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jazzthatonewriterchick · 10 months

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Here, Kitty, Kitty (18+ Fic)

Pairing: Aizawa x Black!Catgirl!Reader

Synopsis: In which you find yourself in the weirdest predicament after you’re scooped up and taken to a cat cafe after you decide to take the streets to fight some crime, and you’re adopted by your very anti-social and hot coworker Aizawa aka Eraserhead.

Story Warnings: Smutty smut, 18+ (MINORS GET AWAY), Swearing, Adult!Reader, Ear and Tail Stroking, Light Degradation, Spanking, Exhibitionism, Multiple Positions, Creampie, Unprotected PIV Sex, Facial, Scent Play, Collaring, Deepthroat, Cunnlingus, Begging, Edgeplay, Power Play, Rope Play/Shibari, Master Kink, Some Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Some Action

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters mentioned in this fic. However, as this is my writing, I do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other sites that are not from my own accounts. Thank you!

Writer’s Note: I decided to drop the last five chapters to this story at once cuz I'll be EXTREMELY busy with my summer job & I'm also working on a new fic. Thank you all so, so, soooo much for the love on this story! I had so much fun writing it. I'll be writing some brand new shit soon! Stay safe! -Jazz

Read on AO3 here!

Other Chapters: One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty. Twenty-One. Twenty-Two. Twenty-Three. Twenty-Four. Twenty-Five.

*************

TWENTY-THREE.

A week after being saved by you from drowning and possibly losing a limb, Aizawa’s dorm room is finally ready to be moved into again and he sees you everywhere: on the news; in the papers; on Twitter.

And he fucking hates it.

It’s bad enough you’ve been all up in his mind, but now he has to see you in your hot-ass Night Claw outfit on every magazine and newspaper now? Not to mention the viral videos. You were kicking Aqua Master’s ass in that pencil skirt and blouse. Though you look good and you certainly deserve your fame, he can’t help but also be extremely worried about how your life could go from here.

Since last Friday’s mission with the Aqua Master, he hasn’t heard anything negative from Principal Nezu, the HPSC, or the police chief whom he was sure would slap some cuffs on you on Friday afternoon. Aizawa would’ve damn well bailed you out himself if not raised hell to the police department if that shit happened. He hasn’t heard much from Endeavor’s hot-headed ass either, thank God. The man knows what’s good for him. Aizawa thought he had lost his mind talking to you in that manner.

To say he wasn’t ready to teach Endeavor a lesson right there in front of everyone is an understatement, but Aizawa knew better. He didn't want his little Eri to see Daddy fucking up another pro on TV.

All he can hope is that things go well for you here. He knows for a fact that the UA kids are talking as are the streets of Musutafu about the sexy, skilled cat girl hero who singlehandedly took down a villain and saved dozens of lives, including Eraserhead’s. Though you’re absolutely insane, he has the utmost respect for you for kicking ass without your disguise, knowing fully well you’d be plastered all over Japan and possibly the world as a new hero stepping onto the scene. He just hopes the HPSC doesn't try to scoop you up. He’ll fight to keep that at bay, but if it happens, it’s ultimately your decision.

These thoughts have been bugging Aizawa all week, so on a beautiful Saturday morning, he decides to take Eri to the park. There aren’t many people here yet, so he lets Eri have free range of the playground area. “Daddy, can I go on the swing?” she asks, eagerly looking up at him.

He smiles, nodding. “Go have at it, but be careful and try not to get your clothes too dirty.” As she skips away in her baby blue dress, he takes a seat on a nearby bench to watch her. The air is clean, the breeze is cool, and the sun is warm on his face.

Definitely some good weather to clear his head and figure out this you problem. He hasn’t spoken to you since last Friday when you saved his life. He wants to be angry at you for being so reckless like that, but his respect and adoration for your decision overpowers that.

“Dammit,” he sighs, running a frustrated hand down his face. Why do you have to be so stubborn?

“I knew I recognized that voice!” a familiar, cheery voice exclaims from beside him. “I’m not used to seeing you out and about, Aizawa.”

Aizawa turns, finding a small mouse wearing a kind smile and a red tracksuit with a UA sweatband around his forehead. “Principal Nezu,” he says. “You’re out here? Aren’t you afraid of the gettin’ swiped up by a dog or something?”

Nezu titters to himself, waving his paw. “Oh, no,” he laughs. “That’s what I’ve got this for.” He slides something out of the tiny fanny pack wrapped around his waist, revealing it to be an animal repellent. “But don’t worry; it doesn’t hurt ‘em. Just gives off a very unpleasant smell.”

Aizawa nods, struggling not to laugh at the idea of his boss carrying that around. Nezu hops up next to him, already knowing Aizawa won’t mind his company. “I see you’ve caught wind of the new hero that hit the streets too, huh?” he chuckles. “I will admit, Ms. L/N looked incredible in that news clip the way she handled herself. I’m shocked she never decided to be a pro hero.”

A record scratches in Aizawa’s head as he turns to the mouse. “Wait,” he says, furrowing his brows at Nezu. “You know?”

“Well, of course, I do!” Nezu laughs as if it should’ve been obvious. “I always have! I will admit that I was worried about how it would affect the other staff and students here or how it could potentially affect her job, but Y/N has never disappointed me on that front. She knows how important it is to be an outlet for the kids.” He looks at Aizawa, seriousness in his eyes. “Besides, after she saved your life when Toyoma attacked you, I could never go and fire her. She has a pure heart.”

Aizawa sighs, his muscles relaxing. He has never felt so relieved. This means your job is safe! Nezu is still giving him that serious look though which puts him slightly on edge. “I am sorry for what happened that night, Shouta,” he solemnly says. “To you and Eri. I’m just glad your dorm is ready to live in again.” He turns to Eri still on the swings, giggling happily. The two wave at each other, filling Aizawa with joy.

“So am I,” the pro sighs, relieved. “And you have nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad I’m here and breathing.” Nezu smiles fondly, patting Aizawa on the arm. “That’s the right attitude.”

Silence then descends on them, though not awkwardly. It is peaceful, but guilt eats Aizawa up with every second they sit in silence. He has to tell him the truth.

“I have something to tell you,” he sighs, the guilt winning him over. Nezu turns to him expectantly and he swallows the lump in his throat before continuing. “A couple months ago, I adopted a cat for Eri to keep her company and help her make her feel more like a kid. Unfortunately, that fell through, but I’m sorry I went against your rules. I just wanted to give Eri as much happiness as I could when I’m not able to be with her.”

Nezu says nothing for a while, just blankly staring up at Aizawa. He stares down at his boss, wondering what he’s thinking. Is he going to be fired right here, right now? Will he be banned from the dorms? Who will Eri live with then? “Shouta, I already knew about the cat,” Nezu matter-o-factly says.

Aizawa’s eyes widen, shocked. ”You think cameras don't exist in the faculty dorms? I’ve seen that cat walk in and out of that building time and time again!” Nezu just laughs like this is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “But since she never gave me or anyone else trouble, I never bothered. Plus, I could see how happy she made you and Eri since you adopted her. It's always nice to see a smile on your face. You’ve always looked so down.”

Aizawa doesn’t know how to handle hearing that. So Nezu has worried about him too? What of everyone else? What of Eri? Had she noticed too? Maybe he needs to get better at hiding things. ‘Or maybe just express how you feel to the people you love, ass,’ he critically thinks. ‘No matter how embarrassing.’

“Pardon my saying,” Nezu continues, “but I feel as if that smile hasn’t always been from the cat though.” He stares at Aizawa, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “It’s from Y/N, isn’t it?” Aizawa’s flushed cheeks say everything he needs to know, and he chuckles to himself. “I could always see you two had a special relationship which I’m sure can be just as stronger now. It could just about be unbreakable with a little communication.”

Aizawa raises an eyebrow at his words. He can't help but feel like Nezu is saying them for a reason. Does he know you and him are on awkward terms right now? Does this mouse have eyes in the back of his head or something to know everything that happens in his school? Whatever it may be, it is good and critical advice. “So you really don’t mind pets?” he asks.

Nezu rubs his paw along his chin, thinking. “Well, I do have a condition for that,” he replies, making Aizawa’s heart leap. “If you are to have pets, you have to be sure they won’t eat me and you’ll have to carry me in your jumpsuit for the next five months…starting now.”

Aizawa rolls his eyes, but unzips the top half of his tracksuit anyway. Now he’ll be cleaning out mouse fur from his tracksuit and scarves for weeks. “Come on,” he sighs. Nezu happily laughs as he scurries across the bench and up onto Aizawa’s chest before burrowing himself under his tracksuit. When Aizawa zips it up, Nezu’s head pops out from under his scarves, peeking at the world.

“And thank you,” Aizawa softly says, smirking down at the little creature. Nezu smiles up at him fondly. “It’s my pleasure. Now let’s go to the swings!”

The rest of the afternoon is spent at the park, playing on the swings with Eri and Nezu and walking along the hiking trails to help Eri pick flowers. After dropping Nezu off at his office back at UA, Aizawa takes Eri back to their dorm. It feels so good to finally be back in the familiar halls of the faculty dorms after so long. Though the apartment Nezu rented for them was very cozy, Aizawa missed the cherry blossoms blooming outside his window and the homely feeling he got from his dorm room.

Eri must’ve missed it too from how she’s skipping down the hallway next to him, happy as a clam. “Daddy, are we still seeing the new Spider-verse movie tomorrow?” She asks, then gasps excitedly. “Do you think Y/N would wanna go with us? I think she’d really like it!” This isn’t the first time she has mentioned your name. She’s been doing so ever since Toyoma's attack, wondering if she can visit you at your office or your dorm.

And Aizawa always has the same answer: “I could ask her, pumpkin, but Y/N has been very busy lately. I don't think she’d–“

He suddenly pauses when they get to their door, noticing something there that is out of place. A little wicker basket with a soft, plush blanket on top sits in front of the door. “What the hell?” Aizawa whispers. He furrows his brows in confusion at the basket, holding Eri’s hand a little firmer now. It could just be fruits or chocolates, but if he knows anything, you can never be too careful when it comes to receiving unexpected gifts.

His defenses go up even more when the blanket begins to move. He swears his soul nearly leaves his body. “Daddy, look!” Eri gasps, pointing at the moving blanket. “It’s moving! I think there’s something in it.” She manages to escape Aizawa’s hold and runs over to the basket, kneeling beside it.

Anticipation for something horrible to under that blanket fills Aizawa’s gut as Eri pulls back the blanket.’It better not be no baby,’ hethinks. ‘I’ve already got one of those.’

But his mind isn’t even close to the truth. Settled within the blanket with a side of cat food, toys, and litter, is a little calico kitten with the pinkest nose and prettiest swirl pattern Aizawa has ever seen. Eri gasps, her eyes growing wide at the sight of the animal. “It’s a kitten!” she squeals. “She’s so, so cute! Look, she's got a scar just like you, Daddy!”

Aizawa looks closer at the cat, finding a tiny scar under her left eye the shape of an upside-down present moon. Speaking of her eyes, they are so, so big! He can practically see the entire forest in the beautiful green shade of them. “Yeah,” he agrees, reaching a finger out to her. She sniffs him once with her little pink nose before brushing her head against his finger. “Where’d she come from though?”

While Eri starts to gently pet her head, he searches for a card. There has to be something here to tell him where she came from. Luckily, he finds it. Taped to the bottom of the basket is a little white card scribbled in fast, pen-inked handwriting. He reads it over, his heart melting at the sweet words:

A furry cure for loneliness and a great addition to any family. Meet Nea (for Neapolitan, like the ice cream). Enjoy! Feel free to change her name. -Love.

A laugh bubbles from Aizawa’s chest once he finishes reading the card. Though they didn’t leave a name, he knows exactly who this precious gift is from and makes a mental note to thank them personally. After making a few calls first, of course. “Who is she from, Daddy?” Eri curiously asks, still petting the kitten.

Aizawa just smiles as he kneels down next to the basket and the excited, mewing kitten. “A very good friend of mine,” he answers before gently stroking the kitten’s head. “Nice to meet you, Nea.”

***********

“Anybody want another one?” Mic asks, already whipping up another delicious, pineapple, mint-flavored cocktail in Nemuri's dorm kitchen.

You sigh, pushing away the second cocktail you haven’t even finished yet. “Not unless you want my clothes off,” you joke, leaning your cheek on your fist. Mic pauses in his kitchenette, a wolfish smile curling onto his lips. “Well…”

As you laugh, Nemuri pegs a pillow at him from her spot next to you on the couch. “Mic!” she gasps. The pro catches the pillow in one hand as he lowers the ice shaker of his mixed concoction with the other.

“C’mon, I’m kidding! Look, I got a smile out of her!” He nods at your lips curled into a grin after your laughter dissipates. “You truly are a magician then, darling,” Nemuri hums, sipping on her drink.

You gape at your friends, slightly offended by their words. You haven’t exactly been the most chipper person in the world since your reveal last Friday, but you’re not walking around like the world is about to end either. “Hey, I smile,” you protest. “I’m just…thinking about things.”

Things like if you’re going to keep your job. Things like if the police chief will change his mind and charge you as a criminal. Things like if things will change for you for the worse. Even now, the halls of UA are talking. You get kids coming into your office just to gush about your moves, especially Izuku Midoriya. He’s even put you in his notebook, asking you all kinds of questions about your quirk and hero fit. “What does it look like?” he asked with stars in his eyes earlier on Monday. “You’re really, super flexible! Can you still move in it? Does it come with claws?”

Though it was adorable, you had to hustle him out of your room just to get a breather in. Even worse are the news people that seem to know everywhere you go now. Just yesterday, you were taking a jog in the park and you were accosted by a newsman and his camera crew, asking you about your day and if you’re a professional hero. You know that it’s only a matter of time until someone starts asking questions like, “Do you go to the bathroom in a litter box?”

To be honest, you don’t even know if you want to be a pro-hero. Though the idea of it is fantastical and alluring, that also comes with brutal training, fighting villains almost every day, and constant, unwanted attention. You don’t know if you could handle all of that, let alone the transition from being a nobody into a celebrity. The idea of it frightens you.

Mic shakes the ice shaker filled with the contents of his cocktail, definitely having the means of a bartender if he wasn’t a hero. “Like about how you kicked that villain’s ass last week and ate up the cameras in the process?” he chuckles. "I’m still thinking about that too. You were amazing!”

You smile despite your indifference. You don’t feel too amazing. “As nice as this of you to say, Mic, that doesn’t change the fact that I could possibly lose my job now that everyone knows who I am.” Though Nezu hasn’t visited your office lately, you still can't help but be fearful of the police storming into your office or dorm room at the dead of night one day.

Nemuri slings an arm around the back of the couch, her knees curled up under her sundress as she sips her drink. “Well, the chief didn’t take you in, so I’d think you’re in the clear.” You shake your head, getting yourself worked up as you think of all of the possible things that could go wrong. “For now!” you argue. “Now that the chief has officially met me, I doubt he’s just gonna let me go free with all the buzz on me now. I still don’t have a license or–“

There is a sudden loud knock at the door, making you and Nemuri jump. “Who the hell is that?” Mic asks, scowling at Nemuri’s door. You go to get up, but he beats you to it, already making wide strides toward the door on his long legs. Anxiety shoots into your body, making your heart pound in your chest. Nemuri puts a hand on your knee and you realize it’s to stop it from bouncing. “Yes?” he firmly calls.

“Amazon package,” a very gruff, deep, and familiar voice answers. A smile curls onto Mic’s lips and he winks at you before opening the door.

You nearly spill your drink at how fast you get up from the couch. Aizawa stands there in the tightest shirt you’ve ever seen on a man and jeans, his black locks calling carelessly down his shoulders. It’s so harrowing to see him there after not seeing much since last Friday. “Shouta?” you softly gasp. “What are you here?”

He doesn’t say a single word as he comes into Nemuri’s dorm and storms right over to you in four, long strides. You can’t do anything but gasp as his large hands cup your face and he smashes his lips against yours in a hot, toe-curling kiss. Your eyes close instinctively, your senses overtaken by the softness of his lips, the mint on his tongue, and the scent of his cologne. The hairs on the back of your neck and the fur on your tail stand on end, excited by the stimulation.

“Oh, my!” Nemrui gasps from the couch in delighted shock. Knowing Mic, he’s probably just grinning at you two, knowing full well this was going to happen. That’s why he opened the door. Finally, Aizawa pulls away from your mouth, his charcoal eyes soft yet intense. “That was for your sweet ass apology,” he breathlessly explains.

From the door, Mic clears his throat. “U-Uh we should give them privacy,” he says, already heading for the balcony. “Come on now, Nemuri. Give ‘em some room.” Though she huffs in protest, Nemuri gathers her drink and meets Mic out on her balcony, shutting the door behind them.

Your dizzy mind manages to piece together Aizawa’s cryptic words and your ears perk up excitedly. “So you got your present?” you ask with a beaming smile. Aizawa returns your smile, looking unbelievably more beautiful with it. “Eri was so excited when she saw her all wrapped up at our door, I had to get Mirio to come over to calm her ass down. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”

“Yes, I did,” you pointedly argue. “I’ve been lying to you and her for so long.” You plant your hands on his broad shoulders, breathing in his scent. God, you’ve missed his smell. “Neither one of you deserved to be deceived like that,” you mutter, staring down at your shoes, ashamed of yourself and your decisions.

“I know why you did it though,” Aizawa replies, holding you by your waist. “You felt if you didn’t, you’d be taking away the happiness you thought you gave us while pretending to be our pet. But you’re totally wrong about that, Y/N.” He tilts your chin up towards his face with his thumb, making you look into his eyes that sparkle with adoration. “It’s you who makes us happy. You make me happy.”

You swear you could touch the moon now. You’re just about bursting with joy as you wrap your arms around him, pressing your face into his chest. “You make me happy too,” you softly giggle. Aizawa returns your embrace, his arms wrapped securely around your small frame. With the wall between you now broken, you feel like anything is possible now.

“So how’d things go once I left on Friday?” you curiously ask. “Did Endeavor pop a gasket?” Aizawa smirks down at you. “Several,” he replies, making you laugh. “Oh, and Hawks told me to pass you his number since you told him we’re friends. I threatened to skin him like a turkey if he tried it.”

You let out another belly laugh, imagining Aizawa giving Hawks one of his death stares. But the happiness you feel doesn’t last long when you remember one important part to that day. “What about the police chief?” you nervously ask. “And Principal Nezu?”

Aizawa’s smile doesn’t falter. “Nezu already knew you were Night Claw.” You blink up at him, baffled. “W-What?” you stutter, wondering how in the hell your boss is this smart, or if you’re just that stupid. “Why didn’t he say anything?”

Aizawa presses a hand to your cheek, his thumb stroking the corner of your lip and making your tail embarrassingly quiver. “Because he never had a reason to unless you were a threat to UA, which you aren’t. You’re a big asset here according to him. Plus, even if he did wanna kick you out, I’d vouch for you. It’s what I owe to you since you’ve saved my life many times.”

You smile, grateful for him having your back. “As for the police chief, we had a chat earlier and he agreed to let you off the hook despite the buzz. The HPSC is on my ass about wanting you to join them too.”

You sigh, feeling relief overflow you like a warm wave. You can’t believe your luck! Is God or the universe throwing you a bone? “But,” Aizawa continues, making you stop short and not celebrate so quickly, “if you wanna continue fighting as Night Claw, you’ll have to take a few heroes courses and get your license. Lucky for you, there’s an adult six-month program that UA offers to staff for free here. If you take it, you’ll learn everything you need to know about being a pro, if you want that.”

You laugh softly to yourself, not believing your luck. This is just too much. “I don’t know what to say,” you confess, grasping Aizawa’s shoulders. “It’s almost like I’m dreaming.” A secretive smile crosses his plump lips, a hidden message in his dark eyes. “Wanna check?” he murmurs.

Did you ever! He let you make the first move this time, his lips ready and willing when you press your mouth against his in another kiss. You softly moan at the taste of him, forgetting how amazing it feels to be kissing him. He holds you closer as your lips move against each other, his big, calloused hands moving to cup your ass while your arms loop around his neck. You want him as close as he could possibly get after so many days without him. When he suddenly pulls away, you whine in protest, earning a throaty chuckle. “I almost neglected to tell you that I’m a professor for the adult pro-hero program,” he huskily informs you. “I teach training.”

At his heated stare, a warmth begins to pool between your inner thighs that you have missed. You haven’t gotten this horny in weeks. “Oh?” you purr, playfully smiling up at him. “What kind of physical activities do you specialize in?”

Your head leans to the side as he swoops in, devouring your neck and bathing it in kisses that have your eyes fluttering closed. “Hand-to-hand combat,” he murmurs against your skin, "fighting with quirks, stuff along those lines.” One of his hands trails down farther while one strays gripping your ass, making your clit jump excitedly. “But with you, I believe you could use additional…” His fingers gently brush your trail, earning a soft moan from deep within you. “Hands-on training,” he purrs in your ear.

God, yes. You don’t care what the fuck he wanted to do, as long as he ends up on top of you. “Can we start now?” you mewl pathetically, moving away to stare at him pleadingly.

Though he has the same lust in his eyes, he has way more self-control than you, obviously. “Not that I don’t mind somethin’ kinky now and again,” he chuckles, “but would you rather have an audience for that?”

His eyes trail over your shoulder and you turn, finding Mic and Nemuri’s heads peeking from behind the balcony door. You put your hands on your hips, staring at them pointedly as if you were a Black mom staring at her badass kids. Mic immediately breaks and points at Nemuri, terrified. “She made me do it!” he cries.

Nemuri’s eyes flick between yours and Aizawa’s, her face beat red. “U-Uh…don’t mind us!” she hurriedly exclaims, shoving Mic back outside. “Go on and finish chatting!” She then disappears back onto the balcony and shuts the door though you can hear her yelling at Mic about being a snitch.

You and Aizawa look at each other once and immediately burst into laughter. It feels good to laugh with him. To talk to him. The feeling you get being with him is unlike any other you’ve felt. It feels like being wrapped in the warmest, softest blanket you’ve ever had the pleasure of touching. When your laughter finally dies down, Aizawa speaks once more. “I actually also came over to ask if you wanted to join Eri and me for dinner later.”

Your heart leaps at the invitation, already on the cusp of saying yes despite Aizawa still speaking. We’re having pizza…nothin’ homemade though. And watching Into the Spider-verse ‘cause Eri is hellbent on seeing the sequel tomorrow.” He looks down at the floor, bashful all of a sudden. “She also asked if you wanted to go too, but I told her to may be busy, s-so–”

You stop him with a kiss, hoping he’ll get the message through your action: I’ll go anywhere you go.

But instead of saying that, you pull away and give him a smile. “I’d love to,” you whisper.

#shouta aizawa #shoutaaa #smutty smut #my fic shit #my works #here kitty kitty #bnha smut #shouta aizawa x black!reader #black coded reader #black fanfic writer #black writers #aizawa x black!reader

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bisluthq · 2 years

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I am sorry but no, I am not going to walk on eggshells because people get offended about literally anything. I was talking about some comments Nat makes about Jack and said that I find it weird that she would praise Joe so much but then make comments that make it sound like Jack isn’t a good actor when both are pretty much the same, and in my opinion Joe is even a bit worse. Saying that two actors are just as good with one being a bit better, isn’t hate. Do you genuinely think I made up everything I wrote just so I could say Joe is a worse actor and start drama? Also, Joe didn’t even get dragged, Jack and his fans did? I am actually so tired of this weird dynamic that’s happening here where you guys make off comments about Jack and Josh being worse than Joe while disguising it as your opinion (every time you call them vanilla in bed because to you it means boring) but saying that Joe is a good actor but to me Jack is slightly better makes me the devil. It’s so weird because the only reason you even care about Joe is because Taylor said so. You probably haven’t even seen him or Jack in much and any comment you make about their acting is based on the fact that Joe is dating Taylor so he must be perfect. I know Joe has actual fans but I honestly don’t believe they’re the ones getting offended over these things.

We should be able to give opinions like that or play The Game or do dick analysis without starting drama. The problem isn’t the person who says Josh has a big dick, it’s the people who get offended by it. And it all goes back to Taylor cupcakes. I am not going to walk on eggshells more than I already am (I had to say I am not an anti when I said Jack was better in my opinion) because you guys decided to crawl up Taylor’s asshole and are irrational about everything that’s said here

Look, that wasn’t Karlie anon’s point at all.

She wants to be able to have that interaction yesterday about “Josh my computer is broken” without people losing their shit or be able to talk about cute outfits or whatever. So like you’re on the same team. That said, there are core truths here I vibe with, just not in answer to Karlie anon who wants the same exact things as you lol.

I mean the point is I think everyone except for cunty Taylor cupcakes - I have to make that distinction because it’s like some cupcakes specifically say “I’m so sorry I know this is a cupcake take” and like I know they’re self aware but like scared of me also lol and I’m sorry like if I make them feel shit for liking their dumb thing - at times feels this eggshell thing and it’s not fair to like… any of us including them because they’re not having fun lol I can’t imagine.

We should all be allowed to like what we like, it’s my blog so ultimately I get to decide what to talk about (with your help ofc), it is my opinion here because it’s my blog but my opinion is not Gd’s like you can formulate your own and mine will change idk dude like everyone just needs to not be such a big cunt and that’s mostly to the cunty cupcakes 🤷🏻‍♀️

Again it bugs me that I have to clarify any joke twenty five times lest half of Swiftdom starts discussing me in really mean, personal and unfair ways. I’d also like to point out I’ve never once gotten personal about anyone ever off anon except to be kind and nice and except where it’s TTB who is a menace. It’d be incredible if that same *basic courtesy* could be applied to me tbh but here we are.

But also lately the vibes have mostly been good so it’s more of a “going forward” and a reminder to people who do shit stir or get entitled that it’s not fair.

#nat talks bisluthq

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

Text

Merlin accidentally becomes Legolas/Katniss/Merida… you know the type;

He may be shitty at sword fighting, but Merlin begins to use a traditional bow and arrow and… actually becomes very good at it??

I imagine the first time he does it, it’s a complete fluke.

The five knights, The King, and Merlin are on their way back from yet another (frankly, ridiculous) quest.

They have been, of course, ambushed by a group of bandits, twenty to their six (six plus Merlin, though no one bar Lancelot knows about his magic, so he isn’t counted as a fighter). Though the knights outweigh them in skill, their sheer numbers makes it a… challenging, fight (meaning that they are winning, but far too slowly for their liking, and no one wants to admit it).

Now normally, Merlin hides behind a tree or in a ditch, and performs his spells quietly without being noticed, slowly helping and speeding up the fight. Except this time, the Gang was in the middle of a barren, open field, the bandits had disguised themselves with magic until the moment they attacked, and Merlin was right in the middle of all the action.

Everyone worried for his safety. There was nowhere for him to hide here, so they had to keep an eye on him, lest he get hurt (and Arthur sulked, or kicked off, depending on how badly he was hurt).

With nowhere to hide (and no branches to drop, or roots to trip people with), and one of the knights throwing a glance his way every ten seconds, he couldn’t use his magic.

He was currently on his hands and knees, Leon directly in front of him, Percival to his left, holding off four attackers between them (Merlin would marvel at how impressive that was if he weren’t otherwise preoccupied).

He keeps trying to get to Arthur, crawling between legs and over the groaning, injured bodies of bandits (he made a point to land sharp elbows and harsh knees into the more… sensitive areas), but with everyone moving around so rapidly, and the vicious swinging of swords and axes and maces inches above his head, he kept getting side-tracked and blocked and almost knocked out.

With a frustrated huff, he notices yet another bandit rounding on The King. Said huff turns into a pained gasp when he realises that Arthur hasn’t seen him yet.

The bandit raises his weapon in the air, seconds from bringing it down on Arthur’s back, but Leon is right there, and there are no branches to drop on him, and Arthur still hasn’t noticed!

The noise is too loud, grunts and yells and clashes of metal drowning out any sort of warning yell that Merlin could throw Arthur’s way, and he scrabbles around on the floor desperately; hands raking through sharp grass and over bloodied bodies as he stares in horror at the triumphant smirk on the future-King-killer’s face.

Time seems to slow (no magic, just adrenaline) as Merlin’s hands find purchase on a smooth, curved piece of wood. He picks it up without looking, at first intending to throw whatever it is as hard as he can in the bandits direction, before something (magic, instincts, periphery vision, who knows) tells him to look down.

He obeys, and widens his eyes as he sees the longbow gripped tightly in his right hand, and a stray arrow on the floor next to his left.

Merlin is no expert, only having actually hunted once or twice back home in Ealdor, when he was younger, but that was just enough knowledge for him to know roughly how to notch the arrow and fire. He pulls the two up quickly, a plan formulating in his head:

Step 1) Notch arrow.

Step 2) Close eyes.

Step 3) Magic? Hope?

Step 4) Come up with some sort of lie that explains how he managed to make the shot from sixty yards away, through a crowd.

Thankfully, it would appear that Merlin’s bad luck has given him a rest today; the first three steps go off without a hitch (the fourth will come a little later, when the battle is over), but he doesn’t have time to congratulate himself before he’s thrown into the fray, the bandits now obviously seeing him as some sort of threat.

Arthur finally defeats his own attackers, looking behind him in shock to see his unknown enemy lying on the floor, gurgling up blood and grasping weakly at the arrow through his neck. His head whips to the side, trying to find whoever had made the shot; his bewildered gaze meets Merlin’s for only a second before the servant is dragged to his feet, and promptly punched in the face.

He stumbles back and can just about hear Leon yell something from beside him but he pays it no mind, righting his balance once again and swinging his arm back, before bringing it down harshly on his newest attackers head. The resounding crack echoes over the field as the wood of the longbow splits in two on the bandit’s skull, and he drops like a sack of potatoes.

The fight doesn’t last much longer, each knight taking advantage of their enemies' fatigue, and Merlin using his now broken longbow to whack them in the shins or trip them up when they weren’t paying attention.

He was sad to see it broken, but two of his closest friends literally owned a blacksmith's, and he had easy access to the Castle’s armoury; he could get a hold of another one easily enough, as long as he survived the journey back home.

The battle finally came to a close. Everyone was exhausted, and each of them was sporting more than one hefty bruise, but they were all alive and there were no serious injuries, so they could be grateful for that. After Arthur had counted his men, and generally taken stock of things, he traipsed tiredly over to Merlin, who had abandoned his broken bow in favour of cleaning a still weeping cut on Elyan’s temple.

“Didn’t know you had it in you, Merlin.”

The servant ignores him at first, biting his lip in concentration as he carefully wipes the grime away from the wound. It was small, so an infection wouldn’t be too worrying, but it wouldn’t be comfortable and would make the scarring worse, so best to avoid it if at all possible. He hums in satisfaction as he leans back on his heels, Elyan gives him a grateful smile, and Merlin finally throws a glance Arthur’s way, before focusing back on threading the needle in his hands; it would only need two or three stitches, thankfully:

“Hmm. I'm not fond of hunting, but we had to for food back in Ealdor. Except we didn’t have fancy crossbows or hunting dogs, so we had to make do with hand-whittled longbows.”

Arthur nods, frowning slightly:

“Still, if I’d known you were that good, I would’ve demanded you had a bow of your own; that way us lot wouldn’t have to spend so much time making sure you don’t get yourself killed.”

Merlin smirked and quirked an eyebrow, but doesn’t look away from Elyan’s stitches, whispering an apology at the man’s wince before he speaks slowly, concentrating:

“Careful Sire, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Elyan snorts out a laugh, but Merlin tuts and lightly slaps his leg disapprovingly, and he stills again. Arthur rolls his eyes with a huff:

“As if. Hurry up, I want to get moving as soon as possible.”

Arthur wasn’t the only one that noticed Merlin’s outstanding shot, and over the course of the next few day’s journey home, he received a multitude of compliments from the other knights.

