaks him out!”

“I used to ride, yes,” she offered succinctly.

“And I’m leaving you both to it. I just came to get Cyril for his lunch anyway, but if you two are gonna talk ponies, you’ll be here for flippin’ ever. See you later, baby. Beth.” he whistled at his dog, kissing Mimi once more, giving Beth a little smile in parting, he and his huge dog ambling away out of the lounge.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in deep conversation, mostly of horses, a little more about Mimi’s life and relationship with Alfie, while they enjoyed the huge tray of sushi.

“Since it’s Talia’s night out with Alfie, Amira and I sometimes have a girl's night, order in bad food, sit up in the cinema room and watch rom coms. Would you be up for that? We’d like to make you feel welcome, since Talia probably won’t.” She widened her eyes at the end of her sentence, before cringing slightly. “Shit. I probably shouldn’t have said that.”

“Has she decided she doesn’t like me before actually getting to know me, then?”

Mimi nodded a little, pointing to her phone. “Can this be off the tape?”

“Off the record,” Beth softly corrected, nodding. “Of course.” Reaching for her phone, she pressed pause, turning back to give Mimi her full attention.

“She’s insecure about her place at the moment, especially since Alfie, Amira and I have begun going to bed together as a three a lot more regularly. From everyone’s perspective, she’s still very welcome, and she would be when we have sex as well. It’s her choice not to join in, not ours. You coming here has done nothing to help that either, regardless of what Alfie told us.

“He’s always one hundred percent honest with us, so he told us that he’d propositioned you, that he fancies you, but you weren’t interested in being one of more than one girlfriend. Talia isn’t listening to reason, though. What doesn’t help is that you’re very pretty and smart, a combination he really likes in a woman.”

Whereas jealousy seemed to very much exist within Talia, Beth so far just could not see a trace of it in either Amira or Mimi. They were extremely confident in their relationship with Alfie, it appeared. Her presence in their home, at the invite of their boyfriend, who had made no secret of the fact he desired her, had absolutely no impact upon either of them. Once alone later that afternoon, typing up the transcript of her conversation with Mimi, she made a few notes regarding her thoughts.

‘I have to wonder, are these women so accepting of newcomers purely for the fact that they know they cannot change the wants and needs of their boyfriend, should he attempt to bring another girl into the relationship? Is it therefore easier to go with it gracefully, rather than protesting, save themselves being kicked out of the nest of opulent luxury should they voice too much opposition, or are they so steadfast, that their confidence blinds them to thinking such could ever befall them?’

Or was she just mistaking the fact they were being genuinely nice, and didn’t find her a threat because she’d stated her intentions, those not including going after their boyfriend? She honestly hadn’t expected to be welcomed quite so warmly by them (well, two of three) and in truth, it had thrown Beth through somewhat of a loop. Mainly, because she felt a tiny bit fraudulent. If he hadn’t been a polygamist, if she wasn’t writing an article about him, he was exactly the kind of man she would have gone for.

“But, how can you be a fraud if you know you’re not going to act on it?” she suddenly spoke aloud, shaking herself, continuing to type. Because she wanted to. That was enough for the feeling to slowly creep in. Putting it behind her, though, she spent the rest of the early evening typing, Amira knocking on her door at half past six to see if she was ready for girl’s night to commence.

“I’m saying Mexican!”

“Nope, McDonalds!”

“How you eat that tasteless crap, Mims, I’ll never know.”

“Oh, no, no, we should ask our guest. That’s the polite thing!”

Sitting in the kitchen, the girls turned their attention to Beth, who felt a tiny bit put on the spot. “Erm...”

“Anything you want, you name it, we’ll order it!”

“Pizza?” she suggested, being met by enthusiastic nods.

“Are we sharing a Hawaiian?” Mimi put to Amira.

“Oh yes! Beth, what do you want, here’s the menu.” Taking her phone, Beth scrolled through, making her selection quickly and handing it back. “Black olives and pickles? Girl, I like you already. I bloody love pickles!” With their food sorted, they sat chatting while waiting the twenty-five minutes for it to arrive, heading up to the cinema room afterwards, deciding on True Romance as their first. It wasn’t in the rom com category, like Mimi had alluded, but that was fine for Beth, who didn’t particularly enjoy that particular genre.

Three films later and they called it a night, Alfie and Talia arriving back about five minutes after Beth had rested her head down onto her pillow, a pillow that pretty soon she ended up wrapping around her head in an attempt to muffle the sound of them having sex. The sound carried much too well from the floor above. Getting up, she fished out her cotton wool balls from her toiletry bag, pulling one in half and jamming the pieces into her ears. Nope. She could still hear the sounds of a woman in absolute sexual rapture.

God, he sounded like he knew exactly what he was doing. Or, maybe it was amped up? Maybe this was the jealous Talia wanting for every other woman in the house to hear, of her staking her claim, making it known that with unwelcome visitors and other girlfriends aside, she had her hooks in her man, and she’d be loathed to let go? A curious imagination and thirst for questions were part and parcel of being a journalist, but perhaps in this instance, Beth might have been overthinking it? Either way, an hour later and they were still going at it, and she was no closer to falling asleep.

With bleary, tired eyes and a dry mouth, she crept out of her room and headed downstairs in search of water, switching on the small lights beneath the counters when arriving in the kitchen, pulling the fridge open and removing the bottle of Evian from the door. A few minutes of searching later and she had located a large glass, pouring the beverage in, glad when the sex noises finally came to a stop. She was just about to head back up when she heard feet padding towards the kitchen, accompanied by the voice of the person they belonged to.

“She’ll be the bloody death of me, that bird.” Alfie’s muttered tones reached her before he did, Beth suddenly feeling very underdressed in her sleep shorts and vest set, Alfie sauntering in, wearing a pair of low-slung, black pyjama bottoms. “Oh, hello, darlin’! Blimey, I’m glad I put something on now, I usually stroll around in the buff. Why you still up?”

“Couldn’t sleep.” Her slightly embarrassed face, even in the dim light from the counter top illumination spelled loud and clear why she’d had trouble dropping off.

“Yeah, um, sorry about that!” he confessed, half cringing, half looking very pleased with himself that she’d heard the all-out howl fest he’d worked Talia into. “I forgot to say the sound travels well in this house. The other two wear earplugs. You might want to invest if you’re a light sleeper, like me. So, you had a good first day here, then?”

“I have, yes, thank you.” She felt awkward and embarrassed, him seeing her there, her hair a haphazard ponytail, fringe clipped back, her face makeup free and smothered in Nivea cream. Especially when he looked so... wow. Chest glistening with sweat, still slightly out of breath, and his entire collection of tattoos on display upon his ripped physique. ‘Oy fucking vey!’ Her internal voice screamed, smiling coolly while sipping her water, Alfie going into the fridge and pulling out a bottle of cranberry juice, taking a long glug.

“Well, I hope you manage to drop off alright in the end,” he extended, placing the juice back in the fridge and turning to leave.

“I should be able to now I don’t have your sexual acoustics to try and muffle.” He laughed hard at that, the boom filling the kitchen.

“There is a failsafe method for falling asleep quickly, you know,” he offered, pausing at the doorway.

“Is there?”

“Yeah, petal. Go make yourself cum. I’d offer to do it for ya, but I can take no for an answer. Just. Night, treacle.” He winked, turning and heading back the way he came, Beth seeing eight long, bright red scratches down his back before he vanished into the dark of the house.

She’d be lying if she said that moment hadn’t made her resolve weaken just a smidgen.

56 notes · View notes

memwazz · 11 months

Text

SEVEN Backstories - Cat and Aloïs :

The Marshall Effect

"I had chatted with this man for less than a quarter of an hour, but it felt like I'd just been blown by a hurricane. 'Guess it was the Marshall Effect. "

Here's another flashback for my story SEVEN : Division United, but it's written and not drawn this time !

The story is from Cat's viewpoint and tells how she met her future boyfriend Aloïs when she was still working as a cashier in a small grocery store.

"Nothing interesting had happened in my life for the last two years and it wasn’t quite surprising. I mean, what could happen to an average girl working at a quiet little grocery store to pay off her student loan? This place was about to close permanently because it barely worked anyway.

The evening shifts especially, were the most boring times of the week. My manager usually left at eight, then no customer would ever come and I was doomed to wait at the checkout for an hour, if not more.

It was until he appeared from nowhere. Never saw him before – or trust me, I would have remembered. On a rainy Thursday evening a tall, well-mannered man in a suit walked in, exactly twenty minutes before the closure. Nothing unusual at the beginning, yet I kept my eyes on him because I had nothing else to do.

Then he started zigzagging between the shelves, walking past the same ones again and again. He was probably lost since it seemed to be his first time here.

I glanced at the nonexistent queue and stood up to leave the desk. Helping that guy would keep me busy for the next five minutes and it was exactly what I was looking for.

“Hello. Can I help you?” I asked when I reached him.

He startled like he hadn’t heard me coming and turned around with a confused look.

“Hi, uh, what do you mean ?”

“You look a bit lost, I was wondering if you were looking for anything specific.”

He shook his head.

“I’m not lost,” he replied in a distant tone. “I just have… patterns.”

“Oh, fine then, I’m sorry I bothered you.”

He politely nodded and started shopping again, then I got back to my desk.

The man finally returned while I was eagerly staring at the clock. Right after the cashing and when he was about to leave, there were only two minutes left before we closed.

“Just in time,” I smiled. “Guess you’re lucky.”

“It’s no chance,” he said, “I calculated. Good evening.”

After he was gone and during the whole closing, I kept thinking of how special this encounter was.

But as busy as I was, I quickly forgot about it. Until the very next Thursday, when the same man came again… exactly twenty minutes before the close. “No chance,” I immediately thought, “just calculations.”

When he came up to me, he was queuing alone again, standing without a word. The silence quickly embarrassed me for an unknown reason so I took a deep breath and thought about something to say. He was the only person I could even talk to anyway.

“So, uh,” I awkwardly asked, “did you just move nearby? I’ve only seen you twice.”

“Not at all,” he answered, “I’ve been in Departown for years. I just…” he paused, looked away and scratched his neck, almost troubled. “Not that I like changing my habits but I had to. The shop I used to go to stopped selling Worcestershire sauce. It felt like a treason so I decided I would never come back.”

I blinked and kept quiet for a second, then laughed openly thinking it was a joke. Who would ever feel betrayed by a grocery store ?

But the man stared at me with a straight face and I immediately felt stupid. Was it for real? If so, my laugh had probably sounded like a mockery. I blushed and apologized but my customer stood silent and kept looking away. What a fucking faux pas.

While scanning his items, I wondered what I should do. Shut the fuck up for the next three minutes or just keep chatting like nothing happened?

I decided to fight my talkative temper and focused on these carefully aligned articles. But my extreme concentration quickly got troubled by a strange feeling of déjà-vu. Like the cashing was occurring the exact same way as the previous week. Was it by chance or… calculations?

A sentence suddenly came back to my mind: “I have patterns”. It was probably the key so I attentively stared at my screen looking for the said pattern. And it hit me like a flash.

“Is that…”

“Alphabetic order?” the man guessed. “Yes.”

Surprised to see my intuition confirmed, I quickly checked the screen again. The last articles from the list were indeed vanilla, wheat bread, – an indecent quantity of – white vinegar and… of course, Worcestershire. I couldn’t hold back a smile.

“Wow. Impressive.”

Despite his face being inexpressive, he looked kind of satisfied when I pronounced this word. I smiled again, he politely greeted me, walked away and disappeared behind the automatic doors. Two minutes before the closing.

Never in my boring life had I ever met such a singular customer. Not that it was unpleasant, on the contrary: not only had he saved me from my monotonous Thursday evenings, but I also liked our unique interactions.

No need to say this man was in my mind every shift I worked. My stupid brain even started nicknaming him. From then on, he would be Mr. Worcestershire and I was looking forward to seeing him again.

To my disappointment, he didn’t come back the next week and my Thursday shift was longer than ever. I didn’t even know why I was that upset: what was I expecting from a man I had only met twice ? Not everyone goes shopping every week anyway. Still, it felt like something was missing.

Fortunately, he quickly showed up again: same day, same time. Seeing him at my desk brightened my evening and I greeted him thoughtlessly:

“Mr. Worcestershire! Long time no see!”

Crap. I felt stupid again. What was I thinking, calling him by that dumb nickname out loud? I blushed in shame, expecting him to be offended; but he just raised an eyebrow, half-surprised, half-embarrassed, hundred percent serious.

“It must be a mistake," he told me. “My name’s Aloïs Marshall.”

I hushed for almost a minute, taking the time to swallow my shame and the fact that he had totally missed the point. Maybe it was for the better.

“Catherine Harris,” I bounced back. “But Cat’s more than enough!”

“Nice to meet you, Cat.”

What I read as a slight smile surprised and pleased me at the same time. Maybe he liked our interactions too.

The next few weeks seemed to prove my point. Aloïs stopped coming twenty minutes early, but twenty-five then thirty so we would have more time to chat. I learnt he had just passed the bar and was planning to become a lawyer. He liked clocks, played piano, had a brother and a kitten.

It wasn’t much information – to be honest, it was most of the time just me sharing my day and him quietly listening – but I was grateful to know them. This man looked distant, secretive and obviously wasn’t a talker: seeing him gradually open up had something soothing. After our weekly small talks became an established routine, my impression of bothering him and talking too much completely faded away.

Then came this Thursday when something obviously looked wrong. I was waiting for my only, faithful eight pm customer and as time went, I honestly thought he would not show up. But he did, twenty minutes late.

Late? I would have never thought Aloïs was physically able to be late. He was in a rush, almost running in the alleys, looking completely lost although he was supposed to know the store like the back of his hand. When he reached the checkout, I noticed his shirt collar was unusually loose, his hair tousled and his skin pallid.

“A-are you okay?” I asked, worried.

“Yes,” Aloïs’ tone was tense, almost cold.

His shaking voice troubled me even more but I did not dare insist. He turned his eyes away from me, said no more words, we didn’t chat and he left in a hurry.

After his hasty departure, it took me almost a minute to be able to move again. Something serious was going on but I didn’t know what nor how to help.

I inhaled and shook my head. For the moment, the priority was to close the shop. Despite my trouble, I think I managed to complete the work without forgetting anything. But as I was on my way to leave and lock the store, a loud noise surprised me. A smashing sound coming from the parking lot.

I scurried outside to find a car had just hit a pole full force and I ran into its direction. Just as I feared, Aloïs was behind the wheel and looked completely distressed. He lowered the window as soon as our eyes met.

“Are you hurt?” I yelled in panic.

“No. Just a big scare," he sighed and I finally allowed myself to breathe.

“I’d never have thought you were that bad as a driver,” I joked to relax the atmosphere.

“I’m not,” Aloïs defended himself. “This is just not my day.”

I looked him in the eye. Here we were. First, that troubled attitude. Next, a car accident.

“What happened?”

He didn’t reply right away and simply lowered his head. He was close to tears and his exhausted expression broke my heart. His shoulders stiffened and he shivered.

“You can talk to me,” I insisted.

“My brother’s in the hospital,” he said abruptly, all of a sudden.

“Oh my God,” I gasped. “Is his life at risk?”

“Not anymore, I think. But I’m not allowed to see him yet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

I raised an eyebrow, wondering how he could’ve taken this at face value. But it was not the question.

“Anyway, I have to go,” Aloïs concluded before he put a hand on the parking brake.

“Wait. No, no, no,” I objected. “You’re not driving. Not in that state.”

“I can do it. Leave me alone,” his voice cooled down.

“You can’t! I assure you that if you start this car again, the next thing you hit won’t be a simple parking pole.”

Aloïs gritted his teeth and looked straight in my eye. Deep inside, he knew I was right and it angered him.

“I can drive you home,” I offered. “I just want to make sure you’re alri–”

‘’No.”

I was surprised by his expeditive tone and by the following sigh. He stayed silent a few seconds then started again:

“First, I don’t like to bring people near my house. Second, I don’t want to come home tonight.”

“Why?”

“I…” his voice shattered.

He probably felt embarrassed by the heartbroken compassion in my eyes because he instantly looked away.

“It’s nothing,” he pretended. “It’s just… Home feels empty without him. And I will lose my mind if I see that bathtub again. I haven't cleaned it up yet."

I didn’t understand which bathtub he was referring to and what it even meant, but of course home felt empty. How hadn’t I thought about it before? Aloïs was left alone and absolutely not in the mental condition to be.

“Just come to my place then,” I said without thinking further.

“What?” his eyes opened wide like he wasn’t taking me seriously.

“I mean, there isn’t much space,” I added, “but I have pizza. And Netflix.”

He laughed nervously and remained silent for a few never-ending seconds. He seemed to hesitate, carefully considering the suggestion.

"It's no use. I don't want to bother."

"You won't. And you need company."

He paused to look at me with a baffled expression, like he would never have expected me to care.

"Alright," he finally surrendered.

"Okay, " I sighed in relief, "just park that car while I check the store one last time. We'll use mine."

Once finished, I turned the car on and we left in silence. Aloïs didn't utter a single word during the whole ride; I understood and respected that choice.

When I opened my door, I suddenly remembered I hadn't taken the time to tidy the room before leaving.

"S-sorry," I stuttered, "it's a bit messy…"

But Aloïs wasn't listening and didn't even notice. His eyes were fixed on the wall.

"Nice clock," he commented.

I just smiled and invited him to settle down. He nearly collapsed on the couch and our first fifteen minutes were just him breathing in silence, eyes closed, trying to pull himself together.

“Pizza?” I offered when he finally seemed able to think clearly.

“Please,” he answered in a bashful voice after a way too long hesitation.

From then on, I think we kind of had a good time. Aloïs talked less than usual but looked a bit more relaxed, wrapped up in my softest blanket. The TV was on but mostly to serve as background noise since we were not really watching. A documentary on marine life was broadcasted.

“Whales scared me when I was a child,” I recalled. “I thought they were big enough to swallow all the water and we would die of thirst. It's ridiculous,” I giggled.

“Oh, not that much. I get the logic. Honestly,” he added, “you’d probably laugh if I told you what scared me as a child.

“What? Tell me! I want to know!” I fidgeted on my seat, excited by curiosity.

Aloïs turned around, looked straight at me and replied in a very serious voice:

“Cashiers.”

I almost choked. He was making fun of me, wasn’t he?

“Is there an innuendo or something?” I smiled.

“Absolutely not. And it makes the situation kind of ironic.”

“I-indeed. And why did they scare you ?”

“That’s a stupid story,” he whispered and pressed his knees onto his chest. “I was eight when my mother sent me shopping on my own for the first time. It made me anxious: big noises, lots of people. I didn’t even know what I was supposed to say at the checkout so my mother wrote me a note and I learnt it by heart. They may ask you if you want a bag and you’ll say ‘No, thank you.’ Then you’ll say goodbye and wish them a good day.

But things didn’t go as planned. The cashier forgot about the bag and just went, like, ‘Have a good day’, to which I instantly replied ‘No, thank you’. Then I froze and stood still for almost a minute.”

I couldn’t stop smiling. The fact Aloïs was telling this story in a perfectly neutral tone and sounded like a fucking voice-over made it even funnier.

“And then? What did you do?”

“I cried.”

“Oh my, oh my,” I exclaimed, “what a pure soul!”

“No need to say our mom sent my brother instead the next time. I never wanted to come back again.”

“It was hilarious,” I laughed out loud.

“Don’t laugh. It’s been seventeen years and I still feel ashamed.”

He sounded a little more light-hearted and it felt nice. Perhaps inviting him was the best thing to do after all.

“Do you think I’m scary?” I teased him, thinking about his jolt the first time we talked.

“I’ve seen worse.”

Aloïs’ eyes shut and silence slowly came back. In no time he had fallen asleep on the couch, still in his suit, his cheek squashed on the armrest. It wasn’t even half past ten yet; but his last concerns probably had been exhausting so I left him alone and went to bed as well.

The next morning, I got up early to attend school and found him awake, standing in a corner. His hair and shirt were arranged and he was probably waiting for me before leaving.

After a brief exchange of courtesies, I led him to the door. He was staring at me with his usual seriousness.

“Thanks for the invite,” he said. “I’d never have thought I’d have a good time, but I did.”

I opened then closed my mouth within two seconds, not knowing what to answer. What kind of a compliment was that? It had at least the advantage of being honest.

“How can I thank you?”

I shook my head.

“You don’t have to. Just take care of yourself. And of your brother, of course.”

Aloïs nodded, waved me goodbye then walked away without a word.

Despite an extremely busy week, I still had him in mind the whole time. Not only because of our pleasant evening, but also out of concern. I had no way to know if his brother was alright and how he was dealing with the situation. Waiting was my only option.

When our daily meeting finally came, I was reassured to see him on time, perfectly arranged and back to his routine. I almost pounced on him when he greeted me:

"How's your brother?"

"Better," he replied with less emotion than expected. He left this morning. Thanks for caring."

"Great!" I shouted in relief.

Aloïs kept quiet, looking ahead. He appeared a bit nervous but not the anxious way. Kind of… embarrassed? I secretly hoped I hadn’t offended him in any way that night, but I didn’t dare ask what was wrong.

Once the groceries stowed in his backpack, he turned around and expeditiously placed a huge paper bag on the desk.