Including an hour long excited infodump about the history and use of longbows from Leon, which Merlin eagerly hung onto every word of, a fond smile on his face (Leon was a noble, and had it practically beaten into him to not ramble, so Merlin always did his best not to discourage the man. That, and the fact that it was actually very interesting, and useful, if he were to keep up this charade that he was an expert marksman).

When Merlin finally had a moment alone with Lancelot, a few days after they had gotten back, he burst:

“Please please tell me you know how to use a longbow??”

Lancelot raises his eyebrow from where he was sat on the bed in Merlin’s room. Merlin was staring at him with unconcealed desperation, and the knight chuckled as he answered:

“Why? It’s not like you need any more training, that was a cracking shot.”

Merlin huffed loudly, running his hands through his hair as he looked back at the knight:

“I used magic!! I closed my eyes so no one would see and I guided the arrow with magic! Now everyone thinks I’m some master marksman! This is bad. What if next time I can’t use magic, or what if someone notices that I have my eyes closed when I fire?”

Lancelot clamps a hand over his mouth in a poor attempt to stop himself from giggling, but he gives up quickly, bursting into laughter at the younger man’s panic. Said younger man fumes, sputtering as he picks up one of the knight’s discarded boots and throws it at him:

“It’s not funny, Lance! I’m being serious, this is an actual issue!”

Lancelot calms himself, rubbing the mirth from his eyes as he takes a deep breath:

“Ok ok, sorry. Yes, I can teach you to use a longbow properly. Have you ever actually used one before, or was the hunting thing a cover?”

The red fades from Merlin’s face slightly as he realises the other man is intending to help him, his panic lessening:

“Sort of. Yeah, I went hunting with a bow a couple times, but not enough to be that good at it.”

Lancelot sighs fondly and nods his head:

“Well, that’s a start at least. Come on, I’ve not got patrol until after dinner, and Arthur thinks you’re busy helping Gaius, so we’ve got a few hours.”

So I imagine that’s how it goes for a while.

After their last big adventure, Arthur was reluctant to head out as a group again, wanting to give everyone time to recuperate and get back into the swing of things.

Merlin’s skills with a bow were bought up constantly by everyone, news had even reached Gwen (who gave him a proud smile and a cute little dance to congratulate him) and Gaius (who raised an eyebrow, and had much better skill than Lancelot at holding in his laughter).

Gwaine, Elyan, and even Percival were desperate to set up targets and watch him shoot shit (their words), Leon wanted to talk about the specifics of technique and crafting, and Arthur... well. Arthur sounded like he was taking the piss, but there was something else in his tone that Merlin couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Affection? Pride?

Probably not, probably jealousy and annoyance that Merlin is so effortlessly good at something that Arthur himself was average at at best.

Merlin manages to avoid it for a while, showing his “skills” off, but he and Lancelot are running out of excuses, and Arthur is starting to accuse him of being a fake who got lucky. Normally, things like that didn’t bother Merlin, and technically Arthur wasn’t wrong... he had got lucky, and cheated with magic, but that wasn’t the point. It was nice for Merlin, to be good at something, really good.

He was good at plenty of other things. Magic for starters, though not even Lancelot knew the full extent of his power in that area. But he cooked well (shown by the fact that the knights always scoffed the lot), he was a good physician (shown by the fact that the knights trusted him just as much as Gaius when it came to treating injuries and sickness), and he was a BRILLIANT servant, if he did say so himself.

But he never got any actual praise for that. Merlin hated to think badly of the knights, his friends, but they only complained when Merlin wasn’t there, never praised him when he was. Well, apart from Lancelot. And that had just started a bunch of rumours that they were... uh... boinking.

(False. Anyone with more than two braincells could see that Sir Lancelot was head over heals in love with the newly-promoted Housekeeper, Guinevere, and that The King’s Manservant had an affinity for certain a blond prat-King.)

ANYWAY

It was nice for Merlin to have a skill that others thought worth complimenting, and with Lancelot monitoring his practice sessions, correcting any mistakes and offering congratulations whenever he did well, he hoped it wouldn’t be too long before he no longer had to come up with excuses.

Luckily, Merlin picked it up very quickly.

Despite being clumsy by nature (though Lancelot is starting to suspect more and more that it’s all for show), the dark haired servant can consistently hit bullseyes from fifty yards within a month. The further away from the target he got, the less astounding his aim was, but that was to be expected, and another month later he could successfully hit a moving target from seventy feet.

A training session, around three months after he started properly practicing, he finally “gave in” to Gwaine’s begging. Lancelot helped him set up a bunch of targets, and fetched a bag of apples to throw.

Merlin put on quite the show, grinning at the uproarious applause he got from the knights when he hit every single bullseye, and every single thrown target. Thankfully the knowing, proud smiles between the servant and Sir Lancelot went unnoticed, and even Arthur gave him a clap on the back and an impressed nod.

The first time Merlin met the knights in the courtyard to find Leon holding a longbow and quiver of arrows out to him, he panicked slightly, but one reassuring smile from Lancelot boosted his confidence, and he took them with a quiet thank you.

(After the fifth time, Arthur huffed, and told him to just keep them. He was the only one that regularly signed them out of the armoury anyway, so it would just be easier if he just took possession of them.)

It settled everyone’s stomachs, knowing that not only did the group have a master marksmen, hiding in the trees and taking out enemies that they didn’t see coming, but that Merlin personally now had more than his frankly horrifying (or... horrifying as far as they were concerned) stealth skills to keep him safe.

And that (a master marksmen in the trees) is exactly what happened.

In the early days, it involved a lot of bruises; Merlin could fire well, but firing and balancing at the same time? Took some getting used to, and involved a lot of falling out of trees at inopportune times.

The knights, Gwaine and Arthur especially, laughed endlessly at that, but quickly stopped after a particularly tired and irate and bruised Merlin fired an arrow so close by Gwaine’s crotch, that it stuck his trousers fast into the tree just behind him.

At first, it was meant to be just as back-up; Merlin was no knight. He still refused to wear armour, and Arthur didn’t want his manservant to make himself a target... at least that was his excuse.

Really, it was because (as far as Arthur was aware) Merlin had never deliberately killed before. Even now, years into his Kingship, and even longer into his knighthood, Arthur hated killing; it made him sick, and took a lot of practice at compartmentalization before it no longer bothered him as much.

Merlin was his manservant, his (best) friend, the love of his life (secretly). He was not a warrior, he was not meant to kill, he was meant to be protected from that.

But alas, Merlin did not get the memo, and the first patrol he went on with his bow and quiver slung over his shoulder, he killed at least five bandits.

After the fight, it was Leon who approached him first, a concerned look on his face despite Merlin’s nonchalant expression as he checked over the string for wear and tear:

“Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You got a few good shots in there, you’re not feeling sick?”

Merlin looked up at the hand on his shoulder and the soft words, a confused look on his face:

“Why would being good make me feel sick?”

Leon tilts his head in sympathy, which just makes Merlin even more confused:

“The man you killed the other month was spur of the moment, protecting your King. But you... you killed a fair few men today, Merlin. I know that can be incredibly difficult at first, I just wanted to check in.”

The others had finally walked over to join them; Percival, Elyan, Gwaine, and Arthur looking equally concerned, whilst Lancelot hid his proud smile. Merlin just raised an eyebrow at them:

“You seem to be under the impression that I’ve never killed anyone before?”

Everyone (bar Lancelot) looks taken aback at that, and Arthur frowns whilst Leon drops his hand in shock. The King speaks slowly:

“Merlin, are you telling us you’ve killed people before?”

The manservant clenches his jaw at that and looks back down at his bow, resuming his checking of the string and its knots. He speaks lowly, and the knights can tell it’s not a topic he’s fond of:

“Hmm. It’s a tough world, Sire. I’ve done what I had to, to keep myself and the people I care about safe.”

At his dark reply, conversation stopped, and didn’t resume for the rest of the day as everyone contemplated Merlin’s words.

That is, until he was the first one to successfully catch dinner later that evening. At which he got an incredulous look from Arthur when he made it back to camp with his half of the patrol:

“I thought you despised hunting??”

Merlin didn’t look up from the hares he was skinning, and the rest of the knights tuned in, curious:

“No. I hate hunting for sport; it shows hubris and cruelty. Hunting for food is not only necessary and natural, but humbling, if you do it right and honour every part of the creature.”

Arthur, ever the eloquent one, stared at him blankly, and said, rather dumbly:

“...What?”

Merlin huffed, finally looking up:

“Going after helpless animals on horseback with crossbows and hunting dogs is like giving yourself a huge pat on the back for winning a tournament against an unarmoured, unarmed, unconscious opponent, and then calling yourself strong and brave for daring to fight in the first place. It’s an egotistical act of violence for no other reason than cruelty for the sake of cruelty.-”

The knights looks on him with shock, Percival and Leon at least having the decency to look a little ashamed. Merlin looks back down to the hares, and everyone notices the careful way he cuts at the fur:

“I’ve taken these lives to feed us as a necessity. The meat will be eaten, but that isn’t all. I’ll take the bones home for Gaius, the marrow is useful in a lot of medicine. The fur can be repurposed for winter gloves or socks. The organs and other bits that we won’t eat: I’ll take for the pigs in the farms, or the dogs up at the castle. In using every part of them we are... honouring them, in a way. As a thank-you for their... sacrifice.”

Arthur looks a little dumbfounded. As royalty, he of course had never really considered the waste that comes about with hunting, but Merlin, a farm-boy from a rural village who barely scraped by every winter? Of course he saw a deeper meaning in hunting. He would have to.

Elyan is the first to break the silence:

“You almost sound religious, Merlin.”

Merlin looks up at him, a strained smile on his face. As magic incarnate, he has a particularly strong, temperamental relationship with nature and her creatures, a bond that some might call faith. To be wasteful or cruel in any way hurts him in more ways than one:

“Not really, I just have respect for nature, is all.”

No one mentions the thinly-veiled insult, but everyone creeps closer, wanting to see the way he disassembles the creatures for future reference.

It’s been eight months since that first, perfect shot.

Merlin’s skills with a longbow had become a normal, expected part of The Gang’s experiences, but the knights never stopped praising and thanking him when he saved their lives (something that Merlin still hadn’t quite gotten used), and The King had apparently not stopped thinking about it for barely more than a second.

Yule was approaching quickly: Merlin, Gwen, and the Steward being constantly busy with preparations in the castle, the knights being run off their feet escorting emergency aid to the border villages for the harsh winter, and Arthur himself having every minute of the day taken up with speech writing, invite sending, and his other general King-during-Yule duties.

That however, was all to be expected, and of course did nothing to keep Arthur and Merlin from their annual traditions.

It wasn’t official, it wasn’t even spoken of, but the last evening of Yule, the night before the new year, the two of them always spent together.

The last feast of the year would finish, Arthur would stay to see his guests off, thank the staff for all of their hard work, and finally retire to his chambers, his tired manservant barely a hair’s breadth behind him. They would sit in front of the lit hearth (in comfy chairs that only they used), work their way through a jug or two of wine, exchange small gifts, and fall asleep in front of the fire. Their hands, dangling over the side of their chairs, seem to be creeping closer and closer with each passing year; though have yet to become entangled by morning.

This year was somehow no different, and very different, at the same time.

The King and his Manservant settled in their chairs, tired and already a little more than tipsy from the wine drunk during the feast. Arthur looked up at Merlin, the fond smile dropping from his face when he sees the other man’s features pulled into a contemplative frown:

“What’s on your mind, Merls? I don’t think I’ve seen you this serious since the start of the celebrations.”

Merlin looked up at him suddenly, his eyes wide, but he smiles and shakes his head:

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking is all.”

Normally, Arthur would raise an eyebrow and let a scathing tease on the state of Merlin’s intelligence fall from his lips, but not tonight. This is the only night of the year that The King allows himself to entertain the idea that perhaps he and Merlin were more than friends, or at least could be. So instead he resumes his smiling, and looks back to the fire, taking another sip of his wine before responding softly:

“What about?”

Merlin hums, copying Arthur’s wine-sipping, before taking a deep breath:

“The future, mostly. You, me, Camelot. Secrets and truths, and when one might turn into the other. Soon, I think... yeah. Soon.”

Arthur huffs slightly in amusement. He knows that Merlin hides a great deal of himself, but he always becomes more cryptic after a few glasses of wine, like he desperately wants to say something and doesn’t have the power to stop himself from hinting at whatever it may be.

He asks his next question good-naturedly, a smile sweetened by wine gracing his face:

“The hell does that mean?”

Merlin lets out a short laugh, looking up at the other man:

“Oh, you know. Thinking about spilling all my deepest darkest secrets to you, at some point soon.”

Arthur snorts, saying, only for the sake of keeping up the charade they’ve built:

“You don’t have any secrets, Merlin. Certainly not any that are deep or dark.”

Once, Arthur would have believed that. Then, when he stopped believing it, he was angry about it, and now? Now, he finds he doesn’t mind so much. He is confident, he has faith, in both himself and in Merlin. He knows that those secrets are there, and Merlin knows that he knows, but that’s ok. Nothing either of them could reveal would tear them apart, at least not for long, so Arthur was happy to wait until Merlin was happy to share.

Merlin chuckled at Arthur’s response, shaking his head slightly before reaching down and picking up a small wrapped parcel that he’d stowed away before the feast:

“Come on, I’m a little nervous about your gift this year, so let’s get it over and done with.”

Arthur nodded, accepting the change in subject, and set his wine down so he could pick up the (much bigger) parcel by his own chair.

Merlin raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. After the first gift-exchange happened, Merlin had put his foot down and made Arthur swear to not go overboard on the expense side of things. Arthur may have been a prince, and now a King, but Merlin was still just a servant/physician; he could hardly afford anything worthy of a King.

He had a feeling that Arthur might’ve broken his word this year, but where Arthur had likely gone overboard with expense, Merlin had definitely gone overboard with sentimentality.

They swapped parcels, Merlin placing the large, heavy box carefully at his feet as he gestured Arthur to open his first. Arthur got to it, tearing the paper off without a second of hesitation, and Merlin allowed himself to smile fondly at the child-like excitement on the blonde’s face.

Arthur’s brow creased as he dropped the paper to the floor, stroking soft fingers over the worn leather of an old, well-loved book. Merlin took deep, fortifying breaths as Arthur carefully opened the first few pages, butterflies in his stomach as Arthur’s eyes wandered the yellowed paper in curiosity.

The King looked up at him, amused confusion on his face as he asked:

“Is this yours? I didn’t know you could draw, Merlin.”

Merlin gulped, and shook his head as memories of the exquisite sketches filled his mind; detail-perfect renditions of the castle, the town square, waterfalls and knights in action and people that Merlin didn’t recognise (for the most part. Arthur evidently hadn’t gotten to any of the pages with young Uther on them).

“No, not mine. This one requires a little explanation-”

Arthur nodded, carefully closing the book and holding it protectively in his lap as he gave Merlin his undivided attention:

“-I mentioned off-handedly to Leon a few months ago that I thought the lack of... of paintings of the late Queen in the castle was odd.-”

Arthur gulped at the mention of his mother, but nodded with a small smile when Merlin paused:

“-He said that when she passed, The King had everything to do with her moved to the vaults. He couldn’t force himself to destroy any of it, but looking at it, day in and day out, was too painful. We found the keys, with the help of Geoffrey, and went down to have a look, see what we could find. We didn’t tell you about it because we didn’t want to disappoint you, in case we couldn’t find anything.-”

Merlin once again looked a little nervous at this, and reached a hand out towards Arthur. When the man didn’t flinch away (if anything, he leaned into it), he moved to grip his shoulder blade, running his thumb over the exposed skin at the base of The King’s neck.

“-We found... a lot. Old clothes and paintings mainly, some jewellery. But then I found that;-”

He nodded at the book in Arthur’s lap, and tightened his grip on his shoulder. Merlin spoke his next words so quietly that Arthur almost doesn’t hear him, a soft smile on his face:

“-your mother was quite the artist, Arthur. I knew you had to have it.”

Arthur gasped softly, his eyes widening as he looked down at the book:

“You... you think my mother drew these?”

Merlin smiled at him, moving his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist slightly, before dropping it entirely:

“Check the back page.”

Arthur took a deep breath before doing what Merlin said, handling the book with even more care than he had before now that he knows who it belonged to. He turned to the very last page, to see an inscription written in beautiful cursive. Merlin recited it aloud, having memorised the words weeks ago:

“My dearest son, my silly sketches are able to hold only a fraction of our Kingdom’s beauty. I know one day that you will see what I see, treasure it just as much, and make it your own. You have my support, forever and always, your loving Mother.”

Arthur bites his lip harshly, lifting the book to press his forehead against the words as he shuts his eyes tightly, though that does nothing to stop the tears. Merlin replaces his hand on The King’s shoulder as the man shakes. He sniffles slightly, putting the book back in his lap, though keeping his hands wrapped around it securely, as he looks to Merlin:

“Merlin, I... I don’t even know what to say. This is... amazing. I... Thank you.”

Merlin smiles, shaking his head slightly:

“Technically, it wasn’t even mine to give, it’s always been yours. But I thought it might make a nice surprise. There’s plenty of other stuff down there, I’ll show you in the morning.”

Arthur nods his head, wiping his tears as he carefully places the book on his side table and gestures to the box at Merlin’s feet. He was itching to scour through the book, dedicating every single line to memory, but whilst Merlin had been nervous about Arthur’s gift, Arthur was buzzing about Merlin’s, and he was desperate to see the man’s reaction.

Merlin huffs out a laugh, but picks the box up, noting once again how heavy it is. He sets about removing the paper, much calmer and more methodical than Arthur had been, with his face pinched in concentration.

He frowns in curiosity as he sets eyes on the wooden box. It had a hinged lid, and a logo that he’s certain he recognises burned like a brand into the corner. He can feel Arthur bouncing in his chair slightly, and looks up at him in amusement, laughing once again when he nods excitedly back down at the box.

He lifts the lid, and takes in a shocked breath.

Inside was a beautifully crafted long bow; the wood smooth and varnished and carved, and a leather quiver. The patterns embossed in the leather and carved in to the metal at the base, match those carved into the wood of the bow, and Merlin traces soft fingers over the intricate swirls, stopping with a teary smile at the Pendragon crest, carved just next to a Merlin bird.

He lets out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding as he looks up at the excited King:

“Arthur this is beautiful. Gods I almost don’t want to touch it, I feel like it should be on display behind glass.”

Arthur lets out a laugh, obviously pleased with Merlin’s reaction:

“Nope. It will be going with you every time you leave the city, and considering how much trouble we always seem to attract, I have no doubt that it will see a lot of use.”

Merlin laughs, closing the lid carefully and setting the box back on the floor, before launching himself bodily at Arthur. The blonde laughs, wrapping his arms around Merlin’s middle with no hesitation as the other man mutters endless thank-yous in his ear.

The servant finally pulls back, settling in his own chair again, and the two of them hope that the other puts the flush on their face down to the wine, and nothing else. They look to each other with wide grins on their faces, and Arthur breaks the stare first, taking another gulp of his wine before laughing jovially and speaking:

“Well. Here’s to an amazing year, and hopefully an even better one, starting in a few minutes.”

Merlin nods, lifting his own goblet to tap it against Arthur’s:

“Here’s to the past, that guides us-”

He gestures to the book on Arthur’s table:

“-and the future, that calls to us.”

He gestures to his new bow, and they both finish their wine off, a healthy flush to their cheeks and fond smiles on their faces.

They fall asleep in their respective chairs, the same as every year.

In the morning, they wake with pounding headaches, a promise of a golden future, and hands intertwined.

THE END!!

We love a cutesy/hopeful ending😌

Like always lads, you wanna write it out in full, go for it, credit and tag me✌️

Head over to This List to see what I’m working on next, and cast your vote!

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yoificfinder · 3 years

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Hi! I was wondering if you would be able to find some time travel/time loop AUs where Victor and Yuuri (and other members of the YoI cast) are thrown around in time please? Thank you so much!

Hi! These are some time travel fics (mix of both canonverse and AUs) I read and enjoyed:

Previous rec of time travel fics where they meet their other self in the other timeline

a great desire to love by lily_winterwood / @omgkatsudonplease [T, 22K]

For some strange, inexplicable, fantastic reason, Yuuri Katsuki and Viktor Nikiforov are trading places. Kimi no Na wa AU.

All Our Yesterdays by @kitsunebi-uk [E, 102K]

York, England, 2120: Yuuri Katsuki is a dime-a-dozen techie, spending his days doing routine repairs at the university. He hangs out with his friend Phichit, goes for a drink, watches holograms. It’s an existence – but is it a life?

Crowood Castle, Yorkshire, 1392: As the son of a baron, Sir Victor Nikiforov makes judgements where lives hang in the balance. As a knight, he must sometimes end them. It’s what he was born to do – but what of the heavy burden on his soul? Death is all too commonplace, while life and love remain elusive.

When a brilliant scientist goes rogue, journeying to the Middle Ages with the world’s first time machine, Yuuri is stunned to be called on as the last hope of preventing her from changing history. After an abrupt departure, he lands at Crowood Castle disguised as an enemy of the Nikiforovs, Sir Justin le Savage – and will need to act the part if he is to survive. It’s a tall order for someone who can barely tell the back end of a horse from the front. But if Ailis, in her own disguise, discovers who he is, his mission will end in a blaze of laser-gun fire. He must not give his real identity away, even to the beguiling knight he’s falling in love with…

Elevators Out of Order by mtothedestiel [E, 31K] *WIP

A Kate and Leopold AU. In 1876, Victor Nikiforov is a handsome duke with an inventive imagination and a dwindling fortune. The search for a wealthy bride brings him to America, and the capital of progress, New York City. Can an encounter with a mysterious stranger offer Victor a future he never dreamed of?

Meanwhile in 2017, physicist turned paper-pusher Yuuri Katsuki is just trying to get through the day, which is tough enough without surprise phone calls from his roommate announcing he has a 19th-century aristocrat out cold on their sofa.

To top things off, it would seem every elevator in Manhattan is suddenly out of order. What a coincidence.

Here Once and Back Again by Cbear2470 [E, 77K] *WIP *Major Character Death

“What?” was all Yuuri could say as a numbness froze over his body.

Something—something wasn’t right. It was then he realized he couldn’t remember getting to the rink. He couldn’t remember even stepping on the ice to start his program.

He couldn’t remember.

He tried to remember.

As Yuuri is skating his free skate, he knows something is off. But, he brushes it aside, too focused on executing the program flawlessly.

It isn't until after it's all over that Yuuri comes to discover that he just skated his gold-medal winning, record-breaking program at the 2014-15 Grand Prix Final in Sochi. The very same final Yuuri had once upon a time placed last in over two years ago.

here's to the glory still to be by @foxfireflamequeen [Not Rated, 12K]

“Hi,” says Viktor, smile bright and camera-ready. His hand, when he extends it, is small and delicate. “I think you know who I am, but we haven’t met.”

His accent is very thick, very Russian in a way Yuri has never heard before. He looks from the offered hand to Viktor’s face, barely an inch higher, and tracks his hair, long and pale and spilling over his shoulders. He can’t be older than, well, Yuri.

“No,” says Yuri. “We haven’t.”

in another dimension series by @alykapediaaa [T, 8K]

Summary of first fic in the series

Entertainment >> Celebrity News

Viktor Nikiforov: Finally Found!

SOMERSET – Russian model Viktor Nikiforov, 27, who has been declared missing last May of this year was finally found earlier today. Nikiforov, known as the face of luxury brand Stammi Vicino, was vacationing at Bath, Somerset after a successful season when he suddenly disappeared, leaving all of his belongings, as well as his poodle, behind. Yakov Feltsman, Nikiforov’s manager, has yet to release a statement. Read More.

Life Unwoven by ayn2390 [M, 23K] *Indefinite Hiatus

Five-Time Consecutive Grand Prix Final Winner Katsuki Yuuri meets Five-Time Consecutive Grand Prix Final Winner Victor Nikiforov.

or,

In which things are tangled, and untangled, and tangled again. And Victor will always be there to save Yuuri.

Maelstrom by @feels-like-fire [E, 44K]

Victor Nikiforov is poised to win gold in his fifth consecutive Grand Prix Final. He has the world at his feet, is unparalleled in the sport--right up until a snowstorm blows into Sochi, and he finds himself repeating the same day over and over and over. He stumbles over Yuuri Katsuki, and everything changes.

(Or, the time loop au. Loosely based on Groundhog Day.)

On My Love by RikoJasmine [T, 73K] *WIP

For the second time, the Sochi Grand Prix Finals arrive, and with it a reborn Yuuri Katsuki. “Viktor,” Yuuri thinks over the pounding of his heart, the crowd going silent as the music begins. “I’ll show the world what you meant to me.”

Yuuri often thinks of his life as Before and After Viktor Nikiforov, the marking point being the day Viktor swept into his life and turned his world upside-down. After many years together, an accident leads to Yuuri suddenly waking up in the Before—back in Detroit, before the GPF, before he ever knew Viktor as anything other than his childhood idol.

As if it had all been just a dream.

paso doble by @cafecliche [G, 4K]

"Long before skating, or even ballet, Yuuri would hear about it at festivals, in the boiling humidity of Hasetsu summers dancing the Bon Odori in the streets. He remembered years where Mari would take him home alone, while their parents comforted lingering, distraught dancers. Sometimes, Mari had explained, they were crying because they’d seen lost loved ones. Some cried because they didn’t see who they’d hoped, but a stranger. And some cried because they hadn’t seen anyone at all.

Because it’s not just the steps. The dancers need, even for a second, to feel the exact same thing."

(Or: days before Hot Springs on Ice, Yuuri receives a visitor from another time.)

The League of the Green Carnation by @abarero [M, 62K]

There was one golden rule to being a Time Scientist: do not bring home anything that was a fixed point in history. This meant most artifacts, extinct animals and the like were permissible. Historical figures? Not so much.

But what about an author? Namely, Yuuri’s favorite author, who was murdered in 1887. Could he be saved?

Well. Yuuri was sure as hell about to find out.

Turn Back the Clock by IronScript [T, 59K] *WIP

When Yuuri and Viktor wake up over thirty years in the past, they don't know what to do. Does the other remember?

Luckily that particular question is quickly answered and they can relax slightly, but what about afterwards? Viktor was brought back to right before his first Olympics, and Yuuri isn’t even old enough to compete in Seniors’!

Then there's the fact that they're still very much in love, but a physical relationship would be illegal (and would gross them both out considering Yuuri's age), and they can't count on anyone to just trust them not to do anything age inappropriate. So maybe being long-distance (with as many in-person meetings as possible) would be better until Yuuri becomes a legal adult physically, never mind his actual age.

But it's hard to behave and act naturally when you're forced to be apart from your husband of twenty years, especially during one of the most stressful parts of anyone's life, so Yuuri and Viktor have to distract themselves somehow, right?

Right.

And if everyone around them ends up completely confused and blindsided at their sudden changes (though admittedly they seem to have changed for the better), then so be it!

#yoi #yuri on ice #yoi fanfic #yoi fic rec #time travel

67 notes · View notes

captainsimagines · 3 years

Text

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Five

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 5 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: mentions of male masturbation and boners (lol); strong language; references to suicide, murder, and drug smuggling; abusive parental relationship; mentions of child death in a second flashback; dry humping (smut); 18+ only please!

Word Count: 16,500+

A/N: damn that chapter warning list was a trip to write down lmao

Westview, 2023, 1:32 pm

An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the parked vehicle, daring either of you to take the first step. No one commented on the glares boring into your soul as you drove through the town or how heavily the three of you got patted down by the authorities right outside the state line. You figured it was completely justified - still a little insulting to a bunch of Avengers who literally saved the world three weeks ago.

With a loud gulp, Bucky was the first to kick open his door and get out of the car. You glanced at Steve from the driver’s seat, biting your lip with a slight quiver as you went over the speech you practiced earlier today. Simple enough, and not too damning.

Steve’s leg bounced rapidly a few more times before he too kicked open his door, leaving you in silence. You pulled the car keys from the ignition and took in a deep breath. Your legs were numb, the anxiety washing over you in uneven cycles. It was now or never.

“Wanda, it’s us…”

Her grief seemed to emit from every crack in the sidewalk, every weak beg escaping the townspeople’s throats, every sound from the inanimate objects her powers had continued to turn from gray to red… to green… back to gray. She was crouched on the property, weeds brushing against her black pants and leaving their mark, mascara smudged with each new wet streak.

Bucky unzipped his jacket, eyes wandering over the deserted plot of land as Wanda tried to control her sobs. She had already caused enough damage, both physical and psychological, the possibility of more government involvement looming over your heads. He carefully walked toward her and wrapped his jacket over her shoulders, all be damned as he held her and began to tear up himself.

“Wanda, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll get through this,” Steve sighed, still keeping a respectable distance from her in case she were to run. But you knew her better - she was all out of fight. One fight after another and yet she still lost her love.

“I did something really bad,” she sobbed, eyes locked on the spot where Vision had just disappeared. Again.

“No, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Steve declared, shocked by the unexpected scoff from Bucky.

“Save it, Steve. She may not have known in the beginning but she does now. She still did it.”

No one dared correct Bucky or argue with that logic because if anyone knew about causing harm with absolutely no intention, it was obviously him. Taking responsibility - that was the best course of action.

Once you heard of a radioactive disturbance in a small town just outside the state, the team almost retired completely. So soon after defeating Thanos, so soon after Tony’s death, so soon after Natasha’s death - the team left it up to the proper authorities this time around.

But the second you watched the broadcast of Wanda’s fantasies, the sitcom her powers were conjuring, her giving birth to her children… all you could do was wait until she opened the barrier.

“I still did it,” Wanda said, her upper body beginning to rock back and forth as her fingertips brightened with red tendrils of magical grief.

You shut your eyes and willed yourself not to cry. You had done so much crying these past few years and you were oh, so tired. You couldn’t possibly take another beating.

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Bucky spoke, gently turning Wanda’s face and placing both his hands on her cheeks, mindful of the metal appendage he had forgotten to cover with his glove. “You already did it. It can’t be undone. But you can come with us and grieve properly.”

Wanda reached up and placed her hands over his, tears spilling from her eyes faster now.

“Let us help you grieve.”

This wasn’t an unexpected goodbye. Wanda knew that. She had just voluntarily given up her husband and children - anyone would crumble from that sort of devastation. But now she had been given a proper goodbye, a somewhat proper closure, and the chance to accept it. “Okay.”

You and Steve remained frozen in place even after Bucky helped Wanda stand. Almost as quickly as you thought it, your feet had a mind of their own. You stood next to Steve, taking in the weed infested, rectangular plot of land - the remnants of Wanda’s fantasy still fresh and creating a tiny, refreshing tingle in the middle of your chest. You looked over at Steve and smiled sadly when you saw him inspecting the area as well.

“They would have had a beautiful life together.”

Steve’s breath hitched as you finished your declaration, looking over at you and nodding slightly.

“If I had the chance, I would have wanted a nice house with some decent air conditioning. Some weird, front yard garden where I could plant random flowers. A dog that dug them up and acted like it didn’t do it.”

You giggled, thumbnail between your incisors to try and disguise the wider grin forming. Steve kept speaking.

“Maybe a kid or two. Never actually checked if I could even have kids after the serum.”

You dropped your hand from your face, your attention completely on him now.

Steve sighed and kicked a rock over to the other side of the property. “I would have wanted a giant, king-sized bed. With ‘his’ and ‘hers’ towels. And every once in a while we would accidentally use the other one’s toothbrush, a secret we would take to the grave.”

Steve wasn’t even looking over at you as he said this. It was like a one-sided confession, rhetorical, not needing an immediate response or expression in return. And you couldn’t believe he was just saying this in front of you - you of all people - the same person who rolled their eyes whenever Steve struggled to comprehend a modern topic or argued with him when he was in one of his moods. He had been distant the last few weeks after returning the stones, only ever noticing you when other people were around to carry a conversation.

The tingles in your chest were starting to disappear as the plot of land gave its last few magical rumbles.

“Steve?”

Steve bowed his head, hands in his pockets and breath steady. “Yes, they would have been very happy together.”

You stared at the back of his head as he slowly walked back to the car.

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

The amount of times you reminded yourself to wake up early as you were drifting off to sleep last night was perhaps more than the number of sheep you had ever counted in your life. A quick reminder here and there as your mind got clogged with pointless information, the number eight behind your eyelids all throughout the night.

And you did it. In the early hours of the morning, knowing Steve would wake naturally in about twenty minutes, you tip-toed out of bed to use the bathroom. Acting completely normal in case he did in fact hear you before your grand plan - an easy escape route if he decided to repeat his horrible morning ritual on you. But he was such an old man, getting older, losing that serum’s boost. This Steve, Steve who refused to call any movie made after 1945 ‘old’ because he literally didn’t get the chance to see them premiere - yeah, this Steve, was passed out like he had been hit by a truck.

Bladder empty and teeth brushed, you quietly opened the bathroom door and peeked through. He still lay there on his back, wrapped tightly in his blanket, breathing steadily, and face completely unprotected.

Could you die? Probably. Would this payback be absolutely satisfying? Hell yeah.

You grabbed the biggest of your pillows and fisted the corner tightly, twisting it a couple times for a better grip. You signed the cross quickly before lifting the pillow above your head and bringing it down to Steve’s face.

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up, “WHAT?”

His eyes flew around the room rapidly until they landed on you, angry and challenging.

“Payback!” you yelled, lifting the pillow high again for a second hit. But he reacted quicker, grabbing a pillow himself and swinging it toward you. It slammed you in the torso and practically sent you flying. You landed at the edge of your bed, mouth open in shock and racks of laughter bubbling deep within your chest. You stood quickly and hit him repeatedly, trying your best to also block his counterattack.

He reached for your hip and pulled you in his bed, rolling the two of you over so he was straddling your hips. He brought the pillow down several more times before accepting your plea of surrender.

You threw the pillow back to your bed and pouted, “Not a fair fight!”

Steve scoffed, “You caught me off guard! You had all the advantages!”

You shuffled beneath him and froze, hips stuck in a lifted position as you were too embarrassed to move them back down. “Jesus, Steve! How do you even sleep on your stomach with that thing?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he inspected your face and body, looking down at the two of you before he noticed the way he was pressing into your inner thigh. He scrambled off you, a blush spreading from his cheeks and all the way down his chest. He cupped himself and turned away, quickly shuffling for his suitcase and pulling whatever clothes his flustered hands grabbed. He was also repeatedly apologizing.

“Steve, it’s okay. It just… startled me, is all.”

Steve cleared his throat a couple times before pacing around the room in search of his toiletries.

You just sat back on your elbows, watching him scurry like a chicken with its head cut off. It was rather amusing.

“I’m gonna - gonna, take a shower. Uh, I’m sorry again.”

You smirked at the super soldier, “Steve, I’m not mad. It isn’t like I’m new to that kind of thing.”

Steve blushed harder, “But I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

You shrugged your shoulders and dipped lower into his sheets, grabbing and lifting them higher. You snuggled deeper, “Still.”

Steve could feel the speed at which the world rotated and he shut the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, breathing deeply until he had all his inhibitions back.

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing - reacting the way he did or you seeing him react the way he did. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t seen each other in awkward situations, some borderline lewd. There were plenty of missions that involved heavy flirting with the targets, undercover work in depraved settings, missions where nasty magic was involved and concocted a multitude of inappropriate visions. Hell, everyone had already seen each other naked. It was completely normal, a trustworthy environment, and sometimes necessary.

As much as he wanted to give into the feeling and award himself some proper alone time, he refused to act upon it. He would regret it later once the stress pushed down harder than usual, but it just wasn’t appropriate in his right mind to masturbate with you in the other room.

Why did he have to be such a good and honorable man?

He busied himself with washing his hair and scrubbing away any evidence of sleep from his face. Steve liked sleeping on his stomach, face smooshed in the pillows and arms extended to his sides. It allowed for more comfortable movement, more ways to stretch his hips, just overall comfort for his massive shoulders. Less pressure on the lungs, too. And unlike the enthusiastic yet almost mean accusation that he couldn’t possibly enjoy that position because of his… well, his dick, Steve would choose that position over sleeping on his back any day. But that morning, his body had decided to betray him in more ways than one. One, he was open to attack because he was on his back. And two, whatever dream he was having caused his morning wood to seem larger this morning.

He had washed up quickly, more time spent out of the shower where he fixed his hair and combed his beard. He thought about shaving it for the rehearsal dinner or wedding, but it gave him a more rugged look - like he was all tough and no funny business. As ridiculous as it sounded, the beard allowed him to lean into the criminal act easier, build a fake personality that already had your father eating out of his hand.

Opening the bathroom door and having to face the music, Steve was almost certain you would continue to tease him. But you were already munching on the breakfast you had ordered, shoveling hash browns in your mouth as you swiped the mouse through pages and pages of intel. You didn’t even look up as he crossed the room to grab a pair of pants he had forgotten to pick up during his quick escape. That settled his nerves almost instantly and he was dressed and settled next to you soon after.

You worked in silent cooperation for a long while, handing each other files and passing phone calls like you had during every other mission before. Except now it was more comfortable, pleasant, and kind - the soft sounds from the television in the corner, the humming of the desktop, the soft hums of recognition whenever you two showed each other something. You didn’t even bother with what happened in the morning, if it really was anything at all, because you honestly found it normal. You were more focused on the conversation you had last night.

Steve had offered to kill your father if you seriously couldn’t. Just thinking about his offer caused your stomach to turn. Because yes, you wanted him dead. You wanted to snap his neck in ten different places and feed him to scavengers. You wanted to steal his business from under him and tear it apart, bit by bit, and keep him alive long enough to see you do it. You wanted to see the look in his eyes when you revealed that you double-crossed him. And as the day inched closer, the overwhelming feeling of shame pushed down on your shoulders and swallowed your mind. Once your father was dead, you and Steve would never find true peace. His men would always follow you, probably take you down at the local coffee shop you and Peter frequented.

The thought of dying in front of Peter caused a lump to form in your throat. No, you wouldn’t do that to your friends. You couldn’t do this to Steve.

But you had to. Because even though your life will never be yours after this mission, you had to save the countless others your father was sure to touch and ruin.

But was your life ever truly yours?

Steve’s voice pulled you from your clouded mind.

“Huh?”

“I asked if you wanted the last piece of fruit.”

You looked at Steve then at the small piece of watermelon in the bowl, then back at Steve. He had a pen in between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked, and slightly puffy eyes due to the beer heavy sleep he had last night. You looked away as quickly as you could and stared back at the fruit, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Ridiculous, you thought. Just looking at Steve had flustered you, squeezing your stomach in pleasurable pulses you hadn’t felt since high school. “No, no. You can have it,” you said, hoping your voice wouldn’t crack.

Ridiculous.

Steve watched you with a funny smile but he took your word and scooped up the last piece for himself.

No, you thought again, this man will not give me freaking butterflies.

It wasn’t like it was odd. Steve had you flustered countless times before, but it was never quite as tingly as it was now. You suddenly wanted to facetime Wanda and rant about these weird feelings; you wanted to curl in on yourself and squeal; you wanted to -

“He’s what?”

You sat on your knees and leaned over the back of the couch, chin resting on your folded arms as you watched Steve pace around the common room. He was tugging at his dress shirt repeatedly, desperately trying to attach cufflinks without additional help. Sam sat right beside you, in the same position, snickering each time Steve cursed under his breath.

“He’s nervous,” Bucky smirked, arm holding out Steve’s tie for the past five minutes. Steve had paced beside him various times already, completely oblivious.

Steve groaned and readjusted his collar, snapping his head toward the three of you. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re sweating buckets, man,” Sam pointed out, one of his hands discreetly opening up his camera and switching to video.

“What if she doesn’t like me?”

Bucky threw his head back and cackled, choosing to grab Steve and steady him to finally put that damn tie around his neck. “Same old, Steve. Can’t accept that a dame would ever possibly like you back.”

“Hey, Steve don’t worry about it,” you started, shooting Steve a sympathetic look. Steve glanced back at you, expression swiftly changing due to your kind tone. “... when I was in high school,-”

Steve released a loud grunt, rolling his eyes and stepping away from Bucky’s hands.

Sam rolled over and clutched his stomach as he laughed, pulling you into him. The two of you shook from your laughs together.

“Guys,” Bucky warned, reaching for Steve in a ‘grabby’ motion. “Give him a break.”

Steve reluctantly stood beside Bucky again, head tilted upward as he tried wrapping the tie back around his neck.

None of you heard the entrance of Thor and his brother, too busy with bullying, laughter, or moderating.

“Did we miss all the fun?”

You shot up from the ground, kicking Sam away as you rushed across the floor and stumbled over the rug. “Thor!”

You rushed into his arms and he gripped you tightly, swinging you around and loud laughter matching yours.

“Now, why wasn’t I greeted in a similar manner?” Loki questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

You pulled your face from Thor’s shoulder, “Oh, you want this too?”

You jumped back onto the floor and were about to jump into Loki’s arms, but he held his own out, stopping you. “It’s too late. It’s not the same.”

“Piss baby,” you quipped, rushing behind Thor for protection when Loki’s mouth dropped in surprise.

“Can everyone stop what they’re doing real quick and tell Steve his date is going to go well tonight?”

You rolled your eyes at Bucky’s favor, but he just raised his eyebrows, challenging you to disobey the order.

“The Captain has a date? Are they okay?”

Loki and you shared a comical gasp.

Steve gaped, “Now, what in the world does that mean, Thor?”

Thor raised his hands in defense, “I’m just asking if she truly knows what she’s getting herself into! Don’t try and tell me she has no idea who you are.”

Steve was back to groaning nonstop. Bucky threw his hands up in the air, “I ask one thing of you guys. One thing.”

You stomped over to Steve and ripped the half-tied tie from his neck and smoothed down his collar. You patted down his shoulders and the front of his shirt, and gripped his shoulders to straighten his back.

“Now,” you smiled up at him. The breath caught in your throat for a second, the blue of his eyes shining under the ceiling lights and the pink of his cheeks spreading slowly. You let out a tiny sigh, heart fluttering faintly from the small grin he was giving you. He looked so innocent, a renaissance subject created from light oils, signs of true aging showing in his forehead. “Whatever date you got planned, she’s gonna love it.”

Steve relished in the feeling of your palms pressed against his chest for a few moments before he nodded at your declaration. He stepped back and smoothed down his shirt. “Wish me luck?”

A chorus of ‘good luck’s sounded as Steve found his keys and shared a goodnight hug with Sam and Bucky. They both jokingly reminded him to use protection.

You watched Steve leave, a newfound bounce in his step as he walked away. Your words had been so simple, so cliche, and yet he had dropped any visible nerves as he walked out the door. You weren’t the best motivational speaker, that was for sure, but the proof of at least an ounce of motivation was there. Maybe your words held a hidden meaning. Maybe.

You thought about him picking up this random woman, wine and dining her, kissing her cheek as he said his goodbyes at the end of the night. It was somewhat adorable to think about, but also weird.

Before you could dive more into the strange feeling, Thor’s voice sounded.

“Should we order pizza or chinese?”

It’s like that snapped you from your trance, because next thing you knew you were back to your playful self, sprinting across the room and into Loki’s arms.

You cherished the slight, pleasant churn of your stomach as you watched him happily munch on the fruit.

Okay, it was normal to have a tiny crush on your mission partner. God knows how many times you wanted to jump Thor’s bones whenever you were undercover together. A crush was normal, completely natural and expected.

Except you had never gotten so much sane joy from a simple question of whether you wanted the last piece of fruit.

You blinked a few times and shook off any trace of overthinking devils, grabbing at random files to occupy your mind for a while. After about fifteen more minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke.

“So, we think Ramirez is gonna get straight up murdered?”

Steve snorted, filing through a pile of papers Torres had delivered this morning. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”

“But it’s just a theory at this point. We can’t just go in guns blazing without enough proof.”

“And if there is proof? Do we protect him? The original mission was to arrest all four men.”

You groaned, “I don’t know. He’s never done me wrong.”

“Personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

Steve squinted at you with a playful smile. “You’d rather just arrest the bad ones, huh?”

“Obviously what Ramirez is doing is illegal and it’s horrific to think of what might be happening behind the scenes on his side, but either he’s serious or he’s been putting on this good guy act for his whole life.”

“Leaning towards the first option?”

Shrugging, you leaned toward your computer screen and scrolled through the massive list of emails. “It’s what my gut tells me, but ehh.”

There was one random email from Maribel, but random only meant coded. Reading it over a couple times, humming to yourself in concentration, you finally cracked the code she was trying to send.

“Maribel says Ramirez acquired some land in Mexico… lots of it.”

Steve looked up from the files, “Any significance?”

“It’s probably for growing the products.”

Steve quickly typed key words that would alert him of any new transactions in the past few months. “Who’s on the title?”

“Just him. And his oldest daughter. My father must know, right?”

Steve leaned back in his chair, releasing a heavy sigh as he thought about what this could mean. “Ramirez acquiring more land means more of Ramirez’s product. A three-way partnership would be split unevenly if he utilizes the land.”

“Make sure Bucky alerts us of any business my father might have with realtors authorized to work in that area.”

It functioned like this for another hour, the two of you sharing bits of information every ten minutes or so.

“Torres sent us an update on White.”

You rubbed at your strained eyes, “What does he say?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, “That he’s been in the country for much longer than his passport says.”

You stood from your seat and rushed to look at the same screen Steve was reading from. “He traveling under a fake name?”

“Customs says he returned to Germany,” Steve stated, highlighting a paragraph on the screen for you to easily read. “Four weeks ago.”

It was your turn to snort out a laugh, “Oh, he’s so setting up an alibi.”

Steve nodded in agreement, “Looks like it.”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, voice raising an octave. “Look at us! Piecing together the puzzle!”

“We still got a few more pieces to attach before you go getting all cocky.”

You chuckled and decided to take a break. You speed walked over to your bed and plopped down, the mountain of pillows already relieving your tense muscles. “Hey, has my sister’s plane landed yet?”

Steve glanced at you quickly before pulling up Bucky’s morning emails. “Uh, landed about an hour ago.”

“She at the estate?”

He shrugged, “Torres hasn’t sent an update. Just her profile, hold up.”

You waved him off, a nonverbal way of telling him you seriously couldn’t care less. “I haven’t spoken to her since I joined you guys. You don’t gotta give me her origin story.”

“That long?” Steve questioned.

You placed a pillow beneath your head, body horizontal and facing Steve. “We were never that close. I’ve got tons of half-siblings. Most of them were adults when I was born, anyway.”

With just a few words exchanged, Steve realized he had just stepped through your metaphorical door of reminiscing. So he stood to lay in his own bed, the simple action of giving you attention enough to keep you talking, he hoped. “Were you alone a lot? Growing up, I mean.”

You watched as Steve also placed a pillow beneath his head, “There were always kids around. Kids of the maids, cousins, neighbors.”

“A full house, sounds like.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, a small smile forming as you thought about old friends. “I remember this one time, we all ran into Ramirez when we were trying to get to one of the playrooms. But he grabbed me quickly and told me to not go in there.”

“Was it a threat?”

You grinned at his protective tone, “No, it was a warning. There were some really bad men in the other room. It was me and a few other girls. He told us to run back to my room and lock the door until he came to get us.”

Steve couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Ramirez joined the drug game. Sure, the function and presence of cartels had changed drastically over the last forty years, but it didn’t explain why he remained involved. In the eighties, the drug game was highly televised and spoken about, but the cartel violence was not as strong. Nowadays, and not even you could give a proper explanation, the violence was astronomical and basically advertised as something to expect when visiting certain countries. This was the mob game now, freaking Al Capone or the goddamn Godfather, absolutely meant to frighten whoever dare join or leave. For Ramirez to still be one of the big players even with that many internal changes, to be a good person in the middle of such hell, didn’t make any sense.

“He protected you.”

You clutched the pillow closer to your chest, the memory a good one even if it was weird. “Oh, yeah. Those guys he was warning us about were no angels.”

Steve gave an awkward smile, “I feel like I know more about your childhood than you know mine.”

“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me about little, asthmatic Steve Rogers.”

He raised his index finger at you, “Hey, I was more than just my asthma.”

“Oh, excuse me. I totally forgot about your scoliosis.”

The pillow under his head was now flying across the small distance to your face. You shrieked and sent it back.

“Stop bullying!” Steve laughed.

You shielded your face in case he decided to continue the pillow war. “What? I’ve got my health problems, too! I just don’t have the serum to help me out.”

But he didn’t throw it again. He repositioned himself on his back and placed both hands beneath his head, gracing the ceiling with a grin. “I remember this one time, Bucky and I were around eleven-years old, and I had this really bad asthma attack. Bucky just freaked out. I was choking and he was just holding me, screaming for help -”

You blinked, “This is really depressing, what are you-”

“-and! Bucky threw himself into a full-blown panic attack. So we were both choking on air, but I was starting to laugh at him freaking out, which only made him choke harder. We ended up throwing up.”

You were silent at the end of his short story, mouth open in a wide smile. “I don’t know what else to say other than that was one of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard.”

Steve rolled over, a literal twinkle in his eye. “See? Don’t interrupt me before I get to the good parts.”

This simple moment catapulted the realization that Steve hasn’t spoken to you this much in two years, to the front of your mind. In these past four days, you had spoken like you had never stopped, like it was never awkward, like you two seriously didn’t need another person in the room to simply converse about what you wanted for breakfast. Yet here you were, more words exchanged in the past four days than you ever thought possible.

After the fallout, you didn’t say one full sentence to him for seven months. Seven months. He hadn’t attempted a conversation with you either, but you actively avoided him like he was infected. Hell, he even moved out of the compound and into his own apartment to get away from you for most of the day. After your forced reconciliation, the awkward apologies, you still didn’t force any open conversation. But it was easier, lighter, and most conversations involved mission information.

Talking this much now was so easy, so simple, like you didn’t need to force the comfort - there was already full comfort, a sense of community with this man.

He was so different from when he insulted you while you were packing, annoyed by the fact that you pried too much. And now you were prying into his childhood and him yours without a lick of annoyance on either side.

“We both had eventful childhoods, didn’t we?”

“What, with both of us in the middle of a war?” Steve asked, a genuine look on his face.

“Guess our wars never really left us, huh?”

There was a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting Torres again today. Steve muttered ‘room service, maybe’ under his breath as you went to open it. You were startled to find Scott standing outside, two massive suitcases in his hand.

“Oh my god, I forgot you were arriving today!”

Scott scoffed, “Am I not as important as your other friends?”

You laughed and helped him inside, “Stop! You’re one of my favorite bugs!”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll leave right now if you two decide to pile on me instead of each other.” Scott placed one of the suitcases near the door but the other at the edge of your bed.

“We’ll be nice,” Steve promised, standing to greet Scott with a hug.

“You better. Catch me up, please?”

The suitcase contained your outfits for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Whoever was in charge of costumes definitely went all out, hoping their work would make the big fight the most fashionable. Steve was given a perfectly tailored suit, navy blue and velvet. It was lined with vibranium, inside pockets covered with it. That would certainly be handy if you were forced to walk through metal detectors - vibranium couldn’t be detected. His suit for the rehearsal dinner was a lot simpler, the custom black and white aesthetic, but still protected with vibranium.

Your clothes were certainly not styled to match Steve’s, giving you a sense of individuality. It was perfect really - it would allow you to leave Steve’s side, if necessary, when the mission called for you to split up. Your rehearsal dinner outfit was two parts: a black, velvet long-sleeved shirt, slight turtleneck, and gold cuffs. It was joined by a long gold skirt, high-waisted, the front shorter than the back and sides more curled than ruffled. You would have to wear tights underneath, but it was beautiful. Vibranium was also stitched in for added protection. Your dress for the actual wedding, however, was a total knockout. Red, spaghetti strap, tight on top but loose once it reached your hips, a long slit on the left side. They were even kind enough to give you a pair of heels to match.

Yeah, Steve was Captain America and his appearance will shock the guests, but your attire will definitely be the second topic in gossip.

Scott was filing through the same papers you and Steve had reviewed earlier, a bowl of potato chips at his side. And it was peaceful - you and Steve even had the chance to nap.

“So, you’re gonna see Jackeline at the rehearsal dinner?”

You wiped the remnants of your nap from your face and groaned as you stretched, “She’ll probably be busy tomorrow when we go for breakfast, so yeah.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes practically attached to the computer screen. “And… she’s the one getting married?”

His tone started to worry Steve, “Yes, Scott. You good?”

Scott piled a handful of potato chips in his mouth, finger clicking the mouse every few seconds. His eyes were now wide, blinks forgotten. “Jackeline Vega. Jackeline.”

Steve ignored him now, “Hey, why isn’t your last name Vega?”

As much as you wanted to share about how and why you changed your last name, Scott’s demeanor interested you more. “Changed it when I became an American citizen - Scott, what’s up?”

He let out a tiny squeak, swallowing his snack quickly. “And she’s your father’s favorite?”

You rolled your eyes, “Mmm.”

Scott released a huge huff of air, shoulders falling as he raised his voice and turned the monitor to face you. “Think he knows anything about this?”

The photograph was blurry because it was enhanced, but you could still make out the face of a sister you hadn’t seen in years. Older, still with teenage features obviously, and tossed on what looked like a church alter-

Steve's eyes widened, “Is she…?”

Scott finished his sentence for him, “Fucking a priest?”

You covered your mouth in shock, “Oh my god, she’s fucking a priest!”

Bent on the literal church altar, skirt bunched around her hips, head thrown back in ecstasy and face in full view. And the damned priest, in between her legs and under the eyes of god.

“That’s why I asked!”

Steve clutched at his chest, head thrown back as he howled, “I think you were wrong about your sister.”

Now your eyes were glued to the screen, “Oh, I was fuck all from correct!”

Scott cleared his throat, “Is the priest… her fiance?”

Steve came down from his laugh attack, “I highly doubt that, Scott.”

“This is actually really damning evidence.”

You grinned at Scott, “For what? Painting her out to look like the most sinful whore? I might just congratulate her.”

Steve stared at you, judging almost. “For fucking a priest?”

“For proving me wrong. She’s not so innocent after all,” you responded, cheeks strained from how wide you were smiling.

“Clearly. This is… actually badass,” Scott admitted, turning the monitor back to him.

You teased, singing your next words. “Don’t let the Lord and Savior hear that.”

Steve glared, “Y/N.”

You leaned away from him, “What? Anyway, that’s gotta be one the worst sins to commit, right?”

Steve’s expression contorted from annoyance to disbelief. “We’ve literally killed people.”

“Pfft, but we’re not fucking priests. Right?”

Scott answered, nodding quicker than he needed to. “Right.”

“You’re literally asking that?”

You pressed your lips into a fine line and tilted your head at Steve. “Steve?”

He glared at you for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. “I’m not fucking any priests.”

Your response was immediate, “Alright! I gotta hand it to her, though. Who took the photo?”

Scott went back to fishing through the emails. “Some sleazy magazine that never got around to actually printing these out.”

“Someone paid them off. Or killed them.”

“I wonder who,” you replied sarcastically.

Steve continued, “You honestly think he would support her doing that?”

You shrugged and scurried back over to your unmade bed. “Not my problem.”

Scott interjected, “Okay, okay. How’s tomorrow gonna work?”

Steve answered first, “Well, we’re driving out around eight.”

You hummed in agreement, reaching over to unplug your phone from the charger. “Scott, you’ll just ride on one of our backs as we walk through the estate.”

“I kind of want to ride Y/N’s back this time.”

You snorted, “Now that doesn’t sound sexual at all.”

He hid his face in his hands, “You know, I heard it once I said it.”

“Course you did.”

Steve jumped back into the conversation, Scott’s embarrassment seeming to grow under the weird tension. “Then you’ll hop off and plant the bugs wherever you feel like they’re needed.”

“Easy peasy!” you cheered.

“Bucky and Sam gonna meet us Friday night?”

Steve nodded, “That’s what they said.” He looked over at you, scrolling through your phone and already smiling at something you found funny. He cleared his throat to get your attention. “You know they can be out here in under an hour if we seriously need them.”

You glanced over at Steve, his sincerity greatly appreciated. “I know. But all my faith is in Scott here.”

Scott moaned quietly, “Oh… no, let’s not put all the faith in me because I can’t handle that responsibility.”

You propped yourself up onto your elbows, “You saying I can’t trust you?”

“No, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all-!”

Steve rolled his eyes and looked at the man, a sheen of nervous sweat starting to form on his forehead. “Scott.”

Scott lowered his hands from his chest, “O-oh. She’s messing with me, huh?”

You chuckled and laid back down. “You’re so easy.”

The easygoing atmosphere for the next few hours almost had you believing you were on vacation, away from the bad guys and space aliens for just a moment. Almost like you weren’t in the middle of a drug war, a mob business, the literal daughter of a king. Scott had that effect, his personality such a sweet refresher and such a contrast to every soul in the compound.

Thor and Peter were also sweethearts and fun was always expected when they were around, but Scott had this different vibe. Maybe it was because he was relatively new, or that he had a child, or that he hadn’t suffered the same five years as everyone else did. Like he wasn’t yet tainted.

“You guys mind if I run a job inside a job?”

Your head snapped up at Scott’s crazy question, “You stealing something?”

To run a job inside a job was risky. There was no exact plan to keep both missions balanced, to somehow rank the other more important. You prayed it wasn’t something insane.

Scott chuckled under his breath, already grabbing his jacket and suitcase by the door. “No, I’m not stealing something. Hank needs me to speak to some guy he’s doing negotiations with about a space for a new lab headquarters.”

Steve tilted his head, “In Northern California?”

“Nah, the dude is vacationing out here for the time being. The lab will be in San Francisco again.”

You squinted at him, still cautious. “Where you meeting him?”

“Some nice Italian restaurant an hour out.”

Steve spoke before you did, similar thoughts running through his mind. “You check with Torres? We don’t know who might randomly show up there.”

Scott tried his best to reassure you, “Yeah, he said they’re following every car that leaves the premises and travels more than thirty minutes away. None of Ernesto’s men have been spotted further up north.”

You sighed. You didn’t want another member of your team to venture out in this area, let alone this goddamn state, without your eyes on them. You were protective, the proximity of your outside world with the one you had spent ten years building too suffocating of a reality.

Still, you told Scott goodbye with a steady voice. “Then enjoy your dinner, Scott.”

His voice picked up again, that childish and upbeat feeling wrapping you around his finger. “You guys wanna come with? I’m sure you’re sick of icky hotel food.”

Steve waved him off, “It’s actually not that bad-”

“Breadsticks. Garlic pasta. More breadsticks.”

You laughed, “That sounds nice, Scott but we can stay here-”

“Three-cheese pastas.”

“Scott, you can try all you want but-”

“Unlimited breadsticks.”

You shared a look at Steve, puckering your lips at the suggestion.

“.... We’ll sit far away from your table, okay?”

Scott opened the hotel door and started sprinting down the hallway. “I knew I could persuade you with that! C’mon!”

California at night was a death trap. Potholes on every stretch of asphalt, construction halted for who knows how long, random opossums lingering in the shadows just waiting to get hit by tires. It was prettier during the day - less of a ‘lead me into this forest, yes, kill me’ vibe.

You chilled in the backseat while Scott drove you guys to the restaurant. You had texted Bucky where you were planning to go, the message activating the group text chain.

Peter: it’s Wednesday! Who died?

Wanda: she’s literally texting us

Peter: Y/N, you won???

Bucky: fuck do I owe the fucking spider money?

Peter: pay up dude

Y/N: tf Bucky? You bet against me?

“You sure you two are good?”

The restaurant looked quiet considering it was a Wednesday night, but it was still crowded. There was a short line extending out the door and a… bouncer. You sucked in a breath and smacked Scott in the chest once you were out of the car.

“Thought you said this was a restaurant?”

Scott rubbed his chest, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “Restaurant slash bar!”

“We eating with the Italian mob now? I can only handle one mob at a time, Scott.”

You nodded rapidly, pointing at Steve. “I agree with him!”

“Not every place has bad guys!”

You groaned and reluctantly stood at the back of line, pulling Steve’s hat lower on his forehead. It wasn’t like people couldn’t take one long, hard look at him and not know who he was, anyway.

“Can you guys just… enjoy a night out?”

“While on a mission?”

“While living your long lives. God, Y/N, you getting old already?”

Your mouth dropped, “I’m twenty-six and I’m not complaining about a nice dinner, Scott.” You pointed at the bouncer. “I’m worried about the fact that our ID’s are gonna be checked.”

Scott’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “Yeah, that.”

“Next.”

You shot Steve a worried look but handed the bouncer your driver’s license. He just looked at the date of birth and moved you along. “Next.”

Scott handed him his, doing his best to smile proudly while the bouncer scanned him up and down. “Next.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard,” Scott joked, standing next to you in the far corner of the entrance.

You rolled your eyes, “Wait.”

The bouncer took one look at Steve’s ID and gasped. Steve looked anywhere but the bouncer’s eyes, his bottom lip suffering the abuse of his incisors.

“Cap-Captain?”

Steve gave a sheepish grin, lowering his cap further. “Uh, yeah.”

“Enjoying your day?”

You pinched your nose.

“Would like it a lot more if you could lead us to a table with as much privacy as you can offer.”

You had to hand it to Steve for taking advantage of situations like this.

The bouncer agreed immediately, speaking with the manager and promising discretion. The manager said it was no problem, that it was the least he could do for you guys after you brought his son back to him after those rough five years.

The restaurant offered a somewhat real Italian setting, awarding their guests with as much real scenery and architecture it could. You could only compare it to the Venetian in Vegas as you had never actually been to Italy, but the live band and garlic smell was enough to transport you.

The lights were low, older couples enjoying the food and wine, and there was a small bar near the back of the restaurant. It wasn’t really a place for some shady business, but years of experience let you know that wasn’t always the case. It was second nature to eye women reaching into their purses, only to pull out a pack of gum. Second nature to wince at the sound of a loud laugh cutting through the quiet atmosphere.

As promised, you were led to a more private area of the restaurant, closer to the bar than to the band.

“Go run the job, Scott. We’ll just be enjoying our unlimited breadsticks,” you said, letting out a heavy and relaxed sigh as you settled into the private booth.

“That hat isn't really hiding those broad shoulders, Cap,” Scott laughed, slapping Steve on the back.

Steve slid into the same booth, ignoring the completely empty seat across from you. “Thanks, Scott. I’m aware.”

You tried to hide your blush as you squeezed deeper in your seat. Scott noticed though, side eyeing Steve who was none the wiser. “You know, I told him that he should have used those facial changing things SHIELD used to have.”

Steve grabbed the offered utensils and started unwrapping them from their napkins.

“What are we if not superheroes who think a baseball cap and glasses hide our identities?” you teased, shooting Scott a quick wink.

Steve answered almost triumphantly, “Uh, Superman?”

You giggled and grabbed the napkin he had unwrapped for you. “I’d argue Thor is more like Superman, but okay.”

“How am I not more like Superman? What-”

“Uh, guys? I see the dude so I’m gonna go. You two enjoy your meal,” Scott interrupted, running off to a booth located toward the middle of the restaurant.

You sat for a few awkward moments before you squinted and looked at Steve, who was sitting to your left and way too close. “Are we annoying?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like,” you spoke with your hands, “you and I bicker a lot because we love to annoy each other but you think it gets on other people’s nerves?”

Steve chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with yours. “Do you really care if it does?”

That blush of yours was starting to feel warmer. “No, just wondering if you felt that way.”

He shrugged, “I quite like our relationship.”

“Oh,” you smiled, looking down at your lap. “I quite liked it more a few years back but you know.”