“‘re you go,” he muttered, “good evening.”

And he did not leave the store this time: he practically escaped, scampering in a hasty and awkward way. I hadn’t had the time to stop him nor to get a single word.

I was completely stunned and blinked in misunderstanding, until that mysterious bag finally intrigued me. If Aloïs had left it here, it was probably for me to open so I didn’t think any further and just went on.

What I found inside was the last thing I would have expected. A cuckoo clock. Why the hell would this man leave his fucking clock on my desk? Confused, it took me quite a bit of time to notice the note left on the bottom of the bag.

I made this for you. Thanks for the evening. See you soon.

My eyes opened wide and I instantly blushed. Wow. Wow. He’d made this? For real? For me? Taking a closer look at the clock, I found out it was hand-carved and had hundreds of precise little details. It was astonishing to think Aloïs had crafted such a piece in less than a week, and the efforts it probably had taken touched me as much as the attention. I didn’t even know he had any skills in watchmaking, and it was incredibly sweet despite the note being so distant it sounded like a telegram.

Just as my amazement was about to dissipate, nine pm rang and the clock struck. When the trap door opened I was expecting a bird to appear but it was not. It was a Cat.

I laughed out loud, out of amusement but also because of a heartwarming joy. I had never received such a singular yet magnificent gift. I absolutely loved it and it was, to be honest, the first time a guy ever thanked me for pizza night with a timepiece.

When I went home I hung the clock on the wall, right above the couch Aloïs had slept on the week before. It looked perfect and I couldn’t wait to see him again so I could express my gratitude.

But before we met again, in the middle of the week, something distracted me. Or should I say someone. Weird Customer Number Two.

Late in the evening again, a man entered the desert grocery store. I couldn’t have not seen him: partly because there was no one else around here, but mostly because of his looks. His aquamarine sidecut was curled like he’d just got out of bed and he was floating in exceedingly oversized clothes, so colorful it looked like a whole family of parrots was grieving.

He wandered in the alleys for a few minutes emitting a strange, conflicting aura. Like a ghost who'd have been in agony for centuries but in an extremely cheerful way.

His shopping didn’t take long and he quickly came up to me.

“Hi. Do you sell cigarettes?” he asked while putting his articles on the conveyor belt.

I thought it was a joke at first so I just chuckled, but when the man gazed at me in silence for a few seconds, I understood he was serious.

“Sir, this is a grocery store.”

“Oh, true. I forgot it wasn’t food.”

I raised an eyebrow. What had I just heard?

“You’re not supposed to eat cigarettes, I think.”

“Did I just say that out loud?” he moaned in a low, troubled voice. “Forget about it, you didn’t hear anything.”

I nodded and acted like nothing had happened. We were both embarrassed now. I tried to keep my eyes away so he wouldn’t feel judged, but an iterative feeling pushed me to look at him again and again.

His face was oddly familiar. It was just like I had known this guy for a while but it was impossible. I would have remembered a person that… eccentric. Maybe an old classmate with a whole new appearance?

“Excuse me,” I timidly asked, “have I seen you before?”

“Probably on the news,” he answered without hesitation. “I’m a serial killer.”

I burst out laughing when a large smile spread across his emaciated face. Okay, good one.

“Seriously,” he resumed, “you must mistake me for my twin brother. He comes here every Thursday.”

“Aloïs!” I screamed like it was evidence.

Of course. Of course it was Aloïs he reminded me of. How could I have been so stupid? Behind his round pink tinted glasses, the man had the exact same odd-coloured eyes and identical facial features. But to be honest, everything else was different.

“You know his name?” he exclaimed.

“Sure. We’ve been chatting for months, he came to my place once and he gifted me a clock last week!”

“Dear Lord, it’s a fucking miracle.”

He faked a dramatic, exaggerated faint then slammed his fist on the conveyor.

“This idiot has a friend and he never told me!”

“We-we’re friends?” my face turned red.

If Aloïs and I were starting to get a bit closer, he had never referred to me as a friend and I had no idea if he counted me as such or not.

“Come on!” his brother rolled his eyes. “Do you think someone like Al' would trust you enough to stay at your house if you were not his friend? And would he build a clock just for you?”

“You’re right,” I smiled.

This simple statement was so sweet it brightened my day. Aloïs’ brother on the contrary, seemed quite upset that he'd never ever mentioned me. Was it that surprising?

“Don’t hold it against him,” I begged. “He’s not very talkative.”

“Wow, you're good with euphemisms!" he clapped his hands with a sarcastic grin.

We both laughed and when the guy negligently leaned on the cash desk, I realized his manners were the opposite of Aloïs’. It was probably the reason I hadn’t recalled why he looked so familiar. This, and the long aqua hair.

“So you two are twins? I would have never guessed!”

"People rarely do," he shrugged. I'm the Evil One, by the way. Name's Ezra."

"I'm Cat!"

We exchanged a warm smile. Without even knowing why, I already liked this guy.

"How come both of you always do groceries that late?" I suddenly wondered. "Is that in your genes or…?"

"Aloïs likes quiet places and we both hate people."

"Legit."

I proceeded to the checkout and Ezra just carried all his items in his arms, an approximate and careless way. Seeing how disorganized he was, it was hard to believe he had Marshall blood.

"I'm glad I finally met you," I admitted when he was about to leave. "Aloïs mentioned you at least twice."

"What a record!" he laughed. "Buuuuut…"

Ezra paused to stare at his rainbow painted nails in a sassy way.

"You want to make him talk?" he asked with an evil smirk.

"Why did you say that like an anime villain?"

"Because I'm a serial killer."

"Oh, of course," I giggled. "And yes, I'd like him to talk a bit more."

"Just ask him how an eighteenth century watch works then," Ezra revealed. "But never do that just before you close. It'd take hours and you may want to have a seat."

I thanked him. Noted. It would probably help, yet an issue remained.

"When could I ask him then?" I complained in disappointment. "I only see him after half past eight after all."

"Oh! True," Ezra realized. "Well, he'd kill me if I shared his contact without asking, but I can give him yours if you want."

My eyes brightened. "You'd do that?!"

"Of course. I love chaos."

"Oh my God, thanks a lot!" I shouted before giving my phone number.

He wrote it down and blinked at me.

"One last piece of advice: if you like his company, just tell him."

"What?" I scratched my cheek in confusion. "Is that necessary? I thought it was obvious…"

"Trust me, nothing's ever obvious enough for this guy."

With a cynical smile, Ezra glanced at the clock, took his articles back and waved me goodbye.

"This idiot better tell me everything tonight or Cain is back to town," I heard him mumble when he passed the door.

If I hadn't had an urgent task to complete, I wouldn't have moved for at least three minutes. I had chatted with this man for less than a quarter of an hour, but it felt like I'd just been blown by a hurricane. 'Guess it was the Marshall Effect.

What a pair, I told myself. What a fucking pair.

0 notes

mysterystarz · 3 years

Text

the romance checklist:

summary: a chance meeting with kageyama has you striking up a bet to see if one of you could fall in love with the other before the year was up. cue the romance checklist, a piece of paper that molded your fate and his.

pairing: kageyama tobio x g!n reader

word count: 3.2k

genres + themes: literally pure fluff, reader is a first-year karasuno student, reader is also kind of a romantic

warnings: none

a/n: so this is my first time writing for kageyama and i know he's probably pretty out of character, so my apologies!! this was inspired off some headcannons i wrote for one of my irl friends, and this wiki-how article which i used to structure the actual checklist! to all my lovely kags simps, this is for you <3 (also to all the people who hate angst, you lucked out bc i was about to add an angst part but got lazy)

You had never thought a trip to the vending machine could be so eventful.

It had been lunch break, and you found yourself wandering towards the machine, money in hand as your eyes trailed the snacks. It had become routine to sneak away during lunch hours for this, enjoying the fresh autumn breeze as you bought your snacks. It had always given you time to think and the time to recompose yourself when you didn’t have a clue what to do.

Usually it also provided you with time alone.

That wasn’t the case today though. Standing in front of the vending machines was Kageyama Tobio, frantically pushing the button for milk with a grumpy sort of scowl on his face. From the distance you stood, you could make out his height and the way he tapped his foot continuously, as if he didn’t have the time to wait for the milk to be dispensed from the spot.

Strolling up to the spot, you stood silently next to him, watching the way he retrieved the milk from the slot wordlessly as he walked away, not even a glance in your direction.

You knew full well who he was. In fact, you could barely walk through the halls of school without hearing a murmur about the prodigy setter and his closed off ways. The girls found him intriguing from afar, and while they never dared to approach him, they all wanted to.

You hadn’t really understood what they saw in him. He was average...if not below that in academics, and he seemed to dedicate most of his time to volleyball, not caring much for other people. He didn’t seem to have many friends, and was almost always grumpy.

All of this should��ve been reason enough to avoid him, and yet you couldn’t help but be intrigued. There was something about him that was different. You just needed to find out what that was.

The next day came around, and sure enough, he stood at the machine again, toe-tapping as his milk was dispensed from the slot. This time his eyes scanned the courtyard as if he was seeking something before they finally landed on you.

You weren’t prepared for the full impact of his gaze. It was calculated and pointed, with some sort of intent that was expressed in every inch of those dark blue eyes. You weren’t put off by it.

In fact, it was charming in its own way.

“Are you looking for something Kageyama?” You asked as you walked towards him, pulling a few yen out of your pocket. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.” He deadpanned, his eyes still trained on you as you selected a snack from the machine’s buttons. “I see you everywhere. Who are you?”

You hadn’t expected that. You knew he was observant...when it came to volleyball specifically, but never realized how it translated anywhere else. “I’m Y/L/N Y/N.”

You weren’t sure what else to say to him. Gently grabbing your snack, you politely nodded at him before leaving him behind, the thoughts rapidly accumulating in your brain. Did he notice you the entire time? Why did he ask? Did he know something? Was he planning to use you as some example to the other girls who wanted to know him?

You wish you had an answer.

Unfortunately, you couldn’t think of any.

It had been two weeks since you had met Kageyama by the vending machines. It had now become routine to expect him there during your lunch breaks, milk box in hand as he regarded your very presence with something that felt a whole lot like curiosity. Every now and then he’d offer commentary on the mundane happenings of Karasuno, or ask about you, but you weren’t sure how you could hold a conversation with just these things.

“Kageyama.” You nodded, strolling towards the machine as you always did. He whipped around almost immediately, offering a solemn nod in return, clutching his milk box.

“Y/L/N.” He murmured, taking a sip of his box.

“Have you ever thought about love?” You found yourself asking, internally screaming at the word choice. Great, now he was going to think that you were some crazy person.

“I think so…?.” Was what he offered in response. His features seemed to soften at this question though as he scrunched his brows in thought. “What type of love?”

You raised a brow at him in question. “Kageyama...what type of love are you talking about?”

“Well...I love volleyball and milk.” He shrugged. “That counts.”

“That...wasn’t the type I was referring to.” You said, suppressing the laughter that bubbled into your chest. “I was talking about the other kind.”

“The other kind is stupid.” Kageyama replied instantaneously. “There’s nothing special to it.”

You felt confusion seep into your system before you quieted it, letting your mind wander. With Kageyama’s status, you assumed that he’d at least thought of the concept at least once, although it seemed that he’d never even pondered the idea altogether!

“You’d have to feel it to come to that conclusion,” you countered, “Have you?”

“No,” he scoffed, “It’s still stupid.”

“Why?” You asked, feeling the curiosity surface. “Any specific reason?”

“Why would anyone want to dedicate all their time to another person?” Kageyama asked straight back, his gaze unwavering. “I just don’t see the point.”

You stared back at him, feeling the challenge bubble in your veins. “I bet...I can make you fall in love with someone by the end of the school year.”

At that moment, the boy in front of you looked thoroughly surprised, throwing his empty milk box at the garbage can nearby. He seemed speechless to some extent, as if he wasn’t able to process the words that had just left your mouth.

“And what happens if you can’t?” He asked, hesitantly bringing his gaze to your face. “What then?”

“I’ll buy you milk for a whole month.” You placed your hands on your hip as you kept your glare firm. “I stick to that.”

“Okay then,” he sighed, “Game on.”

With a shake of your hands, you cemented your fate.

You would win that bet. That much was certain.

“What’s this Y/L/N?” Kageyama asked, pointing at the piece of paper you held at him. “How are you going to win a bet with this?”

The two of them stood in the courtyard of Karasuno, the fresh autumn breeze rippling the paper you held in your hand. It had been a good day so far, and Kageyama had surprisingly stuck to his resolve, meeting you at the vending machine when he could’ve easily avoided you.

It was always more fun to challenge a competent opponent.

“This is the romance checklist.” You grinned proudly. “This has all the things we need to get you to fall in love.”

“How is it fair if you don’t do the checklist’s things too?”

“Well, that’s why I’m doing them with you.” You responded, already anticipating these types of questions. “I drafted the checklist off of the things I’ve observed over the years that should totally lead to feelings of love!”

“Whatever.” Kageyama said, his blue eyes scanning the paper’s contents. “How do you plan to do this?”

“We follow the steps.” You nodded. “Since I’m doing this with you, it’ll be foolproof.”

“Y/L/N...what if we competed against each other?” He mumbled. “We follow the checklist and use it against each other. Whoever falls in love first loses.”

“Do you really want to risk that?” You smirked, “That’s a bold move you’re making.”

Kageyama stood up straighter at this, the challenge burning deep in his eyes. “I’m going to win, so it won’t be an issue.”

“Suit yourself,” you grinned. “I’ll be winning this anyways.”

He simply smirked as he looked down at the paper, the promise of a challenge fresh and bright between them.

STEP ONE: MEET SOMEONE

After a long time, you had finally gotten some free time away from schoolwork and the obligations that pinned you down. It was a rare occurrence with the amount of pressure that the college prep class placed on you, and you intended to make the most of it.

You found yourself on the pathway of a cafe you used to frequent in the summer with your friends. It had always been a place to collect your thoughts and let your worries float away with every sip of one of the immaculately crafted beverages that they offered there. You felt your lips twitch in an involuntary smile at the memories.

“Y/L/N?” You heard a voice call out, a shocking contrast to the normal chattering you heard within the shop. Looking up, you were met with Kageyama’s eyes, narrowed and confused as you sat at the table frozen. “What are you here for?”

“It's a break for me,” you shrugged, “I come here all the time. I haven’t seen you here before.”

“They have good drinks,” Kageyama replied bluntly. A few beats of silence passed between them, with neither of them knowing what to add to the conversation.

“You can sit down with me.” You offered, gesturing to the empty seat across from you. “The more the merrier.”

He didn’t question this as he slid into the seat, fingers drumming on the table as he looked at the window. From your point of view, it was almost picturesque the way he managed to appear. His blue eyes were focused on the trees outside, and his posture was ever so casual and relaxed as he sat there, as if he had no other care in the world.

It was unfair how model-like he managed to appear, even despite the fact he wasn’t trying.

Ah. Perhaps this is what the girls at school noticed.

Once the drinks arrived at your table, the two of them drank in comfortable silence, admiring the flavors on their tongues as their surroundings continued on as normal. You didn’t feel the need to contribute anything to the silence, finding it calming in its own right.

“So Kageyama, are you feeling anything yet?” You teased, setting down your half-empty cup.

“No.” He admitted, setting down his drink as well. “I am supposed to?”

“Well technically no, but it’d be good if you did.” You chuckled, finding amusement in the cluelessness of his ways. “Step one of the romance checklist: meet somebody.”

“We already met though.” He countered, “How does this count as anything?”

“Well, we just encountered each other out of nowhere.” You smiled, “That counts as a meeting in my book.”

He wrapped his mind around this information, nodding solemnly. “I guess so then. I still don’t feel anything.”

“Neither do I.” You said, willing the slight butterflies in your stomach to subside. It was really nothing. This was simply a chance meeting, nothing more than luck and fate that had you encounter each other today of all days.

You shouldn’t have been affected this quickly. You felt far too warm, far too...fuzzy, for a meeting of chance. It was simply far too intimate.

Well, it seemed that Kageyama had gotten the one upon you at this stage.

You’d beat him next time. You knew you would.

STEP TWO: FLIRT

“You look good today Kags,” you smirked, feeling a sense of satisfaction creep up in your veins at his flushed cheeks,

Over the course of the weeks spent together, you had been able to learn more about the mysterious boy in front of you and had even formed a friendship of sorts. For starters, he was flustered very easily, which is why you decided to make your move so early in the morning.

“I look like how I do every day, dumbass!” He growled, the red deepening in his cheeks when you merely winked in response.

Ah yes. He tended to insult those he befriended. That was yet another endearing thing about the boy in front of you.

“No, something is different today,” you commented, “Did you do something with your hair?”

“No,” he frowned, the flush never subsiding from his cheeks. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m just saying genuine things you know.” You laughed, punching his shoulder casually. “Besides, I think I’m succeeding so far.”

“Succeeding? This is that stupid checklist again, isn’t it?” He sighed. “Step two: flirting. What is the point of this again?”

“It’s to show interest.” You remarked. “Besides, if you want me to fall for you, you’re going to at least have to act like you’re interested in me. I know it’s working on you so far.”

“No it’s not!” He yelled, although the defense was half-hearted. You knew he was merely putting up a front. You could tell it from his body posture alone.

You had the upper hand right now.

You waved him goodbye as you entered the Karasuno grounds, climbing the stairs to reach your class as he walked in the opposite direction. Even if you had the upper hand right now, you knew that you had to be on-guard the rest of the day.

If there was one thing you knew very well in the time you had spent with Kageyama, it was that he was extremely competitive. There was no way he’d ever go down without a fierce fight, especially when a month’s worth of milk was on the line.

You had been absolutely right to doubt him.

When lunchtime rolled around, he stood at the vending machine like he always did, leaning against it casually as he waited for you, his focus placed on the entrance.

The first thing you noticed was how calm he was. There was none of his usual frantic energy or the practiced insults that you threw back at one another. He simply stood there, content, as he watched you make your entrance.

The second thing you noticed was how an unconscious smile crept onto his face when you waved at him and slipped away the minute your eyes darted to his mouth. He sipped his milk casually, although you knew that internally, he was definitely scheming.

He could be a gremlin if left untapped.

You were about to purchase your snack in silence, thinking about all the ways he could win against you when you felt his hand on your shoulder. Turning around, you saw him holding out a container of your favorite snack, handing it to you wordlessly.

What?

“I thought I would get it today,” he shrugged, taking a sip of his milk. “You’ve bought me milk sometimes. It’s only fair.”

He didn’t consider it much of a big deal, but you felt your heart begin to accelerate in its pace at the thoughts that came flying into your head.

He had paid attention to your favorite snack? He had actually cared about when you bought him milk?

He noticed all of this?

“You...have a nice smile.” He mumbled, a flush rising onto his cheeks once again. You felt yourself fluster a bit at the compliment, not used to hearing it that often.

“Uhhh thanks.” You exhaled, not knowing how to respond to such an out-of-the-blue remark. “Your smile looks a lot like the Cheshire cat you know.”

For a moment his face was contorted into an expression of horror before he laughed a bit, the low chuckles sending heat straight to your cheeks.

Damn it. His laugh was adorable.

It was a low chiming sound, but it still managed to uplift your spirits in the brief time that you heard it. It was absolutely perfect.

You’d like to hear it again if you could.

A small smile was on his face as he looked to the ground, thinking about something while you took the time to really look at him. Behind the stone exterior, was someone talented, clueless, and amusing in every way you could possibly imagine.

You noticed how his posture mirrored yours, and the way how he smiled when your eyes finally met his own.

Damn it! He got the one-up on you. Again.

STEP THREE: GO ON THRILLING DATES

“Tobio! Let’s go on this one!” You yelled as you dragged him towards the large rollercoaster that caught your eye.

It was a beautiful Saturday with the most perfect weather. Sunny skies met a fresh breeze as you dragged Kageyama around the amusement park you had insisted on going to together. He kept with your quick pace as you went from ride to ride, never once letting go of his hand.

If anything, you were more confused why he didn’t comment on the fact that you had been holding hands that long. Rather he silently followed you from ride to ride, occasionally commenting on how small it looked for them.

From where you stood, the rollercoaster looked positively incredible with the multiple loops and drops in its track. This certainly fit the bill for thrilling. Maybe Kageyama could finally agree to ride this one.

“Y/N, do we really have to do this one?” He asked, his gaze not tearing away from the ride. “Doesn’t it look a bit too small for us?”

“Well if it’s too small, then we can still ride it as a joyride, don’t you think?” You grinned as you shoved him into the line of the coaster. Soon enough, it was your turn as you were ushered into the seats while the employees strapped you and Kageyama into the rollercoaster.

The wait was excruciating, with every second that passed sending a wave of anticipation and adrenaline through your system. Looking to your side, you saw Kageyama’s face, which was composed, even though his fingers drummed rapidly on the bar.

Was he nervous?

Hesitantly, you reached to clasp your hands together, relishing in the feeling of your palm on his as the rollercoaster suddenly began moving, bringing you up the tall lift hill.

“Tobio, are you okay?” You questioned as you neared the top, the grip he had on your hand tightening ever so slightly.

“I’m fine!” He yelled, just as the roller coaster fell over the lift hill, sending them into a plummeting drop.