He immediately tensed, body leaning away from you as if you were burning him. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “Sorry, that was low.”

He sighed deeply, “No, I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

You took a risk and reached for his hand, squeezing gently. The kind gesture seemed to calm him, and he looked back at you. “I still shouldn’t have said it.”

He accepted that, and handed you the menu.

The hotel food was grand, it did its job of filling you up and providing the necessary nutrients, but there was just something about the carbs in pasta and bread. It ignited the food critic inside you, because now you were cursing the hotel chef and dreading having to order breakfast in the morning. No, dinner. You were having breakfast with your father tomorrow.

Scott was busy conducting his own business, bluetooth turned off but still glancing over his shoulder once in a while to check on you guys. Each time he did, he felt butterflies flutter in his breadstick-filled stomach. It was the first time he had seen the two of you so carefree, let alone with each other, and it was the most refreshing thing in the world.

Steve was in the middle of telling another childhood story, his main plate already finished and practically licked clean. But the unlimited breadsticks were coming out by the pound, a new stick in each of your hands every five minutes.

“I swear, she loved Bucky more than me!”

You covered your mouth and chewed, careful to not let anything through because of your giggle fit. “Steve! Your mother did not!”

Steve wiped at his under eye, clutching his chest as he continued explaining. “Bucky was always around and my mom would just linger every second she wasn’t working!”

“Bet she loved him.”

“See?”

“No, I mean she must have loved him like her own! Bucky was your best friend, your only friend. She probably thought of him like an angel sent from God!” you clarified.

Steve smiled wider at your cheesy explanation. They were happy memories, joyful ones that he would often think about while writing or drawing.

He continued with a soft confession. “I really wish I could see her again.”

You leaned your temple on your palm, “From everything you’ve shared with me, she sounds lovely.”

“She would have loved you.” The blush was back, and so was Steve’s, almost like those words were supposed to be kept in the back of his head. He cleared his throat. “God, she was so destroyed when Bucky first got his orders.”

“Was Bucky scared?”

“Scared? Absolutely fucking terrified. We talked about running away and changing our names so he didn’t have to go.”

The draft was such a horrible practice. The fact that men still had to enlist and hope no ‘necessary’ war was upon them. It was quite reassuring to know most of those men wouldn’t have to see battle today, they were given a choice, and there were agencies that managed people who could, like the Avengers.

“Steve…”

Steve just hummed softly, “Life in the forties, am I right?

Your voice also got quieter. “Why didn’t you run away?”

Steve huffed out a laugh, swallowing the last of his bread. “We tried. Got all the way to the edge of town before Bucky’s dad wrung us both back to kick our asses.”

Almost out of instinct, you gripped his hand again. You rubbed soothing circles into his knuckles, knuckles that hadn’t seen hand-to-hand combat in so long. There wasn’t much danger in the world nowadays, just small missions here and there. It wasn’t like the team was itching for another alien invasion. But these periods of well needed rest were odd, periods where bruises completely healed up and little pockets of weight were gained. Steve’s knuckles were soft, only having seen the ends of paintbrushes for a long while.

“...Where’s your mother?”

His voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you had to repeat the question in your own head a couple times.

“It’s not a happy story.”

There wasn’t much of a story anyway.

“But is it a story you need to get off your chest?”

Steve didn’t want to push too hard. The long pause in your relationship definitely didn’t soften this blow, and it only added to the strings of resistance. If you decided not to tell Steve about this, Steve would have to accept it. If anything, this was one of the toughest questions to ask someone when all you’ve been doing is ignoring them for two years.

“Not really much to get rid of.”

He nodded, only a slight hint of disappointment laced within his words. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Natasha was the only one with any knowledge of your mom. There was never an actual moment in which you freely spoke of her - inserting her likeness, her person, back into some alternate and fucked-up reality - you kept her legacy dead. It was obvious she hadn’t enjoyed this part of her life, no doubt it absolutely killed her to leave you trapped in it, so keeping her dead, even in conversation, was a favor.

But one drunken night and you were showing Natasha the one photo you had of her, stuffed deep in your wallet and crinkled beyond repair. Her black hair to her shoulders, lip liner a darker shade than her lipstick, hands intertwined behind her back as she arched forward in a playful tilt, shooting the camera a smile that was stuck around the word she was saying as the candid was taken. There was no recorded voice but you had a record of her movement, frozen in time.

Steve’s sincerity grasped you by the literal roots of your hair, because next thing you knew you were spilling the first thought you had.

“She was twenty-three. Working as a real estate agent, very beautiful, and she was engaged. To an American.”

Steve chuckled around his champagne glass, “Was that bad?”

You grinned at that, like he was already fully and deeply invested in your story. “Not necessarily. But everyone knew she was taken.”

“And your father?”

“He wanted to buy some houses. Saw her, wanted her, tried persuading her into going on a date. Nothing really worked, she didn’t accept his money or gifts.”

Steve fumbled over his next words. “Did she eventually?”

“No, but her brother did. My father didn’t know it was her brother, so he thought she was accepting them. Got mad when she still refused his advances.”

He was digesting this little by little. Steve had heard horror stories of girls he grew up with, forced to marry at a young age when they were caught in a passionate moment with a man, or when they ended up pregnant. Bucky and his mother had always instructed him to treat women with respect, to never intentionally or accidentally ruin their reputation, to protect and use his voice to stand up for them. And although women weren’t getting frisky with him when he was all but ninety pounds at the ripe age of twenty, that didn’t stop Steve from exchanging a few words and punches with men who had no right. “How did they end up together?”

You shrugged, reaching over for another breadstick. “No one knows. He invited her to a party one day and she didn’t come back for a whole week. Next thing her family knows she’s engaged to my father and no longer with the love of her life.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, her family had no choice but to accept that. Her poor fiance, though.”

“Where is he now?”

Steve had this weird hope that the fiance may still be alive somewhere, waiting for your mother to find him. But that was just the hopeless romantic emerging.

You sighed deeply, “My father told my mother he killed him. My mother believed him.”

“So, he’s still alive? He didn’t hurt him?”

“Apparently he’s still kicking, yeah. But my mom became severely depressed from that lie.”

The restaurant felt colder and the air became thinner. Steve didn’t want his next thought to be true. “She didn’t...?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, she found out he was alive.” Even if you weren’t witness to it, you could still imagine your mother charting the areas she would have to run and swim through to get away. Wasn’t like it was a heartfelt thought, but the mere fact that she had that much determination to risk her life for love, it was somewhat therapeutic to think about. Like it was genuinely satisfying to imagine her defying your father. Still, your face drooped as you gave Steve the sad conclusion. “She didn’t even make it across the border before he had her killed for betraying him.”

His face fell in time with yours, “Fuck.”

“She left me with Maribel’s mother. But my father found me and told me she had an accident. Didn’t find out the truth until I was thirteen.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You shoved his shoulder with yours, a light chuckle cutting through the sad moment. “Not like you had a hand in this, Steve. It’s just my life.”

You were used to Steve’s generosity, his ability to make any person feel a part of his family - you had been on the receiving end of his sincerity for the past week now. But as you held his gaze, his body seemingly towering over yours, your chest flushed with such warmness, a tranquil promise of safety. He leaned forward, breath hitting your cheeks, hand still gripping yours.

“Not anymore. We’ll end this, Y/N. I promise you, we’ll end this.”

You took a risk and rested your forehead on his, his continuous promise still causing your stomach to twist pleasurably. “How’d we get so sad all of a sudden?” You pushed away and threw your arms in the air. “We need more breadsticks!”

Steve laughed loudly, the private booth still providing somewhat of a thin curtain to the other diners. “No, we need mints!”

Rolling your eyes, you blew your breath at Steve teasingly. “Weak.”

Steve groaned, “You and Scott are not getting into the car without chewing on a mint.”

“You got a thing against bad breath?”

“Take the mint.”

“I’m gonna fight you if you force the mint on me.”

He was reaching into his jacket and pulling the small case out. He winked at you. “I’ll win.”

He popped open the cap and held it out to you. He didn’t tip it though, as if he was waiting for you to extend your palm. Everything was silent for a minute, eyes challenging one another.

He could easily lean in. He could easily just tilt his head a little to his left and capture your lips with his. Every damn molecule in his body was telling him to do it, every bubble from that champagne somehow giving him some extra courage.

Your breath hitched slightly, and he leaned away. I’m such a coward, he thought.

You reacted swiftly, disguising the awkwardness. “You’re right, give me the mint. You should swallow like three.”

Steve snickered, “You ruined the moment.”

But you didn’t ruin the moment. And he just blamed you for it. Like he had already established - he was a coward.

You grabbed the mints he offered and popped them into your mouth. “What moment? I didn’t see any moment.”

Okay, he could just lean in right now and hope the mint freshness in your mouth would mask the garlic in his. Yeah, he could just lean in and do what he’s been thinking of doing for the last day and a half-

“Hey, you guys finished? Getting dessert?”

Steve almost shot from his seat, “Jesus fucking christ, Scott!”

Scott slid into the seat across from you. “You scare easily. Let’s get dessert!”

You were too flustered. Fine, okay. You’ll play along. If the gods want to reward you with this fun Steve, the Steve you were closest to years ago, then so be it. You’ll bite. And if he wants to resort back to his bitchy self, his hermit behavior, then you’ll fight him then.

Scott ordered so much dessert.

So much.

The little moment you had with Steve was still fresh, you could sense he was thinking about it too, but you opted to simply enjoy the night out. You were here with two friends, protection was just a phone call away, and you were safe.

Perhaps Scott had the same effect on Steve that he had on you. Absolutely demolished his ‘Captain’ self and released the guy who simply wanted to enjoy a mini road trip with his friends.

You were barely fifteen minutes into your ride home when Scott lowered the windows and turned the radio up high.

“Woohoo!”

You screamed over the loud roar of the wind, “Scott, it’s fucking freezing!”

Scott yelled back, “We just had three desserts each! Your blood should be running warm!”

You blinked away the dryness, “Dude!”

Steve, surprisingly, agreed with Scott. “Enjoy it!”

Your mouth dropped open and you followed Steve’s movements as he turned the radio higher.

The music blared and you were about to protest again, the air literally nipping at your sensitive cheeks, but the song that started was a non-skip.

You would indulge in this childishness once.

Once.

You reached around the passenger seat and gripped Steve’s shoulders, shaking him in place. “Ah, California radio giving us the classics!”

Scott leaned over and turned it up higher.

You swayed in your seat and sang along with Scott. “Bidi bidi bom bom!”

Scott pointed at you and recited the lyrics, “Bidi, bidi!”

Both of you sang, “Bom!”

Even with his eyes on the road, Scott was nailing some good dance moves in his seat. You both sang each lyric with your heart and soul, laughs escaping during the guitar breaks.

Steve just enjoyed the show. He didn’t know the song, the melody a foreign one for him, but it must have been popular for both you and Scott to know it. He watched you sway in your seat, hands dancing and voice matching the volume of the radio. Just the other night, you had mentioned how you never sang anymore.

But here you were, singing through the most beautiful smile Steve had ever seen.

He missed the sound of it. He missed hearing you sing in your room, no doubt you were dancing too since he usually heard your feet shuffling against your carpet. He missed the innocence you would casually portray, an invitation for anyone to befriend you. He missed teasing you lightly, and he regretted the roughness of his voice years later. He missed just walking into the common area and finding you there, cooking for yourself and anyone who wanted a plate - that plate usually for him. He missed you.

You were right here, voice hitting those octaves Steve didn’t think he would ever hear again. You were right here, and he missed you.

Scott was staying in a separate room. The dessert and alcohol had run right through him, and he bid you goodnight after he threatened to plop down in your bed if you invited him in.

The sound of Scott’s retreating footsteps seemed to suck all the air from the vents at once, whispering its song lovingly in your ear. It was both refreshing and terrifying to be left alone because now here you were, standing outside your hotel door with the super soldier you had gone to Hell and back with.

You inwardly cringed, the tightness in your chest sending your childish ass back to sophomore year of college. A first date, the lost promise of another - a proper teenage reaction to a crush. But this man in front of you wouldn’t let you delete his number from your phone; he wouldn’t avoid eye contact in the dining hall; he wouldn’t sit at the back of the lecture hall just to keep a necessary distance.

Granted, Elijah - poor, frightened Elijah - had seen you literally kidnap someone off the street under your father’s orders. This being before you went straight and moral, before you had met Fury, before SHIELD training. You were to blame for that sprouting relationship going south pretty quickly. So you avoided him, too - praying Ernesto or Seda could never track him.

But Steve, beautiful Steve who reloaded your guns when you couldn’t, who jumped in front of stray bullets for you and those he loved, Steve who very quietly asked you for various salsa recipes when he was in the mood to cook. Here he was, eyes also watching Scott walk away, no doubt experiencing the same tight coil within his chest. He hadn’t run, he had worked and fought with and against you, and he wasn’t running away.

No, Steve Rogers never ran.

The low beep from the hotel lock snapped you from your thoughts. You sensed his hesitance because when your history was truly reviewed with the most unbiased of minds, there was absolutely no reason to overthink. Hell, when you ran through the halls of Thor’s Asgardian palace with Rocket tailing you, the first joke out your mouth was how Steve would probably instruct you to respect a place like that and speed walk. Your first thought when starting the pilot episode of a new show is to wait for Bucky… and Steve, who would pop the kernels over the stove and add real salt and butter.

His first thought as he helped load people onto the planes in Sokovia was that your whiny ass better be on one of them. Or when Steve regrouped in the support circle, his first thought before he continued the discussion was that he really hoped you would walk through those doors and join - until one day you did.

Whether the two of you recognized the severity of your unspoken feelings, they were there. Silent and at a gradual increase. Never rushed, not entirely obvious because of the temporary roadblocks of unnecessary separation.

Steve was here in front of you, like he always was, and he was wearing the smallest nervous smile you had ever seen.

And you were here in front of him, like you always were, and he could not entirely read the mixed emotions on your delicate face.

You shuffled alongside your bed, stopping to shrug out of the heavy jacket you had on. “We should turn in early so we can be well-rested, in case we gotta fight tomorrow.”

Steve nodded in agreement but remained silent, hovering near the coffee table and monitors. Your back was facing him and he just watched you fumble with your boots and belt. It was like your back was on fire, bursting with fueled flames as you could literally feel his gaze boring into you. The overwhelming urge to simply snap and ask him what the hell he was looking at was strong, so in character, but you refrained. It was too intimate, too quiet, but before you could even ask him if he wanted the shower first, the warmth of his chest was near, inches away and calling.

Your breath hitched, shoulders rising slightly and exactly what Steve needed to witness. It was awkward for him to just stand behind you with no actual intention of touching you first - no, he needed a proper signal. So Steve waited those few precious seconds more until you turned, sun-kissed by the California sun and hair no longer in tight curls, before he glanced down at your glossy lips. You followed his eyesight, all knowing in his intentions, and you glanced at his lips as well.

A gesture of approval.

Steve pulled you in, both hands settling on your cheeks, thumbs exploring the corners of your mouth. He watched them dance and how your mouth parted slightly in response. He looked back up, studying the small crease forming in between your eyebrows and the pinch of water filling the inside corners of your eyes.

His thumbs felt like a gentle sigh, a promise of a sweet caress in both the daytime and dead of night. Although all his focus was on you, his own features reacted to the moment. His lips were also parted, sweet breath with the scent of those classic tiramisu’s he had devoured, touching the tip of your nose and equally trembling lips.

So goddamn intimate that you found yourself internally cursing those sitcoms Wanda had forced you to binge watch. Because the two love interests, albeit they had several months or years of growing tension, rushed into their first kiss for the sake of limited airtime. They didn’t prepare you for practically a ten-year build-up, a relationship that was both heavily work and friend related, the slowness of such a moment fans would most certainly be jumping out of their seats for. No, nothing could have prepared you for the warmth of Steve Rogers.

Your Captain.

You registered the soft feeling of his lips as they pressed against yours, overlapped only slightly. Eyes now fully closed in surprise and pleasure, you leaned into it more, hands placed on Steve’s rising chest. The squeeze of his hands cupping your cheeks caused your lips to pucker more, but you were relaxed in his desperate touch. He tilted his head a little to the left, your lips sliding against each other’s and noses bumping. Steve frowned in concentration, pouring whatever emotions he had felt throughout the last few years into this one kiss, and he knew he couldn’t possibly fully portray them. And almost as quickly as you thought about how sweet and innocent of a kiss this was, Steve’s tongue slowly peaked out from behind his teeth and greeted your bottom lip.

His tongue traced over your bottom lip warmly, welcomed by yours as you followed his lead. God, you would always follow his lead.

You tried to move in closer, but your elbows were already bent fully against him and his hips were only a few inches from your greedy ones. One tiny step forward and you would be completely flushed against him - but you chose to respect the distance Steve created.

You let out a quiet whine, body shuddering as Steve applied more pressure. It was as if Steve had never heard such a sound - completely unexpected and causing him to pause momentarily. He leaned away a little, lips still barely kissing yours. He opened his eyes, gaze wandering from your flushed cheeks still squeezed between his palms and to your fluttering eyelids. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he debated leaning forward again, to be selfish for once and to pass forth the trophy for ‘waiting too long’. But as you opened your eyes, no trace of regret or hate swimming inside your irises, Steve froze.

You were his friend. His friend who teased him about the paint streaks across his forehead, who followed his lead no matter how ridiculous the order.

He didn’t want you to inspect him further as well, so he shut his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. It was only then that he felt you settle back down from your tippy-toes.

You gulped loudly, throat dry and lips instantly craving him again. “Steve…”

Steve let go of your face and dragged his hands lightly down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He turned his head slightly, his breath now kissing your cheek. Although your cheeks were red, the absence of Steve’s palms made them cold.

He took a small step back, hands straining to stay on your skin as he reluctantly pulled them away. The absence of any warmth finally woke you from that intense daze and you frowned at Steve as he pulled away altogether. The instinct to reach out was there, and you cursed yourself for being so clingy.

“Steve?” you called again, voice hoarse but light enough to pinch at Steve’s fast beating heart.

He looked up and locked eyes with your confused ones. Oh, you’re gonna hate him for this.

He gave you a small and kind smile, one you had seen plenty of times when he was actually enjoying your company. He backed up to the door, gaze never leaving yours even as he reached for the handle and key card.

And he wanted to bring his hands back to your face to rub away that wrinkle between your furrowing eyebrows. But he simply opened the door and left you standing near the edge of your bed, flushed with a deep sense of longing and growing confusion.

Steve already knew the amount of heat he would receive from the moment gossip of the kiss spread. Whether he was first to tell or you were. Bucky’s going to kick his ass, for sure, no doubt about it. No matter his bond with Bucky, it could never excuse leaving you alone to unravel this situation. You had this hold over Bucky, a soft mutual understanding of mental torture, so this inevitable ass kicking would be justified. Plus, after years of being rejected over and over, mostly in the forties, Bucky might just kick his ass for simply being a dumbass.

But Steve felt calm, an added relaxation due to the whiskey cooling in his hand. If there was anything Steve was an expert in, it was overthinking. You two had that in common - were you overthinking while absentmindedly watching TV? Overthinking while rubbing shampoo into your scalp? Overthinking while angrily stomping your way down to the hotel bar to hand his ass back over to him?

He let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see you burst through the doors.

“Anyone wanna start?”

Steve glanced around the circle of familiar and new faces. The group varied each week. Some people would try, share their anecdotes about lost loved ones, only to never show up for another session. Others often attended and never spoke, but they kept returning. Steve didn’t judge their choices - he couldn’t. No matter how many mornings he wanted to crawl back under the sheets and binge eat packaged foods, he never could. He had been at this job for two years. There was both pain and satisfaction in what he did. Sam would be doing this if he were here.

And he had to do this for Sam.

“My divorce was finalized yesterday.”

Steve looked over at the man who spoke first, a long-time member of this particular support group, and grimaced at his confession. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty, no wrinkles or gray hair, and he was ending a two-year marriage.

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

The man, Michael, shrugged sadly, “We still love each other, man. But seeing your newborn disintegrate in your arms does something to your soul that’s just… we both knew we needed to move on. Even if it was from each other.”

Steve squeezed the small, red stress ball in his hand and tried to offer more condolences and a kind smile, but it came out rather painful. He opted to stay silent in case Michael wanted to continue. Instead, another member decided to comment.

It went like this for almost an hour with Steve adding in his empathetic words of wisdom whenever he saw appropriate. It was good for everyone to share so openly, to carry the conversation with minimal involvement from Steve. Steve had shared snippets of his story with the group awhile back, careful to not mention the gruesome specifics. He had let out as much as he was able, not as much as he would have liked, but his main job was to facilitate. Besides, Steve went to confession every month to talk to someone - anyone - even if he wasn’t necessarily Catholic. But that’s just the thing - no one knew who they were anymore.

The sound of a scraping chair leg caught everyone’s attention, and they all turned to the entrance in search of the disruption. You paused in your movements, face scrunched in embarrassment. Opening one eye, you mouthed a quick apology and rushed to carry the chair to the circle.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Subway was a bitch,” you muttered, your embarrassed smile growing wider.

For over a year, Steve had subtly urged you to attend one of these meetings. He was witness to your nightmares, your destructive solo missions that even Friday had no records of, and your sudden breakdown last week. You were casually jogging around the outdoor track when you suddenly stopped and fell to your knees, broken sobs seeming to shake the trees around you. You were crouched for a good minute before Steve had seen you wipe your eyes and continue your jog. As if nothing happened.

To see you here, whether to share or to listen, prompted the proud and erratic beating of Steve’s heart.

“It’s completely fine. Time’s almost up but we still got time for you.”

You sent Steve a funny smile, amused by his professional tone. “Uh, yeah! A friend convinced me to come. He was pretty persuasive.”

Steve blushed, head tilting downward.

You introduced yourself and let the group know you were also an Avenger. No one seemed shocked and you were suddenly grateful for this mixture of people.

Steve sat and listened, his nerves settling.

“I’m gonna be honest with you all,” you started, thumbs dancing in your lap. “And I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

Steve sat up straight, eyebrows scrunching as he listened intently.

You sighed, wetting your lips briefly. “The day before the snap, I was supposed to die.”

You wanted to avoid Steve’s gaze until the right moment. You continued, “I went on a mission to Mexico. Alone, which was completely against protocol but hey, we broke a lot more rules than that.”

Steve cleared his throat which earned a chorus of chuckles from the group.

“And I was technically on house arrest but I found out a way to temporarily disable that ankle monitor,” you added, grinning from the laughs you were receiving.

“Anyway, all my potential backup was nonexistent. I had friends on the run,” you paused, glancing at Steve with a somber expression. “And other friends literally fighting another battle on their home planet somewhere in space. So, I went alone.”

“While I was bleeding out from a bullet my own father ordered, Tony was already up in space. Loki was already dead.”

You hoped no one commented on Loki’s role in your life. He wasn’t exactly a nice figure to suddenly name drop in New York, but he was important in your grief.

It was slightly unnerving to be on display here, but you weren’t exactly planning on returning. You just needed to rant.

“I stitched myself up the best I could in that quinjet - which I almost crashed,” you muttered, smirking at Steve. “Sorry, Cap.”

“This is the first time I've heard you flew. You’re not even authorized to fly,” Steve declared, face scrunched in confusion and astonishment.

“That’s not important,” you teased. “But the stitches were messy work. Horrible criss-crosses.”

Steve was in a tiny state of shock. He had known what happened to you, but to hear you talk so casually about the day before the world went to shit - it just made it more real.

You had mentioned before that you never dreamed about the snap, but about everything leading up to it.

“I woke up, betrayed yet again by my own blood, and Steve was suddenly there after two years. We were gonna fight an outside threat.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed lightly, “I was still healing but I was on the battlefield. Stayed close to Nat most of the time.”

The group was heavily invested in your retelling. “I couldn’t fight him, obviously. But I did see him. I saw how he ripped that stone from my friend’s head.”

A few winces sounded around the circle.

“I guess I feel immense guilt. Like, I could have done something more even though realistically, I couldn’t. Kinda feels like I sat back and watched my friend’s die.”

No one spoke, but it was obvious everyone had survivor’s guilt.

“And now, I’m living with the pain of having all three of my best friends stripped from me while also celebrating the fact that the snap took my father.”

Shrugging, you gave your last sad smile to the group. “I feel guilty for what happened while also being grateful it took someone who deserved it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Steve spoke. “You’re here today to tell your story. No one has to agree or disagree with you. It’s your story. Tell it like it is.”

You chuckled, “I could easily bother Steve with this at the compound.” You smiled at the teenager clutching what looked like a stuffed animal in his lap. “But I had nothing else to do tonight. My only friends are gone.”

“You and Steve aren’t friends?”

This time it was Michael that spoke, his eyes bouncing from you to Steve. You turned to Steve for some kind of answer. Was it a yes? Were you more like coworkers than true friends?

Steve’s eyes softened and his kind smile was back.

You answered, “I guess. I did come here for him.”

Steve rolled his eyes and kept his light-hearted tone, “I’m really glad you did.”

Steve backtracked, clearing his throat as he addressed the circle. “I’m really glad all of you did. Same time next week.”

You busied yourself with stacking the chairs and dusting off your pants. Once most of the group had left, Steve gathered his things and walked over to you. “You take the subway?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and you stacked the final chair high. “I did. You drive?”

Steve hummed in response, “Want a lift?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re not staying at your place tonight?”

“Nah, I haven’t seen Nat in a week. I should pay her a visit.”

He curled his jacket around your shoulders as you exited the building. You held it tightly, relishing in the comfort. The walk back to the car was quiet but not awkward. After such a heavy night, silence was most definitely needed. And just the comfort of being around someone you trusted added to the relaxation aspect of it all.

Steve kicked a loose piece of gravel to the street. You watched him for a few seconds before you spoke, voice light and a puff of cold air escaping your lips.

“Steve?”

He turned to you and waited for you to continue speaking.

“You know Sam would be so proud of you doing this, right?”

Steve watched the cold air leave his own lungs as well. He felt the weight of that statement pressing down on his shoulders as he looked up at the dark sky. “I know.”

Steve knew he was utterly fucked, so fucked that any line that had been established was stepped over and kicked a thousand yards back. His mind was made up, he would not run, he would not succumb to some former mindset 2016 Steve would have fallen victim to. He was a new person, a completely different person than he was out of the ice and after the snap. He deserved to cross the line, he deserved whatever happiness was afforded to him - he deserved comfort in the arms of another after years of denying himself.

He downed the rest of his drink with a loud gulp, mind made up, and headed back to your room.

It was best to just pretend it never happened… no? But did you want to pretend it never did? So many moments over the years where this could have happened, where either of you could have literally just said ‘fuck it’. As overthinking was a specialty, quite a useless skill, you thought about the countless fights you had.

Red in the face, hands clenched until nails imprinted little crescents, absolutely seething at the mouth. Some of the things you would yell were vile, none at all honest but with the intent to cause pain for only a moment, and mumbled apologies later. You were literally enemies for these past two, long years. Enemies who had to be seated and scolded, tricked into accepting defeat and living as teammates once more.

Perhaps one of those arguments could have been remedied by simply leaning in like you had tonight, by throwing each other against the wall, by pulling the roots of your hair as he tugged-

Nope.

No matter how much tension you were now realizing you had for this man, tension that could literally be fucked out, wasn’t it too late to act on it? You couldn’t pinpoint the chance you maybe had and missed.

Steve walked through the door in the middle of your rapid brainstorming. He just grinned sweetly and slipped into the bathroom.

As simple as that.

Now you couldn’t discern between the feelings of wanting to fight him or fuck him. Not being able to differentiate between them ignited a sour mood, and once he stepped out from the shower, you basically pushed him to the side to lock yourself in.

Even the warm water hitting your body couldn’t alleviate the pressure of overthinking. You disregarded your hair tonight and instead just washed your body. As quick as you could jump back out and go to bed, the better.

Sucking in a deep breath, you opened the door and shut off the bathroom light. Your eyes landed on Steve’s torso, shirtless and the only thing not covered by the white blanket. He hadn’t shaved his beard either, the length evident when he kissed you earlier. It felt wrong and right at the same time, a battle that you seriously did not want to deal with. To get involved with your mission partner was dangerous - not because Steve himself was dangerous, but because it was a giant distraction. A distraction that you couldn’t afford.

But as he put down his book and lay it in his lap, looking up to look at you through hooded eyes, sleepy but alert, the ‘danger’ was nothing but enticing.

You cleared your throat and padded down your pajama shorts absentmindedly, slinging your hair over one shoulder and focusing on plugging your charger into your phone. It was so silent besides your pitter-patter, and god, did Steve find that sound so relaxing, until you climbed into bed. Once your shuffling was done, the slight buzzing of Steve’s desk lamp drowned out all your other senses. And the longer it was heard, the more it sounded like a ticking clock.

Steve shut the lamp off, the only light now illuminating your figure from outside. He studied your breathing, watching how every so often you would bring your hand up to scratch your cheek or move a stray hair. You looked so gentle, so inviting, so small.

You were turned away from him and facing the wall, eyes shut as you listened to his movements. There was a small part of you that wanted to stay up all night talking, to lean on his shoulder and simply feel his warmth, to feel that beard against your cheek one more time. As quickly as those thoughts flashed through your mind did you scold yourself, that this was inappropriate and wrong and so dangerous.

You felt a dip in your bed, heavy and unsure, a lift of your blankets, and it happened so quickly that you could have sworn you dreamt it. Steve wrapped his arm around you, his broad chest pressed tightly against your back and his lips attacked the skin just below your earlobe. Your breath hitched, eyes shot open, and your hands reached up to grip his wrist. Steve stilled.

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, lips hovering over your blushing skin and breath practically blistering. You could feel him now, hard and pulsing against your ass and ready to move. You felt dizzy, overcome with such a rush of desire that you couldn’t help but stiffen in his tight grasp.

“Don’t,” you choked out, feeling his body become rigid and his breath begin to quicken.

“I’m sorry I-” he began to move away from you, voice no longer a whisper and tainted with panic.

“No,” you pulled back, tilting your head up to lock eyes with him. You brought your arm up to grasp the back of his head, and you tugged it back to your neck. “Don’t stop.”

Yeah, he was utterly fucked. “Fuck,” he groaned, continuing the attack on your neck. But he gained momentum now, arm squeezing you against him tighter, and voice cracking as he moaned your name.

“Steve, please do something.”

Your hands found their way back to his arm, gripping it tightly as he fumbled with the waistband of your shorts. He played with it, teasing in his actions, almost as punishment for the years you tormented him with your attitude. His lips pressed harder now, finding each patch of available skin on your neck and flushed cheek, and Steve has never felt so aroused in his life. He wasn’t even inside you, but the quick gasps he heard from you did plenty in aiding the rush of blood from his head to his stiffening cock.

“Tell me what you want. Please, tell me and I’ll give it to you,” he moaned, the slightest experimental role of the hips causing you to whimper.

“Touch me,” you practically sobbed, rolling your hips back against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt all of him.

And just like that, he gave you what you asked for. He gripped your hip and shoved you closer to him, hot and ready and pressed firmly against you. He rolled his hips into you, little whimpers of his own touching your sensitive ear. He quickened his pace and he found it hard to think straight when the scrunch of pleasure all over your face, making you look so willing, was all he was focused on. He focused on the way you bit your lip, a bite and then a gasp, and then you were back to biting as if you were trying to restrain any higher moan. And even with only the moonlight illuminating the room, he could see the sun-kissed color of your skin and the bruising he was causing. He kept his mouth on you as he rocked himself against you, indulging in a few more selfish seconds of pleasure before becoming his generous self.

He dipped his hand into your shorts and found the sweet nub that so desperately needed attention. His brain almost short circuited, the feeling of his fingers finally sliding into your wet lips making his throat dry. He drew little but skilled circles, each twirl of his index and middle finger in unison with the grind of his hips. Your mouth fell open by such pleasure, and you braced yourself by placing your left palm on the mattress and pressed down, nails scratching the cotton fabric and alerting Steve of your excitement. You pushed back against him, timed and in perfect harmony.