You felt the exhilarating feeling of soaring as the ride propelled you forward, shouts of glee leaving your mouth ever so often. On the other hand, all you heard from Kageyama was the occasional shout of horror when they encountered yet another drop on the track, the grip he had on your hand deathly tight.

“Tobio! You’re afraid of rollercoasters?!” You shouted as you were guided into a loop.

“No I’m not!” He shouted back, shutting his eyes when he was finally upright again. “They just make me feel like I’m about to die!” When he opened his eyes, they first found yours in a look that was both petrified and fond. “I think I lost the bet!”

“You did what?!” You yelled as the wind rippled in your ears again.

“The bet Y/N! I think I’m in love with you!” He yelled. “I thought I should tell you before we die!”

You felt your heart soar at the words that had just been exchanged, a testament to the budding feelings you had felt for months around him.

“We’re not going to die.” You sighed as the ride finally slowed, feeling exhilarated as you smiled at him. “I love you too.”

Stepping off the rollercoaster, Kageyama was more silent than anything, red flush adorning his cheeks as you massaged soothing circles onto his hand. “We both lost it in the end.” You laughed.

“I think it was worth it,” he chuckled, the beautiful chime, showing you that he meant every word.

taglist (bold cannot be tagged): @moi-bunni @kousukii @littlecatfairy @iwasunshine @kawaii-angelanne @haikyuutothetop @dearkousei @catchmewiddershins @perqabeth @sunarinluvr @elektrosonix @milktyama

reblogs are very appreciated <3

#nova scribbles <3 #kageyama x reader #hq kageyama #hihqnetwork #kageyama fluff #tobio headcanons #tobio scenarios #kegayama tobio #tobio x reader #tobio x y/n #kageyama x y/n #reader x haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyu imagines #haikyuu #tobio fluff

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waitimcomingtoo · 3 years

Text

In Case You Don’t Live Forever

~chapter seven rewritten~

Pairing: Peter Parker x Venom!Reader

Synopsis: you are Peters greatest love and Spider-Man’s greatest enemy

Series Masterlist

Peter walked to campus that day with an extra bounce in his step. He couldn’t keep himself from leaping over the school gate, not caring who could’ve seen. He was in love. He walked past Flash with confidence, easily brushing off his backhanded comments. He walked up to Ned and felt oddly compelled to click his heels. Ned noticed the ecstatic expression on his best friends face and smirked.

“What’s got you so happy? Did a certain wall crawling superhero finally beat Venom in a fight?” He asked. Peter shook his head.

“Not yet. Something even better happened.” Peter said proudly.

“And what might that be?” Ned wondered. Peter could barely keep himself from screaming.

“Y/n kissed me.” He exclaimed. He got a few strange looks from passing students on their way to class, but Peter didn’t care. Nothing could ruin his mood.

“What? When? ” Ned gasped.

“This morning. She slept over last night after she had a nightmare. And guess what else?” Peter asked. Ned bounced up and down.

“What? Tell me!” Ned demanded. Peter looked around for who could be listening and smirked.

“She slept in my bed.” He smirked.

“Oh.” Ned said looked disappointed in the anticlimactic finish.

“With me in it.” Peter added and Ned looked amazed. His jaw hung open and he began to bounce up and down again.

“Dude that’s like the greatest thing ever.” Ned cheered. “She’s so hot! We have to tell everyone.”

“We’re not telling anyone just yet.” He shook his head. “She’s only been my girlfriend for a few hours. She’s really special to me, Ned. I don’t want to treat her like shes some prize I won by telling everyone. Girls are worth more than that.”

“Amen to that. What are you losers talking about anyway?” MJ said as she approached them. She was eating trail mix and looked extremely bored already.

“Peter has a girlfriend.” Ned blurted. Peter shot him an angry look while MJ looked impressed.

“Oh really? Who is she, your right hand?” MJ smirked. Ned looked confused while Peters face went red.

“It’s not my right hand. She lives in my building and she’s an angel. That’s all you need to know.” Peter grumbled, still annoyed that Ned spilled his secret. It wasn’t that he was ashamed of you, the exact opposite actually. He would shout it from the rooftops that you were together if he could. He just didn’t want everyone to know. You had only kissed that morning and Peter still wanted to keep the magical details to himself.

“Does this angel have a name?” MJ questioned, actually interested in something for once.

“No.” Peter said at the same time Ned said “Y/n L/n.”

“Y/n L/n from The L/n Report?” MJ was suddenly invested. It was the first time Peter or Ned heard emotion in her voice.

“You know her?” Peter asked.

“Duh.” MJ scoffed. “She’s the only investigative reporter I’ve seen who actually cares about the people she reports on. I read her articles all the time. We have a lot of the same opinions. I used to think she was the coolest girl ever.”

“Used to think?” Ned asked.

“Well clearly something’s wrong with her if she’s dating Peter.” MJ said flatly. Ned laughed and Peter looked at her angrily.

“There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s amazing.” Peter defended.

“I know she is.” MJ shrugged. “I’ve idealized that girl for year. Did you guy see what she did to Carlton Drake?” Peter nodded and smiled proudly at the thought of his girl kicking names and taking ass.

“She’s like my hero. She’s done so much for the homeless back in San Francisco. I was so excited when she said she was moving to New York to work for The Daily Bugle.” MJ gushed. Peter and Ned looked at each other, visibly confused.

“Have you always done that?” Ned asked her.

“Done what?” MJ asked.

“Felt things?” Ned said and MJ rolled her eyes.

“I feel very passionate about a lot of things. Those things just don’t happen to include you two or anyone else in this school. However, I am very passionate about your girlfriend.” MJ stated. She suddenly looked a little uncomfortable and unsure of herself, two things MJ never did. She awkwardly turned to Peter.

“Do you think I could meet her? I’d really love to talk to her about her article on fracking.” MJ asked slowly. She wasn’t used to asking people for things. Peters eyes softened at this new side of MJ.

“She’s picking me up after class today on her motorcycle. You can meet her then.” Peter offered. Then MJ did something very out of character.

She smiled.

“K thanks.” She blurted and then swiftly left. Ned and Peter laughed as she walked away.

“That was new.” Ned commented.

“Yes It was.” Peter agreed.

“She’s so odd.” Ned added.

“Yes, she is.”

“Did you do the hanky panky with Y/n?” Ned asked. Peter snapped his head towards Ned.

“What?” Peter flushed red. “No. And never say ‘hanky panky’ again.”

“It was worth asking. See you in orgo.” Ned said before walking towards his class. Peter shook his head in amusement before heading to his first class of the day.

At 3:30, you pulled up to Peters college on your motorcycle. You took off your helmet, shook your hair out, and scanned the crowd for Peter. You soon saw him, Ned following shortly behind him, and a girl you had never seen before. She wasn’t wearing makeup, which you gave her props for, and had her curly hair tied back in a pony tail. She was undeniably pretty and had a very cool vibe to her.

“Hi beautiful.” Peter said when he reached you. He wrapped his arms around your waist and hugged you tightly. “It’s torture not being with you all day.”

“I know. But the school year is almost over right? Then we can spend every second together.” You promised. Peter smiled happily. He leaned in slightly, as if asking for your permission, and you did the same. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He smiled into the kiss and held you closer. This time, there were no interruptions.

“Y/n, I’d like you to meet MJ. MJ, this is Y/n.” Peter said, gesturing to the girl. MJ smiled shyly at you and held out her hand.

“It’s really cool to meet you, Y/n. Your article on greenhouse gases is hanging on my wall. I’m uh, I’m a big fan.” She said timidly.

“You’re a fan? That’s amazing.” You smiled brightly at her. “I’ve never met a fan before. It’s really cool to meet you too, MJ. And if you’re interested in the environment, I have a bunch of scientists numbers I can give you. I had to interview a bunch back in San Francisco to write that article. They gave me some great tips on how to reduce my carbon footprint.” MJ’s eyes widened just a little. She looked baffled and gave you a thankful smile. You noticed one of her front teeth was slightly askew and decided you liked her already.

“Really? That’d be so cool. Thanks.” She said. You squeezed her arm and nodded.

“I think you and I are going to get along just fine. Can I get your number? I’d love to hear more about what you’re interested in.” You handed MJ your phone and she took it. She typed her number it and handed it back.

“This has been really amazing. Thanks for being so cool. I have to run though. I’m running a protest outside of Oscorp.” She explained. “One of their employees got seriously electrocuted and they’re to cover it up.”

“Really?” You gasped. “Is it okay if I tag along? I’m kinda busy with my Cletus Kasady story but I would love to cover your protest too.”

“You’d do that for me?” She asked as if she wasn’t used to people doing things for her.

“Gladly. Can I join? I can give you a ride there.” You offered. She smiled at you and toyed with the strings on her backpack.

“That’d be great. See you losers later.” MJ gave Peter and Ned a peace sign and climbed onto your bike. You gave Peter a quick peck on the lips and got on the bike as well. Peter watched as MJ wrapped her arms around your waist and smirked at him. You two sped off towards Oscorp, leaving Peter and Ned in your wake.

“Dude.” Ned laughed. “MJ just stole your girlfriend.”

“Shut up. No she didn’t.” Peter said. Did she though? You seemed to hit it off with her pretty quickly. Peter didn’t know MJ too well but he knew she was guarded and didn’t let people in easily. In fact, she didn’t let anyone in. And yet, you and her had become best friends in a matter of minutes.

Heading back from Oscorp a few hours later, you saw a familiar hat bobbing up and down in the street. You were about to call out Neds name when two guys came from around the corner. They looked mean and you could hear Ned’s heartbeat rising. You quickly ran over to him.

“Hey.” You panted. Ned looked relived to see you.

“Oh hey Y/n. How’d your date with MJ go?” He teased. You shoved him slightly.

“It wasn’t a date. She’s really cool though. I think we’re going to be good friends.” You said as you passed the two guys. You soon heard a whistle.

“Damn baby. Where you going with him? Don’t you wanna stay here and have some fun?” one of the guys called. You looked at Ned and picked up your pace.

“I know you heard me beautiful. Stop running before I give you a reason to run.” The man said again, louder this time.

“Keep walking.” You whispered to Ned.

“I said stop running.” The man shouted, this time, his threat was accompanied by the sound of a gun cocking. You and Ned froze in your steps. The two men slowly approached you, all while pointing the gun level with your head.

“That’s better.” One man said when he reached you. “Now, how about this. You come with me, or I shoot your friend. Does that sound fair?”

“I better call Peter. He’ll know what to do.” Ned panicked.

“No need.” You growled as your transformed into Venom. You marched up to the guy and grabbed him by the shoulders in a death grip. You spit at a nearby newspaper in the ground. The newspaper quickly disintegrated and left nothing but smoke behind. You smiled devilishly at the man, grateful for a chance to show off your acidic saliva.

“What was that?” The man cowered in your grasp. Meanwhile, his friend ran away terrified.

“Acid spit. Still want me to come with you?” Venom purred. The man whimpered and shook his head furiously.

“Didn’t think so. Now, if you don’t tell us the names of ten historical feminists who would be very disappointed in your sorry ass by the time I count to ten, we’re going to eat you. Does that sound fair?” Venom growled as the man shut his eyes in fear.

“One.” You began to count.

“Uh…” He whimpered.

“Two.”

“Um.” He raked his minuscule brain for answered but came up empty handed.

“Ten.” You said and bit his head off. You quickly ate the rest of his body before turning back into yourself. You wiped your hands and patted your stomach before turning around and making eye contact with Ned, completely forgetting he was there.”

“You’re Venom?!” He gasped as he pointed at you in horror. You ran up to him and covered his mouth.

“What? No.” You lied. “How do you know about Venom anyway?”

“It’s you. I can’t believe it’s you.” Ned exclaimed when you took your hand off his mouth. You were getting more and more confused.

“You’re Venom. You, Y/n, are Venom.” He repeated as if it all made sense now.

“Play dumb.” Venom whispered.

“What? I’m not Venom. What makes you say that?” You stammered.

“Not that dumb!” She yelled. Ned looked at you and laughed, still in shock.

“You and Peter are perfect for each other, you know that? You’re both dumb as shit.” He laughed. You had to laugh a little as well.

“You’re Venom and Peter is…do you know about Peter?” Ned suddenly asked.

“What about Peter?” You didn’t understand what he meant. Neds eyes went wide, and then filled with sadness.

“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.” He shook his head. “Are you gonna tell him about this? Because I’m going to be very honest with you, I’m terrible at keeping secrets. I don’t know if I can keep this from him.”

“I’m gonna tell him eventually. So please, don’t say anything.” You pleaded. “He has to hear it from me. I’m sorry that I’m making you lie to your best friend but this is a very unique situation.”

“It’s a lot more unique than you think.” He muttered. “I won’t tell him.”

“Thank you.” You hugged him tightly, thankful that he was safe and keeping your secret. You walked Ned home and began to make your way back to the apartment building. You wanted nothing more than to cuddle with Peter and forget the day. After all, you missed him all day at school. It was bearable when you guys were just friends, but now that he was your boyfriend you never wanted to be apart.

When you were just a few blocks from your apartment, you felt a strong arm wrap around your neck and hold you in place. Suddenly, there was a knife to your throat.

“I saw what you did to my buddy, you little freak. Now, how about you get down on those pretty little knees before I kill you?” The man threatened. You turned your neck as much as you could and recognized your attacker as the mans friend who ran away from earlier. You sighed deeply. You were full and trying to keep your body count to a minimum, but he was just asking for it. You shut your eyes and were about to turn into Venom when you heard a voice from behind you.

“Now that’s no way to treat a lady.” The voice rang. You recognized it as Peters voice. The guy was quickly pulled away from you as if by some kind of rope. You heard some sort of webbing going on behind you and small cries of struggling from the man.

“Are you alright Miss?” Peter asked.

“I’m fine, Peter.” You said, finally turning around. Instead of seeing your boyfriend, you saw the friendly neighborhood pain in the ass. He had webbed your attacker to the wall and was now looking right at you. You had seen him so many times before, and he’d seen you, but never like this. You felt almost naked, standing before Spider-Man as Y/n instead of Venom.

“Oh.” You said, startled. “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.”

“Yea. This is a pretty popular outfit.” Spider-Man joked, gesturing to his skin tight suit. You bit your tongue. He was funny, but you couldn’t let him know that. You were enemies after all. He just didn’t realize it was you.

“Thanks for saving me.” You blurted. “But I had the situation handled.”

“You’re right. You especially looked like you had it handled when he was about to stab and murder you.” Spider-Man said sarcastically. You found him oddly charming, despite your history.

“What are you gonna do with him?” You asked, pointing to the man webbed to the wall.

“I heard what he said to you. I’m going to register him as a sex offender and ruin his life. Unless, you had other plans. You know, since you had the situation handled.” Spiderman remarked. You playfully rolled your eyes. You did have other plans. Plans that involved eating him and digesting him while you cuddled with Peter. But Spider-Mans plan was okay too.

“Alright. I’ll see you around Spider-Man.” You said, giving the superhero one last look. There was something familiar about him. Spider-Man nodded.

“See you around. And please, be careful. Don’t walk alone. I don’t want to see you get hurt.” He said and turned back to the man.

You went home, showered, and got into some comfy clothes. You missed your boyfriend dearly and went to his apartment to see him.

After being let in by May, you went into Peters room and flopped on his bed. He was sat at his desk doing homework.

“Did you mean what you said about me sleeping over whenever I wanted?” You asked, voice muffled by his pillow.

“Of course I did.” He swiveled around to look at you and noticed your body language. “What’s wrong, love?”

“I’ve had a long day and I want to cuddle my boyfriend.” You pouted. Peter smiled at you calling him your boyfriend. He closed his textbook and climbed into bed with you. You rested your head on his chest, right over his heart. The sound of his heartbeat calmed you down and you felt sleepy.

“Did you make any progress on your story?” He asked. You shook your head as he began to run his fingers through your hair. You hummed in content and pressed a small kiss to his neck. He blushed at the affection and held you closer.

“No.” You groaned. “I’ve had the worst writers block all day. I was actually thinking of writing an article on Spider-Man until my writers block went away.”

After your encounter with the masked hero, you wanted to know more about him. You were originally against your boss’s idea to write about him, but now you liked it. Sure, there were plenty of articles on Spider-Man out there, but you knew him intimately.

“Spider-Man?” You felt Peters heart stop momentarily. “Why?”

“I think I have a pretty good shot at figuring out who he is.” You shrugged. “Like, think about it, he only operates from the hours of 4 to midnight ish right? Except, on weekends, when he’s seen all throughout the day. What’s he doing all day on weekdays? He can’t be at work because jobs don’t end that early. I think he’s in school. Either high school or college. Probably college though, right? I can’t imagine a high schooler doing what he does. Unless he’s been doing this since high school. That’s also possible.”

“Oh wow.” Peter said, dumbfounded. He was usually blown away by your intelligence, but now it was working against him. There were a million college students in New York, though. Surely you wouldn’t figure it out.

“And think about this, he’s only ever in New York, so he must live here right?” You continued. “But what about that one time he saved those kids in the Washington Monument? What was New York’s superhero doing in Washington? I looked into it and the kids he saved were on a field trip. What if Spider-Man was on the field trip too? If I look up all the schools that were there, I could create a list of suspects and go from there. Then, I could-“ you were cut off with a kiss.

“Let’s not talk about Spider-Man.” Peter said quickly, followed by a smile. “I want to hear about you day. How was Oscorp?”

“We had a really good time.” You smiled. “I interviewed her after I helped her with the protest and then we grabbed lunch. Oh, and I saw Ned on my way home.”

“You saw Ned?” Peter asked. Ned hadn’t mentioned seeing you.

“Yea.” You blew out a breath. “These two guys attacked us. One ran away and I took care of the other. But then the one that ran away came back and you’ll never guess who saved me.”

“Who?” Peter smiled. He knew who.

“Spider-Man. I don’t know. I was wrong about him. I used to think he was just some guy in spandex with a God complex but now I think he just genuinely wants to help people. And…” you trailed off.

“And?” Peter raised an eyebrow.

“He’s got a nice ass.” You admitted. Peter laughed loudly. You smiled into his chest. You loved that damn laugh.

“I’m serious.” You insisted. “I saw it as he walked away and it knocked me out. Spider-Man is dummy thick.”

“Please never say the words “Spider-Man is dummy thick” in my house again.” Peter pleaded. He secretly loved it though.

“I was actually thinking of making that the title of my article.” You joked. Peter laughed again. He chucked a pillow at you and you giggled.

“Let’s go to bed.” You yawned. “In a romantic, but still non sexual way this time.”

“Good night, my Nancy Drew.” Peter said with a kiss to your forehead.

“Goodnight, my whoever Nancy Drew was boning.” You yawed again.

“Ned Nickerson.” Peter laughed.

“Then goodnight Ned Nickelodeon.” You said, half asleep.

“Close enough.” Peter smiled.

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker imagine #peter parker x venom!reader #venom!reader #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #iron man #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction

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soultronica · 3 years

Text

Law’s -ya suffix

“How many people have you killed, Drake-ya?”

About Law's verbal quirk of adding -ya at the end of the names of the people he's addressing -- fairly unique, yeah? Chances are this is something you've never seen before, at least this was the case for me. This post is an attempt at a comprehensive explanation and overview of the way he uses it.

(obligatory blanket warning that my japanese level is around jlpt n2/cecrl c1 - i understand the stuff i research but i'm not a native speaker. i can be mistaken.)

The suffix -ya (屋)

Let's start off by saying that while it's a strange way to address people, the suffix in itself isn't unfamiliar.

The basic meaning of "ya" (屋) is shop, essentially. You add it to a noun to turn it into a profession, especially ones related to shops and traditional trades, though usually with the polite address marker -san, even in third person.

So for example:

pan = bread ⇨ panya-san = baker kutsu = shoes ⇨ kutsuya-san = shoemaker

This includes “invented” occupations that would therefore be instinctively understood as such. For example, an anime I just watched (durarara) has:

joho = information ⇨ johoya(-san) = information broker hakobu = to carry ⇨ hakobiya(-san) = transporter

And then by extension, it became used in nouns to define a person by a trait of theirs:

ganbaru = to do one's best ⇨ ganbariya-san = someone who always tries their best hazukashii = to be embarrassed ⇨ hazukashigariya-san = a shy person

This last bit is relevant here because Law's terms of address includes not so much occupations but attributes. So you'd understand "Strawhat-ya" as "Guy with the strawhat" for example.

Where it gets a bit confusing is that Law's terms of address also include just tacking on the suffix to names, which makes less sense intuitively... Which is where Oda's own explanation comes in handy.

Historical background: yago (屋号)

Straight from the source - this is an SBS answer from volume volume 62 (page 84), which was replaced in the official English edition.

Reader: Law-san uses -ya to address people such as in "Strawhat-ya", does that mean that if someone is named Tsuchiya he'd call them Tsuchiyaya? Please tell me Law-san ❤ Oda: Law-san! Someone's asking for you! ... Yeah, he's not coming. I'll answer in his place, shall I? In the past in Japan, maybe around Edo era? There was a thing called "yago". If for example in a village you had two people called Tomekichi, folks would use -ya instead of their names to refer to them (by their trade), such as "Tomekichi the toolshop (doguya)" or "Tomekichi the cooper (okeya)". Have you never heard "Tamaya~!" in the context of fireworks or "Nakamuraya!" in the context of kabuki? It's something like that. Right, Law-san? Law: Yeah.

If you're not familiar with yago at all, maybe the wikipedia article will help (link). I'm sure you can make the link with what I've explained above. The gist is that a commoner would often be addressed by their trade or shop name for differentiation (as in Oda's example) or convenience. And if they made a name for themselves, said name (including the -ya bit, the same "ya" as in "yago") could be used the same way their trade name would be, and they'd pass that name from generation to generation, making the name a yago. The Nakamuraya Oda mentions here is a famous yago of kabuki actors stretching back to the 16th century (link) and the Tamaya are, you guessed it, a hanabi (traditional fireworks) yago from the Edo era (Japanese link).

So there we go! Law's -ya suffix usage is actually pretty traditional.

Law's usage

Law of course does not use the -san polite address marker, because he's a rude little shit. This brings me to what I believe is the first time he uses it, chronologically, which (provided you consider it canon) would be in the Law novel which takes place right after Law runs away from Minion Island where Cora died. He doesn't use -ya at all during his manga flashbacks. In the novel however he's saved by a man, Wolf, who creates mostly worthless inventions. Which leads Law to call him Garakuta-ya, where "garakuta" means junk, rubbish. Implying that his occupation is to create junk. I think this is a pretty good in-context illustration of how the suffix works? And if you consider the novel canon, you get the added characterisation bit of this habit of Law's being originally a kid's thing, which fits nicely.

Regardless of how it started, he clearly got used to addressing people like this. In the manga, these are the addressed characters I'm aware of, including Oda's own compilation from a volume 72 (page 46) SBS answer:

Luffy - Mugiwara-ya (Strawhat-ya) Zoro - Zoro-ya Nami - Nami-ya Usopp - Hana-ya (Nose-ya) (lol) Sanji - Kuroashi-ya (Blackleg-ya) Chopper - Tony-ya Robin - Nico-ya Franky - Robo-ya Brook - Bone-ya Smoker - Hakuryo-ya (White Chase-ya)* Caesar - Caesar-ya* Drake - Drake-ya Kidd - Eustass-ya (* = are also addressed without the -ya)

There's not really a pattern here. For some of these characters he uses an attribute + ya, which again makes instinctual sense when you're used to the regular meaning of -ya. For others he uses surname + ya, which is what originally confused me until I found the SBS yago explanation. Notably this includes characters who aren't usually referred to by their surnames (Chopper, Robin, Kid). But then you've also got Zoro and Nami who are addressed by their first names.

Despite those two I'd still say that it's overall a particularly offhand term of address, and a non-polite one at that (which is why the "Mr" translation that was in Sabaody-era scans for the ones he addresses by surname doesn't really work, but I can't fault a week-by-week translator for having no idea what to do with that, with no characterisation to go on).

It's worth noting that he doesn't use -ya at all for members of his crew: Bepo, Penguin and Shachi are all addressed by just their names.

Signification

So why this particular verbal quirk for Law? It's all up to interpretation of course, but I'd say this leans into his casually rude way of speaking, especially pre-timeskip Law.

Another point that I've seen raised in a Japanese meta, and one that I agree with, is that it serves to make him more Japanese. I know a lot of us have our headcanons about the ethnicities of various OP characters and for me Law is one of the particularly Japanese-coded characters: his Japanese sword, his not eating bread, his use of a traditional suffix as a verbal quirk... (and also just because I've met sooo many japanese guys his age with exactly that terrible facial hair/sideburns combo what's up with that lol)

But of course all this is open to interpretation. I'd love to hear anybody's thoughts about his characterisation! And I hope this helped shed light on some of it.

Bonus

Rule 63!Law does use the -san polite address marker lol.

"How many people have you killed, Drake-ya-san?"

#one piece #japanese #trafalgar law #i typed most of this on my phone at work and edited it on 5 hours of sleep i hope it makes sense #my op posts

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insomniac-dot-ink · 3 years

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Hey! A new wlw short story is up on my Patreon. Check it out! And please consider becoming a Patron for more wlw writing and more. As a struggling artist anything helps.

Here’s a free preview:

Headlights Girl

Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the land, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they shrank away from my gaze deep into their cages into the nooks and crannies. Most things do.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness and sleep. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There have been stranger kids born in the age of spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for small articles and mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy with fire on his breath. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father calls it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He doesn’t look at me much. And I know what he means. I know what he means when he calls it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. They could barely afford to send me to That School. I didn’t want to be there either.

We weren’t the same, not really. None of us are the same age and most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons under flat mattresses. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or have a pig-nose or blackhole for a nose. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he runs away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I’m 16 when I heel-toe my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with a collection of loose clothes, change, a bath towel, sewing kit, a bible written in a language I don’t speak, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he’s at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at Target and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There’s a beer in front of his idle hands and he glances at the bag on my shoulder.

He sighs like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafs through a wad of cash he kept in a safe in the garage. He hands me almost three hundred bucks and we nod at each other. I’m out the door before the midnight bus arrives.

I watch the headlights of the bus approach through dense summer night and think it must be like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I get on the bus and kick my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, I cross my arms over my chest, and watch the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet move like tides. They toss me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I taste the painted deserts toward the west. I dip my toes into the largest cities with lights brighter than my own. I graze my palms on neon signs and hunch my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touches me. They don’t come close enough when I open my eyes and they see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that will smite them.

I find my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gather. I don’t talk much, I don’t like to, and people stare at me whether I’m speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it aches. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’ve never seen a movie in any theatres, but I can imagine what it’s like.

I like the ocean cities best with their pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding white paths, and crushed seashell parking lots. I like the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkles from the ocean water as it sun-dries. I camp out on beaches and bum cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I’m good at taking care of myself once I get in a rhythm.

Sometimes, or often, I dream of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dream of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I am weighted down through the cold to where no human has ever been before. I open my eyes there, I open them all the way, lightning-bright, and in my dreams, the salt doesn’t sting. It doesn’t hurt, instead, I light up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I do something good then. Maybe I do something good and bring the sun to places that have forgotten it.

I meet Mags on the beach. She’s got one eye and five teeth and carries around string and scissors everywhere. She smells like seawater and roasting kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes are neat despite her leather-cracked skin and her arms and neck are covered with tattoos of shipwrecks. She cackles and pulls me aside the first night we meet.

“What’s your name?” Her voice is old creaking wood. I am quiet. “I could give you one.” She offers with a grin that is more empty space than anything.

I shake my head. “Nana.”

“What do you like, kid?”

I shake my head again.

Mags likes me more than I deserve. I pocket her last pair of socks when she’s not looking. She never mentions it and drags me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She takes me to the soup restaurant for something that isn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackles, she spits when she talks, people glare at her as well.

I think she’s normal, not touched by the spirits, but she likes me more than most people and I don’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snort. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snap.

“Lippy-wild thing. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heats the needle before she uses it, red hot and untouchable. She dips it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she calls them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin with color and movement. She shows me on her right foot first, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It takes her six hours to make a little shipwreck right above her big toe. It’s a schooner going under and I’m the only witness to the way she makes the waves come to life and crash against its sides. I can’t look away and I forget to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washes another needle. She heats it red-hot. She dips it in ink and hands it to me.

I practice all over my thighs first, there’s enough meat there and it’s easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looks like nothing but squiggles, a wobbly stick figure on a skateboard, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practice designs in the sand. Mags takes me to the museum on Sundays. They’re free on Sundays.

Something stirs in my chest, even as the guards yell at me about how flash photography isn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I’m shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rots roars to life in my chest.

I stab in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake next, and then finally, something good, something that gives people a reason to stare. I make it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than the others.

I don’t want to leave the ocean city. Mags says she has to keep moving though. She gives me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackles. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winks as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I want to make her pinky-promise like I’m a kid again and begging one of the other kids to tell me if I’m actually beautiful when I close my eyes. I can’t do that; I wave as she totters up the steps of the bus and is taken away with the tides of her own feet. ------------ I get an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked to them first and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but coach surfing and camping out on beaches is a tiring pastime. Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie run a tattoo shop together. Davies walks like he’s never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie has a throw-pillow that says “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies is nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie has topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’s been asked to leave a number of stores before the children start staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me, it’s not that type of town. I rankle at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. I brush off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie calls me “Shadow” and I think it’s a joke. Davies says I must be possessed by the ghost of a dead star and now I’m nothing but a blackhole: take everything in and let nothing out.

Neither of them lets me touch a needle in those first six months. They have me practice on pig skin and stand by their shoulder as they work. I feel like a dental assistant except I’m the hanging light above shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stand at their shoulder as they draw thick lines and thin dots and make hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They ask me to stop blinking and stand still. I almost walk out and find a new cliff to crash against, almost. No one had ever expected me to show up to something before. No one cared if I went to school or when I got home. And no one kept any tabs on me after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, it didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow.” She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I am eloquent in the morning.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want the desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

I grumble. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before. I tell myself I’ll just try it out, no harm in having a bit of a savings anyway. No harm in seeing what the fuss was about.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with my eyes. I don’t let up though. I put on pants for this, after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder now.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, he had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me now as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “The line’s barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” He chuckled darkly. His grin is crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.

“Look at you go. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun before the new year. I tell myself I’ll only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I don’t have to actually stay. I’ll just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chases after girls with eyes that glow.

I don’t break my lease. I draw cartoon heroes in speedos on tipsy college girls who swear they’re sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I have to give two refunds for a duck that turns out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with nothing but doors ahead of her. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I’m best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It’s dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hide my smile when she goes to my bosses and points at it while jumping up and down. The best thing she’s ever seen. She should pay us double. Where did you get this girl? I try not to blink so they can’t see the wetness under my eyes.

Sometimes I still stand by the bus stop to check who’s coming off. I don’t expect to see Mags again so soon, but sometimes I want to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

🌸Check out my Patreon for the full story! 🌸

#wlw #urban fantasy #writing #found family #sapphic #short story #femslash #writers on tumblr #writeblr #magical realism #patreon #my work #long post #long post cw

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cellsshapedlikestars · 3 years

Note

If you are accepting prompts--how about Sansa and Jon being on opposite sides of a political contest? Prime Minister Rhaegar Targaryen is forced to call a referendum for Northern independence, as demanded by the Northern Nationalists party. He is campaigning in the North for a United Westeros, taking his second wife Lyanna Stark and their son Jon along, toshow how hollow all talk if Northern independence is. However, this means that Jon keeps running into his Stark cousins, particularly Sansa Stark, who accompanies her parents to every debate and campaign rally...

I've been sitting on this for a while (and yes, I do see all the anon prompts, I promise!) and I've sort of been writing this on and off since I got it. The thing is, I have no point of reference for these politics, I'm assuming you wanted something like the Scottish independence movement, which I have almost no knowledge of as I am a dumb American who can barely handle American politics without spiraling into anxiety and depression. So, I've sort of talked around the specifics and hopefully I haven't gotten anything too crazy wrong.

Also, you mention his Stark cousins, but... well, I cannot do modern incest. I can handle them being cousins in olden times where it was acceptable & common (I can't even handle the sibling incest aspect in any time period), but I was writing this modern and that's a hard nope for me. I know it's a fairly predominant part of this fandom and if it's your thing, absolutely have at it! There is no kink shaming in this house. It's just not for me and I couldn't write it, sorry!

Also, as usual, this turned out longer than I intended since these are supposed to be drabbles mostly. But 'drabbles' for me always end up like 2k words

Jon sits in the window seat of the jet, headphones on and turned up. Somewhere behind him, he knows his parents are sitting, likely talking strategy. He knows dad wants him to join in, but Jon's in no mood to talk politics. It's what got him in this situation to begin with.

That stupid reporter. Jon's stupid response.

Jon! How do you feel about Northern Independence?

I say let them.

It's what he believes, honestly – if the North wants independence, why not? The rest of the SK treats them like shit anyway, why not let them break off, like Dorne did? It's not a naming issue – they're still called the Seven Kingdoms despite losing Dorne decades ago, so what if they're technically only six now? Jon knows it's about more than that – it's economics and politics and... well, pride. The SK can't lose another piece of their kingdom – nevermind that piece has been conquered and beaten down multiple times over hundreds of years. Northern Independence isn't a new concept – it's just been met with military resistance every time and stamped out. But they aren't in the middle ages anymore.

For a moment he turns his head to look behind him – to see mom with her head bowed in conversation with dad and something ugly twists in Jon's stomach.

He knows dad only married mom because she got pregnant – because his political career was just taking off and a mistress and bastard would have ruined him. And mom, she'd been so young, she's convinced herself he married her for love. Jon swears that mom used to be different. She used to argue with Rhaegar all the time about politics, he even remembers her bringing up Northern Independence when Jon was just a kid. But over the years she's had to play the perfect wife for him and somewhere along the way it just... stuck. Mom isn't his mom anymore. No, mom is what Rhaegar's political advisors want her to be.

So even though Jon had wanted to protest this trip, there's also a part of him desperately clinging to the hope that when they get North, mom will snap out of it. When she's home, maybe she'll be his mom again.

Especially since the leader of the opposition is an old friend of hers.

Ned Stark.

Dad doesn't react to much, he's a politician to his core, so seeing him get riled anytime Ned Stark is on TV is notable. In fact, there's a rebellious part of Jon that already likes Ned Stark simply for the fact that dad hates him so much. There's more to like than just that, Jon knows – Ned Stark seems like one of those politicians that's doing the job because they want to make a difference. They're rare, nowadays, but Jon's been surrounded by politicians his whole life and he can spot the do-gooders from a mile away.

He thinks it's partly why dad hates it – Ned Stark doesn't use the same underhanded tactics Rhaegar's used to, and from everything Jon's heard, there's nothing to use against Ned. The only skeleton dad's advisors had ever found tucked away in Ned Stark's closet had been that his wife, Catelyn, had originally dated his older brother Brandon, who died in a car accident. They'd begun dating and married shortly after - a minor scandal that hadn't gained any traction, considering they've been married for over twenty years with five children.

Dad was hoping to get somewhere with the youngest daughter, Arya, who always seemed more wild than the rest of her siblings (except maybe the youngest, Rickon). The problem is that she's never done anything really wrong and the North loves her. The oldest son Robb is as perfect a son as any politician could hope for and Jon sometimes wonders if dad would rather have Robb than Jon.

The other two sons are still fairly young and going after them would only make dad look like the bad guy. Then there's Sansa.

Jon remembers her from growing up – not that he'd ever met her, but they're both kids of prominent politicians and he's seen her in photos since she was old enough to walk. A proper lady, he remembers even the southern press naming her. Perfect, just like her older brother.

A hand on his shoulder jolts him out of his thoughts and he turns to see mom, who motions at him to take off his headphones.

“We're landing in a half hour and your father would like to go over your role,” she tells him with a perfect, bland smile. (She hasn't been his mother for a very long time.)

“I know my role,” he says and he can't help the bitter tone to his voice. “Stay quite, don't talk to the press. Pretty easy to remember.”

“And yet you still managed to nearly undermine my entire campaign with one flippant remark,” dad's voice calls over from his seat, low and smooth, though Jon absolutely hears the annoyance underneath it.

“Oh, he's just a child,” mom says, trying to play the peacekeeper like she always does.

“He's twenty, he's hardly a child,” dad starts, but Jon doesn't listen to the rest. He pulls his headphones back over his ears and looks back out the window and tries to pretend he's anywhere else.

…

By the time they reach Winterfell Castle, Jon is in a bad mood.

Not that he hadn't been before, but he's not allowed his headphones in the limo and so he'd had to listen to dad talk nonstop about his two favorite topics: Jon's failure as a son and how much he hates Ned Stark. And the way mom doesn't even try to defend Ned Stark like she used to infuriates Jon even more.

Jon hates his tuxedo and he hates that they barely had any time between landing and having to get ready for this dinner and he hates that he's going to have to smile and shake hands with a bunch of people who hate him on principle, simply for who his father is. For what his father represents.

When he does step out of the limo, he ignores every photographer and reporter that shouts his name, eager to get any sort of scandal out of him.

He doesn't blame them for this, he's given them enough over the years – not just his apparent support of Northern Independence, but everything else he's done to gain his notoriety. His reputation as a heartbreaker and a playboy that's mostly over-exaggerated, that time he punched a teacher (though to be fair, Thorne deserved it)... Teenage rebellion, they'd written it off as, but he's no longer a teenager and he knows he should grow up and stop doing things to piss off his father at some point.

(His favorite one had been sleeping with that investigative journalist when he was seventeen. She'd been older than him by a good few years and he'd known she was using him to write an article, but he was using her just as much to infuriate his father. His only true regret is that Ygritte's article hadn't done any real lasting damage to Rhaegar's reputation.)

Inside, there aren't any reporters but there are politicians everywhere and that's worse. He does the bare minimum to not cause an issue – he shakes hands and says hello, though he refuses to smile while doing it. They already hate him for being Rhaegar Targaryen's son. They already hate him for being Northern-traitor Lyanna Snow's son.

He keeps an eye on mom to see how she's doing and his heart twists painfully in his chest when he sees her. She has a bright smile on her face and anyone who didn't know her would think she's fine, but Jon can see how pale she is under her makeup. This is the first time she's been back in the North since she married dad and he has a sudden, sharp pang of hatred for Rhaegar – for getting her pregnant, for marrying her, for never letting her go back. For turning her into this.

He can tell the moment Ned Stark enters the room because mom freezes. And sure enough, there he is – beautiful wife at his side, the three adult children with him. Robb, Sansa, Arya. Jon's eyes scan over them – Robb with his perfect hair and smile, an easy way about him that's always come through even on camera. Sansa standing poised and almost too beautiful to believe – Jon's only ever seen her on film and somehow she's even more unreal in person. Arya, who by all accounts hates politics as much as Jon does, stands firmly by her family and Jon gets the sense she only hates the system, not her dad. Not like Jon.

As Jon scans the room, he can see other families here that he recognizes – the Greyjoys, including Robb Stark's best friend Theon. The Manderlys, the Karstarks, the Ryswells, the Boltons, the Mormonts. More families than Jon cares to remember.

There's a sense of someone behind him and he turns just enough to see that dad has come up to stand next to him. For a moment, dad just stands there before turning his head ever so slightly and bringing his mouth close to Jon's ear and he says so low Jon can barely even hear it - “if you do anything to embarrass me tonight, there will be consequences. If you do anything that makes it seem like you support this pathetic independence movement, there will be consequences. Do you understand me?”

Jon feels blind rage that winds so hot in his chest it makes him shake and his vision narrow. He has to close his eyes and take a deep breath before he can answer, and he grits out, “of course.” Dad nods and moves away, putting on his best politician smile as he goes to greet Howland Reed.

Mom shoots him a concerned look, but Jon ignores her. He can feel it building in him – that rebelliousness the press likes to talk about so much. He wants to hurt Rhaegar. For everything – for his mother, for all the people dad's stepped on and hurt. He wants to embarrass him, consequences be damned.

Just as he's thinking this, his eyes catch on copper hair and bright blue eyes.

Sansa Stark.

Darling of the press. Perfect Northern princess.

It takes root in his mind, against his better judgment. What would make Rhaegar more furious than an affair between his son and the daughter of Ned Stark?

Jon can't imagine Sansa would be amenable to the suggestion, not like Ygritte had been – there is no mutually beneficial agreement here. She would never agree to do something that might embarrass her father (and once again, Jon is reminded of the, pun intended, stark difference between his relationship with his father and the Stark children's relationship with Ned. Jon has never even met them in person and he knows this).

So he can't approach her with any sort of offer or plan. No, he'd have to pretend it was real.

He's going to have to seduce Sansa Stark.