You knew the room wasn’t on fire, but even if it was you didn’t think to check.

“Keep talking to me, Y/N. Keep talking to me,” Steve begged, each rotation of his hips gaining pressure. His eagerness prompted you to reach back up and grab him by the hair, yanking his head to your tilted one and smashing his lips against yours. Steve gasped at the pleasant sting, somewhat surprised with himself that he liked that form of roughness. But who was he to judge his kinks when the tip of your nose was turning redder, the blush in your cheeks mixed with barely visible silver droplets of sweat, and a purple outline was beginning to form on your plump upper lip?

The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated, but still beneficial in getting Steve to rut against you even harder.

He could so easily pull your shorts down and enter you, and if he was anything like he felt, then you knew it would sting. But you craved that sting and stretch, the thought of him inside you causing another gush of desire to leak from you. Steve dipped his finger deeper into you only to accumulate your juices and spread them higher. He went back to rubbing expertly, actions gaining speed to match your whimpers.

“Fuck, Steve,” you moaned louder, and you swore you felt tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You pressed back harder, his hand rubbing and pressing down on your stomach simultaneously. Your head felt cloudy, the pleasure coursing through your veins and to the very tips of your toes. “Oh, my fuck.”

Steve paused his fingers to trail his hand back up your stomach and to your breasts, pulling your tank top down to spill them. The sounds leaving your throat set him on fire, desire pulsing everywhere - his head, his heart, his aching cock that was pressed so closely against you that he could feel you vibrating. He pinched your nipple and rolled it, closing his eyes in response to your dirty purrs. “Let me make you come, doll.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” you quipped, ass tilting at an angle that caused Steve to choke. He growled from the attitude he couldn’t believe you still fucking had during a moment like this and kissed you roughly, both your broken moans molding into one. His hand returned to your shorts.

“Do that again,” he begged, hitching his leg up to rest on yours. The angle allowed him to drive his hips even harder. You maneuvered to provide the same tilt, grinning at the pleasurable cries that left your Captain’s mouth.

“I think I’m gonna make you come first,” you chuckled and took his bottom lip between your teeth. You pulled lightly, concentration still in the circle of your hips. He looked back down at you, determination and undeniable lust in his eyes. He thrust his aching cock against you, sliding himself over your ass. He did it hard but slow, the pressure applied giving the head of his cock such a sweet squeeze as he bumped it against the curve of your lumbar spine.

The heavy duvet was abandoned now, cold air from the hotel air conditioner failing in cooling you down at all. You both had a thin sheet of sweat on your clothed bodies, goosebumps standing proudly, and lips all plump and red from your harsh kissing.

Steve held you so close, so tight, and his fingers were drawing such rushed and tiny circles that you swore his wrist had to be cramping up. But the sound of both your whimpers started to mesh together, alerting you of such a sweet climax up ahead.

“Steve, fuck, fuck, ohh,” you mewled, voice now high pitched and yes, it turned Steve on incredibly but it also fueled you. Your pornographic moans ignited an even deeper desire within you, just the true fact that Steve was touching you, Steve was getting you to make these sounds, Steve is actually hearing these sounds, Steve is making the same exact sounds.

“I-, please, come for me,” Steve pleaded, cock twitching with each thrust as he neared his end. “Make me come.”

His begging, his equally high voice, his skilled fingers rubbing rapidly and the slight pain from that, his breath burning your neck, were all too powerful, their combinations causing the fire in your core to explode and make you see white in a flash, black dots later clouding your vision. Your nails dug into his moving arm, crescents branded into him. You clenched around nothing, walls fluttering and thighs shaking as they pressed around his hand and fingers.

The inappropriate squelching sound of your juices spreading as your thighs clenched around his cramping fingers, the slide so sensual and dirty, had Steve rutting against you one, two, three more times before he came in hard but long spurts. His mouth hung open, breath still fanning your neck, and his eyes were so tightly shut that the force was enough to strain them.

“Oh, fuuuck, yes, yes!” Steve groaned, his body taking longer than usual to recover. His orgasm was powerful, more powerful than when he got himself off in the shower or in the comfort of his bed at night, and he knew it was because you clouded his senses. Of course, there was an added benefit to getting off with someone else, aiding that person in the same endeavor, but because it was you, it made the climax even more forceful, more intense. The whole situation was both unexpected and calculated, gentle and rough, and Steve’s heart was beating so fast by the thought of what just occurred that he found himself wanting to spill into you all night long, and to apologize for overstepping an unspoken boundary.

You could feel the wetness of both your own release and Steve’s, head still cloudy from such a sharp orgasm. You hummed in satisfaction, reaching your arm over once again to lift his head up by his hair. He hissed at the pull now, his body all fucked out and satisfied. “You good?”

Steve gave you a lazy smile, chest heaving in unison with yours. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good.”

Steve scanned your face for any regret just in case your words held other meaning, but all he could see was your satisfied expression, cheeks still flushed pink, hair tangled, and pupils dilated. He hesitated for a second before he leaned down and connected your lips, molding his with yours slowly and chastely. You both sighed at the feeling, highs now lowering and the coldness from the air conditioner causing a different set of goosebumps to appear. Steve pulled away, giving you one last peck as if testing the waters, and rested his forehead against yours. You both relished your post-orgasm bliss for a few silent minutes before cleaning up.

You shared playful shoves as you cleaned up. It was almost innocent, a huge contrast to the sinful activities you two had just committed, but there was a genuine feeling of understanding in the room. Your heart clenched at the simple sight of Steve washing his hands, eyes meeting his in the mirror, a soft look in his that startled you.

You gave him a smile so as to not alert him of your reaction, and exited the bathroom to climb back into bed. You drew the heavy duvet back over your body and cuddled in it deeply, chin hidden underneath and back facing Steve’s bed. It was a few more minutes before Steve came back into the room, shutting the light off, and looking at your resting form. He wanted to climb back in with you and hold you innocently, to have the feeling of your warm back against his broad chest, gentle exhales tickling the arm that would wrap around you. But he just looked back and forth from your bed and his, and he decided to not push the boundary further. He hesitated with this decision, but climbed into his own bed, the feeling of his cold sheets making him immediately regret it. He shuffled silently, his body facing yours.

You wanted to lay beside him too. But whether you were making a smart decision or an absurd, cowardly one, one thing was certain: you could no longer ignore the stacking of such emotions you had for this man.

It almost angered you, how much you denied yourself of even a simple crush for literally ten years, and it made you mad at Steve, too. Because if he hadn’t pushed you away, then maybe you could have accepted this sooner.

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress

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bill-y · 3 years

Text

𝐈𝐍𝐔𝐑𝐄

Peeta mellark x male reader

We all know who Katniss Everdeen is, but what if Primrose hadn’t been chosen but another boy from another unfortunate family? YOUR family.

Info: This is basically a reader insert and I’ve changed a few rules, not ground breaking though. The reader is a bit bland for now but I plan for his actions to be different. Because he has different moral grounds from Katniss and such. Would appreciate feedback! FEEL FREE TO POINT OUT TYPOS. GRAMMARLY SOMETIMES DOESN’T DO MY DYSLEXIC ASS JUSTICE

Part one: Over there, buddy

Part two:You’re here right now. :)

Part three: Click here, pepperoni salami.

Wattpad account: L0calxDumbass

I separated with Gale and Katniss for a while, telling them I needed air. I sighed, leaping from branch to branch in the thicket of trees. Bread, not just bread, baker's bread. If I'm lucky I could get just enough squirrels for the baker, he had a taste for it but his wife was much of a witch, so he only buys it when she's not around.

I remembered how she found me stealing some burnt bread from the trashcan. I looked at her with wide eyes, frozen, I thought I was going to die, stealing was punishable for death, after all. But she just let me go, screaming about her frustration of Seams picking through her trash.

I got bread that day either way.

I landed on a sturdy branch, spotting a squirrel on the tree adjacent to me; it was quite huge, I'm sure he'd love this. Let's just hope the witch isn't home by the time I give this to him.

I crouched down, still as a statue as I watched the squirrel run up and down the tree. I pulled out the thin, glistening dagger, unwrapping its course, leather bindings, which became a makeshift thin rope. I felt my eyes unconsciously widen, watching the squirrel's movements.

My arm aimed, then with a simple flick, the dagger whistled through the air. The small creature was then pinned to the bark of the tree through its eyes. The dagger's blade was thin enough to not damage anything when aimed right.

I pulled on the rope, the blade coming back, dragging the animal carcass with it. A small smile tugged on my face, I can get bread.

Kunal was surely panicking, he was the type to worry about the smallest of things. He once stepped on a cat's tail, Buttercup, Primrose's cat and he bawled, nobody could calm him down. Until he was offered food, that is.

I chuckled at the memory, slowly pulling the blade off the head of the squirrel. I held it in my hands victoriously, a grin on my face. I whistled a small 3 tone song, the chirping mocking birds falling silent before they imitated the tone.

After meeting up, we went back home, passing by the Hob. It was sort of a black market, where coals are transported directly to trains. I disliked it here, the amount of coal dust always bothered me, so when I come here I tend to cover my nose.

We managed to trade six of the fish for good bread, the other two for some salt. The lady who sells soup, the one that always glares at me because I've insulted her soup on multiple occasions, Greasy Sae: took half the greens we gathered, along with the dead dog meat that she calls "beef".

That's why I hate her soups, though it's not like I have much of an option, we can't afford luxury here. Unlike those obnoxious, entitled, privileged people in the Capitol. My jaw clenched at the mere thought of those scums.

We finish our business on the market, so we went to the mayor's house, who was particularly fond of strawberries. We knocked on the back door, his daughter, Madge opening it for us.

She's in Katniss and I's year sits beside us at almost every event because we don't really have groups of friends. For being the mayor's daughter you'd expect her to be an entitled brat or maybe a snob, but she was alright, she kept to herself.

I like that, I hate noisy people, They'll scare away the game, that and I've never really liked loud noises. I still remember the explosions in the mines, it was traumatizing, even though my father didn't meet death there. I really wished he had.

Madge didn't wear her usual attire, instead, she wore an expensive white dress, her blonde hair up with a pink ribbon. Reaping clothes. I felt my face scrunch up, that day was supposed to be a form of celebration. It's more of a way for the capitol to show who's in control.

We were being punished for the crimes of the people who failed, disguised as some form of celebration. It's disgusting.

"Pretty dress," Gale complimented. Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it's genuine or if he was just being ironic. It was a pretty dress, but it was a waste.

She smiled, "Well, if I'm going to the Capitol, I want to look nice, don't I?"

I clenched my jaw, "But you won't be going to the Capitol," I said coolly, my voice monotone. My eyes landed on a small, circular pin on her dress. Real gold. The testament to the fact that she probably won't be chosen. "You probably have five entries, compared to us, that's a blessing."

"That's not her fault," Katniss said. Madge looked slightly hurt, probably because I've never really spoken my thoughts to her, I try my best to be polite when she engages a conversation with me.

"I know," I responded plainly. Madge smiled towards me, though it was clear it wasn't exactly genuine. She then handed the money for the berries. She looked towards Katniss "Good luck, Katniss"

"You too," She responded.

We walked toward the Seam, I can't help but feel angry. Her? Going to the Capitol? What a joke. When you're twelve your name gets put in the pile once, thirteen twice then so on. Up until your eighteen, where your name is entered seven times.

But the thing is, the rich have an advantage. You can enter your name willingly in the pile when you're starving in exchange for some tesserae. I had been doing this since I was twelve, having entered my name 3 times, for my mother, brother and myself. Every year following suite, it has always been like this.

Now at the age of 16, I've entered my name twenty times, same with Katniss. Gale was in even greater danger, with a number of forty-two.

And she'll be the tribute this year? It can happen but it's deadly slim. I knew Gale felt the same way, listening to him rant about tesserae in the woods with Katniss was enough confirmation, along with the fact that I join in on the rants. Always end it with a promise to destroy the Capitol, somehow.

But what good does that do us?

Gale, Katniss and I divide our spoils, though it wasn't really the evenest distribution. Gale got more, understandably since he has more mouths to feed.

"See you guys in the square," Katniss said, Gale nodded, "Wear something pretty," he joked.

I decided to stop by the bakery, by then the witch should be home but I took my chances. There was Mr Mellark, sitting outside, watching the pigs. He saw me from the corner of his eye, he grinned. "Greyback!' he called.

"Mr Mellark, still up for some squirrel?" I ask, holding the fat one up. He nodded, "You're lucky my wife isn't here, yet. Hold on, I'll get the bread for Kunal," he said, rushing inside.

I walked to the backdoor of the bakery so that he wouldn't trouble himself that much. I waited awkwardly outside, looking at a small bird fluttering about. I whistled, holding my finger out.

The bird landed on my finger, making me smile. From the corner of my eye, I saw a boy, blonde, stocky. Could probably kill me, if I'm being honest. Even though I was fast, I wasn't strong.

Soon enough, the bird flew away with the arrival of the baker, with a loaf of sweet, savoury bread, hot from the oven. "Here you go, Greyback."

I nodded, handing him the squirrel. "Oh!" he hummed, "Have you met my son, Peeta?" he asked, a smile on his face, "You're in the same year, yes?"

I didn't know what to say. Sure, I know him but I don't know that well him that well. My eyes travelled to the boy, who simply waved and briskly walked away. "I don't think so," I answered.

"I better be going, Mr Mellark. Nal needs his favourite bread after all," I said, flashing a small smile before I left. A small pit of dread boiled in my stomach, something bad is going to happen.

But then again, it's Reaping day, nothing good ever happens.

Word count: 1.3k

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@nin3s

:)))

#peeta mellark x reader #peeta mellark x male reader #peetamellark #hunger games x reader #hunger games x male reader #hunger games #male x male reader #male reader #x male reader #katniss everdeen #gale #male reader insert #gale hawthorne #Katiniss #Hunger games x reader #what the fuck is tumblr's layout i am so fucking confused.

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: Lovebug (4/10)

Summary:

“It might be a bug.”

“A bug?”

“Sometimes the developers of this application make mistakes. This is our first time meeting I’m sure so…Isn’t it a bit weird that we just met for the first time and it rings like this? And for two strangers to coincidentally ring each other’s alarms?“

Levi is the developer of the Love Alarm App and Hange is married to Zeke.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 2 3 5

Notes: Feedback is very much appreciated :D

Mid spring shifted to the peak of summer in just three hours.

Or maybe it was less than three hours. Levi wasn’t staring at a clock though, instead enjoying the novel amenities that came with taking a private jet to their destination.

It was a far flung contrast to whatever he had gotten accustomed to in economy class. Three hours on a plane went by much faster when the plane seat could recline a whole one eighty degrees, when the food wasn’t served clumped together in aluminum packs, and when beverages in a hundred different varieties were free flowing.

By the time the plane had landed, Levi was almost disappointed that it didn’t last any longer.

“Is this your first time on anything better than the economy?”

Levi wondered what kind of ridiculous face he had made for Zeke to have taken the time out of his business mogul schedule to give out a backhand insult. Still, that had been more than enough of a reminder that maybe Levi had been overenjoying the free flowing amenities of a private jet.

Erwin had only drank one glass of wine if Levi recalled correctly. Recalling Zeke and Hange who sat a few feet away, he was sure they had drunk nothing more than two glasses of wine each over a simple cheese platter.

Levi on the other hand, had sampled at least ten of the twenty varieties of tea offered. When will you have the opportunity to try it again? He reminded himself. Still, when he was being stared down by the richest man in the country, his partner and his direct boss who were probably all used to the luxuries afforded to the top one percent, Levi became a little self conscious.

The view as Levi disembarked from the plane had only made that slight inferiority complex worse and he was wondering why he had even entertained it. He snuck a glare at Zeke, narrowing his eyes just a little more as Zeke put one arm over Hange, walking ahead just a few feet away.

“Levi, are you going down?”

Levi felt one hand on his shoulder. He looked up to see Erwin, brushing past him, taking the stairs one at a time.

“Of course I am,” Levi answered. He kept his voice, casual and professional, an attempt to disguise whatever emotion was forcing his mouth agape then.

He shouldn't be gaping. It wasn't anything magnificent. It was just a country club after all.

***

It wasn’t just a country club as Levi soon found out.

The reception building was just a reception building and near the front of the desk was a map. A map of an island. Levi was starting to wonder what idiocy had overtaken him just hours ago when he had failed to even google the country club.

The airport lounge they had overnighted in. The experience of riding a private jet. Those all paled in comparison to what awaited Levi.

Although he had already willed himself to act as nonchalant as possible, his eyes had widened and he had frozen a little too quickly at the large map in front of him and he had asked too many questions. “Where do we leave our bags?” he asked.

“Not here. This is the reception building. We’re taking a car to our summer house,” Hange answered.

When they got into the car, Levi asked another question. “So we leave our bags in the summer house and then we go back here to the country club...” he trailed off as Hange frowned in confusion. Was that a stupid question?

“The summer house is part of the country club.” Hange was still answering patiently.

“I’ve heard of places like this but I have to admit, it’s my first time staying in one,” Erwin commented as if he had researched the place himself.

If he did, that meant Levi was the only clueless one left.

Rubbing salt into the wound, Zeke spoke up. “The island is the private country club, Levi.” He raised one eyebrow at Levi, studying him. His face spoke for him ‘you’ve never been to one of these before?’

Sorry, I’m poor. Levi thought to himself, giving Zeke the most mockingly apologetic yet professional face he could muster. He soon realized, it might never be possible to pull off such an expression. Abandoning all attempts, he instead bent down to do a quick google search of the island.

Levi liked to believe he was solidly middle class. After a quick search on the membership prices of staying in some country club island hybrid only to find out annual dues were a good few times above his annual income, he started to come to terms with the fact that maybe he was poor. He kept his head down. Maybe the next time he looked back up at Zeke, his face might look more apologetic than actually mocking and he couldn’t have that.

The ride took five minutes, an excruciatingly long five minutes in the same enclosed piece of metal as Zeke who had only been rubbing him off just a little wrongly since even yesterday. He had to take a few deep breaths, a few subtle ones at least.

He had to bite his lip and force his mouth up into at least a glimmer of a poker face instead of the default grimace that came with having to keep close quarters with Zeke. There were still things about the country club he didn’t understand. Maybe Erwin didn't understand them too.

Although he would have had no problem talking to Hange about it, there was one caveat to approaching her.

She was always with Zeke.

Powerless and with little to no interest in dealing with Zeke personally, Levi decided to just go with the flow, following Erwin where applicable, loitering awkwardly like a lost reed when he had no choice but to be alone. Such an approach to life had turned out to be enough at least to get Levi changed into board shorts and a white shirt, enough to get him passively settled on one of the sun chairs next to the infinity pool, reader in hand.

He wasn’t reading though. He was attempting to read and had been for the past few minutes. Everything just found a way to be distracting.

The silence, the peaceful solitude that came with staying in a country club which he didn’t pay for--- and would probably never be able to pay for anyway---had him looking up again and again for anyone who could sympathize. Erwin still hadn’t gone out to the pool area. It was expected anyway, even on weekends, Erwin liked to work.

By the time Levi had self meditated enough to not be as self conscious and by the time he had mustered enough energy to start to make sense of some of the words on the reader, he heard footsteps---a new distraction. He looked up to find Hange standing in front of him, in a one piece that accentuated her form, in light purple, a color that just made her tan skin a little brighter under the late morning sun.

And she wasn’t with Zeke. So Levi stared for a little longer, or at least he snuck enough glances. Maybe Hange noticed. Levi caught her playful grin, the way she had turned towards him, her figure getting closer and closer until Levi had to force himself to look up and pretend he hadn’t actually been staring since a while ago.

“We don’t get this weather everyday back home. You should swim,” Hange said.

“No, it’s fine. I’m in a good part of the book,” Levi said. And I wanna finish it soon. That was what he wanted to stay before he stopped himself. He was halfway to showing Hange just a little bit of what he was reading until he realized he hadn’t even moved past the title page yet. He pulled back before she could see any more.

Hange shrugged, still the hint of disappointment on her face was perceptible. “But you’ll be joining us this afternoon right?”

“What is our plan anyway?” Levi asked.

“Well, go out for a tour of the island in the afternoon, maybe go to the beach. Then after that, swimming tonight…” Hange trailed off before snapping her fingers. “Right, Zeke reserved for tea time at sunrise tomorrow!”

Tea time? Levi could feel the blood rush through his head. The tea they had served in the airport lounge, the private plane had been the most delectable ones, the most exotic ones he had tasted in his life. A new burst of energy rushed through him as he surveyed his overly luxurious surroundings.

If the lounge and the plane paled in comparison to the resort, would the tea and the variety of tea prove to be anything more?

“Hange, so about that tea time…” Levi started. Before he could even look up from his book again to answer the question, Hange screamed.

At first, it sounded shrill, like a shriek. A shriek of terror?

No, she was laughing. “Zeke! What are you doing?”

Levi had a good view of it from his place on the sun chair, a good upward view.

A very disgusting view. If Levi hadn’t been at the mercy of Zeke’s country club membership, maybe he would have told them to get a room. Maybe he would have walked away. Still, that had seemed too rude of a reaction as well. Levi put his reader in front of him, just staring at the title page for a second longer.

He couldn’t completely avoid his peripherals though and the view they were giving him were tempting. He couldn’t comprehend everything but he did capture the way Zeke had nuzzled his beard on Hange’s neck. Hange’s playful laughs weren’t so easily ignored either. He contemplated putting his fingers into his ears. Would it be rude to plug his ears with his fingers then? If he did he would have to put down his reader and he would have to see it or close his eyes.

Just imagining how he would look had him shuddering and he chose instead to freeze on the spot and stare once again at the title page of his book.

Maybe he could look away. But if he looked away, that might seem rude too. He had taken too long to ponder and just that small and very fruitless problem solving exercise had turned out useless.

Zeke eventually stopped nuzzling her. And maybe for a second he had gone for a kiss. With his peripherals, Levi’s view was limited and Zeke was moving just a little too fast.

By the time Levi had allowed himself to look up, Zeke was running barefoot towards the pool, Hange in his arms bridal style. With Zeke’s back turned on him, Levi saw that as an opportunity to stare a little longer than necessary.

He witnessed it all, the overly flamboyant movements, Hange’s laughs, her playful struggle to get out of his grip and the huge splash that came with them diving feet first into the pool.

The only solace Levi found in the whole ordeal was that the sun chair had been a good distance from the pool. That at least spared him from getting caught in the splash or from having to see anymore than he wanted to.

But even from his position a few feet away, he caught glimpses of their bodies pressed against each other. Were they kissing?

Even when he put his ebook reader just on a perfect spot to conceal their shapes in the pool, he couldn't completely avoid it. After all, Hange was still laughing. She was still talking, her voice something faint yet something still jovial from a few feet away.

Levi turned to the first page of his book, scanning over the first line, reading it once then twice. Words had a way of sucking people into worlds unknown, beyond the dreary dimension called reality.

Or they were supposed to. He needed to get past the first sentence before it could suck him in deep enough to forget Hange's laughter or the drumming baritone of Zeke’s voice.

When the first sentence included phrases like ‘truth universally acknowledged” and when the ending clause read “a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife,” Levi started to find it a little harder to get lost in the book.

There was a man in front of him, loud and proud, who was in possession of a good fortune. And that man had a beautiful, smart partner. There was no need to fabricate his own phantom man when there was one he could be jealous of, right in front of him.

The reader almost forgotten, Levi found himself again watching the blonde, the man in possession of a good fortune and Hange. Hange had settled by the edge of the infinity pool, her damp brown hair falling onto her shoulders, brushing her arms, as she propped her arms on the edge, leaning her upper body forward. She rested her chin on her arms and just watched the sea.

Levi was a good distance away but the angle was good. When he squinted his eyes, he saw admiration, he saw awe in Hange’s eyes. While he was barely unable to get past the first line of the book, Hange had managed to get lost in the beautiful view of the ocean in front of her.

Fast enough that Levi was almost tempted to take his shirt off, dive into the pool and join her.

If it hadn’t been for Zeke. It was the blond bearded man who had obscured his view of Hange. Hange moved a little quickly, pushing herself up from the edge to look back at Zeke.

They were talking a little more quietly. Still, Levi had become familiar enough with the baritone of Zeke’s voice, the melody in Hange’s voice, to know that they were having a dynamic yet balanced conversation, an intimate conversation. Something just for both of them.

He was getting lost in murmurs, in tones, in chuckles. He didn’t even notice his surroundings start to dim, until it had turned everything shades of blue grey and greyed green. Until Hange and Zeke had both looked up at the sky.

He looked down to find light drops had turned the parts of the first line into mush. Soon, the light drops were on his bare arms, then parts of his shirt started to stick to his back. His bangs fell heavier on his face.

“Levi, let’s go back inside, it looks like it’s gonna rain for a while,” Hange said, gesturing for him to follow her.

Why did it take him so long to realize? Levi scolded himself, slipping his ebook reader just under his shirt. It didn’t do much to help though. His shirt was already soaked.

“Well, we were only planning an hour-long swim anyway,” Zeke said from a good distance away, seeming comfortable under the cabana.

“What time is it?” Levi asked as soon as they caught up to Zeke. .

Hange checked her phone. “We’ll be having lunch in a while,”

Levi only needed to do some quick calculations to realize they had been out for an hour. And somehow, he never got past the first line of that damn book.

***

Weather could be very predictable or so that was what Levi liked to believe.

Even when the sky remained a gloomy grey and the rain continued to pour, Levi expected the rain would let up with time. The rain was hard though, forcing itself as a presence in whatever conversation they were trying to have over lunch.

It was Zeke who had enough of it first. He led everyone back to what looked to be a game room towards the other wing of the summerhouse, closing the windows, the doors, quashing the whoosh of the winds and the loud patter of the rain to some distant sound.

Having dealt with it for more than an hour over lunch, Levi had quickly gotten used to the annoying rain, that when the aircon was switched on, overpowering the faint patter of rain, he had almost been surprised.

And fucking cold. Levi only realized then, he was right under the air conditioner with nothing but a semi-wet T-shirt to protect him.

“Would you rather we didn’t turn the aircon on Levi?” Zeke asked. Those words that could have held concern but really, Levi only had to look to Zeke’s face to see nonchalance.

Zeke was paying. Levi was a mere visitor under the mercy of the paying customer so the first thing he could will out of his mouth then were the only appropriate things lowly free loading visitors would usually say. “It’s fine,” Levi stood up. “I’ll just get changed first.”

“No need, I’ll have someone get you a shirt, just change there.” Zeke pointed to the powder room at the corner.

Right, that had been the reason why Hange and Zeke weren’t at all freezing after having spent the last two hours swimming. They had changed already. Among the three of them, he had been the only one too lazy--- or maybe too embarrassed---to have requested for a towel from one of the maids.

Or even a spare shirt. He had half the mind to just lock himself in the bedroom, take a quick shower and maybe actually start on that damn romance novel he had downloaded into his reader only yesterday.

Zeke had an uncanny grin on his face. Hange and Erwin were also staring at him expectantly. “I can just get the shirt myself,” Levi said. And maybe not come back.

“I said, I’ll have one of the maids bring it over,” Zeke said. “Anything in particular you want from your room?” He reached for his cellphone on the table, unlocking it.

“Just a sweater.” And that sweater came quickly, even before it started to feel like a few minutes. Levi pulled the hoodie over himself and that had been more than enough to make the air conditioning bearable. He wasn't desperate enough to complain about the air conditioning again.

"I really hope the weather gets better. I'd hate to reschedule tea time," Zeke muttered. He made himself comfortable on the sofa next to Hange.

"As long as it doesn’t rain tomorrow, we’ll be fine. The grass dries up fast anyway so even if it stops raining tonight, it won't be muddy," Hange said.

"Still, I prefer my course without the post rain atmosphere… if you know what I mean."

You get your tea in courses? Tea usually came in course anyway. Levi imagined shortbread, scones and the right mix of tea to accompany it every time. From his seat a few feet away, with his blood seething just watching that exchange, he felt no need to ask. One thing was for sure though, Hange and Zeke lived in a world far flung from his and there was no use trying to make sense of it.

He did love tea though and just imagining how weather and the state of grass could affect the quality of tea had Levi thinking a little more creatively. Some variants of tea definitely tasted better when it was raining. But tea that particularly tasted better after the rain, when the sun was up? Levi couldn't pick them out with just one thought.

But it would be nice to know which tea.... Before he could draw any more context though, Hange and Zeke had moved on from their conversation on tea time, instead approaching Erwin and Levi by the square table where the two had settled. “The rain doesn’t look like it will stop anytime soon. It’d be a waste though to spend our time doing nothing. We have a few games here if you’re interested in a friendly game?” Zeke suggested.

“What do you have in mind?” Erwin asked, looking up from the book he had been reading. He closed it and Levi knew Erwin enough to figure out, whatever it was, the blond was very much interested.

“Mahjong?” Zeke looked pointedly down at the square table. “I got this table back in a trip to China… It would be a waste of money if I don’t spend more time using it.”

“I haven’t played in a while,” Erwin admitted. "But I think I know enough to manage." He turned to Levi.

The expectant look was directed right on him and Levi almost jumped on his seat. "Mahjong?" He had heard of that game before. He was sure he had tried messing around with a mobile game before. He lived a good distance from China though and he never did make sense of those tiles with those random marks on them.

"That sounds like a good way to pass the time," Hänge commented. "The last time we played was with your other client…Reeves right?"

"That man almost gave me a run for my money. I'm pretty sure I only won because I collected enough flower tiles." Zeke suddenly slammed his hand on the table, his voice stocked full of ideas, there could have been a light bulb on his head. "What about we bet some money on this? Games aren’t fun unless we have some money on the line"

"Actually, I still owe you for that last game of poker we had," Hange said, a wide grin on her face.

"Erwin? What do you think? I think this a great way to build company camaraderie. Just some casual gambling… nothing more than a few hundred dollars…"

Something caught at Levi's throat. Nervousness? Tension? He had a few hundred dollars on hand, he was sure. To put them at risk over a 'casual' rainy afternoon over board games?

Everyone in the room seemed unfazed about spending a few hundred dollars though.

Erwin was the good balance between conservative and vocal in the conversation. "Let's keep it at a thousand dollar limit I'd rather we didn't play anything more over a few casual games," Erwin said. He pulled out his wallet from his back pocket, counting out a few hundred dollar bills and dropping it on the table in front of him.

It was just like Erwin to be prepared.

“What about you Levi? How much will you be betting?”

“Let me just get my wallet first.”

“No, I wouldn’t want you to have to make the journey all the way back to the other wing. I’ll have someone get your bag.”

A few minutes later, Levi’s bag was resting on the sofa just a few feet away and Levi was counting out bills on the table. He was the limiting factor to how much money the rest would be playing. Levi gave in to the silent pressure. The money on hand was disposable income anyway, allowance just in case he had to spend anything in the country club. Although it had been painful, Levi mustered up the courage to empty his wallet in front of them.

“Seven hundred and sixty dollars,” Levi said, counting out twenty dollar bills, fifty dollar bills and hundred dollar bills. He prepared himself for the loss. Still, a few hundred dollars was still too much.

Levi was still in the process of convincing himself that maybe spending a good hundred dollars on a good few games wasn't a bad idea. In some sort of a gamble, nobody was guaranteed a hundred percent loss. In fact he might just gain more.

Maybe it had been Levi's own tendency to play safe, his aversion to loss that had him going through the motions of sliding the money towards Zeke just a little slower than he would have wanted. Still, with a good internal scolding, he managed to raise his eyebrows and clear his throat, a loud and abrupt enough movement to get him at least somewhat focused on the tiles in front of him.

The tiles formed a wall in front of him and as Levi glanced a little further, he saw Hange had pushed her own wall in front of her. Erwin did the same. Then Zeke. A few seconds of coordination later and there was a square of tiled walls.