#jonsa #prompt fic #ask #oooh boy do i know nothing of politics #and political families #do not @ me #is this boring?#probably #jonsa fic

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gojology · 3 years

Text

Coffee With Extra Sugar.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | Whew! I finished this after 1 hour and holy crap this is by far the longest thing I’ve ever written, I hope you like it. I’m literally sweating. 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Gojo Satoru x Teacher Fem! Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2,314 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | None! 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Gojo Satoru, the man who didn’t ever get rejected, got rejected by you. Unknowingly having a teensy tiny (or maybe not) crush on him, Nobara gets you to go on a coffee date with Gojo. Through the jumble of mixed feelings, you accept, and find yourself in a position you never thought you’d be in. One-shot. Often times, you found yourself enjoying a nice cup of coffee with extra sugar after teaching the exceptionally unusual teens that Gojo had forced onto you. One was unlike any other, Sukuna’s vessel. Even with the threat of death looming over his head, he was one of the happiest teens you knew. Bouncing around, reminiscent of Gojo in a way. The most remarkable thing about him though, were the eyelids below his very own. Marking Sukuna’s existence on the boy’s body. The other boy, named Fushiguro, had a troubled backstory. His father was the only one to have a complete lack of cursed energy. Maybe that was why he was always brooding, he always seemed to be off in his own land. As for the only female, she was your favorite student. Nobara was albeit, a bit cuckoo, but that’s what you loved her for. Outside of the educational setting, she made an amazing shopping buddy and had an endless bucket list of things to do in Tokyo. Headstrong, stubborn. Happily willing to give you any sort of advice in men, even though she didn’t seem to show a particular interest in them. You told her all about the weird stuff that Gojo would do around you, and she always said that he might have a thing for you, but you never believed it until now. The latest event had been when you were lounging in one of the spare rooms at Tokyo Jujutsu High, drinking another cup of coffee after the extreme levels of stress and torture that was training the trio. Gojo had casually strolled in, loudly announcing himself as he slid the door roughly shut. “Oh (Y/N)! I was looking all over for you!” “Really? I wasn’t. Leave me alone, I’m not talking to someone who calls himself a teacher and then dumps a buttload of crazy teens onto me.” you calmly replied, sticking out a pinky whilst sipping your coffee. Although you found your eyes to be glued onto Satoru. He dramatically stuck a hand onto his chest, leaning backward just a little as if he had been told he shouldn’t have ever been born. “Me?! Oh no, I wasn’t dumping the kids onto you sugar. I’m a busy guy, being the strongest sorcerer and all.” he gloated, grinning a little. You grunted before pulling out your phone. “Pay attention to me, why don’t you?” he muttered softly, digging his hands into his back pockets. Did you hear that right? Clearing his throat, he loudly sat down next to you, even though there was another chair on the other side of the table. Crossing his legs, he began to speak. “So, (Y/N), I felt really bad for dumping the kids onto you, and I thought, hey! Why don’t I take you out for a meal or two? You know we don’t really know each other out of work and I’ve been meaning to talk to you more-” “No.” “Why not?” combing his hair with his hands, he almost looked sad, but you knew where it was going to go. You had seen Gojo date girls for 2 weeks and break up with them after. It’d be weird to date a co-worker for an astounding total of 2 weeks and then immediately get broken up with afterwards. Besides, he was probably horny and hadn’t found a girl willing enough to talk to him back, even despite a face and body that looked like it was sculpted by the Gods. “I know what you do with girls, just fuck with them, not looking for that.” You scrolled through the article you were reading, something about some 11 year old child getting their cancer removed miraculously, probably a super nice jujutsu sorcerer. The silence grew between you two, Gojo’s eye shifting to you when you weren’t looking, and your eyes shifting to him when he wasn’t looking. You almost wished you were a bit friendlier. “Right.” he mumbled to himself, before getting up and walking to the door. You felt something bad growing inside of you. Looking back at you one last time, he shut the door. “I’m telling you, (Y/N), Gojo-Sensei was trying to ask you out, ARE YOU THAT DENSE?” snapped Nobara, who was busily lecturing you about how you had seriously fucked up. “I didn’t know!” you whined, “I thought he was just being stupidly friendly! It didn’t cross my mind!” “Gosh, woman, men aren’t hard to work. Gojo is 100 times easier, hand him a box of candies and he’ll probably whip out a ring. All you had to say was yes!” “...What if I didn’t want to say yes?” you shot back. “Hah, shut up, I’ve heard the way you’ve described that man, acted as if he descended down from heaven” You definitely didn’t have a crush on him, but you did let your mind wander sometimes, in some indecent areas sure, but wasn’t that true for everyone? “Okay, and what do you want me to do now? Want me to just.. Go talk to him and ask for the chance back? That’s embarrassing, and as I said, I don’t have a thing for him.” “I’ll snag that chance back for you, but you seriously owe me one. I’ll even get Fushiguro and Yuuji on board, but they’re almost always doing stupid stuff and I have to convince them with the weirdest shit to get them to cooperate.” “Nobara, no cursing first of all, there was no reason to, plus I don’t NEED the date, why are you even-” “Oh shut up.” The next day, you found yourself urgently rushed to a coffee shop by a poorly disguised Nobara, Yuuji, and a less then willing Fushiguro. You scanned the shop, the scent of coffee so strong it wafted out of the interior. Gleaming windows with, “Kento and Coffee Inc.” proudly painted on the window. Wearing a white t-shirt and a long trench coat, with a long plaid skirt, you found yourself self-conscious. Were you too overdressed? Nobara had told you that you were supposed to dress in a cute “dark academia” (whatever the heck that is, she showed you a few pictures of it online though.) style of fashion. “Don’t worry! Just follow whatever I said earlier, I’m an amazing Cupid and I just know there’s something between you two! I’ll be in the corner, watching you guys, just don’t mess up!” Nobara chirped, handing you a red scarf to borrow from her closet. You hastily threw it on, taking a deep breath in and breathing out. Trying to casually stroll into the coffee shop. There Gojo sat, casually dressed in a black t-shirt. A pair of circular black shades perched on his nose, lazily eating a cake pop. Your heart skipped a beat, even though he probably didn’t even try with the outfit he wore, you still found him absurdly attractive. He jumped up, “Oh fuck, I thought everyone ghosted me.” he looked at you, tilting his head slightly as if he was confused. “I thought Yuuji and the crew were gonna be here too. Didn’t ever show though, do you know what happened to them?” “O-Oh, um, yeah, I think I heard that Yuuji and Nobara got distracted and was going to some newly opened sushi restaurant instead. Fushiguro didn’t wanna thirdwheel or something like that.” You swore you saw him smile slightly. “So it’s just you, and me?” You looked around, hoping to God that Yuuji would pop up and tell the world about his love for Jennifer Lawrence. “It would.. Appear so.” He clasped his hands together, beckoning at the cashier at front. “I’ll go get some coffee for us, any idea what you want yet?” “Uh, just coffee with extra sugar.” “Gotcha.” You found yourself staring at his hands, playing with the hem of his pocket as he walked up to the small line. His fingers were impossibly long, and you couldn’t help but realize how veiny and large his hands were. Snapping yourself out of your daze, you grumbled, taking the trench coat off, it had suddenly gotten hot. Pulling out your phone, you pretended to read, but in actuality you found yourself ogling his impossibly tall body, and how undeniably hot his voice was. It was alright to find him attractive right? Sure, you hated a lot about him, like, like... Well, you couldn’t think of anything off the top of your head right now. But you for sure knew you hated him. Yuuji snickered, “Gojo’s girlfriend is getting flustered, look at her cheeks.” He giggled, pointing at you. Fushiguro slapped Yuuji’s pointed hand down, hissing at him, “You’re going to fuck over this operation. Didn’t your mom ever tell you to NOT point?” “I don’t even have a-” “SHHHHHHH!” Nobara shushed them, gesturing to Gojo now walking over to the table where you were sitting. He slid the chair out and sat down, grunting as he did. He looked down at you. “So, anything new with the kids?” You gulped, a warmth flooding to your cheeks, the way he looked at you made you feel weird, and you couldn’t find yourself to make a cheeky remark. “U-Uh, um, no, uh, Fushi-, I meant Yuuji, he’s doing as good as usual... And uh, Nobara’s doing pretty good too! Fushiguro’s just... Uh, you know, haha” you giggled nervously, “acting as normal.” He laughed, “That’s Fushiguro, guy doesn’t even crack a smile. Yuuji’s a special one isn’t he? No idea how he acts all cheerful even though he knows he’s gonna, you know.” “Guy doesn’t deserve it.” “I know.” you pursed your lips, not wanting to talk about such a serious topic. Seemingly noticing your discomfort, he turned his head over to the cashier who was now loudly shouting, “Order 132! Order 132! Two regular coffees with extra sugar, 2 donuts, 4 cake pops, and a slice of cake!” “That’s our order~, what good timing!” Gojo sang, immediately springing up to fetch the coffee and the absurd amount of sweets Gojo had ordered. “Gojo-Sensei sure does have a sweet tooth.” Yuuji pointed out, looking at Gojo casually walking back and handing you your coffee. “Yuuji, did you seriously just notice that?” “Yes. Why? Do you look at Gojo-Sensei eat? You’re really weird Fushiguro.” Fushiguro let out a sigh, and Nobara giggled, but now all their attention was focused at the pair, drinking their coffee. “So, uh, any idea why the kids invited us here?” he said, playing with his strikingly white hair. Your stomach did backflips, it looked so soft. Wait, fuck, why were you even thinking these things?

“Uh, yeah, something about.. Um,” FUCK. You were supposed to say you didn’t know. “Something about... Putting us on a... Blind date?” You mumbled sheepishly, Nobara crumpled on the table, murmuring about how stupid you were. Shit, fucking shit, you weren’t supposed to be honest.

“Really now?” Gojo inquired, lifting an eyebrow and putting his arm on the table, leaning his face onto his hand. He took a bite out of his donut. Now your face was really burning, why were you acting so strange? Could it be true? You had a crush on Gojo Satoru? At first, you wanted to reject it, but the feeling settled in. It made more sense to you then not having a crush on Satoru. The feeling of regret when he tried asking you out, the many times where you found yourself ogling when he was naked, the amount of dreams you had about him. You really did have a crush on him, huh? You stammered, a rush of self-confidence flooding into you, “Fuck it.” you breathily mumbled, “I like you, Satoru.” The doubt settled in as soon as Gojo looked at you, wide eyed, mouth slightly agape. Nobara was even shocked herself, she had never seen you as headstrong as this. Fushiguro and Yuuji were in an intense discussion about their preference in women, well, more like Yuuji, Fushiguro was ignoring him, looking at the wall instead of the surprising twist in the date. “You like me, (Y/N)?” “Fuck, yeah, yeah I do.” you looked at his shades, oh how you wish you could see his eyes right now. A slow grin spread across his face. “I like you too, (Y/N).”

Nobara, now quietly cheering and shaking Itadori and Fushiguro gesturing to you two, chewed them out for not seeing the events building up to the climax.

“Really?”

“Yes, really, sugar.”

Everything felt unreal, you had never thought you would find yourself in this position ever, was this a dream? You tried pinching yourself.

He snickered, “No (Y/N), this isn’t a dream. I really do like you.” he rubbed the back of his neck, readjusting his crooked shades. “I would even say I’ve liked you for a while.”

It had never dawned on you that he wasn’t being flirtatious just to be flirtatious, he was actually actively trying to

get you.

“I can’t wait to tell the kids this.” he grinned to you, smiling widely. “Fuck, this feels like a dream to me too. I didn’t think you actually showed any interest in me.”

You couldn’t even be cheeky back, you were in a state of euphoria.

“Actually sensei.” you turned to look who was talking, Yuuji was excitingly bouncing up and down. Fushiguro looked like he wanted to be launched off a roof. “We set up the blind date.” Nobara smiled, looking at the pair. “You know, I’ve always seen the romance and chemistry between you two, and you guys finally worked it out like adults!”

Why did you get the feeling that she was mocking you too? Regardless, you had walked into the coffee shop single, and you walked out with the guy who had stolen your heart for years now, without you even realizing. All thanks to Nobara.

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eliemo · 4 years

Text

The Worst Thing in the World

Summary: Everyone knows Virgil needs to be handled a little different. He might not like it, but that’s the way it is, and living with the light sides won’t change that. After all, it’s common sense. Right?

Notes: So this is a lot longer and sadder than I planned on but i tend to get carried away. All main 6 sides are sympathetic here.

TWs: Talk of physical violence, implied abuse (past) Sympathetic/morally gray Remus and Janus but Unsympathetic unnamed characters

Part Two: Getting There

Virgil paused outside the closed door, holding his breath and listening, ensuring everything was silent for what had to be the hundredth time.

It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to work up the courage to even make it down the hall.

But everything was quiet. Logan was with Thomas working on the schedule for the week and should be occupied for a while. It was fine. Virgil could slip in and out and no one would ever know.

He really shouldn’t be pushing his luck like this. They’d been so...so ridiculously nice to him since he’d tried to duck out, and it had been everything he’d wanted for longer than he knew how to say.

They were welcoming, understanding, and patient. And most of the time, he was able to convince himself it was genuine. That they were all trying.

And yeah, he knew it wouldn’t always be this good. He was still getting used to all of this, to being a part of things, so they were cutting him some slack. Letting him adjust. Giving him time to get comfortable.

Honestly, at times it was a bit painfully obvious how hard they were trying, especially considering how far from perfect he’d been despite his best efforts.

They’d let far too many things go in favor of getting Virgil to relax. Things that never would slide if he’d been around longer.

He’d put a clean glass in the wrong cabinet after his first dinner with the light sides, and Patton had only smiled, quickly corrected him, and moved on.

He’d accidentally spilled his drink on the table, and Roman had just shut down his string of prepared apologies with an almost odd smile before actually offering to clean it up himself.

(Virgil had, of course, shut the offer down. He knew what they were doing, pretending his mistakes could be overlooked, but it didn’t mean he was useless. He was still trying to be good)

Virgil had even bumped right into Logan the other day, moving too fast through the darkened hallway in his haste to get to his room, causing the logical side to stumble and drop some papers he’d been holding. Virgil hadn’t even gotten a chance to open his mouth before Logan had gracefully picked up the papers, gently told Virgil to slow down, and continued on his way.

It was...really kind of sweet, once he realized what they were doing. They knew he was wary, knew he wanted this so badly. So they were giving him extra chances, careful to be gentle as he settled in, not wanting him to duck out again.

But now, weeks later, things had been changing. Not in a bad way, of course. Far from it. Things were just...more comfortable. More familiar. He was actually starting to feel like a part of their family, like maybe he could actually belong, and the others seemed to actually agree, gradually relaxing in his presence.

Of course, it also meant all those extra chances wouldn’t be handed out freely anymore. He couldn’t expect to get away with things so easily now that he was settled in.

Which was why he really shouldn’t be sneaking into Logan’s room.

He was just...he needed something to do. His anxiety had been through the roof since he’d woken up, making him antsy and restless, and with the others busy all day he hadn’t had an outlet since breakfast.

He’d noticed Logan had been lost in a book for the past few days, rambling on about it a bit once he was finished that morning, and while Virgil couldn’t exactly remember any details, something about the title and general idea had piqued his interest. Or maybe he was just desperate at this point.

It had been a while since he’d been able to get into a good book, but it usually did help him calm down.

And of course he could just ask Logan but...he could all too easily picture the logical side mocking the request or turning him down without question, and while Virgil knew it was unrealistic, he couldn’t muster up the courage.

But it was fine. He knew what the cover looked like, he’d find the book, read it alone in his room, and return it when he got the chance.

Easy.

Except...well, that thought went right out the window as soon as he actually stepped inside. In hindsight, he should have seen it coming with how much Logan valued literature.

He just hadn’t expected Logan’s bookshelf to be so big.

Jesus, how many books could a guy even read? Logan barely even had any free time as it was. His library took up an entire wall, floor to ceiling, and Virgil didn’t think he’d ever seen so many books in his entire life. It was like something out of the fantasy stories Logan liked to deny enjoying.

Virgil knew he should turn back. He was still trespassing, and there was no way he’d find the specific book he was looking for in the limited time he had.

But...maybe the specific book didn’t even matter. He could find something to read, maybe even a few, just to keep him occupied until Logan was distracted in a few days and he could return them.

He carefully shut the door behind him, waiting a moment like Logan would pop up at any moment, and carefully approached the shelf.

They were all clearly meticulously organized, first by genre, then author in alphabetical order, and Virgil wondered how long it had taken Logan to do.

He scanned the genres: fiction, nonfiction, historical fiction, sci-fi, textbooks, articles…

There was a brief moment of panic as he ran his finger along some of the book’s spines, frantically wondering if he would even be able to put it back in the right place, and what Logan would do if he found out Virgil had stolen--

“Greetings, Virgil.”

Virgil jumped so hard his shoulder slammed into the edge of the shelf, fear and realization hitting full force as two books toppled over and fell to the ground, leaving behind silence louder than a gunshot.

Virgil was frozen like a deer in headlights, gaze locked on Logan who was giving the fallen books a quizzical look.

“Apologies for startling you,” he said, which was not how Virgil was expecting this to start, but it was almost worse than the anger he knew was coming. “I hadn’t expected you to be in here.”

Virgil tried not to flinch, legs feeling like jello, panicked mind running through endless possibilities of how this was going to go. He’d seen Logan angry, of course, heard him yell, seen him lose himself to frustrated rants.

It was impossible to know for sure how Logan would handle this, though. Handle him. He would want to discover the best method for a lasting impression, right? He’d probably been waiting to experiment different responses.

“Virgil?”

“Sorry,” Virgil said quickly, realizing he’d gone silent. “Sorry, I wasn’t...um, I wasn’t stealing. I-I know how it looks but I promise I was gonna bring them back I was just...I-I knew you were busy so…”

He trailed off, heart sinking when it occurred to him just how guilty he sounded. He was a thief whether he was going to return them or not, and here he was, babbling like a scared child in front of the evidence.

He swallowed, knowing there was no way out of it. He shouldn’t be trying to make excuses. “S-sorry.”

He couldn’t meet Logan’s eyes, but he saw the logical side take a cautious step forward. “You were...oh, the books. Virgil, if you were interested in borrowing some reading material you could have simply asked.”

Virgil did flinch this time, the reminder like a punch to the gut. God, why couldn’t he have just asked. A few seconds of anxiety and a bit of awkwardness would have been worth avoiding this.

What the hell was wrong with him? How could he sneak around and steal from the people he tried so hard to earn the trust of?

“I...I know,” he managed. “I just...sorry. I shouldn’t have, um, yeah. I know I shouldn’t have snuck in.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” Logan said, the blood rushing to Virgil’s ears as he came closer, voice nearly drowned out by his own racing heart. “It can hardly be considered sneaking- you do live here. Besides, I’ve read most of these already so you are welcome to--”

At the moment, all Virgil registered was Logan’s presence now beside him, and the hand moving forward just in the corner of his vision.

He was moving before he had the chance to even think about it, crumpling to the ground out of Logan’s reach, hands moving to protect his face, hunching his shoulders and waiting for the blow.

The blow that...that didn’t come.

“Virgil.”

Virgil flinched at his voice, biting his tongue to keep from whimpering. He could feel Logan standing above him, annoyed even more now, no doubt. What was he waiting for?

“Virgil,” he said again, softer this time. “Will you look at me, please?”

Oh. Oh, of course. Logan wouldn’t want to punish Virgil if he wasn’t sure the anxious side was even aware enough to understand. He wanted Virgil to see what he deserved.

He got that. He understood.

So he nodded, hating how hard it was, digging his nails into his palm when he felt himself growing dangerously close to hyperventilating. He wouldn’t let himself fall under a panic attack. He wouldn’t hurt Thomas because of this.

Virgil slowly raised his head, realizing idly that he was shaking. His throat felt tight, eyes burning, and Virgil kind of wished he could just hit himself.

God, what was wrong with him? He wasn’t going to cry. He couldn’t. He’d known what he was doing, knew all too well what would happen if he fucked it up, and he had (of course he had).

He deserved this. It was fine.

He was, however, mildly surprised to find Logan lowered to his level, the logical side crouched down on the balls of his feet, watching Virgil with an almost worried frown.

“Take some deep breaths, please,” he said. “I was only going to help you pick the books up off the floor. I apologize if I moved too quickly.”

Virgil shook his head, clenching his jaw to keep the teas at bay, not even sure how he was supposed to respond to that. Why the hell was Logan apologizing?

“It’s...it’s whatever,” he managed. “Sorry for, uh, you know. F-freaking out like...like that.”

“It’s quite alright.”

Virgil took a shaky breath, realizing Logan’s silence was probably him waiting to make sure he wasn’t about to send Virgil over the edge in any way that could affect Thomas.

His heart was in no way slowing, dread and apprehension rising unbearably but...but the waiting was only going to make it worse, the anticipation sickening. Best to get it over with.

“Alright,” he said, almost impressed with how steady his voice came out. “I’m ready.”

Virgil expected something to happen right then and there. He was less than prepared for the hesitation followed by...nothing?

“Ready?” Logan echoed. “Ready for...what?”

Virgil forced himself the shrug, still not able to quite reach Logan’s eyes, struggling to maintain nonchalance he didn’t feel in the slightest.

“I don’t know,” he muttered. “However, uh...however you wanted to do it, I guess. Whatever you’re gonna do.”

A beat of silence and Virgil remained tense, bracing himself, willing himself to relax and take it. But all that happened was Logan awkwardly clearing his throat, leaning back on his heels.

“Well,” he said. “I...had only planned on replacing the fallen books and assisting you in picking out some things to read.”

Virgil nodded, blinking furiously to push back tears fighting to break through. “Ok? Uh, you mean...before or-or after?”

“I’m...I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Logan admitted, incredibly out of character. “Have I missed something? What...exactly do you believe is happening?”

Virgil wasn't exactly sure why that mattered. Was this...was this part of it? Making sure he understood?

“Uhm, I-I broke into your room? I mean...I know I shouldn’t have taken your stuff without asking. I know...I know that’s not ok. I’m sorry.”

He saw Logan tilt his head slightly, frown deepening. “It really is not an issue, Virgil. My books aren’t exactly locked away. I would only prefer you ask next time so I do not end up startling you, but you’re reacting as if I--”

He stopped himself, and Virgil saw the moment realization dawned, something in Logan’s expression hardening.

Oh. Of course. Logan hadn’t been sure Virgil would know something like this was coming.

But he did, of course. He understood, as much as he hated it. He was anxiety, there wasn’t any other way to handle him. There wasn’t a choice.

“Ah,” Logan said, softer than before. “I see.”

Virgil nodded again, heart still racing so fast he thought Logan might be able to hear it, glad that now they could at least get it over with.

But Logan still wasn’t moving, still talking in that achingly gentle voice. “Virgil, I have no intention of harming you in any way. I’m not even remotely upset with you.”

And that...that didn’t make any sense. Virgil had literally just gone into someone else’s room without permission, and Logan had just said he’d prefer to be asked so why--?

Unless...unless he was being given another chance. Again. Another chance he didn’t deserve in favor of over the top friendliness.

“Don’t,” he said, before he could even consider stopping himself. “Don’t keep doing this, Logan, please I...it’s ok, you guys don’t have to keep pretending. I know you’re angry, I know--”

“I’m not angry,” Logan interrupted, firm but somehow still gentle, and Virgil shrank back. “I believe we have a larger issue to discuss as a group but for now please understand that I am not angry with you. And even if I was, I would never intentionally bring you any harm. I know for a fact the others would not either.”

Virgil shook his head, hating all of this, hating feeling small and pitied, hated delaying the inevitable like things could work any other way.

He hated the treacherous, nagging hope in his chest.

“But they will,” he insisted. “You all will, I know you're just...waiting to make sure I won’t leave again but I won’t. I know it's how it works, ok? It’s fine.”

The lie tasted like acid on his tongue. But some of it was true, at least. He wouldn’t try to leave again. He was finally feeling like a part of things. And if he was good, well...maybe that could last.

Logan was silent for a long moment, and Virgil was just beginning to think he’d finally managed to convince him to set the pity aside when he was speaking again.

“Virgil, do you think you could accompany me to the commons? I believe it is imperative to discuss this with the others.”

Virgil froze, realizing he may have just made a simple situation worse by raising his voice. Did Logan really need to get everyone? It was bad enough that just Logan was upset with him but all of them...

But he knew better than to risk any further anger by arguing. And Logan was carefully offering a hand, palm up, no sudden movements or pain when Virgil hesitantly took it and was helped to his feet, so maybe...maybe Logan wasn’t actually angry.

Not right now, at least.

Logan led them down the hallway to the living room, Virgil unable to stop his trembling the entire time, legs a bit unsteady and weak. He almost wished the short walk took longer, dread building up in his gut the closer he got like a man being led to the gallows.

He had to remind himself to breathe when he saw both Patton and Roman already there, lounging casually, all smiles amid easy conversation.

Logan cleared his throat, Virgil left to shift awkwardly beside him, the other two sides immediately glancing up with bright, welcoming smiles.

Virgil felt guilt twist in his gut at having to ruin that.

“I believe,” Logan started. “That we need to have a...family meeting, as Patton might call it. There’s been a bit of a miscommunication that needs clearing up.”

“Everything alright?” Roman asked as Patton, cheerful as ever, waved them both over. Logan didn’t answer, and Virgil was too busy staring at the ground to think of a reply.

He ended up being seated on the couch beside Roman, Patton sitting across from him and Logan standing at the arm of the couch. For a moment nobody spoke, Roman and Patton clearly at a loss.

“Virgil,” Logan prompted. “Would you mind telling the others what happened from your point of view?”

Virgil’s eyes widened, head snapping up to look at Logan with something almost like betrayal, and any hope he’d had that this was going to be forgiven without consequences suddenly vanished.

But Logan was quick to reassure him, hand moving to rest against Virgil’s clenched fist. “I assure you, nothing about my previous statements will change. I only want to ensure they have all the context.”

Virgil shakily nodded, like he had any choice in the matter, trying not to wince when his voice came out small and breathy when he finally spoke.

“I...I went into Logan’s room,” he admitted, waiting for yelling that never came. “While he was with Thomas. I-I was looking for something to read but-but I was going to give it back, I promise, I wasn’t stealing I was just too anxious to ask, so I--”

“Wait,” Roman interjected, curiosity turning to something close to amusement. “That’s all you did? I steal from Logan all the time!”

Logan blinked. “You what?”

“Kiddos,” Patton chided, unable to help the small smile on his lips. “Now we usually don’t go into people’s rooms without asking but I’m sure Logan understood. What’s this all about?”

Virgil suddenly had absolutely no idea how to respond, this entire conversation now taking a much different turn than he’d expected.

What the hell was happening? Was this...part of it? It sure felt like he was being punished, but Patton’s smile was as genuine as ever.

Logan leaned forward, furrowing his brow.

“Virgil can you tell us what you believe is going to happen to you? What you thought was happening when I found you?”

Virgil, far too lost to do anything but comply blindly, couldn’t understand why Patton and Roman suddenly looked so confused.

“I was...I was going to be punished, right?” He didn’t understand the purpose of making him explain something everyone already knew. “I mean, Logan said he wasn’t mad so I guess I’m getting another chance but any other time I would’ve--”

“Wait a minute, what?” It was Roman’s turn to sound baffled, all his attention now focused solely on Virgil. “Punished? What do you mean, like- like grounding you? You aren’t a child, Virge.”

“I do not think that’s what he meant.”

“But he...Logan, he--”

“Virgil believed,” Logan cut him off, sounding more hesitant than Virgil had ever heard him. “That some type of...physical punishment was inevitable. At least, that is what I gathered.”

“You think we’re going to hit you?” Patton’s voice, verging on frantic, easily overpowered the others. “Over this? Over anything?”

Virgil flinched back against the couch, desperately trying to figure out what he’d done wrong, how he’d managed to make this so much worse than it was just five minutes ago.

“I don’t...I'm sorry?”

“We’re not going to punish you, kiddo,” he said, the word ‘punish’ almost spat out like something sour. “We’d never do that to you! Never.”

And oh, that was Patton, trying so hard to be kind, even when he was so visibly furious. Looking out for all of them to the end. Careful not to let Virgil’s emotions affect Thomas.

“You guys don’t have to keep doing this.”

Patton blinked, trying and failing to get Virgil to meet his eyes. “Keep doing what, kiddo?”

“I’m not gonna duck out again,” he said, the smile he offered meant to be reassuring but he was certain it was wobbly and frail. “I-I like it here. With you guys. You don’t need to keep...cutting me all this slack. I know I keep messing up and I know if this is going to...work I have to be--”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Roman’s language wasn’t even corrected, Patton hardly acknowledging the outburst at all, but the moral side looked somehow just as furious.

And there it was, genuine fear and panic returning with a vengeance, the sudden knowledge that he’d probably done irreversible damage in an effort to reassure them.

“Kiddo you...what is it that you think you’ve done wrong? You’re not...oh my god, you’re not talking about the little things, are you? Spills or- or misplacing something or...or…”

“I- yeah?” Because what else would he be talking about? “I’ve been...I’ve been trying to be good, so I-I don’t think I’ve done anything else to--”

“Is that how you think we handle things?” Roman was rigid beside him, his fury overwhelming, and Virgil hoped one of them would hurry up and just knock him unconscious. “So, what? If Logan drops something am I just supposed to hit him?”

“Roman,” Logan said, sounding oddly choked. “Please.”

And oh. Oh. The realization hit like a punch to the gut, and Virgil realized all at once why they were so upset with him. He hadn’t done anything wrong, it was just a stupid misunderstanding.

Oh, god.

“No!” He insisted, voice a little stronger in his desperation for them to understand their mistake. “No, of course not! That’s not...guys, that's not what I meant.”

The tension in the room dropped a bit, Prince relaxing just slightly, but three pairs of eyes were still watching, painfully concerned.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t realize you thought that,” Virgil continued, a little lightheaded. “Not you guys, never you guys. Obviously not, you all wouldn’t...you shouldn’t be punished like that. Ever. I promise I was just talking about me.”

He expected relief, understanding, and hopefully to just get this whole thing over with so they could hurry up and go back to normal.

But apparently he’d only managed to make everyone even more distressed. Logan and Roman’s eyes had gone wide and Patton...Patton had tears streaming down his face.

“Why would you think that?” It was quiet, barely a whisper, but Virgil had never heard Patton sound so furious, so cold and lifeless.

“I...I don’t know why you’re--”

“Virgil why would you think that?” Patton was standing now, taking a step away from the couch with a hand moving to cover his mouth. Logan reached for his shoulder, only to be quickly shrugged off.

“Patton, please attempt to calm down.”

“But he...he said...why, Virge? Why just you?”

Virgil blinked, fighting to swallow past the lump in his throat, still hopelessly lost to what he’d managed to do wrong. Did they...not know? Even Logan? Wasn’t it just...common sense?

“It’s...because it’s me?” he offered weakly. “I-I’m anxiety. I tend to- to mess things up, guys. I have to be, you know, dealt with differently so it doesn't affect Thomas as much, right?”

He was met only with deafening silence, before Logan cleared his throat, looking for once like he wasn’t entirely sure what he should be saying.

“That hardly seems logical,” he said, no malice behind it. “How would punishing you more severely do anything but succeed in making your mental state worse?”

“I...I don’t know. But it works. It makes me more...cautious. You guys haven’t really had to deal with me and my fuck ups before but now that I’m here you’ll have to...I just uh, figured you knew this, I guess. I thought everyone did.”

“No,” Roman said, hardly audible at all. “We didn’t.”

Oh. Well...at least it was out now. Virgil may not like it, but he knew getting hurt sometimes was necessary. If it made their lives better, it was worth it in the long run.

But still…

The thought that if he’d only known, realized sooner that their willingness to let things go and love him unconditionally really was genuine, he could have maybe lived without the fear of punishment for the first time in so long.

So much for that. All he’d done now was manage to make them angry, and he honestly wasn’t even sure what he’d done to make them all so upset.

“Who told you that?” Roman asked, Virgil wincing despite himself. “Was it...if it was my brother--”

“It wasn’t,” Virgil said, not really sure if that was the answer Roman wanted, but it was the truth. Remus and Janus had never been the ones to use any sort of physical violence on him, though Virgil never had any doubt that they could. “It was the others. I...they told me...I really thought you guys knew.”

Now, looking at it from a suddenly concerning perspective, he wasn’t even sure Remus or Janus had known.

“Sorry,” Virgil said to the silence, not even sure why anymore. “It wasn’t always that bad. That’s why I asked Logan, I wasn’t sure how you guys...uh, planned on doing it but apparently you didn’t even know you had to so we can--”

And suddenly Patton was gone, stalking through the kitchen doorway, practically leaving behind a visible trail of utter fury as he went, and Logan was following with one last worried glance over his shoulder.

Oh god, they were both mad. He’d managed to upset everyone, ruin everything in one conversation, and he couldn’t even apologize properly because he still didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

He’d just been trying to tell them it was ok, that there was no other way to deal with him, that it really wasn’t that big of a deal. He hated it, sure. It terrified him. He wanted so badly for it to stop but it couldn’t, it…

It couldn’t. Could it?

He felt Roman shift on the couch, probably to hurry and follow the others into the kitchen to get away from the mess on the couch they’d accidentally welcomed into their family.

Before he could stop himself Virgil was reaching forward, grabbing Roman’s sleeve with a weak, trembling hand.

“Please.” And there was absolutely no point in trying to hide the unsteady wobble of his voice. “Will you...I-I just don’t know what I did wrong.”

“Oh, Virgil.”

When Prince moved, there was a split second of blind panic where Virgil thought he was being attacked. But it faded as soon as he registered strong arms around him, pulling him against Roman’s chest, and Virgil immediately burst into tears.

Roman was shushing him gently, holding him tight but somehow not uncomfortably confining, running his fingers through Virgil’s hair as he muttered quiet reassurances.

Virgil could only sob into his chest, overtaken by hiccuping gasps that left him dizzy and weak and unable to stop.

And yet he was distantly aware that through his tears he hadn’t stopped his string of endless apologies, the desperate words falling without his permission.

“You’re alright, darling,” Roman said, impossibly soft. “You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I-I ma-made him mad,” he insisted, breath catching on nearly every word as he tried in vain to calm down enough to speak properly. “Patton, I-I...h-he was mad, he’s upset and he’s...he’ll--”

“Patton isn’t angry,” Roman said. “He’s just a little upset. But not at you! You haven’t done anything.”

“But I…” he paused, aware enough to consider the words before he said them, how utterly unfair and selfish they were. But maybe…

“I don’t want you guys to hurt me.”

“We would never,” Roman said, holding tighter without hesitation. “I know you won’t believe this right away, and you’ll need to hear it from the others too, but just listen to me for now, ok?”

Roman pulled back, but only slightly. Virgil could still feel the Prince's heart beneath his own shaking fingers, and the creative side carefully cupped Virgil’s face in his hands.

“Nobody will ever hurt you again, Virgil. Nobody. I know we’ve only recently become friends, but I swear to you, for the rest of your life, you never have to be afraid of that again. Not from me, not from the others. Not from anyone.”

Virgil struggled to breathe, chest aching, lungs screaming for air, but the tears wouldn’t stop flowing. “But they...you have to th-they said--”

“They were lying,” Princey said, with so much venom Virgil had to forcibly remind himself that Roman wasn’t angry with him. “You heard Logan, it doesn’t make sense. No one should...you didn’t deserve that, Virge.”

But...but he’d...all this time he’d just…

“Patton will you please--”

“No, Logan! I can’t I- did you hear him?”

Patton and Logan were still in the next room over, and Virgil could now just make out the two of them standing at the threshold. He forced himself not to whimper at the obvious anger that came from both of them, but didn’t stop himself from clutching at Roman tighter, beyond grateful when Princey did the same.

“I did,” Logan said. “I was standing right there. But Patton--”

“How could they…god, how could they just--?”

“Patton.” Logan hadn’t yelled, not exactly, but it was loud and stern enough to quiet the other’s rant. “I know. I understand that you’re upset- we all are. But right now Virgil thinks you’re upset with him.”

Virgil’s breath hitched in the sudden silence that followed, doing his best to focus instead on Roman’s breathing, feeling the Prince move to rub along Virgil’s back, still hushing and whispering quiet reassurances.

He cringed when he heard a tiny gasp followed quickly by two pairs of footsteps making their way towards the couch, and he wondered just how far Roman would have to go to keep his promise.

“Oh, baby I’m so sorry.” That was Patton’s voice right above him, soft and sad and...and no longer quite so angry. “Honey...can you look at me please?”

Virgil tensed, reluctantly moving his head away from Roman’s chest, face burning as he let the others see his tear stained face, heart clenching when he realized Patton wasn’t much better off.

“Sorry,” Virgil whispered, guided more on frantic instinct than anything else. “Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Patton reached forward, slow and nonthreatening, lacing his fingers with Virgil’s. “I’m sorry. I’m not angry with you, kiddo. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. We would never do that.”

And god, Virgil wanted so badly to believe that, to hold onto every word, every sympathetic gaze, everything that was so clearly real love rather than pity and never let it go.

He wanted to feel safe with them. He wanted it more than anything.

But...but they had all been angry. He’d seen it just moments ago, heard the unmistakable fury in their voices.

And maybe he’d spoken aloud without realizing, or maybe Logan was just exceptionally good at reading him, because suddenly the logical side was crouched beside Patton, carefully meeting Virgil’s watery eyes.

“We were not angry at you,” he said slowly. “We’re only angry at whoever thought it was alright to hurt you. Who made you think you could ever deserve it.”

“But I…” he didn’t know why he was arguing, why he was frantically searching for reasons to destroy something he wanted to desperately. He settled for the only reason he’d ever really been given. “I’m anxiety.”

“You do represent Thomas’s fears, yes,” Logan said. “As well as many other fundamental functions.”

“That doesn’t make you bad, kiddo,” Patton chimed in. “We love you. All of you. We’re all gonna mess up sometimes, and that’s ok. Mistakes are part of being human.”

“Well technically we are not human,” Logan pointed out, earning an exasperated sigh from Roman. “But Patton’s point still stands. Each and every one of us will make mistakes. That is, of course, why we have each other. Not to punish, but to assist each other.”

And that...wow, that sounded good. Impossibly good. God, how did he manage to surround himself with the kindest people in the universe?

“But what if I…” he swallowed, trying to figure out how to phrase his worries. “If I do something wrong, like...like really bad--”

“Then we will discuss it as a group,” Logan said. “And work together to determine what happened and how to fix it without any lasting negative effects. Not just for Thomas, but for all of us.”

“Indeed!” Roman agreed with his usual flair, reaching around to lightly squeeze Patton and Virgil’s intertwined fingers. “And if any of the others attempt to bring you harm again, they’ll have to get through me first!”

“All of us,” Patton said, wiping his eyes with his free hand and flashing Princey a grateful smile. “We won’t let that happen to you again.”

Virgil shrugged, overwhelmed, aware the gesture did nothing to mask the emotion in his eyes. “It’s...it’s really ok, you guys. They aren’t like you, they were just...doing what they thought they had to.”

Logan frowned, averting his gaze. “Unlikely.”

“That doesn’t make it ok,” Patton said before Virgil could question exactly what that meant. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “And we can see it left you really afraid, kiddo.”

“I-I guess. Yeah.”

“Sometimes talking about traumatic experiences can be the first step to moving past them,” Logan said. “And we will, of course, be willing to listen and help however we can.”

Virgil... didn’t really want to talk about. He still wasn't quite able to wrap his head around the fact that it wasn’t a necessity, never actually had been, a part of him still wholly convinced this was some kind of cruel, awful trick.

But...but Logan was looking at him with such gentle earnestness, Roman and Patton both nodding and smiling in gentle encouragement, those doubts were quickly being pushed to the side. At least for now.

They all looked so eager to help, Virgil couldn’t bring himself to shut them down the way his panicked brain, so used to isolation, was screaming at him to do.

And besides, maybe it could help. Maybe talking would help him come to terms with...whatever it really was that had happened.

But not right now. He wasn't sure he could handle anything else.

“Maybe,” he said after a moment. “Just, uh...not now. I don’t...I mean, i-if that’s ok, I don’t think I’m...ready.”

“Of course, sweetie,” Patton said, not sounding disappointed in the slightest, only understanding and patient. “Whenever you’re ready. You can come to us in your own time.”

“Is there...anything we can do for you now?” Roman asked. “Anything to make you feel better?”

“I guess, uh-” he paused, wondering if it was too much, too selfish a thing to ask. “Maybe just...stay here for a bit? All of us? Only if- if you aren’t busy, obviously, it’s ok if you are, I just thought maybe--”

“I think that is an excellent suggestion, Virgil,” Logan said. “Having some company will do you good.”

Patton practically squealed, squeezing Virgil’s hand before hurrying to his feet, blinding smile on his face. “Ooh! We can make some snacks and bring some blankets over! Be right back!”

Virgil was carefully maneuvered (probably a bit overly careful, like he was glass that could shatter at any moment) so he was now comfortably pressed against Logan’s side, Roman hurrying to follow Patton with promises to return in seconds, departing with a kiss to Virgil’s forehead.

Virgil was almost surprised when Logan’s arm moved to wrap around his shoulders, keeping him close, almost as protective and warm as Roman. He’d have thought Logan would be more averse to physical content.

He’d never been so glad to be mistaken, basking in the warmth like it was a sunlit room.

Virgil took a breath, breathing a bit easier now. “I really am sorry. I probably...really freaked you out, huh?”

“No apologies necessary,” Logan said. “I believe it’s safe to say you were much more...err, freaked out, as you would say.”

Virgil smiled, relaxing into his hold, but there was still something heavy sitting in his chest, nagging at him to voice it aloud.

“I feel like an idiot.”

“You shouldn’t.”

“But I do.” He didn’t move, terrified he’d lose his nerve without the warmth at his side. “I...it was stupid. All of this. I actually thought that...I still don’t really think that this can work. Without...doing all that when I screw up. I want to but it’s...I thought there wasn’t any other way.”

“There is no reason for you to be held to a different standard than anyone else,” Logan said, slow and careful. “We plan only on treating you as an equal. As someone we care very much for.”

“I should have known,” he muttered. “You guys are r-really...really great. I shouldn’t have accused you of that.”

There was a beat of silence that stretched on just a moment too long, and any other time Virgil might have taken that as a perfectly reasonable excuse to begin panicking all over again.

But with Logan’s protective hold still firmly around him, the easy warmth in his chest that lingered from everyone’s kind words...he couldn’t find it in him to be particularly worried over Logan taking a moment to think.

“You did not accuse us of anything,” the logical side said, continuing before Virgil could argue. “You reacted to what you assumed to be normal, no one can fault you for that. You’ve been taught to have a very particular mindset. As...upsetting as it is, your reaction was perfectly logical based on the information you had.”

Logan’s arm moved, just for a moment, to reach around and squeeze Virgil’s hand, just like Patton and Roman had done, just another reminder of newfound safety.

“What we need to do now,” Logan said. “Is work on making sure you never feel that way again.”

Virgil nodded against him, finding that, at least for the moment, his want to believe, to be safe and welcomed, was enough to outweigh the storm of doubt in his racing mind.

“Ok,” he said, glancing up just in time to see Logan’s relieved smile, loosening his hold as Roman and Patton hurried back to the living room. “Thank you.”

As the four of them settled down and rearranged themselves, there was an all too familiar burning in Virgil’s eyes, a tight twisting in his chest. But this time, it wasn’t from panic or fear.

This time, if he cried from this feeling, from being content and accepted, it might not be the worst thing in the world.