“Let’s keep betting simple, no flowers, no extra money for certain tiles. Just ‘if you win,’ you get the money on the table,” Zeke suggested. He counted four hundred dollars in varying bills and dropped it on the table in the middle. “You’ve played before Levi?”

Levi shook his head. “No, never.”

Zeke shrugged. “Well, you can learn as we play. Luck plays a part in mahjong anyway. Who knows you might just get the winning tile.” He rolled the dice. “Okay, you pick where we cut.”

“Pick where to cut…”

“The tiles,” Zeke said, his tone just slightly more abrasive. “Pick a tile and count.”

The hair at the back of his neck stood and instinctively, Levi looked up to meet Zeke’s stare. He placed one hand on the corner nearest to him and started counting.

Zeke narrowed his eyes at Levi, leaning on one hand, looking particularly bored. “Away from you. Not towards you.” He was talking to him like he was a kid.

Or maybe, Levi was just being an idiot at the moment. With all eyes watching his every movement thought, when he himself had little to no idea what the hell he was doing, he just wanted to freeze on the spot.

“Levi, it's like this,” Hange’s voice was a stark contrast to Zeke’s. Her sing-songy voice had been enough to get him moving again. He didn’t even notice his hand had frozen halfway through counting until Hange had clutched the back of his hand and started to guide it over the tiles. “You count away from yourself.”

Dealing the tiles was another issue altogether. He probably wouldn’t have been able to run it as smoothly as Hange. It looked more like a ritual and Hange had taken over, her hands moving deftly over the well fitted tiles. She handed him eight stacked in two rows then nine stacked similarly. She distributed them in the same manner over the table before giving him one more. “You start.”

Levi still didn’t know how to play though. But he had counted seventeen tiles and he had remembered playing it over a mobile game so he was sure it had something to do with dropping one of his tiles. He dropped the first one to the left.

“Pong!” Zeke’s voice echoed across the salon as he grabbed the tile in the center and inserted it between two of his tiles.

Levi still didn’t know what was happening but the seemingly concerned stare Hange had given him was evidence enough, he probably wasn’t playing properly.

***

An hour later, Levi was three hundred dollars poorer but on the bright side, he understood the objective of the game. He had organized his wall by ascending numbers and similar pairs and had created for himself a system on how to get five triples and one pair.

He just wasn’t fast enough at creating sets for himself.

Erwin dropped the wall in front of them. “Looks like the next hundred dollars is mine,” he said, grabbing the wad of bills from the center of the table.

Levi allowed himself the comfort of looking away, focusing instead on building the wall again. Losing money hurt. The most painful part of buying had always been putting in the credit card number and watching as the screen loaded to ‘payment received.’ A dull pain that weighed on his chest, pulling his lips down into a curled grimace. Levi was feeling the same way then as he heard the rustle of a good hundred dollars fall back into someone’s wallet.

He was in no mood to continue. But I can’t lose all the games right? Levi willed himself to look up again, quickly building the wall in front of him.

The room was filled with the echoes of ‘pong,’’chow,’ and the clatter of tiles on the wooden table, the clack of plastic against plastic as they hit one another. He was still unbearably slow.

And Hange was staring. He was slow but he wasn’t oblivious. “What do you want?”

Hange looked away. “Nothing.”

Levi looked back down at his tiles. He had been lucky enough to have gotten a conveniently matched set of tiles. Within a few moves, all he needed were a ‘two balls’ tile and an ‘seven sticks tile.’

All he had to do was win that, and that would put his net loss at four hundred dollars. That amount was stomacheable at least. Erwin had his tiles close to him, his blue eyes darting quickly from one end of his wall to the other.

Zeke looked deep in thought but as Levi looked closer, he saw a sliver of a grimace. Hange on the other hand liked to stare at him and he had noticed enough times that she had snuck glances at his tiles while reshuffling her own, more than enough times for Levi to at least allow himself a second of wishful thinking.

Was she thinking of him?

The response came loud and clear. “Chow,” Hange said. Her mind was still in the game.

She dropped one tile. Still not the one Levi wanted. He grabbed one from the wall next to him. Still not the one he wanted either.

He looked around him once again, using the square table as a guide to recalling how many rounds had passed. He still needed those two tiles. Since a while ago, he had been stuck in a cycle of just grabbing a new tile and discarding it.

Zeke dropped a ‘two balls’ tile. Levi reached out to grab it even before Zeke pulled away then he dropped another tile.

All Levi needed then was the ‘seven sticks.’ His eyes scanned his surroundings before sliding the Zeke’s discarded tile between two of his own.

A cycle passed. Erwin played. Zeke played. Then Hange. She looked at Levi’s wall once again then looked up at him. Levi met her stare for a second longer before she looked back at his tiles then at her own.

Whatever she saw was probably more interesting than he was. Still, he wondered what she saw on the blank backs of the tiles clumped together.

Maybe she did see something. Before the next cycle even ended, Hange had dropped her tiles on the table, so clumsily and messily that if Levi had been the arbiter, he would have disqualified her. “I thought I lost this one," she said giving a everyone a wry laugh.

Her tiles were a mess. It had taken a few seconds longer, craning his neck scanning over her mixed up tiles to be certain that she had completed it. Among those tiles wedged carelessly towards the middle was the ‘seven sticks’ tile he had needed to win.

Hange grinned. Maybe it could have been genuine, to Levi it was mocking.. After all, she had one every single one of the games save for one Erwin had won and two, Zeke had won. The evidence of that sat right next to the wall of tiles---a thick wad of cash.

That had him a little ticked. He could still get the money back he was sure. He had three more hundred dollar bills, three more chances to earn back the money. He pulled one out, slamming it on the table in front of him. “Next game.”

***

“The strategy of the game isn’t just to reorganize the tiles. You have to put yourself in a situation where you can win with two different tiles.” Erwin was a very eloquent man.

Still, the explanation went in one ear and out the other. “What?” You need sixteen tiles in the game right?

“For example, I set myself up for a position where if I got a ‘two balls’ tile or a ‘one sticks tile..' That would higher my chances of winning,” Erwin explained. But he didn't win.

The one who had won all the games had been Hange who had chosen that moment to count the bills, a wide cat-like smile on her face. Levi couldn’t choose whether to stare at her or the wad of bills in her hand.

They had proven already through six miserable games that although luck played a part in mahjong, it was a strategy game. Somehow, Hange had been the most privy to strategy among the three of them. How exactly? Levi was still too bitter to ask.

The rain was still pouring and if Levi focused on it, he could use it to drown out conversations. It was as if Zeke knew it though, he let his voice echo across the room as he spoke. “You wanna play another game?”

Erwin shook his head. “I think I’ll go back to the room first. There are just some paperwork I need to sort out.”

A wave of disappointment washed through Levi then, or it could have been something a little more heavy. After all, his wallet was completely empty and thus, notably light. Without any cash, under the mercy of one of the richest men in the country, Levi felt naked.

After taking a quick glance at his wallet, Levi snapped it close. He couldn’t do anything about it. He had turned his heel to follow Erwin out of the game room, towel and wet shirt on hand when Zeke mentioned something about getting back twice what he had lost.

It was the word ‘pay you’ that had his ears perked up. It was the word ‘double’ that had him looking back, almost pathetically.

He wasn’t that pathetic. He reminded myself. But money is money. “How?”

“A game of chess?” Zeke suggested, pulling a board out from the shelf.

“Oh, chess?” Hange asked excitedly as she started to clean out the tiles a little quicker.

Zeke put one finger to Hange’s lips. “Not now hun, this is between me and Levi here.” He focused his eyes on Levi. “You need the money don’t you?”

Levi bit his lip. With the way Zeke was talking, it didn’t look like Levi had the chance to win. Still, he could at least try to get back that seven hundred dollars. More importantly, Hange had settled for the seat in between them. She rested her chin on her hands and she was watching both of them intently.

Hange wasn’t staring at tiles that time, she was staring at him.

“How many games?” Levi asked.

“One would be enough. There’s no timer so take the time you need to move,” Zeke said as he lay the board down.

Levi had played chess before. He stared at the pieces in front of them doing a quick review in his head of how each piece moved as he placed them on the board. He still knew how to play at least.

Zeke seemed to know more though. “The Italian game,” he said around the third move. He was moving quickly and reasonably, solid proof that he was far from a beginner.

Levi didn’t have much of a chance but he wasn’t considering quitting yet. It was a chance at money though and Hange was still watching, her eyes on the board. When his king was under attack, Hange had followed with her eyes, her expression unchanging.

As he moved, Levi continued to look at Hange, watching how her eyes focused clearly on the black king in front of her. Before he knew it, he wasn’t even solving whatever puzzle had appeared on the board, his focus was on those brown eyes, and how the hell they had looked so good even half closed, under the dim light of the room.

“You never played chess growing up?” Zeke asked.

Levi looked back at the board to find his king at the corner. “I did a few times.”

“Well, not enough to spot a mate in two.” With some flourish, Zeke lay the king down at the edge of the table. The piece toppled over and rolled down to the side of the table.

Hange picked it up and twirled it in her hand. "There were a lot of moves you didn't spot either," she told Zeke.

"You think you can do a better job?"

Hange gave Zeke a toothy smile. "You know I can."

If they didn't have a table in between them, Levi was sure they would have gone closer. He cleaned out the pieces and was about to fold the board close when Hange sat directly in front of him.

"Don't clean up the pieces yet. Let's play," she said.

He couldn't say no.

***

Somehow within a few moves, the game had evolved into another gamble.

Maybe it helped that Zeke left the room, mumbling something about a meeting and an IPO of a well known company.The moment he left, Hänge started moving a little faster. Levi was halfway through deciding whether or not to repeat the same mistakes of a while ago when he heard the rustle of bills.

He looked beyond the board to find Hange distracted with something under the table. He had half the mind to look under the table then. He had cocked his head just a little lower, ready to peek from under the table when she spoke up again.

"It's the money I won," she said. "If you win this game, you can win it back. I'll pay you double."

"Something tells me you're better than Zeke"

Hange responded with a wide smirk. "Who said?"

"You were winning most of the mahjong games. And when Zeke played with me… you seemed pretty concentrated. Besides, you said so yourself, you could do a better job "

"Maybe I can." She shrugged. "Zeke just made some pretty glaring mistakes."

"Like…"

Hänge didn't respond instantly. The pieces were doing the work for her. He only had to stare down, to notice patterns crested to conclude for himself Hange had played the exact same moves. "A lot of the games are about thinking ahead," She explained. "Zeke is good at that but having worked with him for so long, I noticed… he doesn't really look too much at details. His plans are always grand and he gets the job done. But personally, I think cleaner and faster wins come from less conventional methods, methods that dig towards the nitty gritty details. A lot of grand plans are built on detail after all, not the other way around."

The next few moments passed in silence, save for the sound of the clacking of pieces, in a way Levi was very much familiar with.

"Like here, Zeke had a good move here," Hange said. "Don't play that, play this instead. If you play the pawn first, you block your bishop in."

"Okay." There wasn't much else to say in between.

Hange moved another piece. "What's your next move?"

Levi found himself attempting to mimic that same attention to detail. There was a dam in his mind, stopping him from thinking beyond what was already on the board.

Hange didn't have that same issue. She looked up at him expectantly.

"You like thinking ahead too." Levi asked.

"I like approaching games with a little more attention to detail," Hange said. “For example, if he left his knight right here, he would have paralyzed your position. He went for a quick and more careless attack.” Hange replayed the game again. “What’s your next move?”

Levi was only a split second from playing his next move, Hange took the reins. “That move is just gonna make your position worse. Move your pieces out first.”

Before Levi even knew it, Hange was playing for him. A few times, he had tried to move the pieces before him of his own volition, only to realize he didn’t have any input.

Hange had placed them both in a position incomprehensible to him. “Sometimes, it’s the small details, which have you reading ahead,” she said. “Like a while ago, Erwin and Zeke liked to focus on the bigger picture. If they place themselves in a lucky enough position to get a perfect set, they win. They didn’t consider one thing…” She wagged her finger at him. “You got a pretty good set right?” she said.

“A while ago?”

Hange nodded. “A few rounds you did. You like to organize your tiles, you clump the similar tiles together so you can more easily see patterns maybe?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Well, that's a bad idea when playing with actual players. I picked up that you needed a ‘seven sticks’ piece. Or around that range. You were letting go of everything a little too quickly but at the start, you picked up an ‘eight sticks’ then you let go of the rest right? You placed your eight sticks towards the end of the wall, next to one tile which was probably a ‘nine sticks.’

At that moment, as Hange recalled it, Levi saw the tiles clearly once again. They were supposed to be hidden, he was sure. Under Hange’s observant eye, he was exposed.

“The point is, your turn is right after mine. I had the tile you needed and I didn’t let go of it. And if you gave up on completing it, maybe you would have had a better chance of winning.You were just too conservative with your own ways. You didn’t wanna let go of that pattern you were trying to make. And that was your downfall,” Hange said. She started to move the chess pieces a little quicker. “Levi, play the rook out here.”

Levi quietly complied.

“Games teach things and sometimes they expose parts of ourselves… Maybe you’re just a little careful, a little set in your ways. At the same time, you lack the attention to detail. But you know, the attention to detail can make people more confident in taking risks. I couldn’t be too sure that was the piece you needed but I thought it a good risk to play with. Sometimes to make that risk, all you need is that bright new perspective. And where do you get that bright new perspective? Small details. They’re just a bunch of cyclical concepts all interconnected,” Hange said.

Levi was pulling away, leaning back on his seat. Hange was leaning forward. In that split second before Levi had leaned away, they were close enough to kiss. But still far enough for it not to happen.

Hange fell back on the chair, adjusting the pieces. “Or if you can’t see all the small details, then accept what you have for what’s right there. What do you feel? What do you want? What are you planning?”

“No plans, nothing.”

“Then start with accepting. Then observing,” Hange said. “Move your rook to the seventh rank. It’s open.”

Levi had to stare for a split second longer to understand. “Done.”

“What do you see?” Hange asked, waving her hand quickly over the board.

He had a good position. One rook at the seventh rank, the pieces were perfectly placed for an attack. “A winning position,” Levi answered.

“Details, Levi.”

Hange was patient with him. Her eyes were still boring holes into him and if he could blame anything---or anyone---for slowing down his thinking process, it would be her. “It’s a winning position.”

“Zeke’s right. You can’t see a mate in two,” Hange said. She grabbed the pieces and moved them quickly over the board. The game ended with his queen, right over Hange’s king. “A lot of games end like this. With a kiss from the enemy queen to the king…. And it looks like you won this one Levi. I promised you double right? So that’s one thousand four hundred dollars.” She pulled the bills out of her wallet and counted it out, sliding it to the side of the chess board.

“Wait, you might need---”

“Levi, I don’t mind giving it.”

“It’s your money.”

Hange shook her head. “Well, if it makes you feel better. Zeke spoils me enough.”

Levi pushed the money back. “That’s Zeke’s money not yours.”

“You don’t think I’ve accumulated my fair share of assets? I do investment too you know.”

He had put himself in a tight spot, assuming the most vulnerable position from Hange. Giving her a onceover though, he was sure he had been wrong. Hange sat straight, confidently. She had dropped the money so easily in front of him yet her eyes were observing. She wasn’t reckless with money for sure. She wasn’t lying.

Maybe refusing the money could seem insulting. So he let her push it nearer towards him. That was the same wad of cash as a while ago and Levi felt no need to count it.

“I don’t have cash on me but I’ll send you the rest of the money through phone credit,” Hange said. She turned the board over, inserting all the pieces on the hollow shapes underneath. Levi did his part pushing the pieces towards her.

Locking the board closed, Hange stood up. “Let’s go?”

“Where?”

“I’ll take you back to the room. We have to prepare for dinner.”

“Dinner?” Levi only became aware of the time then. The clock on the wall read a little past five. The rain had slowed to a drizzle and he only appreciated it then when they had turned off the air conditioner and filed out of the room.

“Looks like tomorrow might just be a good day,” Hange commented. “We could go to the beach tomorrow afternoon. If you’re fine with that.”

Levi hated swimming in the ocean. It was the world’s bathroom. It was a confluence of waste. When Hange was mentioning something about risks and bright new perspectives, he saw little reason to reject the invite. “I’m fine with that.” Might as well enjoy it while we’re here. As they walked silently, Levi took that moment to look at the setting sun, a very similar view to sunrise.

Hange had mentioned something about ‘sunrise’ and about ‘tea time.’

“You have tea time in the morning right?” Levi asked.

“Yeah, at sunrise why? You don’t have to wake up for it if you don’t wanna. Zeke and Erwin just thought it would be a good way to bond. And I’m going because… Well, Zeke’s my husband…”

“Yeah, I understand but I’m excited for it too.”

Hange’s eyes widened in surprise. “Wait, you wanna join too? Great! I’ll reserve a slot for you. It’s better if we have more people. The course will probably be pretty wet though but it doesn’t get muddy?”

Levi almost tensed up at the word. “Muddy?” When did tea times get muddy?

“Well, we are playing in a grassy course,” Hange said, too matter-of-factly.

Playing? "You said tea time right?” Levi made a subtle gesture, putting his hand up as if holding a tea cup.

Hange didn’t notice it. “Yeah, tee time as in the time when we start playing golf. We’re playing golf tomorrow morning. You’ve played before right?”

“Yeah, I did. A few times.” Levi said. He kept his voice casual, an utter betrayal of how he actually felt. He had never actually played golf but he wondered how ridiculous he could have looked being excited for courses of tea while watching a sunrise, an idea which turned out to have never existed in the first place. He could stick with a white lie and just google the rest later.

“Okay great! I’ll contact the coordinator then,” Hange said. She pulled out her phone and texted. “You have shoes right? Pants? We can rent the clubs… So just make sure to meet by the common room at five alright?”

Once again, Levi couldn’t say no to her.

***

It was around ten in the evening when Levi received the notification.

700 dollars was credited to your account.

He paused the video on the rules of golf and allowed himself a few minutes to just stare at the notification. Before his phone screen turned completely black, another message came.

Just sent you the money! Please check your account.

Levi had already tried to give her back the money during dinner time to no avail. Hange had just been to good at digression.

Still, she didn’t have to have it her way all the time. Levi wanted to protest in his own way. He opened his wallet, ready to send back the money only to be met with another message.

This transaction is subject to 2.9% of the total money transacted. Will you proceed?

He decided then, he could probably wait a little longer to give back the money.

#levihan fanfiction #levihan #zekehan

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dasaniperson · 3 years

Text

So I had this idea where Scout actually knows Spy is his father during that infamous death scene. Then I wrote a short five about it

———————————————————————

Scout knew he was dying. The pain from his wound was numb by now, but the puddle of blood below him kept growing and he was just so tired.

It was a lot different than he expected, actually. He thought dying would be confusing and fast, like a dream, but instead he was calm. It wasn’t the happy kind of calm, nor the sad kind. It was just… blank. Everything was so perfectly quiet.

His perfect silence was interrupted by the sound of dress shoes clacking, another set of footsteps, this time without any shoes, and a voice.

“— own by monk tailors since the seventh century.” It was Spy talking. He kind of hoped that he’d just pass by him. “ I will let you use it as an adult diaper when you pry it off my cold,” He could see the edge of Spy's shoulder coming around the corner. “dead,” he was all the way around the corner, but faced back towards whoever was with him. “body.” The last word was cut short as Spy saw him. Sniper peaked around the corner and his face fell. Spy just kind of looked… surprised.

“Mate.” Sniper said to Spy. Spy sighed and put his face in his hand, looking exasperated. It didn’t surprise him. Spy barely seemed to respect him as a person, much less someone to grieve. Spy should feel something though, at least as a father. “Yes. I know.” There’s no sympathy in his tone, it’s the same voice he uses during work. “Give us a moment.” Is he really going to die with Spy? Maybe he should be happy to die with his father, most people would take this as a last minute blessing from the heavens. Then again, he hasn’t believed in god since he got his dog tags.

Spy makes his way over to him and crouches down. He shoves one hand into his pocket, the other clutching a wood plank. Upon closer inspection his knee has a splash of blood on it. “Scout. There’s something I need to tell you.” Is he finally going to confess to being his father? Scout’s known for a good four years now, and he got over it all quickly enough, it’s not like Spy ever tried to make anything of their relationship. Still, Scout can’t help but be curious as to why or how any of it happened. His eyes flick away from him. “I…” Spy has a chance right now to begin to redeem himself in Scout’s eyes.

“I’ll be right back.”

For a second Scout can’t believe it. But then he’s blazing with anger. Of course. Of course Spy would leave him to die. Of course Spy wouldn’t take the last opportunity he’ll ever have to make up with his son. Of course. It’s Spy after all. Why is he so mad? He knew it would end like this.

Maybe he’s mad because Spy gave him hope then ripped it away immediately. Or maybe it’s because Spy disappointed him again, but no, it’s not any of those. It’s because he expected it. He expected Spy to leave him. He knew Spy wouldn’t even try to look sad for his sake. His anger gives way to sadness. Then Tom Jones comes around the corner.

At first Scout thinks it’s his brain playing tricks on him. There’s no way Tom Jones is here of all places. He looked too perfect to be here, exactly how Scout imagined him, except this Tom Jones has a wooden board tucked under his arm. Just like Spy, minus the pink coloration and giant letters on it. Ah. That should probably have been obvious from the beginning. Spy walks over.

“What’s new, pussycat?” Scout almost wants to laugh over the sheer ridiculousness of the situation, but he can’t find the strength. Why is Spy disguising himself as Tom Jones of all people? Sure scout looks up to him and all, but only as a musician, never on a personal level. If Spy thinks that this is what would make Scout happy, then he really is blind.

He crouches down again. “Scout… do you know my hit song, Sex Bomb?” What is Spy saying? Bringing up Sex Bomb right now? Nevertheless, Scout nods slightly, going along with whatever Spy is leading up to. “Scout, twenty seven years ago I dropped a ‘Sex Bomb’ on your mother.” So Spy’s really going there, huh? “I was young then, and I ran from the explosion.” That’s his excuse then. He was young. Maybe Scout can understand that. But he never came back. Even when he met Spy again when he was hired at only seventeen, Spy still didn’t even try. “But now the fallout of that Sex Bomb has caught up with me.” Is that all he is to Spy? An accident caused by his own foolishness? “This is where the analogy starts to break down, so if it’s alright with you I’ll retire the Sex Bomb metaphor now.”

But then he sees it. And maybe it’s just because Tom Jones’s face is infinitely more expressive than Spy’s, but he looks… sad. He’s got this downtrodden look to him. Spy reaches a hand forward and onto Scout’s shoulder “You’re stronger than you’ll ever know, Jeremy.”

Jeremy. Spy used his real name. Jeremy had actually thought he didn’t know it for a while. Then Spy’s words sink in. Did Spy really think Jeremy was strong? He’d never even hinted at so much as liking Jeremy. As likely as it was that Spy was lying, Jeremy couldn’t quite find it in himself to think that.

“I’m proud of you.” Proud? He didn’t know what Spy had to be proud of. “I’ve always been proud of you.” Always? Why had he never shown it then? “Son.”

Son? He had given up that chance a long time ago, when he abandoned him. When he never told him that he was his dad. When he put on that godforsaken Tom Jones disguise. He couldn’t come back and take the title of father at the last second, and to be honest? Scout hadn’t needed a father in years. Spy had made the choice not to raise him when he had the chance, and now Jeremy’s twenty seven, he’s an adult. An adult that grew up a long time ago, nothing’s going to change that now.

So as he looks up at Tom Jones’s eyes he actually wishes that they were Spy's for once. At least then he could have proven to Jeremy that he wasn’t a complete wimp.

Jeremy knows he has to say something, he won’t let Spy live with the fact that he hid behind a mask during his child’s final moments. Jeremy sighs, and he knows that it’s his final breath. And he utters one word

“Coward”

And then he was gone.

————

“Hey Henry?” He looked up at his oldest brother. “Yeah?” Henry looked down at him, smiling. “How’re you always so brave?” It was true. Henry never seemed to fear anything. He would face kids twice his size without hesitation if they were doing something mean. “It ain’t bravery kid, it’s just that I gotta do something when I see bad stuff goin’ on” That didn’t make any sense. How could Henry not be brave? “I don’t understand” Henry had told him to ask when he didn’t get what he was saying. “Well kid, if there’s something you don’t like, you gotta change it, and you can’t do that by doing nothing,” Jeremy supposed that made sense, but Henry was still brave, no matter what he said.

“If there’s something you don’t like, you gotta change it,”

And then he was back.

————

He was back in that blood spattered hallway, surrounded by broken to bits robots. And holy fuck ow his wound was definitely still there and so were Spy and Sniper, who was naked for some reason. They were both walking away, unaware that he was alive. He tried to call out, but all that came out was a weak cough. Sniper turned around first “Well, I’ll be…” then Spy turned around. He said nothing but pure relief on his face. Maybe he did care. Spy hobbled over to him and lifted him up off the floor. Holding one of Scout’s arms over his shoulder for support. He nodded slightly to Sniper, who turned around and headed back down the way they had been going. “So, you figured it out.” Spy spoke suddenly, obviously referring to his fatherhood “Yeah,” he didn’t really have the energy to give a long winded response. “When did you figure it out?” “Four years ago.” He answers honestly. It may have been easier to lie and say it was only at the very end when he figured out. It may have saved them all a lot of explaining “and you never told me you knew?” It was a fair inquiry, but Scout didn’t have any one solid answer to that, “never came up.” Spy rolls his eyes at the lackluster answer. “We’re going to be talking about this later.” He had known that was going to happen. Neither of them were in any state to have a heart to heart conversation about feelings right now. Scout hummed slightly in agreement.

Scout was still mad at Spy, but when someone holds you as you die, you tend to feel a bit more understanding towards them. He was going to let this play out. He doubted they would ever truly become father and son this far along in a not so friendly relationship, but he was willing to give Spy a chance to at least be a decent friend.

#tf2 dad spy #dad spy #dad!spy #dadspy #team fortress two #tf2 spy #tf2 fanfiction #tf2 scout #tf2

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asimpfor2dcharacter · 3 years

Text

Note: In this chapter there will mention two of my oc ( original character) their physical appearance will be present in the future chapters.

When you see this sign -- it means a flashback started/ended

Previous chapter Masterlist

Chapter 2: Cafè and tea

In the morning the rain was strumming against the window of her room and she was preparing herself to go into the living room. She decided to wear a light pigiama suited for the weather and thought that it was unnecessary to wear the golden ring she usually uses because no one was going to see it anyway beside her parents. It has already been several days since she came back to Japan and she mostly spent her time with her parents: cooking with her mother, training with her father and beating him in a game of chess. Mundane actions that people usually do with their parents but she can't, due to the fact that she lives far from them.

She decided to join his father in the kitchen who was busy cooking breakfast.

Aizawa noticed the presence of his daughter when she entered the room,

"Goodmorning Y/n, your mom already left this early in the morning to work".

"Morning Dad, are those pancakes?," she asked, setting the table.

"Yes your favourite, you can already eat the one on the table while it's still hot ," he said, pointing at the table where there were several pancakes on a plate.

"Thanks Dad," she glanced outside the window and there was still a drizzling rain, " the weather forecasts show that around lunch time there will be sun for the rest of the day, so me and Yuga planned to meet each other in a cafè nearby,".

"That sounds great," he flipped the last pancakes on the pan and he put it on his plate and then he took a chair beside her daughter.

"Well dad thank you for the breakfast,".

While cutting his food, he asked her, "Y/n in a few days I have the final appointment at the tailor shop for my wedding suit. I wanted to ask you if you can come with me?,".

"Are you asking me that because you genuinely want me to be there or you just don't want to be alone with uncle Mic?," she said while spreading the Nutella on her pancake.

"A mix of both, so are you coming?,".

"Of course I will, it's not everyday to see you in such a formal outfit," he rolled his eyes at her daughter's comment, making her tease her father more, knowing his preference over more comfortable clothes rather than elaborate one's.

"But Dad, one week before I came here in Japan you told me that Nezu offered you the position of UA principal, have you already made a decision?,".

Once he heard the question, he wiped his mouth with a napkin and slowly he put the fork on the table. "Honestly no".

"Why?".

"I thought about it and Y/n I know it's a great honour to be the UA principal but," crossing his arm he continued, " I'm getting older and I don't if I can continue to be a hero for more years let alone be the UA principal," he said touching his left leg. She knew what exactly he meant with those words. "Beside," he added, " working as a principal, sure does take off your free time and I prefer spending my free time with your mom rather than working on paperworks,".

"You really love mom," she said.

"Well yeah, that's why I'm marrying her," he admitted with a smile on his face.

"That's it I'm going to tell mom when she comes back home,".

"Please don't, she will tease me about it for the whole week,".

Both of them almost finished eating their food when her father asked, "Y/n I know you told us you took this vacation for health reasons but it might also be because of those articles about you?".

She immediately stopped eating, her eyes were avoiding his father's gaze, almost ashamed to meet them,"So you saw it".

"Yes I saw them, I read those negative reviews about your latest book so does your mom but don't get down on yourself. I know how negative opinions of others can bring you down but don't forget that you will always have me and your mom support you for everything. Me and your mom just want you to communicate with us when something is wrong," and now it was his turn to avoid her gaze, not wanting her to see his eyes tearing up, "we just don't want to repeat what happened to you six years ago,".

She listened attentively at his words, she knows how both of her parents suffered for the events of that day and she promised to herself that it will never happen again, "I know dad I'm working on it and I promise you, you will never see me again in that situation".

"Your mom and I just what the best for you," he said, patting gently on your head.

"I know dad I know," she admitted, giving her father a reassuring smile.

"Oh wait, you said your meeting Aoyama right," he pulled out from his pocket his wallet and gave her 13,000 yen (99 in euro, 117 in dollars), "here take it,".

"Dad, I'm twenty-six years old, I can pay for my stuff,".

"Just take it ok," He replied while sipping a cup of coffee pretending not to hear the protest coming from his daughter.

After the deep conversation she had with Aizawa this morning, she was now preparing to meet Aoyama. Once choosing her outfit, she decided to wear the golden ring on the fourth finger of her left hand to complete the look. Fortunately the weather forecast was right and it was a sunny day outside and her best friend informed her that they will meet in a cafe. He told her how excited he was to try their famous cheesecake and the way he described the pastry makes her want to try.

It took only twenty minutes by walking from her house to arrive at the cafè shop Aoyama told her. From the outside the wall of the shop was black and it was ornated with several climbing plants, there was also a big wooden door as the entrance and inside the place it was rather a cozy atmosphere.

She was searching for her best friend who was in disguise to avoid fans attention towards him and he told her to be able to recognise him, he was wearing a green merchandise t-shirt of Deku with a pair of dark sunglasses and a dark blue bucket hat. After searching for a couple of minutes she finally saw her friend in the most isolated part of the shop and near him there was a TV attached to the wall. He was sitting in a chair using his phone but she noticed something different from her best friend.

"I can't believe he really did that," she thought.

"Yuga I thought you were joking when you said to me you were going to dye your hair," admiringing his new hair color now similar to the shade of blonde of Lucius Malfoy.

After some years of not seeing her in person, he immediately gave her a warm hug, "Y/n!!! It's so nice to see you again".

"Yuga, you don't know how much I missed you," she said, returning back the hug, "it's been two years since we saw each other and the last time was when you visited me in New York".

"And what were you saying about my hair, for your information," flipping his hair with a hand in a too dramatic way, " these are amazing," he said, not caring too much about him blowing up his disguise.

"Whatever you say Lucius Malfoy. So how is my favourite hero?," she asked once they took their seats.

He confesses to her the struggle of being the number fifteen hero, how the paparazzi each day that pass are becoming more determined to invade his private life and his agency already gave five restriction orders to five paparazzi only this last three months. He can't imagine how difficult it is for higher ranking heroes to maintain their privacy, he admitted, but on a positive note he and his team are working hard to climb higher in the hero rankings this year and they are also trying to sign better sponsorships with other companies' brands.