#sanders sides #fanfiction #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #ts virgil #ts logan #ts patton #ts roman #polysanders #prinxiety #analogical #moxiety #angst #writing

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taetaespeaches · 3 years

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“Just relax. This will change your life.”

hoseok x reader (oc) genre: fluff word count: 1.8K

a/n: Happy Hobi Day!!!!! Doesn’t the world just feel a little bit brighter today? I wrote this in about an hour last night and it’s really all I had time for... it’s not my best and there’s no real consistent plot, it’s just a glimpse into Hobi and Petals/reader’s relationship a bit earlier on in their timeline. Idk, I just really love the meaningfulness Hobi and Petal find in the seemingly meaningless moments. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :))

and happy birthday to our sunshine <3

With textbooks and notes spread across your bed, you tapped your pen on top of the notebook as you read over the article displayed on your laptop screen. Squinting at the document, you sighed as you realized the academic journal was doing very little to support your paper’s thesis.

“Fuck,” you mumbled to yourself as you continued tapping the pen just as a door opening sounded from down the hallway. Looking toward the sound, staring at your open bedroom door, you waited for further noise to confirm you weren’t hearing things. When the sound of someone humming resounded through your apartment, a small smile curved on your lips. “Sunshine?” You called out.

“Hi Petal,” your boyfriend greeted you from the living room.

“Hey,” you smiled at the knowledge that your boyfriend was there. “I’ll be out in a second,” you shouted to him as you finished reading the paragraph that was definitely turning out to be useless to you. “Fuck it,” you huffed, closing the laptop and pushing the device into the pile of books and notes, tossing the pen into the mess. The paper could wait another night, because in that moment, Hoseok was all that was on your mind.

As you made your way across the bedroom, you paused in front of the mirror that was a few feet away, inspecting your disheveled appearance. After a day of coursework and a week of stress, you were looking a bit tired and unkempt; not that Hoseok would mind, but things were still slightly new with him and he hadn’t yet seen you looking much less than perfect. It had been a few days since you last saw the man, and you found yourself wishing you were spruced up just a bit more. However, it was Hoseok, and you knew he saw only the best in you at all times. Sighing at your reflection, you fluffed your hair just slightly before leaving the room.

Stepping into the living area, you found Hoseok facing you as he folded the recently dried laundry that you hadn’t had a chance to do anything with yet. “Hobi, you don’t have to do that,” you told him just as he finished folding one of your sweaters and set it onto the couch cushion.

His eyes snapping to you, they brightened upon meeting your frame, a stunning smile overtaking his features as he looked up and down your body. “You look stunning,” he complimented genuinely, your eyebrows raising in surprise.

“What?” You said in slight shock, looking down at your oversized t-shirt that you’d had since high school, your bottom half covered by a pair of shorts that stopped mid-thigh, and your feet shrouded in thick ankle socks.

“Come here, Petal,” he beamed at you, moving the recently folded laundry to the coffee table as you began walking closer to him. You watched as he moved a pile of your underwear to the table, a smirk overtaking his features. “Trust me,” he nodded to the stack of panties in his hands. “I don’t mind folding these.”

“Stop,” you whined, making your way to him more quickly as he chuckled at you.

Hoseok set the undergarments down just as you appeared next to him, his form straightening just in time for you to wrap your arms around the back of his neck. Digging your fingers into the strands at the back of his head, you pulled his face to yours just as his arms folded over your waist, tugging you closer as your lips met.

Humming contently against his lips, Hoseok smiled, breaking the kiss as he grinned at you. “How’s the paper going?” He questioned, only for you to groan, burying your face into his chest, the man chuckling lightly as his hands gently ran along your lower back. “That good, huh?”

“I’m beginning to think my entire argument is fucked, it’s so hard to find support for it,” you complained, your voice muffled by his sweatshirt.

Sighing against you, he lowered himself into a sitting position on the couch, tugging you onto the cushions with him, Hoseok’s stunning eyes scanning your features carefully.

“Have you been resting?” He questioned, noticing the discoloration beneath your eyes that indicated your lack of pillow time.

Shrugging, you stretched your neck. “I’ve been trying,” you informed him nonchalantly.

“Mmm,” he hummed thoughtfully, a smile forming on his lips when you yawned.

Your mouth curved upward in response to his grin as you reached forward to poke his abdomen teasingly. “I’ve just been having trouble falling asleep the past few days,” you clarified. “Once I’m asleep I’m ok.”

Wrapping his hand around yours that sat in his lap, he tugged on you. “Lay down,” he told you.

“What are you doing?” You questioned, holding back a smile.

Patting his thigh, he ignored your question. “Put your head on my lap.”

“Hobi,” you whined, the man chuckling in response.

“You can’t fall asleep,” he shrugged. “I happen to have a fix for that.”

Breathing out in realization, you giggled at him. “Sunshine, you really don’t have to,” you told him tentatively, only for your boyfriend to pull you into his lap, you both laughing as he shushed you. There had been several times since dating him that you’d coaxed him to slumber by soothing your fingers across his frame, patting him gently into relaxation. However, you had never even thought of him returning the act to lull you to sleep.

“Just relax,” he insisted, you rolling your eyes, earning a scoff from the man. “This will change your life,” he spoke through a smile, a single laugh slipping from your lips, utterly and fondly amused by him. “You’ll love it, it’ll feel really good.”

“This really isn’t necess-” you started to protest, only to be cut off by his shushing as his fingers started dragging across the top of your chest soothingly. “Oh,” you let out in surprise, Hoseok bursting into giggles at your vocalization.

“Don’t laugh at me, that feels nice,” you smiled, holding back your own laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head, “you’re just so cute,” he complimented. “And not to say I told you so but, I did tell you it would feel good,” he noted, you glaring at him as you brought your hand toward his lips, pushing your finger against them to silence him.

As his chuckles died down, he focused back on dragging his hands across your chest, trailing them down your arms before bringing them back to your sternum. Your eyes fluttered shut at the sensation, your body relaxing under Hoseok’s gentle touch.

At some point you dozed off, unsure of how long you had been asleep when you lazily peeled your eyes open. Upon waking up, the first thing you noticed was the absence of your boyfriend’s presence, realizing you were alone on the couch. The second thing you discovered was the disappearance of your laundry basket, as well as the clothes your boyfriend had previously folded. Recognizing the sound of your kitchen sink turning on and off, you lifted yourself from the sofa to peer into the kitchen. There, you spotted Hoseok with his back to you as he washed your dishes from earlier in the day.

He looked so good doing anything domestic, you couldn’t help but admire him for a moment. The sweatshirt he sported hung off his sturdy shoulders so attractively, and his forearms were exposed, the sleeves of his top rolled up. His baggy sweatpants looked perfectly cozy, enticing you to cuddle him.

Shuffling into the kitchen, you wrapped your arms around him from behind, the man jumping slightly before relaxing in your hold.

“Hi Petal,” he welcomed you cheerfully, turning the tap off before wiping his hands on the towel. “How are you feeling?”

“Rested,” you mumbled against his shoulder blade, just before Hoseok turned in your arms, greeting your sleepy face with his bright smiley one. Draping his arms over your shoulders, he leaned toward you, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “You didn’t have to do these,” you nodded to the dish drainer, Hoseok simply beaming at you.

“I know,” he assured you simply, placing another kiss to your forehead. Pressing yet another one to your temple, you leaned into the touch.

“Remind me to spoil you later,” you told him grumpily, the man chuckling as you nuzzled your face against his neck and began trailing kisses along his skin.

“Only you would have an attitude because I helped you out a little bit,” he pointed out fondly, you letting out a breathy giggle against his jaw. Pulling your face from his slightly, you both stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, Hoseok studying you as you simply appreciated the warmth his gaze emitted. “You don’t owe me anything, you know that right? I’m just helping out because I love you.”

With your lips hovering over his, you nodded. “I’m just still getting used to that,” you whispered before placing a soft kiss to his mouth.

“What? Me loving you?” He questioned, his lips touching yours just barely as he spoke.

“How you love me,” you admitted. “It’s still weird receiving so much kindness from someone. And just accepting it.” It wasn’t as though you were mistreated in past relationships, but rather, you were simply never given, by anyone, near as much consideration and thoughtfulness as Hoseok gave to you.

Bringing his hands to firmly but gently hold the sides of your face, Hoseok pulled you into a passionate kiss that stole your breath for a moment, your own hands gripping the sides of his abdomen. Your lips worked together perfectly, as if his mouth always longed for yours, and vise versa.

Pulling his face from yours, he locked his eyes with your gaze, his stare intense and full of feeling. “I love you,” he told you sincerely, with intent, the words hitting you with the fervor in which he spoke them; and meant them.

“I love you,” you replied in an earnest whisper, meaning the words just as much as he did, a sigh of content leaving you as he pulled you against his frame in a tight, comforting hug.

You and Hoseok found the strength of your love for one another in the simplest moments. It bloomed in the domesticity of your union, the ease of your connection, the consideration you endowed upon one another. Sparks didn’t fly the moment you met Hoseok. It wasn’t love at first sight, or even second or fifth sight. Love instead rooted itself in the small moments, budding and blossoming overtime until it was the only thing you knew and felt when looking at him, speaking to him, being within his presence.

And now his arms felt like home, his scent familiar and comforting. You weren’t sure you’d ever truly get used to receiving his love, but you’d gladly accept it for as long as he gifted it to you. And you’d forever match it with your own love. Happily.

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dvesbackup1 · 3 years

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loving you, and quit pretending to |

joel farabee

pairing: college!joel farabee x f!reader

warnings: alcohol consumption, men being trash, angst, language, almost smut because i love edging yall, fluff

word count: 3.5k+

a/n: the names of the players for the team are completely made up. thank you to everyone who voted on my google doc! excuse any mistakes.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

joel’s confession circled in your mind. it echoed through your brain making your stomach twist. your eyes sunken in, smudged eye makeup streaming down your face. “i should’ve known,” the words tasted bitter as they left your mouth, your eyes on the ground before you, too embarrassed to make eye contact with naomi.

“you had no way of knowing,” she said grabbing your wrist and gently squeezing it, before wiping your tear-stained cheeks with a tissue.

“i’ve made a fool out of myself,” you placed your head into her lap.

she immediately moved your hair out of your face, a sympathetic smile evident on hers, “no you haven’t. it’ll all get figured out, i promise you that.”

you wrote for your college’s hockey team, the boston terriers. you typically wrote articles weekly, including incredible plays, player of the game, and players you believed could use a good word. it was a known fact that many young men that attended boston university were pulled up to play professionally. therefore, it wasn’t unfamiliar for guys on the team to try to butter you up for their name to be stated in your article. you found it humorous, but understood these boys just wanted to live out their childhood dream. you usually paid no mind to them, but it wasn’t until joel farabee charmed his way through you, blinding you from the harsh truth that was evident in a franchise like the national hockey league.

you weren’t exactly planning on going to a frat party at 10 pm, but staying in on a saturday night wasn’t a better alternative. here you were, applying mascara through your thick lashes, and listening to your roommate, naomi, go on and on about a guy on the team.

“y/n/n, can you at least look interested in what i’m saying,” she laughed, grabbing her purse off the counter.

you moved your eyes from the mirror, “everything will be fine, he’s going to be there tonight, yeah?”

“yes, but-“

“and you’re going to talk to him,” you said, unscrewing the cap of your lipgloss and smearing the wand across your lips. “i can put in a good word but you have to speak to him yourself.”

“fine,” she surrendered, before closing the door behind her and following you to the stairs.

a sigh managed to escaped your lips as you trailed behind your friends, seeing only a few groups of people on the first floor of the fraternity house. you raised your eyebrows at lina, another friend in your group, wondering if you should just walk yourself back to your dorm. you figured you could gather more people in your tiny dorm room than the amount of people in this house. your eyes moved over to the couch that was placed in the center of the living room, seating three boys who all wore identical windbreakers. jack harper and alex richmond, the other seated was joel farabee. your eyebrows furrowed as you studied him, he had loose brown waves that curled from underneath the back of his beanie, and his eyes fixated on the tv in front of him. never seen him here before, you mused, before turning your attention to naomi. “are they seriously playing video games at a party they’re hosting?”

“for real,” she scoffed, “where are the drinks?” she scanned the room before dramatically gasping and turning back to you with wide eyes.

“what?”

“nate’s here,” she whispered, as if the music didn’t tune her out.

“go talk to him then.”

“only if you come with me,” she pleaded, “you don’t even have to stick around, just introduce us.”

she waited on your answer as a smirk spread across your lips, “okay, cmon.” you grabbed her arm and the two of you walked over to the table. you thought about joel again, pondering how you were going to bring him up.

“hey, who’s that sitting on the couch. the one of the very left. that’s joel farabee right?” you leaned closer to her ear.

“yeah that’s him, why what’s up?”

“do you know anything about him?”

naomi raised her eyebrows at you, a grin from ear to ear.

“what?” you laughed.

she shook her head and sighed, “well, all i know is he plays hockey. he’s pretty good at it too.”

you hummed, and looked over at the couch again. but this time he was looking back at you.

joel fumbled with the controller in his hands, eyebrows slightly furrowed as his complete undivided attention was with the game in front of him.

“isn’t that the girl that writes our articles?” alex asked, before killing his opponent.

“yeah, i’ve tried talking sweet just so she would put me in, didn’t work,” jack added.

“the girl back there?” joel turned around on the couch, watching you as you stood with naomi and nate.

“yeah that’s her, you should take a go at her, beezy.”

“like for the article?” the look on joel’s face was utter confusion, at this point he wasn’t focused on the game, but jack and alex beside him.

“exactly, you guys haven’t met so she wouldn’t expect it of you. sweeten her up, and then dump her once you get a good word,” he reasoned. “plus, didn’t you say there’s a good chance you’re getting drafted?”

“well yeah but, i don’t know-“

“dude, you should really consider it. guys that work with the nhl read into her shit.”

what’s the worst that could happen? joel thought. he would flirt with you, get put into the article, and get attention from scouts. deep down joel knew it was completely fucked up, but at this moment he didn’t know exactly what he was getting himself into.

a majority of the time, you went to the games and later on rewatched them to write your article. your love for hockey flourished as you got older, so you felt it was only necessary to enjoy the game before making it an assignment. the third period wrapped up as you stood up from your seat, rubbing your arms for warmth. the terriers are continuing a win streak, and you mentally took note of who scored during tonight’s game. lina read her texts to you as you walked out of the arena, “naomi said nate’s taking her to the party tonight, do you wanna come with me?”

“i don’t know, i should really get this article over with.”

“you have all weekend! no pressure, but i think this one will be better than the last.”

“i hope so, that was horrendous,” you laughed, pulling your car keys from your bag. “i’m seriously leaving if i walk in and they’re playing cod again.”

your wish came true, the sorority full of students, which you mentally expressed gratitude for. the house shook from the bass of the speakers, vibrating in the bottom of your shoes. mixed alcohols wafted into your nose as you made your way into the kitchen. you reached for the plastic bag full of red solo cups on top of the cabinet, freezing as you felt someone come up from behind you. “let me get that for you,” they said. your eyes diverted to the arm that was reaching over you before stepping back to see who it was.

“oh, thank you,” you breathed out, eyes tracing the chain that dipped below the collar on his white t-shirt.

“joel,”

“y/n,” you smiled, accepting his hand that he had held out. he brought your knuckle to his lips, before gently kissing it. if it were anyone else you probably would’ve cringed, the gesture definitely cheesy. however, it didn’t fail to send heat to your cheeks, and make the tip of your ears become hot.

“i’ve never seen you before?”

“i’m sure you have, maybe you don’t remember,” you laughed, not allowing your eyes to fall below his.

“i would definitely remember if i had seen a girl like you before.” a smirk broke out on joel’s face, masking the fact he felt slightly guilty. he brushed it off as he bent down to your ear, “do you want to go somewhere more quiet?”

“i don’t think that’s a good idea,” you reciprocated the smirk. you weren’t against meaningless hookups, but you weren’t going to give it up to him that easily, plus the fact you have to see him frequently.

“why don’t we go outside instead?” he suggested, hopefulness in his eyes.

you contemplated, scanning the room for lina or naomi for neither of them to be in sight. “yeah, sure.”

after a whole protest in your head, you now sat in the passenger seat of joel’s car, playing with the hem of your top. music lowly played in the background easing you enough to be comfortable. he was definitely charming, and paid deep attention to the things you had to say. you didn’t even bother to think twice about his intentions, at this moment you felt at peace. it wasn’t often that guys listened to you ramble about things you were passionate about, especially writing. “what about you, is there a future for professional hockey lined up for you?”

joel rubbed the back of his neck, “uh, i’m not exactly sure.”

“you’re not only talking to me so i’ll put your name in my article, right?” you teased, no actual harm behind it.

his eyes immediately widened, “no, no! of course not.”

“i’m just messing with you,” examining the look on his face, an odd feeling set into your stomach. you figured it was the alcohol. you grabbed your phone that was between your thighs, checking the time. “oh shit, it’s late. do you mind driving me back to my dorm?”

“no, it’s no problem.” he mentally sighed of relief, realizing he was going to have to be more careful than that.

the drive wasn’t long, but tension was visible to you, and not the good kind. joel was quiet throughout the drive, leaving you to wonder what he meant about what he had said earlier. you attempted to calm your nerves, not allowing your nervousness to ruin something that could possibly end well for you. shaking your head, and reaching for the handle to your room, you looked up at him. “no goodnight kiss?” he smirked.

“maybe next time,” you said, playfully rolling your eyes and shutting the door behind you.

things soon picked up the pace with joel, giving you another reason to rewatch the games after attending them. at home games, you wore his away jersey, along with a bright and proud smile plastered upon your lips. you hung out with his teammates and were introduced to their girlfriends. but underneath all the love he felt for you, was an aching guilt swelling in his stomach. it almost made him sick. it was no longer a game to joel, neither a bet. you were a real woman with real feelings, and falling for you was incredibly easier than he would’ve wished. he felt guilty kissing you, without telling you the real story behind your first conversation. he let his hands slip below your belt and into your underwear, knowing he was better than that. you adored him, completely and totally blinded by rose colored glasses. time was only ticking, and with summer break emerging, joel was running out of time.

the air in boston sweetened as june rolled around the corner. summer break was well anticipated, just as you, naomi, and lina planned out trips for the summer. meanwhile, joel, jack, and alex sat in front of the air conditioner, yet again playing video games.

“beezy, congrats on the mention in the article,” jack remarked, with a triumphant smirk. you may have mentioned joel more than a few times in your article, but you couldn’t help it. you were proud of your boyfriend more than ever, and felt he deserved the recognition.

however, this made joel’s mood sour. he was already reminded of this every time he saw your face, he didn’t want to hear it with his friends. “yeah, it’s well deserved.”

“so you’re hitting that?”

“what the fuck, man. you know that’s not what i mean,” joel scolded.

“don’t tell me you actually like her.”

“alright man that’s enough,” alex added, putting his controller on his lap.

“what are you trying to say?”

jack scoffed, “well, that just wasn’t the original plan. that’s all.” he returned his eyes to the screen, starting a new game. “does she even know that’s why you started talking to her? be a shame if she found out.”

“that’s not why i started talking to her,” joel uttered.

“cmon man, the party back in the fall. i told you about her articles, that you should get on her. and a week later you guys are suddenly close? that’s no coincidence.”

he pondered his response, but immediately thought twice before doing so. jack was partially right in joel’s mind. even though he did have feelings for you, he still used you, he still wasn’t honest. he had to tell you, even if that meant losing you.

as of the moment, a hard copy of pride and prejudice sat on your lap as you lightly skimmed through the pages to find your spot. a towel lay underneath you on the sand, with lina and naomi beside you. nate, joel, and lina’s new boyfriend owen, stood before you in the water. lina’s parents owned a house down in cape cod that you were staying in for a few days. the sun would set in an hour or so, leaving it shining directly upon your face. you tilted your sunglasses down, squinting as joel walked towards you. “come here,” he said, reaching his hand out to you.

“where are we going?” you marked your book and brushed the sand off your bare legs as he pulled you off the ground.

“for a walk.”

you walked side by side down the beach, to the strip of rocks that jutted out into the ocean. the waves crashed repetitively on the beach, filling the comfortable silence in the air. sand stuck to your legs irritating you enough to continue brushing it off. the sun was setting over the horizon, gently glowing upon joel’s face. eyes began lingering to the stitching of his swim shorts, tracing them along his abdomen. the tightness of his abs, to his slender, but muscular arms. you observed in silence, devouring up the view before it was all gone. he looks over at you, offering a lopsided smile. “what are you looking at?”

“your hairs a little long,” you point out.

“yeah? i need a cut.”

“no you don’t, i like it. it curls underneath your helmet.”

“i read the article,” he said, switching subjects with an unrecognizable tone.

“you played exceptionally well.” you flashed him a proud smile, your hand weaving its way into his hair, and lightly scratching his scalp. you look at him so lovingly that joel is forced to look away. he’s completely and totally fucked.

the moon shone brightly over the water as you sat in joel’s lap. on occasion, naomi’s laugher echoed from the house, and lina’s party playlist bouncing off the walls. the both of you however, remained on the boat as joel told you stories about growing up. it didn’t take long for your hands to be tangled in his brown locks longingly, and his hand to be up your skirt. he connected his lips to your collarbone, lightly sucking on the thin layer of skin. you groaned in response, tugging at the bottom of his shirt. he stood up to pull his shirt over his head, before swiftly pulling your dress over yours, leaving you in only under garments. joel took a moment to examine your body, and the lace covering your breasts. “you’re drooling,” you teased, laying your head back on the boat’s couch. you and joel had never made it this far. over the course of the past few months joel wanted to take it slow, and show you he was really here for the best intentions. the familiar feeling of guilt suffocated his heart, making it heavy, knowing it wasn’t right to continue.

“baby, i-“ he began.

“i’m ready, i know this isn’t the ideal place but-“

“no, you don’t understand-“

“are you not ready? because we can wait,” you reassured him, cupping his face in your hands. the stubble on his chin scratched lightly on your palms.

“i really want to, i’ve been thinking about this for so long.”

you began to worry, but nevertheless you nodded, letting him know you were all ears.

“a couple months ago at the first party i saw you at, jack told me you wrote articles,” joel stated, he was partially stalling, and not looking forward to your response. “he encouraged me to start dating you, so that you would put me in your articles. so i could get noticed by the scouts.”

you dropped your hands from his face slowly, adrenaline rushing in your blood. “are you saying-“

“no, that’s not why i starting dating you. i genuinely fell in love with you.”

“but that wasn’t your intention,” you corrected, pulling your dress back over your body.

“i know, and i’m so sorry-“

“i can’t believe this right now, you’ve gotta be kidding,” you looked at him, hope beaming through your eyes. you wanted so badly for him to say he was kidding, but he stood there with guilty eyes. “joel, please tell me you’re joking,” you pleaded, tears brimming your waterline.

he shook his head, opening his mouth to respond before quickly closing it. he knew nothing he could say would make you forgive him. “you let me fall in love with you.” it was barely a whisper as you bit the inside of your cheek holding back a sob. you put your shoes back on and reached for the door, glancing back at joel who was evidently in distress. you weren’t going to say anything, but decided against it. “joel,” you called.

he looked up at you, rosy cheeks from crying.

“i didn’t put you in the article because i liked you, i put you in because you deserved it. i wanted to see you succeed.”

with that, you left the boat, passed naomi and lina who were calling your name, and to the spare bedroom. you quietly sobbed into your sweater sleeve, wishing it was all a nightmare you could wake yourself up from. you half cursed at yourself for being so blind, and partially wished he would walk into the room and hold you. but he didn’t, and you had to accept that.

two weeks had gone by since you last spoke to joel. you ignored his texts, and ignored his teammates’ as well. you were currently sulking on naomi’s back deck at her parents house, stress reading to a book you had no interest in reading. “i just can’t believe he wouldn’t tell me, and we almost had sex. what was he going to initially wait until after?”

“wait, you guys were going to-“ naomi said, leaning closer to you in her chair.

“yeah, the night he told me.”

she sighed, “y/n/n, i’m so so sorry.”

“it’s fine, it’s not the end of the world.”

“if it makes you feel any better, i really do think he likes you. regardless, if it started off as some bet, that’s fucked.”

your phone buzzed catching your attention. you flipped it over to see your lock screen, you and joel, standing in front of the cemented walls down by the locker rooms. your eyes crinkling in the corners, and the apples of your cheeks raised from the bright smile on your face holding them up. “you miss him don’t you,” naomi said, waiting for you to look up at her. you didn’t answer, instead you attempted to stop your lips from trembling.

“should i forgive him?”

“y/n, that’s completely up to you,” she said, wiping a tear off your cheek.

“well what would you do?”

“well, do you love him any less right now?”

do i love him any less right now? you wondered. the answer was very clear to you, it was just a matter of how to act on it.

joel had texted you an hour ago to meet him at the rink, claiming it was urgent. you couldn’t help but feel stupid, who would give someone a second chance after fucking up this badly? you shook it off, pulling up to the parking lot and cursing before opening your door.

the arena would normally be closed at this time, and you knew it was risky to be here, considering your position. walking through the entrance, you see joel sitting alone a few rows before you. you didn’t say anything as you sat down beside him, closely, just like you normally would.

“thank you for meeting me,” he says, his confidence no longer radiating as it usually did, he looked like he hadn’t slept a minute you were apart.

“so formal,” you dryly laughed.

“i just wanted to say that i’m sorry. i shouldn’t have waited so long to tell you the truth, and that’s on me. whether or not your article was seen by scouts doesn’t matter to me. you do.”

“joel, if you had told me sooner it honestly wouldn’t have made a difference. what matters if that you understand where you went wrong,” you told him truthfully, because the truth was that you weren’t all that upset anymore. being away from him was punishment enough.

you cup his face with one hand. “i’m sorry,” he tells you again, leaning into the warmth of your fingertips.

“i forgive you i guess. but when you get famous you better remember me.”

“baby, you’ll be up there with me. i can’t wait to thank you during my speech.”

“who are you kidding, i’ll be writing it for you.”

he chuckles and playfully rolls his eyes, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer into him. you rest your head on his chest, listening to the rate of his heart. embracing the feeling you were incredibly grateful to feel again.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆

tagging: @butgilinsky

( let me know via inbox if you’d like to be tagged! )

#joel farabee imagine #nhl writing #joel farabee x reader #nhl fic #nhl imagine #trying to get better at dialogue so don’t mind me

145 notes · View notes

whatthemarta · 3 years

Text

Henry Cavill - Insecure

Hi ! Sorry for any mistakes English is not my first language. Really open to any criticism.

Henry and I have been dating for a year now. I wish I could tell you that everything has been going smoothly, but it hasn’t.

The last month every word, action or even a sound could trigger a fight with him. The last one was because I didn’t answer on the first dial. I haven’t seen him ever since. He has been away for two weeks because of the second season of The Witcher and in that time span we exchanged five texts, give or take honestly.

To top it all, I just saw on Instagram this morning that he apparently broke up with his “too young” of a girlfriend after being seen with his co-star having dinner a few days ago. Yeah well, if we’ve broken up the too young of a girlfriend would hope to be the first to know. Of course, me being thirteen years younger than him didn’t really help this kind of comments. I really wanted to call him, probably make a scene about this stupid rumour but it wouldn’t be fair after all. We haven’t even discussed about our last fight. All I knew was that he was coming back today.

I was interrupted in my thoughts when a whimper came from the floor. Kal. Putting my laptop on top of the table with the page of the article still open, I tapped my hands on my knees so that the furry dog climbed on top of me. I’ve always found it incredible how our furry friends can instantly feel our emotions and tend to them. A quick knock on my door and the followed bark of Kal meant that Henry was at the door.

“Kal, seems like your daddy is here to pick you up” The big bear got up wiggling his tail excitedly. I got up after him, checking for any stains or hairs on my outfit. To be honest I still get nervous of how I look and dress, I mean have you looked at the man. With a quick glance at the mirror on the entrance wall, I took a deep breath and opened the door.

Henry stood at my door a tight smile on his face. He looked really good, as usual let’s be clear, a little buffer if that is even possible. We stood for what seemed forever looking at each other until Kal passed through my legs trying to reach his master as quick as possible. Henry laughed at his antics rubbing Kal’s ears happily.

“Stay here pal, I have to take care of some things” Well that sure woke me up from my trance. I stood aside in order for him to enter my house. He took off his shoes leaving them at the entrance before making his way towards my living room.

“Well hello to you to” I murmured. “Can I offer you something to drink?” Because I sure do need something strong so that my heart can take whatever he was going to say. I poured myself a tiny bit of whisky in a glass with five ice cubes that I wish would melt faster. I never drink, now is a fine day to start. I took a tiny sip shuddering at the horrible taste.

“No, I would like for you to sit down so that we could talk” On second thoughts I should’ve poured a little more of that fancy whisky. If the room could be any tenser, I think we would’ve died from anticipation. I mustered the little courage I had and made my way to the sofa. He moved aside to make room for me and came face to face to my laptop still displaying the article and the photos of him with another woman. I tried to quickly shut it but he stopped me by grabbing my wrist. His grip loosened as he read the article.

“Yeah… seems that you are cheating on me now” I quipped trying to lighten the mood. But as he turned his face to glare at me, I think I only made it worse.

“I would never” His eyes scanning my face for any doubts. Doubts that I never had to be honest. He looked at his lap where his hands had now taken hold of mine.

“I knew you came here to break up with me, but for my sake tell me why” I said sadly.

“Do you think I’m getting too old for you?” Wait, what? He looked up, a look of sorrow in his eyes.

“I’m sorry what?” Must be the whisky kicking in, I’m hearing things now.

“I’ve been thinking about it since my birthday party, your sister kept telling me that I looked like a daddy. I know that soon I will be turning forty and you are still in your twenties. I don’t know why but since that night I’ve noticed how you get so well with people your age and how I feel so left out in your conversations. And when you started to go to college again, I really thought that that Luke guy was going to make you realise that I am too old to have you. I feel like I bore you. I mean can I even satisfy you in b-” Before he could ramble anything else even more stupid. I abruptly stood up and started crying from exhaustion.

“You f*cking idiot, I’ve been sickly worried about our relationship and turns out you are having an existential crisis about your age” I said, hitting him on the chest. “What my sister meant was that you looked like a daddy Henry, a daddy” I put emphasis on the word so that he could remember that time I explained to his naïve self what daddy really meant. My sister talks too much when she is drunk. “I don’t care that you will be forty, hell you’ve been acting like a child because you chose to hide your insecurity instead of talking about it like an adult” I finished crossing my arms on my chest.

“I know, I didn’t want to make you cry” He said taking my hands again and contemplating them.

“Hen, what is really going on? Empty the whole bag come on” I asked him, feeling like he didn’t really say all that was in his mind.

“I guess I am really scared of losing you and every excuse is a good one to make me feel as if I’m not good enough. I mean I never was this insecure, but I guess that’s because I’ve never loved anyone like I love you and that scares me a lot” He finally looked up and waited for any kind of reaction from me. He left me speechless. We never really said those three words, the feelings were there but it never came up. “Is it too soon? It’s okay you don’t have to say it ba-” before he could start to ramble again, I kissed him. One of his hands went straight to my hair deepening the kiss, the other holding myself tightly against his body. God I missed his touch.

“I am so sorry, for the past few weeks I’ve been quite the idiot with you” His hand came to my cheek, wiping the remaining tears from my outburst. “It wasn’t a date, quite the contrary actually, we’ve both talked about our love life and how lucky we are to have such understanding partners. That’s how I realised that I was stupid from keeping this whole mess in my head to myself”

“You own me two weeks of free cuddles, 2 whole body massages” I smiled innocently, knowing very well that it was not a punishment for him. Quite the opposite, if I could sell all the affection he gives, I would be very rich. "And you clean the dishes this week” I ended with a smirk, now that was a punishment.

“Deal sweetheart” He laughed, lifting his pinkie so that he could make a promise. “Now let’s go, prepare your things so that I can take you back to mine” The first time he left for work we made a deal that when he would come back, I would stay with him for the time he spent away. He said that it was a way to make up for lost time. And that’s exactly what we were going to do right now.

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kumkaniudaku · 3 years

Text

Understanding

1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7. 8. 9. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17

Recommended Listening: Understanding x Xscape, Purple Emoji (ft. J. Cole) x Ty Dolla $ign, My World x Asian

Word Count: 2,137

If you were going to win an award that afternoon, it’d be for attire, not confidence. Your expertly crafted golf outfit was the only thing willing your feet forward once you parked your car in front of Senior’s golf course.

Black women and men dressed like modern Jet magazine ads waltzed in and out of the clubhouse while you scanned the area for your party. You’d been to your fair share of golf courses, but none as exquisite as The National. Marble accents complemented modern brass finishes and unbeatable views of the city. The desire to take photos for your father was almost too much to shake, but you managed to play it cool. Acting out of place was surely some type of faux pas for the wealthy.

Across the way, Senior sat at the bar sipping a glass of water while thumbing through a newspaper. His furrowed brow was identical to Yahya’s whenever he was knee-deep in work or a good book. The mental comparison made you smile before ushering in a tinge of sadness. For two people so undeniably similar, they were miles apart physically and mentally.

You navigated through groups of young and old alike on the way to the bar.

“You made it on time,” Senior spoke without looking up from a story on education budget cuts.

“I made it with time to spare.”

“You don’t get praise for doing what’s right.”

“Think of how much better things would be if we did.”

Senior paused his reading to take a deep breath and shake his head. You mentally berated yourself for overstepping so soon. Not even five minutes into the outing and you had already committed an avoidable infraction

Yahya I prolonged the unbearable silence as he continued to read through another article, reading each line painstakingly slow while you watched in agony.

“I apologize. That was unnecessary.”

“I’ll ask you again,” he spoke, finally looking away from the newspaper to study your face. “Let’s leave the character right here. We’re here for a purpose, so grab your clubs and follow me to the first hole. I hope your game is as good as you are at running your mouth.” Taking his retort in stride, you quickly grabbed your set of clubs and followed with no objections. “After you.”

Senior found himself immediately impressed though he wouldn’t verbalize his feelings. He watched you breeze through each hole with near expert precision, opening a series of questions at hole 5 during casual small talk.

“Where’d you say you were from again?”

“A tiny town in South Carolina that you probably wouldn’t know.”

“Try me,” he answered while taking stock of his position on the fairway.

“Anderson, South Carolina. Home of Larry Nance and the great Chadwick Boseman.”

“Can’t forget James Kennedy, Young Lady.”

You cocked your head back in surprise. “What you know about Radio? I mean outside of what the movie says?”

Senior remained quiet long enough to take a hard swing. The loud “whiff” of his driver slicing through crisp, clean air didn’t match the stroke’s output. Both of you watch the golf ball sail high into the air before making a landing well short of the intended destination. Senior shook his head at the miscalculation before turning to answer your question.

“Black folks from all over are connected, even without all that Snapgram and Facebook foolishness.”

“I could argue it’s helped, right? How else would you be able to share your granddaughter’s first steps with the whole family?”

“In photo albums. You might not remember those, but they did us just fine.”

“Yeah, but it’s instantaneous conversation and information. Who wouldn’t want that?”

“Maybe instantaneous conversation is the problem. We aren’t making enough time to stop and really think about what we’re saying to each other.”

“Mm.” You let the conversation naturally taper before following Senior to his golf cart. The rolling hills provided enough scenery to keep you interested while you sorted the words in your head.

“I think we may have started off on the wrong foot.” You spoke once the cart came to a full stop. Senior trailed behind in silence, gathering a new club while watching you examine the other golfers in the area.

“You’re rather observant.”

You chuckled and plucked a club from your bag. “I’ve been told. Yahya calls me Eagle Eye when I catch something he’s already talked about ten minutes ago.”

“It’s what his Big Mama used to call his Pop-Pop for the same thing. That man was notoriously late to the punchline.” The nostalgia in Yahya I’s voice caught you off guard though he didn’t see your minor fumble. Something in his retelling appealed to your sense of compassion in a way that you considered long gone when it came to him.

“Let’s not beat around the bush. You have an issue with my presence that we should discuss. Because I can assure you, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Bold,” Senior responded with a sarcastic laugh. He gestured to nothing in particular as you squared up to take a swing and nodded. “And direct. Continue.”

You took a moment to hit a line drive toward the green in the distance, using the movement as an outlet for the unexpected nerves churning your stomach. Both of you quietly watch the golf ball for its final resting place before you turned to speak.

“You are extremely hard to please, and it is literally ruining your family. Yahya does everything in his power, and, excuse my French, you don’t seem to give a fuck. Why is that?”

“What makes you think that my love isn’t what makes me push him to be the best that he can? It may not be the fluff and frills you’re used to in your home, but it’s what he needs to get him to his potential.”

“Did it help you?”

Senior mistakenly allowed a quick moment of confusion to take over his features. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You tell me. When’s the last time you enjoyed a laugh with your family or felt like you could just...be? You’re carrying a weight that is crushing the people around you, and you don’t even see it.”

“You don’t…” Senior caught his words and bottled them behind his lips. He took a deep breath as he approached his golf ball and took a half-hearted swing. Noticing his misstep, he shook his head. “I’m from Baton Rouge, Louisiana. My father, Yahya’s Pop-Pop, moved my mother and me to a shotgun shack to find work when things weren’t quite shaking out back home. He was in and out of trouble and such. Couldn’t get right, but he had a natural knack for building and design.”

A nearby group of golfers erupted into laughter, helping to break up some tension.

“So architecture’s been in the family for a while,” you asked. Yahya I curled the corner of his lips into a far-off smile.

“A long, long time. It got us out of that shack when my siblings came along and into a house with our own rooms and a backyard. But, my father was a hard man. Hard to please, you know,” he laughed, making a reference to your earlier words. “He wanted the best from me, and he made damn sure he got it. I needed that to get my head out of the clouds.”

“You also needed some reassurance.”

“Perhaps. But, what’s done is done. I look at what I’ve built with no complaints, especially when it comes to my boys. I couldn’t be more proud of the men they’ve become.”

Senior’s proud smile almost looked foreign on his face. You’d never seen more than an indifferent expression or the slight twinge of anger smoldering behind his eyes.

Leaning on your club, you kept your eyes forward to gaze out over the course.

“Yahya would love to hear that. I don’t know if you know this, but he is desperately searching for your approval. There is not enough praise from me or anyone else that could replace knowing that you’re proud of him. Yet, as much as he would like to tell you these things himself, he’s afraid that you’ll think less of him for being vulnerable.”

“I could never think less of the boy. Tough love is still love.”

“Maybe for you,” you added, shrugging. “But, what good is continuing this cycle if it’s hurting the children you claim to love and the grandchildren after them?”

Senior dropped his head in thought before looking up with an unreadable expression. “Deuce will be fine. He’s all the best parts of his mother. I...I’m confident he’ll figure out fatherhood on his own despite my shortcomings. We raised him well.”

“Forgive me if I’m overstepping -”

“That has never stopped you before, young lady.” His light-hearted chuckle invited you to follow suit.

“Fair point,” you laughed. “So, let me cut to the chase. Allowing Yahya to just ‘figure things out’ is a passive existence. Yahya says you’re constantly reminding him to take things into his own hands. Sounds like you should take your own advice. Be the parts of your father that you needed at 33.”

Instead of acknowledging your advice, Senior twirled his club in his hand on the way to the golf cart. He maintained an impenetrable poker face that even the most skilled readers couldn’t interpret. You silently hoped that at least some of your words had made it through his thick skull, but you chose to let the discussion meet a natural end.

As he started the cart, Senior turned to you and smiled. “How the hell you learn to swing like that? I know it wasn’t in Anderson.”

“Hey, we play a little golf here and there!”

“Where? Out in the woods?”

“No, out in the Bayou like you did.”

A small smirk crept across your face as Yahya I chuckled at your joke. He sounded identical to Yahya, full of mirth and beautiful melodies.

“The ole Bayou,” he repeated in a thick accent. “You ain’t seen a place more beautiful in your life.”

“Maybe Yahya and I could visit one day.”

He quickly looked over and shrugged. “Maybe. For now, you focus on defending this lead. I think I’m getting back into my rhythm.”

Senior couldn’t make a convincing comeback, but he did show glimpses of a softer, more personable disposition. He cracked jokes on occasion and asked questions that turned the conversation from a therapy session to banter between associates. Your mind traveled to the possibility of civil family dinners or vacations during the ride home. Though it seemed silly to create imaginary scenarios after one conversation, you couldn’t help the urge to see a better future.

Your happiness helped you float into your shared apartment, making Yahya smile when he caught a glimpse of your wide grin and short skirt.

“Damn, girl,” he hollered from the couch with Leche cradled in his arms. “If Tiger was out there cheeked up like that, I might’ve paid a little more attention to the golf network.”

“Oh, really?”

Your raised eyebrow made Yahya kiss his teeth once he caught on to the joke. “You know what I meant. Where you been anyway?”

“Oh, I was just out doing a little golfing...with your dad.”

“Right. That was today, huh?”

Even Yahya’s best attempt at feigning interest, his question came out in a flat drone typically used on annoying coworkers. You dropped your purse and keys against a nearby barstool on the way to his spot on the couch.

“It was today. I think we had a good time,” you answered as you slid your arms around his neck from behind, placing a gentle kiss behind his ear. “He didn’t yell at me.”

“You must’ve kissed his ass the entire time.”

“No. We talked about how great I am at golf. I mean, I kicked his ass.”

“Good on you, baby girl. Bring honor to our house.” In a surprise maneuver, Yahya pulled you over the couch and into the space beside him. “Is that all?”

Silence blanketed the room, allowing the college basketball game in the background to have center stage. You considered your options carefully, weighing the pros of a potential argument against a peaceful Saturday indoors. Yahya turned his attention back to the television as he waited for a response.

“Did you hear me, baby? He didn’t say anything rude to you, did he?”

“No!” You blurted. Taking a deep breath, you slowly slid the remote off the coffee table and pressed the power button. Yahya blinked twice at his reflection on the black television screen before turning to you for answers. Your fingers danced across his thighs to interlock with his long digits.

“I think...I think we need to have a real talk about your dad.”

----

A/N: I hope this is better late than never. Only two more chapters left! Really striving to have those to y’all by the end of the month.

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