"So yeah, this is basically what I've been doing in the last months," he picked the menu card, " and you, my favourite writer, keep me updated on what is happening in your life," he asked, flipping the menu card.

"Well first I'm sorry for what happened to you with the paparazzi, at least your agencies manage the whole situation well but don't worry I don't have any doubts that you will achieve the top ten hero podium. So you wanted to know my personal life or my work life?,".

"All of it," He admitted with a devilish smile painted on his face.

"You jerk, so where do I start," taking a deep breath, "let's talk first about work, even though I told my parents it was my own decision to be on holiday, actually, it is more like my agency imposed me to take this vacation, because of the critiques. Although my recent book was a success to the public, the critiques were, well, quite harsh.

I have been working in this industry for a long time to develop a thick skin towards harsh criticisms but my agency didn't take it well, they told me, I should take time off from working before publishing a new book. They don't want to see again what they read about me in those articles written by literary critics, phrases like 'The book is so predictable, 'Has Adrianne lost her spark of writing?', 'The book is not on the same level as the other that she wrote', 'I will not even read to meet pets'.

He put down the menu card in his hands, "Y/n, I'm sorry for what happened to you but don't let those critics let you down. I know your worth as an writer and looks like also my colleagues know it, the way they were down knowing you took half year off from writing, you should have seen their reaction when they red what those literary critics wrote about you they were furious to them and every time they talk about your stories and theories about it, their face are engulfed of joy" he said taking both of your hands in his and slightly squeeze it. "Y/n if you can only see the happiness of my co-workers imagines the joy you bring to others millions of people that read your stories around the globe," he expressed with a smile on his face, after all the years that you know him that smile always brings you comfort. "Y/n remember you are the one who brought that medium company to become one of the biggest and most important company in New York with your amazing works, you are their big fish. Even if those literary critics didn't like your books, what can your company do against you? Fire you? Please they are nothing without you," he added.

Trying to not laugh at his last statement, she dried the tears forming in her eyes for the words of support from her friend, she said, "Ohhh Yuga chan, you really know how to make a woman cry".

He winked at her, "What can I say, it's the charm of being a hero".

"Ok let's stop with these tear-jerking moments and let's order." Playfully slapping his arm and picking up the menu card to choose what to order. "I honestly don't know what to pick besides their cheesecake, there are so many to choose from".

"Well I also recommend you to check their drinks,".

Flipping through the pages of the menu card, she decided what to choose, " I know what to order and you?," He nodded indicating to her, he was also ready to order.

A waitress came towards them after she called her, "Hi, are you ready to take an order?".

Y/n spoke for both of them, " Yeah, we both chose the cheesecake and for the drinks a black tea and a bottle of water".

"I'm sorry to say this but there is only one cheesecake left," the waitress informed them both.

"It's ok Y/n you can take it-"

"You are more excited than me to try their cheesecake, so I will pick the tiramisù instead of the cheesecake," she said to the waitresses.

Once the waitress was gone Aoyama told her best friend, " I still can't believe it, our friendship basically started thanks to cheese".

She laughed at what he said because it was basically the truth, she remembered the day she met him.

Her mother gave birth to her in Musutafu, Japan, but at the age of five her mother decided to move to London. When the young girl asked the reason why they needed to reside in another country, her mother's eyebrow frowned at the question but there was an evident sadness in her eyes and a wounded look she tried to hide under a smile. Her mom lowered herself to approach the same height of her child and with her hand she gently patted the hair of her daughter and with hesitation she answered "It's for the best".

So the single mother and her daughter lived their life in tranquillity, trying to fit in a new community and culture with her mother working as a nurse in a big hospital in London and her going to school and living most of her childhood in England.

Y/n didn't make a lot of friends considering her timid nature until one day she discovered a blog that contains: information, fun facts and new discovery about cheeses. A lot of kids around her age didn't like the smell of it and they always say it because the smell of it reminds them of sticky feet. So when she met on this blog a person around her same age that also has the same passion as her they immediately became friends and this boy's name was Yuga Aoyama.

The young girl and her online friend almost spent their time together, talking about what they wanna be in the future.

"Y/n chan when I grow up I want to be a hero just like All Might," the young boy announced, showing to her the All Might plushie.

"I don't really know what I want to be when I grow up, maybe just like my mama?. I just want one day to meet you in person Yuga,".

Unbeknownst to the ten years old girl, her wish will become reality when her mother informs her that they will go back to live again in Musutafu ,Japan. Her mom receives an offer to work as an assistant for Recovery Girl and to her mother's surprise her daughter was more than happy to go back to Japan because this means that she will have the opportunity to meet her online friend in person.

After five years living in England they are finally back in Japan. Her mother was euphoric for the fact that both of them are finally back in their home country and after a few weeks of fixing their apartment Y/n didn't lose time to meet her online friend in person and they decided to meet near the UA school.

After meeting in person the two became closer to each other and their friendship solidified over the years until they both went to the UA high school with Aoyama achieving his dream to go to the hero course and her simply frequenting the general department.

The first year of UA recently started and Aoyama and her were walking in the hallway of the school to go to the cafeteria during lunch break, their peaceful conversation was interrupted when they heard loud noises coming from their back.

There was a boy with blond hair and a black lightning symbol on his hair that just passed them running from something or rather from someone, "You see that boy his name is Kaminari, one of my classmates but I don't know why he's running this fast".

She was going to tell her best friend something until she heard another loud sound of explosion coming from behind her. When she turned around to see what was the cause of the tumult the girl notice another blond boy running towards them with a furios remark on his face, the boy was clearly using his quirk in the school hallway, even if he wasn't allowed to, a blast of explosion appearing on his hands to be able to run faster and Y/n seeing all of this was already ready to ignore it until she heard.

"SHINE!".

After hearing those words coming from the blond boy, Y/n was astonished by what she realised and she didn't even register that she basically screamed to the boy, "What it's you".

Bakugo was searching for Kaminari trying to teach him a lesson for a stupid prank that him and Mineta played on him. After giving a lesson to Mineta it was Kaminari turns now, he was running to find him until he lost sight of him, the only evidence where to find him was hearing his scream of terror trying to escape from Bakugo. The angry blond male immediately knew where the noise was coming from and it was from the hallway near the cafeteria and of course Bakugo didn't lose time and he instantly used his quirk to run faster towards the hallway where the scream of Kaminari was coming from.

Out of frustration he let out a curse but he didn't know that screaming that word can change his life forever.

In the hallway he saw his classmate Aoyama and a girl near him, he was going to ignore them until the unknown girl screamed at him.

Bakugo was continuously running but eventually lose his balance and control of his quirk when the girl in front of him screamed at him, his pupil become more dilated and suddenly his breath grow shorter until he was a few steps from the unknown girl and at that moment he completely lose track of his footstep making him fell on the ground with the girl under him.

Y/n didn't understand what just happened, her body was lying on the ground and she felt a weight of another person on top of her, when she opened her eyes she was greeted with a pair of carmine eyes observing her movement attentively.

" Fuck it's you then ," Bakugo said.

"Y/n ," he called her, "you were zoning out," he added.

"I'm sorry I was thinking of something," she created an excuse, mentally scolding herself to stop reminiscing about the past with rose tinted glasses.

He was going to say something until both of their attention was now focused on the tv near them.

There was a lady in her thirties announcing that one month from now there will be an annual hero gala and the woman was presenting which heroes will be present that night. The lady was showing pictures of various superheroes which some of them were familiar to Y/n from Aoyama and old UA students but what caught her attention was the remark that the woman said when she presented the pictures of Bakugo and her girlfriend.

Look at those two our national sweet couple, we all can't wait to see them and in a few months by now there will be their six years anniversary together .

Y/n and Yuga looked at each other's eyes and they cringed at that nickname that the host gave them.

"National sweet couple? Seriously?," she asked, trying to hold her laugh.

A hand in front of his mouth to suppress his laugh, he said, "Believe me there are worse nicknames that I heard about those two. But you know what is more interesting," he suddenly lowered his voice and asked her to come near him, "there are some rumours in the hero circle that say that Bakugo cheated multiple times on Yua".

At his last statement, she looked with sadness at the golden ring present on her fourth finger and thought Well this isn't like the first time that happen.

" but you know, what is the most interesting part of the 'cheating rumors' about Bakugo is that none of it comes out from the public's eyes," he added.

"Well this is strange considering this is the type of news paparazzi and the media will fight to know ".

Suddenly the conversation she was having with her friends was interrupted when a waitress served them their food.

"Y/n let's stop talking about Bakugo love life, tell me about yours-".

"Not existent," she cut him short.

"Oh c'mon Y/n there will be someone who can make your heart beat again- ".

His complaints were interrupted with the ring of her phone.

"Who is it?," he asked.

She checked her phone and told him, " It's Aki".

"Speaking of the devil. You mean that Aki, the son of the president of the company you work for? The golden bachelor of your company and every female tried to seduce but failed eventually?," he said, drinking his tea.

"I'm sorry to interrupt your fantasies but he's only a good friend of mine, probably he only called just to talk about work knowing him," she admitted, answering the call.

"Hi Aki, ohh you're coming to Japan, when?,".

She heard her friend whispering to her, "Interesting," she rolled her eyes at her friend's comment.

"Ok bye Aki,".

"So what did you talk about,".

She told Aoyama what they talked about and it was mainly about work. Aki is the vice president of the company and in a few days he will come to Japan to take over an important project that was to build a new branch company located in Tokyo.

"And he also asked me if he can take me out to dinner when he will be here,".

"Well well well this sounds like a date to me. Do you ever think that he might have feelings for you?," he asked.

She defended herself, "We knew each other for a few years now, if he ever had feelings for me I should have noticed it by now".

" Y/n , I mean you didn't even notice when Bakugo had-".

She knew exactly where he was coming from and she didn't like it. She touched the ring in her finger with her other hand and with a firm voice she said to him, " Aoyama, stop, I might have not noticed in the past but now I will definitely know if someone has it".

Aoyama noticed her discomfort around that particular subject and he immediately tried to ask for forgiveness, "I'm sorry. I should've thought better before bringing it out that subject".

"It's ok Yuga. I shouldn't be angry with you about things that happened years ago," she comforted him, returning to her calm nature.

"No no no I'm on the wrong side this time and I want you to forgive me by going shopping and let me pay for your stuff," he informed her.

"Wait no you shouldn't do it-".

"I insist Y/n and I don't accept no for an answer," he announced, winking at her.

"I mean if you insist….".

29 notes · View notes

scriptaed · 4 years

Text

bygones of the sun. 07 (m)

genre: angst/fluff/smut || dance captain!hoseok, bad boy!au, uni!au

pairing: reader x hoseok;

length: 6.7k;

synopsis: Jung Hoseok was once the sweetheart of the school, the dance captain whom every girl, including you, can’t help but fall head over heels for. But like the force of the ever-glowing sun, everything that rises must also set. A year of inactivity later and he’s now the school’s resident bad boy. You’re a firm believer of allowing the past be the past, and yet you can’t help but wonder where the risen sun has gone into hiding—because perhaps its shadows have out-shined its own radiance.

Ten bucks for club dues and fifteen bucks for transportation plus utility fees and you’d think boot camps really are as luxurious and happy-go-lucky as movies paint them out to be. Unfortunately for you and your recently trance filled state, confronting the face of reality only comes colliding into you just a couple of weeks since you last saw him. Despite the malicious side effects of reading into rumors, people really aren’t lying when they say the dance club’s boot camp is synonymous to a “living hell disguised as a getaway paradise by scheming club officers.” While you aren’t attending as an official member of the team, and therefore forfeiting the rights to proclaim the overbearing stress and practices that are soon to come, there are certain other issues weighing your mind.

First off, paying twenty five bucks just to see this one despicably sly and retired dancer resume his role as the captain is all too pricey of a fee, because even you're not sure why you’ve invested so much time and effort into someone who only sees you as his next victim of his black book filled with female contacts. You thought you had gotten over him, but the mere fact that you’re attending despite claiming to be “dragged into this” is a direct opposition of such a foolish belief, or better yet, desire. But such questions become trivial when the first obstacle you face of the four days long journey ahead of you is simply tossing two overly stuffed duffel bags into the luggage compartment of the towering, chic black and white charter bus.

Struggling to weave your way through the bustling crowds of fellow trip attendees, consisting of mainly guys and specks of girls, you puff in a deep breath before picking up one bag on each hand and hustling through with all your might and diminishing courtesy. The task proves to be worse in terms of pleasantness than labor, for squatting down and searching for the smallest of a few square feet of free space while squinting your eyes against the smoke of hot, steaming gas and water vapor released from the roaring engine.

“Do you need help?”

The familiar honey-like base yet raspy edge to his voice strikes a sense of panic against your thumping chest. Is this a rise of excitement or is this a fight-or-flight defense mechanism against the threat before you?

Hesitantly turning around, you crane your neck to peer up at the one and only boy towering over you from above, an effort made in vain as all you manage to catch sight of is the black silhouette of his figure and the smug signature look of his all underneath the blinding sunlight his head so conveniently blocks.

“Or are you going to ogle and drool all over me while standing in everyone’s way?” Hoseok chortles. Your eyes follow his every move, too taken aback to move or respond. It’s been at least two weeks since you had last seen him and two weeks since… that had happened. Your lips burn and your first immediate response is to smack your hands right over them as if to cover the beet red of your cheeks and lips… or largely to prevent future advances. Hoseok only scoffs in response, smirking and squatting midway to strategically whisper into your ears, “we have lots of time to do that in the camp later, if you so want.”

“Excuse me?” you lean back as far as you can and gape, but he only squats down to your level before grabbing the bags of luggage from your hand.

“Don’t worry, I got this. After going through this entire process at least six times by now, you just gotta learn to…” his words are cut off by huffs as he forcefully pushes and tosses and squeezes bags further into the compartment before tossing his and your own along with them. “There,” he brushes his hands, “I don’t know what Jimin has been teaching them, but the new recruits seem to be awfully spoiled taking up so much space. This is boot camp, not vacation.”

“Thanks,” you say after chuckling.

“Is your gratitude exchangeable?” he asks, turning to cock his head to the side and revealing the structure of his jawline; and as much as you’d like to deny it, it takes every ounce of sheer willpower not to stare at him in awe.

“For what?” you’re barely able to utter. Hoseok stares at you in silence, dark eyes eating and drinking you up with each passing second, and that’s all you need to get the hint. The knot in your throat catches your silent gasp as you avert your gaze to the ground, cheeks burning, heart skipping, and lips throbbing. “I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Oh, my bad, I forgot. Can’t corrupt my prude little princess just yet,” he muses, and you can just feel his sultry gaze piercing straight through your temple as he flashes you his charming damn crooked grin. Hoseok cocks his head in the direction behind the crowds of incoming baggage bearers, “go on. Your friends are waiting for you. I gotta help out here.”

“You sure you don't need any help?” you offer, standing upright to brush the invisible dirt off your lap.

Hoseok glances up at you and scoffs with the most teasing smirk possible. “Are you implying you're willing to help me? I'm thankful for the offer, your Grace, but I don't think standing there and checking me out is going to do us much good,” he laughs and throws a quick glimpse over at your friends with a lopsided smile. “I know I said this is camp and all, but you should at least have some fun now before it's too late.”

“...okay,” you hesitantly mumble, giving him a small wave and stumbling through the crowd once again to join your friends spectating from afar.

“What took you so long?” Junghwa ponders aloud, a small pout resting on her bottom lip as her foot impatiently taps against the floor.

“Sorry, the luggage compartment was almost full—”

“—wait, wait, wait, Y/N… was that Hoseok who helped you with your luggage over there?” Hani interjects with wide eyes, going on her tiptoes to confirm the back figure of said man just a few strides ahead. Not even a split second after, Junghwa’s eyes pop and the both of them turn in sync to stare at you with gaping mouths.

“No way,” Junghwa drawls. “Jung Hoseok? The ex dance captain? Your long time crush—”

“—keep your voice down,” you hiss before timidly glancing at the ground and twiddling your thumbs. “...maybe.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually doing this, Y/N,” Hani utters, the drop of her jaw and the void in her voice conveying just how shocked she is from your sudden course of actions.

“I know right,” Junghwa jumps in, hooking her arms around Hani’s crossed ones. “I mean, dance camp? Basically a trip? With Hoseok?”

“It’s not only with Hoseok,” you articulate. “There’s at least twenty other people going with us.”

“Uhuh, right, but you won’t be paying attention to any of them except Hoseok, so it’s basically the same thing. How did you even manage to convince him to return?” Junghwa exasperates, a series of blabbering shortly follows before you hurriedly clasp your hand over her running mouth to muffle her words.

A few seconds of incoherent mumbling goes by before Hani taps you on the shoulder and chuckles, “okay, Y/N, any second longer and she’s going to faint.”

As much as most normal, rational human beings would opt for breathing through the nose than the mouth in situations like this, whether out of instincts or simple common sense, it’s also painfully obvious that Junghwa is unlike that of any other. All that’s on Junghwa’s head at the moment is getting her thoughts said and heard, and not even her very own being can top that priority. So pressing your lips, you figure Hani’s right—like always—and the well being of your best friend is more important than answering a few questions. Reluctantly and ever so slowly, you retract your hands from her lips, the absence of her voice’s vibration immediately leaving your hand empty of sensation.

The second your hands unclasp from her mouth, thus letting her words loose, Junghwa desperately gasps for air before, unsurprisingly, blurting out yet again in an all too ear-spitting manner, “or is he returning because of you? Did you make some sort of deal with him?! Y/N, why didn’t you tell us? You need to tell us—”

“—shh,” you hiss, immediately and strategically placing your middle finger against your lips to hush her back into silence. Eyes wide and alert, you hastily glimpse around to check for any possible bystanders dropping in on your conversation. When all coast is clear, everyone too busy chatting away with their friends and loading their additional luggage onto the bus, you shoot a death stare straight at your friend who gulps in terror. “Are you trying to turn this trip into hell before it even starts? I know it might come as a surprise to you, but I don’t want anyone spreading rumors about Hoseok and I!”

“I know,” Junghwa pouts and grabs ahold of your hand only to sway it side to side, as if to win you over with pity. “I’m sorry… I won’t do it again. I promise!”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“I swear I’m serious! Curiosity just got the best of me this time around,” Junghwa cheekily smiles. “If someone happens to hear us, I’ll treat you out for dinner. Better yet, I’ll confess to Jimin or anyone you want and make a fool of myself, yeah? Mm?”

“You don’t even like Jimin!” you refute, appalled by her lackluster offer.

“Oh, you know how she is, Y/N,” Hani laughs, rolling her eyes. “At least no one has ever really paid attention to her yelling. Plus, I really am curious as to why he’s back. How did you convince him to join today? I thought he always stayed at least a mile’s distance from anything related to dance.”

A hard thump hammers against your chest when the answer to her question echoes in your mind and rests on the tips of your tongue. A kiss. You exchanged his attendance this morning for a kiss; but there’s no way you’re going tell your friends something as embarrassing as that, especially seeing how they had taken the news of your previous dates with Hoseok. However, judging by how fervently your lips burn of the apparition of his soft lips pressed up against them, you convince yourself you’ve already given the answer away.

“Hey, we’re just about done here,” a familiar voice melts in your left ear like honey as a heavy arm swings over your shoulder and pulls you into his side. You glance up to find Hoseok raising a brow at your two friends, “oh, I’m sorry, but I don’t quite seem to recognize…”

His words trail off, and for some reason you think you can see a flash of the old dance captain resuming his courteous, welcoming ways; hence, unbeknownst to you, a smile gradually stretches across your lips. While you’re stuck in your reverie, Junghwa and Hani’s head snap towards each other, eyes widening and words failing to leave their gaping mouths as looks of admiration and awe oozes from the glistening windows to their souls. The ogling eyes of theirs nearly evokes a snort from the back of your throat, because finally, finally they can first-handedly witness the melting charms of Hoseok and actually understand the reasonings behind your recent irrational actions. But then their eyes dart to you once again, lips formulating silent threats and teeth gritting like a desperate call for your help.

As much as you’d like to blame your lack of a response to your friends’ plees solely on your short-lived trance of catching the returning glimpse of your long-time crush, a part of you just knows the truth lies in the satisfaction of observing the petrified look on your friends’ faces. Is this the look you had plastered all over your face when they made fun of you for your crush on Hoseok? Was this the mirror image of your state of panic when Junghwa nearly exposes your “relationship” with Hoseok to the entire class? Just recalling the pain your friends had put you through endorses you to sit back and relax as you watch karma do its work.

“...new recruits?” Hoseok chirps after a few seconds of silence, quirking a brow and flashing a clueless, lopsided grin. “Did Jimin actually manage to acquire new members while I was gone?”

“Actually no,” Hani quickly blurts, shaking her head violently, “we’re not a part of the club.”

“Oh?” Hoseok cocks his head, glimpsing at you in confusion before returning his eyes to Hani when you only stand in silent amusement. “Sorry, my bad. So what are you two lovely ladies doing here then?”

Did he just call them lovely? In front of you? With his arm wrapped around you and his recently numerous flirtatious advances on you? Even though you have no idea why you’re so irked in the first place, there’s something about his smooth, charismatic ways that tugs at your heartstrings in the rather painful manner for once.

Unbeknownst to you, a twitch of your face is evident enough to your friends and Hoseok for them to jolt in place, petrified over whatever fiery hazard scorches from within the vicinity of your glare. And unlike your friends who take a step back and glimpse at each other for help, the boy beside you only pulls you in even tighter until your head has nowhere to rest but against the calm, warm beats of his chest.

“Uh,” Junghwa utters, eyes popping when she notices Hoseok’s firming embrace.

“We’re just sending Y/N off,” Hani finishes her friend’s sentence and averts her panicked gaze back to you as you narrow your eyes at the audacity of Hoseok.

“Well that’s nice of you two. So that’s where Y/N gets it from,” he muses before continuing, “are you sure you two don’t wanna join? I’m sure we have enough space left to accommodate for you two.”

“Oh no, we couldn’t—

“—well actually, we wanted to but Y/N forced us not to because she was ‘embarrassed’ or something—ow!” Hani nudges her elbow straight into Junghwa before she can mutter another word.

Hoseok turns his head at you with warmth radiating from his dark chocolate orbs and the most suggestive of smirks tugging on the corner of his lips, “and what does that mean, Y/N?”

You freeze. You don’t know why or how or when, but for some reason your body’s immediate response to his gaze locking with yours is to drop everything and freeze. Heart panicking, hammering, and nearly stopping, you completely forget your friends are watching just a few feet away—

“—we didn’t bring any money for club dues and trip fees,” Hani quickly comes to the rescue, shooting you a subtle smile, and for once, you’re actually glad that your friends are here to support you in the wake of Hoseok’s impact.

“Oh, that’s fine. Any friend of Y/N’s is welcome with or without dues. I’d rather gain two new recruits than lose the opportunity to because of a few bucks or so. Plus, our club has more than enough funds to cover your fees for now,” he quips, cleverly interjecting before Hani can provide a rebuttal, “you don’t really think I’m letting you off the hook, do you? Nah, what kind of a captain would I be if I did that? You can pay me back afterwards.”

“That’s very kind of you, but…”

“...or your friend here can pay for you,” Hoseok smiles smugly, pointing his thumb to the side and at you. Traumatizing your lips and paying twenty five bucks to humiliate yourself for the sole sake of potentially watching Hoseok dance again were already too high of stakes to pay in the first place, so all you can do in response to his absurd suggestion is gawk at him in disapproval.

“She’s the last person who would do that,” Junghwa grumbles.

Hani nudges Junghwa once again, “I’m sure Y/N is going to have lots of fun at camp… although I do worry if she’s going to be alone—”

“—I’ll be fine—”

“—don’t worry, she’s in good hands,” Hoseok cuts in with a wide grin, arm firmly gripping your right shoulder and pulling you even closer into him.

“...what do you think you’re doing?” you finally mutter through gritted teeth. Your friends hesitantly exchange and dart glances between the two of you as they watch the narrowing of your death stare.

“What? This?” he pats his hands on the side of your arm and pulls you in once again, cocking a brow at you to feign innocence. “You didn’t seem to mind skinship last week? Or are you shy about PDA?”

Your jaw slacks open in sync with your friends. Did he really just say that? In front of your friends? So much for having fun and saving the embarrassment for later on in the trip.

“I don’t know what you’re saying…” you mutter, snaking your hand behind his back and tugging on his shirt to signal for him to stop… which he doesn’t.

“Oh c’mon, you couldn’t have forgotten already, Y/N!” Hoseok chimes, and his grin grows wider and wider as he watches your cheeks burn a brighter shade of red by the second. He cocks his head and begins listing the events of that night which still burns so fervently in the back of your mind, “fridge… bet… tabletop… ki...tchen.”

The second to last syllable nearly evokes a heart attack from your already weak condition, thousands of needles piercing straight through your chest as you glimpse at your friends; luckily for you, it seems like they haven’t caught onto anything yet, for they’ve never worn a more confused look than they are now.

Hoseok only grins in amusement before proceeding to his grand finale, “ki—hey!”

The smug look on his face is wiped and replaced by utter shock. He gawks at you with eyes wide and mouth open the second his brain registers the fact that you had just pinched him as hard as you could from the back.

“...kinda have to go help out Jimin and the others. Yeah, that’s what I meant to say,” Hoseok chuckles after a few seconds of bewilderment, turning to flash one last smile at your friends and waving them goodbye. “I’m sorry but I don’t believe I ever got your names…?”

Your two friends just stand there in what you’re unsure to make out as either fright for the scene that just played before them or in awe over the radiant sight of his killer smile—or perhaps, a mix of both. Hani’s slouched shoulders suddenly straighten upright the second she snaps back into reality and checks up on her friend, whom had failed to escape her trance. She stutters, “H-Hani, I’m Hani, a-and this is Junghwa.”

“Right. It was nice meeting you, Hani and Junghwa. I promise you I’ll look over Y/N, even if she refuses to accept my help and assaults me with acts of violence. And remember, I know it might be boring without me as the captain, but it’s never too late to join the club,” he sing-songs, voice velvety and soothing like always but his last statement leaves you frowning even more so than the former.

He’s resuming his role as the dance captain, and yet at the same time he’s rejecting the permanence of such a task and even foreseeing his absence in the near future. You know you’ve been too greedy and too needy for the fulfillment of your dreams, but somehow along the way you had lost sight of reality. While the past Hoseok brought you into cloud nine where things like stress and school were of trivial matters, the present Hoseok slams you straight back into reality where not everything always goes your way.

Only a comforting, firm pat against your right shoulder is enough to bring you out of your daze as you glance up to find Hoseok making his way to the bus with his front half turned towards you. “I know it’s hard to contain your excitement, but at least try to spend a few more minutes with your friends, Y/N. Don’t take too long though, or even I’ll have to leave you behind,” he quips, calling out to you before winking and biting his lips—as if trying to hint at something, no, you just know he’s hinting at that very thing which still doesn’t fail to flood heat into your cheeks—and turning his back on you to jog up the steps, disappearing behind the black tinted windows of the bus.

“I hate the living hell out of him. I hate the living hell out of him. I hate the living hell out of him,” you repeat, reminding yourself once again of the treacherous bet you had so regrettably made. Sighing, you turn to face your friends once again only to jump in place out of shock when your friends glare at you with the most dead eyes and stern frowns.

“Girl, you have a lot to explain when you get back,” Junghwa crosses her arms.

“...yeah, I know,” you timidly laugh, reclining as you scratched the back of your head when Junghwa continues to narrow her eyes at you for your lack of an explanation.

“That guy’s dangerous. I knew he was good looking, but wow, in person?” Hani shakes her head. “He knows his ways with words. Charming. Too charming. You better be careful, Y/N.”

“...yeah, don’t worry. I’m not a fool. I might’ve liked him before, but there’s no way I still do with him being like that now,” you mutter, and out of the blue, your only source of transportation roars in place behind you as if to remind you of the quickly approaching departure time. “Okay, I really have to go now.”

Despite how hard Junghwa had been staring at you, she does a complete 180 turn when she pounces on you along with Hani, “I’ll miss you so much. Don’t go! Don’t leave me for a man! But if you have to, at least tell us what happens!”

“Make sure to call us every night, okay?” Hani says before quickly adding, “and be careful! Don’t ever leave yourself alone with a boy like Hoseok!”

“Alright, alright,” you chuckle, words muffled as they nearly choke you in the bear hug. After what seems like eternity, you finally retract yourself from your nearly sobbing friends and wave them one last goodbye before running up the steps into the bus and away from the partially cloudy forecast of the morning.

Now the real torture begins; it's like highschool all over again—finding an empty seat without looking like a longer or bring too out of place.

“Sorry, this seat is reserved for someone,” you hear someone say in the deepest yet softest of tones.

Glancing over to the very back of the bus where the courteous voice had struck you as familiar, you find a girl apologizing to Hoseok before scampering forward to the seat next to whom you presume to be her friend. Word must've gotten out that the Jung Hoseok was making his return to dance with this camping trip, because whether for the better or worse, it doesn't take very long for the next girl to approach him.

“Oh my God, I can't believe you're actually back! I've always loved watching you practice!” the petite girl exclaims.

Hoseok presses a smile in response, “thanks.”

“Um… can I sit here if this seat isn't taken?”

“Sorry but I'm actually saving this seat for my friend,” he softly repeats himself, craning his neck up to give one last apologetic smile from his seat and to the standing girl.

Tch, lucky him, you scoff to yourself, being Mr. Popular With Girls must have its perks in social gatherings like this. People like you, on the other hand, have to deal with being on the worse end of the stick.

So you shuffle your way through the chattering cliques seated primarily at the front, never-minding the glaring open seat next to Hoseok as you make your way to just a few rows ahead of his in a successful search for another seat; but before you're even able to sigh in relief and plop into your temporary home for the next six hours, a hand clasps onto the crook of your elbows and grips your arm firmly enough to pull you into another seat. A yelp leaves your lips as you stumble backwards in a vain attempt to regain your footing, and before you even know it, you find yourself in another seat at the very back of the bus.

“This seat is actually reserved for you,” the one and only Hoseok coos, and your heart undeniably skips despite the roll of your eyes.

“I didn't ask for you to reserve it for me.”

“Ouch,” Hoseok winces, “was that you rejecting me or you rejecting my friendly gesture?”

You shrug in a fruitless attempt to suppress your smile, “perhaps both. No, definitely both.”

“Then what was that supposed to mean?” Hoseok gasps and places a hand over his chest. “Are you leading me on?”

You scoff, “what was what supposed to mean?”

“You know,” he leans in to whisper, “our ki—”

“— alright fine, I'll sit with you,” you interject and slump into your permanent seat with a loud sigh. “Now can you stop bringing that up.”

“To think that you'd play me like this... you're breaking my heart, Y/N,” he fakes a whimper and frowns, shaking his head. “But whatever makes you happy.”

You snort at the irony of his words. Who's the one playing who? “Oh, quit it, will you? If being around me hurts you so much, then why aren't you sitting with Jimin and them?”

“Actually, there's nothing I like better than spending my time with you. See, I'll prove it to you.” Without warning, Hoseok’s right engulfs your left in and places it straight against his chest. You're caught off guard, jumping in your seat and rocketing your pulse at an all time high, but what surprises you most is the irregular pacing of the thumps against your hand. Maybe it's just you and your hopeless imaginations, but for even a split second you'd like to think he's being the genuine self he used to be for once. “You know, I actually prefer sitting alone on these trips.”

“...why?” you're barely able to utter when you realize your hand is still trapped between the warmth of his chest and his hand.

“I like listening to my own music and going through the routines in my head. It helps me focus for camp,” he explains before turning to wink at you, “but I'll make an exception for you.”

“Why…?”

It must be something about the way his hand holds yours so firmly in place or the way you're just practically melting in the gaze of his warm brown eyes, because a question you already know the answer to slips right through your lips. He had promised your friends to take good care of you, didn't he? He had seen you wandering through the crowd and bus like some lost child, didn't he? Man, you really must have appeared to be quite pathetic enough for him to reach out to you like this. So with your eyes down at the ground and your ears shut, you prepare for the embarrassment ahead of you.

“Didn't I just explain it to you?” Hoseok says lowly, and you glance up in curiosity. Your chest constricts when your eyes trail up to meet his. Your insides melt at the sight of his soft, lopsided smile, and you can't help but mentally squeal when you realize that his unmoving gaze has been observing you all this time. Then he makes his final blow, “I like being next to you.”

Pressing your lips into what seems to be a half smile half frown, you slowly retract your hands from his and into your lap before turning to face straight forward where Hoseok is no where in sight. But despite your efforts to keep your pulse under control, there's really nothing you can do to stop your heart from nearly jumping out of your chest and prevent the adrenaline from running through your wrist to your stomach to your legs; for the rest of the ride, you find yourself distracted in one way or another.

First, you somehow find yourself sharing an earbud with Hoseok. He shares his favorite playlist of tracks to freestyle to, humming and counting to the beats, and even goes as far as to show you the tracks he plans to share with Jimin to use for the upcoming showcase. It's silly for you to extrapolate any meaning beyond the simple sharing of an earbud for the sole sake of killing time, yet you can't help but acknowledge the fluttering of butterflies in your stomach when you steal glimpses of your old crush as he walks you through the technicalities of a routine. He drones on and on for hours about a world close to him, a world of flow and deep appreciation which nearly no one but him could reach, however, even sitting there and being forced to listen to this boy who never ceases to tease you is enough to make this entire trip before it even begins. There’s something about the way passion just oozes from his eyes as he talks about the love of his life reminds you that this is the boy you fell for.

The second thing that keeps you on your toes is when you suddenly find yourself draped in his oversized sweater. It’s an all too familiar scene, a scene that has occurred one too many times, but it’s not like you had wanted it or hoped for it to happen… did you? Having forgotten how cold buses tend to keep the temperatures at, you had regrettably opted to stuff your one and only jacket into your bags—now thrown several dozens of feet under you—and unknowingly put yourself in this situation.

While everyone around you continued to chatter and laugh at the most disruptive of volumes amongst themselves, completely undisturbed for they had jackets to protect them from the blasting AC, you were suffering in your chair trying to keep yourself from shivering and exposing yourself to the watchful Hoseok; but alas, he was and is always able to see right through you. Seeing you curled up into a ball, you had heard Hoseok half snorting half chuckling before removing his hoodie in one swift motion and plopping it straight onto your head.

The sudden warmth of his worn sweatshirt resonates off your freezing cheeks, your bare nape of the neck, and down your shuddering back, but those newfound comforts aren’t enough to keep you from turning around to frown at him with furrowed brows questioning the intent behind such actions. He just smiles that smug smile of his before patting your head and remarking, “I don’t know if you’re actually cold or if you’re acting out to steal another one of my sweaters again, but you should put it on before you freeze to death. Can’t have any casualties under my watch, especially not you.”

The third and last thing you remember from the long bus ride, six hours of pain that for some reason you wish could’ve lasted forever, is the intoxicating scent of him radiating from the sweater engulfing you from within. Reclining in your seat, the collar of his sweater rises just enough to cover your neck, lips, and tip of your nose from the harsh winds circulating throughout the bus, but burying your nose in the inside of his cotton sweater only magnifies his clean, spice cologne mixed with the scent of home. You can’t believe you actually accepted his offer, but what petrifies you even more is the fact that you might just pass out right in front of Hoseok. As if witnessing the return of the ex dance captain isn’t enough, sitting right next to him with your arms brushed against his and an ear sharing the same set of headphones while wearing and drowning yourself in his scent is like the ultimate blow against your weak heart.

Subconsciously, you mumble aloud—whether to yourself or to Hoseok, you don’t know—and squeeze your heavy eyelids shut to black out everything around you, “I feel really light-headed for some reason…”

You can’t see him with your eyes closed, but the shuffling beside you allows you to envision him scooting closer and leaning forward to check up on you with worry plastered all over the frown on his face. “Are you okay? Are you still cold? Or do you need to take some medicine?”

“No, I’m fine. I just need to… take a nap—hey,” you nearly yelp when you feel his rough, warm hand cupping your right cheek to gently push your head onto his shoulders. Your eyes shoot wide open and your heart rate escalates as you scan through the bus for any witnesses. Finally, when all coast is clear, you hiss, “what’re you doing?”

“Go ahead. Nap,” he instructs, patting your cheek before leaning his own head against the top of yours. “Don’t worry, we’re in the back. No one’s going to see.”

Even in the blizzard that is the blasting AC, your cheeks never fail to burn a bright shade of red as every inch of contact between your body and his begins to flush of heat and thrill. You want to pull away, to deny the indisputable comfort of his shoulders, but you’re simply too tired to argue. So before you know it, pitch blackness surrounds you and the yells of the others drown into the background where the sound of Hoseok’s counting and humming echoes akin to that of the night where you had first introduced yourself to Hoseok long ago.

You are dreaming, right?

No, this must be a dream; because the very first thing your still blurry, half-asleep mind comes to register—that is, after gathering your bags and settling into your temporary room before leaving for the welcoming event like a zombie—is the fact that the Jung Hoseok is standing in front of the dance studio and leading tonight’s practice.

The studio lights hanging from the high ceilings above give off warm, yellow edges to your already blurry vision. The cleanly waxed wooden floor squeaks with every sharp step of his as he gives a quick demonstration to the daily stretching routine every member must undergo before practice. Decked out in the all too familiar, albeit retired, attire of his—black sweater, black joggers, and black pair of sleek sneakers with the occasional headband he had opted out of tonight—you simply can’t believe your eyes. This is everything you’ve been dreaming for. You just want to see him dance again, and here he is… closer to dancing than he has ever been in the last year.

It’s all too surreal. Really, your gut instincts tell you this is all too surreal to believe in.

“I know this isn’t the exciting stuff I’m sure everyone of you came here for,” he sarcastically remarks, and you wonder if he’s well aware of the real reason for the spike of female recruits attending this camp for the sake of meeting him, “but it’s important that you learn how to properly stretch and prepare your body for the impact that comes with dancing.”

“How long are we going to be stretching, Hoseok?” a girl whines.

It takes everything in you not to scowl at the girl for her interjection. While you’ve risked everything from your dignity to your sanity to get to experience this first-hand, she’s piggybacking off of your efforts only to threaten the slim opportunity that you’ll even get to see Hoseok dance again in the first place.

Hoseok continues stretching, neither affected nor amused by her remark before lowly stating, “a few minutes goes a long way.”

“Yeah, but we want to dance,” a boy calls out.

“We want to see you dance,” another girl adds.

God, any second longer now and you swear you’re going to cuss them out; do they want to see him dance or not?

“You won’t be saying that when you pull a muscle,” Hoseok simply states, switching to stretch his other leg before shooting a stern look at the rows and columns of students lined up and following his every move. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him more irked than this, because a chill runs down your spine the second you find the darkening of his eyes settling on one particular girl only to threaten and etch his next two words into the back of her mind for the rest of eternity, “trust me.”

You figure dance practice really must be a serious matter to him, because you’ve never seen him go so long without cracking a joke or even comforting a student he had accidentally rebuked—which is odd now that you think about it, since that’s the exact opposite of what he had been known for back in his days as the captain; but maybe you just didn’t know him well enough in the past, perhaps his passion for dance is much stronger and takes a much more different approach than you had observed on the surface level.

It’s not exactly a turn-off per say, because you do find his passion honorable in every way, but there’s something about the frown on his ever-so-slightly downturned lips and the crease between his brows that tells you something is off. Does he actually despise dance as much as he had claimed? Your mind wanders off wondering if bringing him here is the right decision after all.

“Y/N, if you want to see me dance, then you better not space out.”

You’re thrown straight out of your trance when your head snaps up to find Hoseok staring straight at you.

“We’re on the right leg now,” he presses a smile, cocking his head at the fact that you’re still stretching your left arm. Your entire face turns red as you hastily plop yourself down to the ground and stretch your left before your right leg out in front of you. Hoseok only snorts, “alright, because of Y/N, we’re just going to hand this off to Jimin to teach you the choreo now. I have something else to do.”

“What?!”

“No, you can’t do that!”

“You promised you’d be leading tonight’s session!”

A dozen protests come tumbling from the students, a majority of them being female fans, but then all eyes start glaring at you as if you’re the actual reason Hoseok is skipping out on the actual dance portion of the practice. You nearly jump in your seat, wanting to dig a hole for you to hide yourself in when everyone throws you a few death stares. To be honest, you’re completely satisfied with seeing Hoseok even associating himself with the dance club right now, but it seems like others had a separate standard of satisfaction than you.

Hoseok intently observes the scene playing out between you and the girls before clearing his throat and sighing, “on second thought, I have a few minutes to spare.”

You can hear a collective gasp echo throughout the room. A loud cheer then erupts, and you actually find yourself smiling at his announcement despite being the most hated person in the room for a split second.

“But I’m only introducing the simple parts tonight,” he adds and a mixed reaction filled with cheers and whimpers follow shortly afterwards.

Was he going out of his way to indulge in an activity you know he’s been avoiding all too well in order to save you from the others? Or was he doing this because he genuinely had a change of heart? You figure the questions don’t matter at this point, because you’re beyond ecstatic. You might not agree in the methods others had attempted to utilize in pushing him back into his role as the captain, but you do agree in terms of the end goal point. Just seeing him lead a group through stretches is enough to make this entire trip, but seeing him lead a group through actual routines and choreographs? You think you’re on cloud nine. You’re selfish for pushing him into something he claims to despise to the very bone, but after calling you out and teasing you in front of everyone, you like to think you deserve at least this.

You just want to see him dance again, and nothing else matters but that.

Hoseok was serious when he said he was only teaching the most simple of choreographs, because even you were able to get through it all without tripping or falling or spacing out like you usually would. After just five minutes or so, he was prepared to switch out with Jimin when Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook ultimately decided on ending the first day of practice early and heading off to dinner.

So here you are, somehow finding yourself seated across where Hoseok had sat just a few minutes prior before excusing himself from the table and next to the rest of his old group of friends.

“Where did Hoseok go?” Jungkook finally questions, stuffing himself with one or two potstickers.

“Probably went back to his room,” Jimin shrugs. “He doesn’t seem to be in a good mood today.”

“Do you know why…?” you hesitantly ask and finish the last speck of food on your now empty plate.

“No idea,” the boy you learn to be Namjoon quips. “Maybe he’s just tired and not used to camp anymore.”

“Maybe,” you mumble, pursing your lips when the image of the irritated look on Hoseok’s face before he left dinner early. Placing your plate and utensil onto the table, you push your chair back and stand upright, “I think I’m going to head back to my room now.”

“Already?” Jimin’s eyes widen, neck craning to look up at you in surprise.

“Yeah, my legs are already so sore from practice.”

“You know we have a complimentary pass to the spa at this resort, right?” Taehyung adds.

“Oh?” you’re genuinely intrigued by the idea of soaking in a hot tub after hours of being drenched in sweat.

“Yeah, feel free to use that if you’d like,” Jimin grins. “I’d go now before everyone heads there after dinner.”

“Alright, thanks. I’ll see you guys tomorrow, then!” you wave them goodbye before skipping off to your room to change into your bathing suit and happily scampering to the paradise that waits for you at the spa…

...unfortunately for you, that paradise doesn’t turn out to be quite what you had envisioned it to be, for the fact that it’s a public spa and not a private one reserved for you hits you right in the face when you see him sitting right there in the pool of water in front of you.

“It seems like fate really wants us to be together,” Hoseok quips, the absence of playfulness and effort in his usual teasing raising a question of worry from you once again.

“Psh, as if,” you scoff, turning around and ready to march off in the other direction if he hadn’t interjected.

“It’s okay, I’ll leave and you can stay if you’re that shy about seeing me half naked,” he rises from the water, and your mind goes completely blank when they register his words.

You weren’t even thinking about seeing his bare chest, but now that he’s mentioned it, that’s all your eyes can even see. His abdomens are as toned and defined as you had imagined them to be for an ex-dancer, and they’re just as tan and smooth as honey which matches the tone of his sun-kissed skin. You don’t know if it’s the steam of the water which causes your cheeks to burn for the hundredth time today, but something about the accuracy in his statement challenges you to rebuke his claims.

So instead of denying nor accepting his offer, you plop down into the euphoric heat of the water and submerge yourself until your chin hits the surface of the water. “No, it’s fine. You can stay or leave. It doesn’t matter to me because your body is the last thing I’m thinking about.”

“Really? Doesn’t seem like it when you just stared at me for a good minute or two,” Hoseok coos, sitting back down with his arms resting on either side of the circular pool. “So, what you up to?”

“Sitting in here and trying to get a good hour of relaxation for once.”

“Whoa, my bad,” he raises his hands defensively with a slight chuckle. “Sassy as always, I see.”

You know you said you wanted an hour of relaxation, but the minutes of silence that follows shortly after is deafening. It’s odd for it to be so quiet around Hoseok, the Jung Hoseok who always teased you to your nerves’ ends. Something is most definitely odd about tonight. You don’t know when it started or how it started, but it’s the things that he chooses not to partake in rather than partake in that startles you. Maybe tonight he had started to dance again, but there are countless other things he had sacrificed in return.

He’s no longer as lively, playful, and easy going as he used to be. While the past Hoseok had been a combination of all these traits even with the passion and dedication for dance, this is yet another reminder to you that this isn’t the same boy you had loved; but even so, even if this person isn’t the one you so wish for the return of, you can’t help but worry for the boy you’ve actually come to know.

“...I’m happy to see you dancing again,” you finally say. Hoseok lowers his head and gaze from the night sky to look at you—neither surprised nor intrigued, just empty. Your brows furrow at the lack of a reaction and you quickly add, “is something wrong?”

“What makes you ask that?” the monotonous tone in his voice only pushes you further.

“Just answer the question. You’re acting… strange... today. Ever since practice,” you shake your head and frown. “Is it because of dancing? Should I not have forced you to come?”

“You didn’t force me to come. You didn’t force me to do anything,” he says before looking off to the side; the harsh edge in his voice tugs at you in the most aching way you had never known to be possible with someone like the current Hoseok.

“Fine, if you’re gonna be like that, then let’s play a game. You like games, don’t you? That’s the only way I can ever get you to talk or open up or do anything,” you retort and Hoseok only raises a brow. “We’ll take turns asking each other questions. If the other fails to answer to our satisfaction, and you have to be honest, then we get to do whatever we want with the other.”

“Y/N wants to play games? Am I dreaming?” Hoseok cocks a brow.

“Trust me, I feel like I’m the one dreaming. It’s not like I want to play games, especially not with you, but it seems like it’s the only way I can get you to talk,” you say, shaking your head. “Okay, I’ll start first then. Tell me what’s going on. Why are you so upset? Is it something that I did?”

“That’s more than one question, Y/N.”

“Okay, fine,” you scoff. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” he simply answers, eyes looking straight at you before adding more to complete his answer, “well, maybe a little. I don’t know how I can answer that accurately when even I’m not sure. You’re not the main reason, but now that you have become a part of the reason, I guess it only adds to the fire.”

That’s the most vague answer you had ever heard in your life, but to be fair, you had only asked him whether or not you had done something to upset him. He isn’t obligated to answer what you had done, and plus, the intense look in his eyes warns you to better play by the rules.

“Alright, fine. Good enough. You pass. Your turn.”

His fingers tap against the poolside, but his piercing eyes never leave yours.

After what seems like an eternity of silence, he speaks, “are you happy to see me dancing again?”

You frown and raise a brow, “of course…? Yes, I’m beyond ecstatic—”

—your words are cut off when he stands upright and takes one large stride to the other end of the pool where you sat, and the next thing you know, his lips smashes into yours. And unlike the last kiss you had shared with him, this one is much more forceful. He’s impatient, he’s twisting and turning and pushing like he’s running out of time, his hands snake to wrap around your back and pulls you in until the two of you are chest-to-chest.

Somehow, you manage to pull away for a split second, “Hoseok, what the hell are you doing?”

“I’m dissatisfied with your answer, Y/N,” he states before pushing you into him once again and collides his lips with yours.

Your head is dizzy and you can barely get enough oxygen each time he pulls away for a split second to give you some time to breathe, but there’s something about the haste in his movements, the impatience in his pulls and pushes, and the look in his eyes that’s screaming for help that tells you this kiss isn’t about passion or lust or anything like that; it’s about desperation and the most twisted way to express the sorrow that resides with him. And even though he isn’t playing by the rules of the game, there’s a part of you that sympathizes with him, for your heart drops at the mess of emotions his wet, sloppy kiss conveys to you.

Maybe he isn’t answering your questions with words, but there’s no doubt that he’s opening up to you more than he ever has before.

Finally, you put a hand against his chest and push him an arm’s distance away before managing to say in the midst of heavy breathing, “I don’t get it, Hoseok. I’m confused. You’re acting out. You’re… different.”

“How is this any different from the last time I kissed you?” he refutes with knotted brows.

“No, there’s something wrong,” you shake your head. “What’s wrong, Hoseok? Please, just let me help you.”

“Then answer my question correctly,” he says, calling out to you as he watches you get up and depart from the poolside. “That’s all you can do right now.”

“Am I happy to see you dancing again?” you repeat the question, grabbing and wrapping a towel around you from a table. “I don’t know… not if this is how you’re going to act, then no, I’m not. But I was happy to see you so immersed in dancing again earlier today. I just want to know if… you’re happy...?”

Something flickers in the dark ditch within his eyes, and after a long deafening silence, he finally answers.

“Yeah…” he finally answers with his eyes at the other side of the pool where you had just sat before drowning himself back into the pool, “I guess I’m happy too.”

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trentaafcsblog · 3 years

Text

February 14th

Anyone You Like

Warning - this is really shit, I’m so sorry!

“Happy Valentine’s Day, my love” he whispers as he snuggles up next to you, pressing a kiss onto the tip of your nose and smiling when you start to stir from your sleep. His heart going all fuzzy as your face scrunches up and you lift your arms above your head to do your classic morning stretch - something so simple but he was literally obsessed with it, having seen you do it pretty much every single morning for the past six years.

“Hi” you’re saying when you finally open your eyes, burying your head into his chest as he brushes your hair away from your face and wipes the sleep from your eyes, mumbling an ‘I love you’ when you lean up to kiss his lips before stopping yourself from going any further.

“What’s that?” you’re asking as you shuffle out of his arms and pull the duvet away from your face, looking up at the ceiling and realising that it’s completely covered in red and white balloons with pieces of gold ribbon dangling off them. Your lips going all pouty as you sit up to get a better look at everything, noticing the rose petals that are sprinkled on the floor and the huge bouquet of red roses that are waiting for you on your bedside table, a little card in the top that reads ‘I love you forever and always’ - a saying that you’d picked up along the course of your relationship and something that had a much deeper meaning than people probably realised.

“Babyyy” you’re cooing as he goes all shy and giggly, hiding his face under the covers because neither of you were ones to make a massive fuss like this, particularly on Valentine’s Day because you don’t see the point in celebrating each other on one specific date when your love for one another grows more and more with each passing day. “I love you so much” you’re saying as you try to pull the duvet away from his face, fighting a losing battle when he rolls over and prevents you from seeing his blushing cheeks, leaving you with no option other than to lean across him and attack him with kisses until he’s forced to look at you.

“Stop” he giggles when he gives in and reappears from under the pillow, looking up at you hanging over him with the same look in his eyes that he had when he first realised that he loved you, one that let you know that he was yours until the end and that he’d go to the ends of the earth to see the little smile that’s now on your face. Just staring at one another for a few seconds, still in shock that you get to call the other person yours after all this time. Wondering what the hell you did to deserve one another and be lucky enough to experience all of life’s journeys with them, and all of the challenges that you thought would break you both - yet here you are now, probably the most content you’ve ever been, with a future ahead of you that you could only have ever dreamed of. But your little romantic moment quickly comes to an end when his tummy starts rumbling, just like it always does when it gets past about 7am, knowing that food probably occupies his mind more than you do as you lay there and roll your eyes at him.

“Just you wait until you see what I’ve done” he winks before springing out of bed, heading downstairs and reappearing a few minutes later with a huge tray piled up with all kinds of plates and bowls. Orange juice sloshing over the side of one of the glasses and making you cringe when it leaves a trail of little splashes all over your white carpet. “It’ll come out, don’t worry” he’s telling you before putting the tray on your lap, clearly not as bothered about the mess that he’s made as you are, dreading to think about the state of the kitchen going by the array of different breakfast items he’s brought you. Waffles, croissants, mini pancakes that he’s cut into the shape of hearts with a cookie cutter that he found at the back of one of the kitchen drawers, a fruit salad, vanilla yoghurt, a random bowl of baked beans and some nutella and syrup to dip things into. “Looks delicious” you grin before scooping some of the chocolate up on a strawberry, getting him to open his mouth before you’re popping it in and he’s teasing that that’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done for him, which of course earns him a gentle smack on the chest and a threat to flip all of his hard work on the floor, knowing that it’ll make a lovely contribution to the orange splatters that now decorate your lovely white flooring.

“I got you a card as well” he’s telling you with a mouthful of croissant, the flaky bits of pastry flying all over the duvet from where he’s trying to talk. “Just as well I got you one too” you wink before handing him the red envelope with his initial and a little kiss on the front. “Nice to know you’ve made it all cute” you joke as you look down at his to see ‘the missus’ scrawled across the front in a pen that looks like it ran about about five years ago. “Excuse me, I was busy doing all of this” he’s telling you as he points at the ceiling and the tray of half-eaten breakfast, most of which he’s consumed himself despite claiming that it’s for ‘the pretty lady’, replying with ‘I know, I know, I’m just kidding’ as he hums and slides his finger under the flap of the envelope to open it up.

“That’s cute, innit” he’s saying as he nods towards the card that he’s got you. A teddy bear couple on the front, one of them holding a bouquet of flowers and the other one going all shy and blushy in response. “Yeah, I take it you’re this one though” you tease as you point towards the blushing bear, not even bothering to fight back because he can’t argue with that, not after the state he got himself into this morning when you saw what he’d stayed up doing all night.

“Thank you so much” he’s whispering once he’s finished reading your card, leaning across to kiss you whilst trying to disguise the fact that he’s crying at what you’ve written inside. “Thank you so much for mine, who knew you had such a way with words?” you smile as he rolls his eyes at you, propping your card up on his bedside table so that it acts as a little reminder to read it again before he goes to bed. Pulling you into his side and pressing a series of kisses onto your forehead as the two of you lay there in each other’s arms, tracing patterns along each other’s bare skin with your hearts going all fluttery each time the other person looks at you, never wanting this moment to end.

***

“Wow, what’s going on in here, mister?” you’re asking when you come walking into the kitchen to see him leaping around and trying to juggle about six different frying pans. Completely ignoring your question when he sees what you’ve come down to dinner dressed in. The most beautiful red silk dress that hugs your figure perfectly, paired with the pair of Louboutins that he bought you for your birthday a couple of years ago and a little black clutch bag to match - not that you particularly needed it when you were spending the night at home, but he loves how you still go to so much effort to look all pretty for him, even though he’d love you just as much if you turned up to the kitchen in your Minnie Mouse pyjamas that are littered with about twenty different holes.

“I would come and give you a kiss but I’m quite busy if you can’t tell” he’s saying as you giggle at him. “Come and sit here to keep me company though, I poured a glass of your favourite drink so don’t say I don’t look after ya” he winks as you coo and make your way over to the kitchen island, clinging onto the worktop to steady yourself because it’s been ages since you last wore heels and you don’t want a repeat of five minutes ago when you nearly went arse over tit halfway down the stairs.

“Is that my favourite pasta?” you’re asking as he nods his head nervously, now realising why he spent most of today’s movie marathon on fancy restaurant websites trying to find a recipe for something that you couldn’t quite get a glimpse of thanks to the angle of his phone, but it turns out that it was your favourite dish. Immediately feeling guilty for scowling at him and telling him off for being rude when you were meant to be relaxing and watching all of the soppy love films on Netflix, completely oblivious to the fact that he was actually busy trying to memorise about twelve different recipes so that he could pretend that he knew it off by heart, particularly as it’s your favourite.

“I made my own garlic bread too, look” he’s saying proudly as he points towards the oven. “And a salad, and some of that fancy bread that you dip in the oil and vinegar, well actually that’s a lie, I bought the bread but I mixed the oil and vinegar together and cut the bread into little stars” he’s telling you as your heart almost bursts at the seams. Looking over at the plate of little bread stars across the other side of the kitchen and just dying to squish him for being so cute, especially since he’d cut them all freehand without using any sort of template - something that he was incredibly proud of himself for, even if a couple of them had very wonky edges and a few missing points.

“Aaand I made a chocolate cheesecake as well” he says smugly as you raise your eyebrows in slight disbelief. “All whilst I was getting ready?” you’re questioning as he nods his head. “Don't look so shocked! You were getting ready for about three hours so I had plenty of time to do everything, even if I did spend about an hour trying to work out how to use a garlic crusher” he’s smiling as you laugh at him, loving how he was still pretty inept in the kitchen despite managing to conjure up a romantic meal for you.

“Let me take the pretty lady to her table” he’s saying with a posh voice as you slide off the bar stood and link your arm through his, letting him lead you over to the dining table that you didn’t even notice when you came in. “Oh my god” you’re cooing as your eyes scan over the little tea lights that he’s shaped to look like a heart, rose petals scattered across the table and a collection of Polaroids that the two of you have taken across the years dotted around too. Trying to swallow down the lump in your throat as he pulls the chair back and helps you get comfy before disappearing off and coming back to bring you all of the food that he’s prepared.

“This looks amazing” you whisper as you reach across the table to hold his hand, mouthing a little ‘thank you’ at him as he lifts your hand up and presses a kiss onto your skin. “Don’t go all shy and emotional on me now, missy, it’s not our first date” he teases as you giggle at him and wipe away a stray tear. Being cut out of your emotional moment when he forces a little star of bread into your mouth, the oil and vinegar dribbling down your chin as you give him the evils and try to pat it away with one of the paper napkins that’s he’s folded into a square - covered in little Christmas puddings because ‘what’s the point in buying ones for Valentine’s Day when we can use what we’ve already got?’ Tempted to do the same thing back to him but you’re managing to resist the urge to start a food fight on the most romantic day of the year, instead dipping your fork into your bowl of pasta and twiddling several strands of linguine around it before putting it into your mouth. Clinging onto the table when you start to chew, your eyes blowing wide as you stare straight back at him and wag your finger in his direction. Waving your hands above your head and clapping before swallowing and letting out a little cheer. “Is it that good?” he laughs as you start shovelling more of the pasta into your mouth, giving him the all important answer he needs as he breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that all of his not-so-sly google searches and telling offs during your movie day have paid off.

“Thank you so much for all of this” you’re saying as you tuck into your slice of cheesecake, admiring the little hearts that he’d swirled into the top of the chocolate mixture before doing the all important taste test. Nodding your head and smiling at him to reassure him that it tastes incredible before he’s reaching across the table to hold your hand again. “Thank you so much for making me realise what love is” he’s saying as you try your best to fight back the tears. Never really hearing him come out with things like that unless he’s drunk, probably because he gets too shy and embarrassed and worries that you won’t feel the same way, despite spending the past six years of your life with him and reassuring him every single day that he’s the one for you, so hearing him have the confidence to tell you how much you mean to him means the absolute world.

“Thank you for making my life a million times better and holding my hand through all of what life’s thrown at us” he’s telling you as you tilt your head to the side and just admire the man you love with your whole heart going all soppy, clearly having added something to his pasta that evoked this kind of emotion. “And for keeping my feet on the ground and being there when things haven’t gone quite as I’d planned” he’s saying as you sniff away opposite him, your thumb rubbing circles on the back of his hand as he carries on. “There’s genuinely nobody else in the entire world that I love as much as you” he’s adding, his voice breaking half way through, making the rest of the sentence all shaky, as he does his best to try and hold himself together, despite just wanting to burst into tears at how much he means each and every one of those words.

“I love you so much” you blub before getting up and making your way around the table to him, sitting down on his lap and burying your head in the crook of his neck as his arms snake around your waist and pull you close to him. His fingers tracing gentle patterns on the sides of your hips as you play with his hair, occasionally pressing the odd kiss to his skin which makes his grip around your body become even tighter. A comfortable silence washing over the two of you as you sit there in a completely love-filled state, neither person knowing quite what to say, but going by each other’s reactions a few minutes ago, it’s clear that this is what love feels like.

“I got you a present” you’re saying as you pull away from him, breaking the silence and climbing off his lap before disappearing off into the hallway. Picking up the little white gift bag that you’d left at the bottom of the stairs when you came down for dinner, your fingers looping through the silk handles as you make your way back to him. “I thought we said no presents?” he’s questioning as you scoff at him. “Says the man who decided to decorate the bedroom and cook me dinner” you’re replying as he gives you a shy smile at the thought. “It’s just a little something but it shows how much I love you and I know you’ve wanted it for ages” you tell him as he pulls one end of the bow, watching it unravel before he’s dipping his hand into the bag and fumbling around amongst the tissue paper. Pulling out several sheets of white tissue paper littered with tiny scarlet red hearts before he’s eventually reaching the box inside. Looking at you with a confused expression as he lifts the rectangular black box out and gives it a little shake, something rattling inside as he pauses for a second to think about what it could be, ruling out the possibility of it being a bracelet or a fancy watch, not that he’d ever want you spending that much money on him, of course.

“Just open it!” you’re giggling as you push him to open the gift, the anticipation getting to you more than it is him as. “I’m scared” he laughs nervously, waiting a few seconds before he’s beginning to lift the lid off. “Don’t be” you’re whispering as he looks at you one final time before fully taking it off.

His jaw dropping as he admires what’s inside, his gaze flicking between you and the inside of the box as he tries to process what you’ve given him.

“We’re having a baby?” he asks as you nod your head, your reaction taking a while to process in his mind, but after what feels like forever he’s letting out a breathy laugh, one that combines happiness and slight disbelief. And then the tears are coming too, his hand covering his face as he sobs into his palm. Making your way back over to him and wrapping your arms around his neck as you rest your head on top of his, letting him come to terms with the fact that you’ve blessed him with the best gift of all.

“Thank you so much” he’s crying as he takes the pregnancy test back out of the box, admiring the two little lines that are showing on the screen - confirming that there’s another life inside of you, made up of both you and him. “No, thank you so much” you’re sniffling as you cup his face and press a little kiss onto his lips. Staring into his teary eyes before they’re fluttering shut when your foreheads touch and the tips of your noses brush over one another. Neither of you knowing quite what to say as you settle back down on his knee again, just holding him close to you until he pulls away every few seconds to look at the pregnancy test again, feeling as though this is all one big dream and someone’s going to wake him up and take it away from him at any given moment. But it’s not. You’re living the dream, and it’s about to become a reality in just a matter of months, a reality that you’ve been craving for the past six years and one that you wouldn’t want to experience with anyone else, and now, it’s one step closer to becoming yours.

February the 14th. The day your lives changed forever.

——————————————————————————

I hope you enjoyed this little imagine 🥰 please let me know who you imagined it with because I’m nosy and I’d love to know hehe, I hope you’ve all had the best Valentine’s Day (regardless of whether you’re in a relationship or not) and remember that I love you all to bits x

#trent alexander arnold #jadon sancho #ruben loftus cheek #marcus rashford #dele #dominic calvert lewin #james maddison #ben chilwell #rhian brewster #reiss nelson #valentine’s day #england nt #liverpool fc

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nurgletwh · 3 years

Note

For fluffy prompt oh gosh maybe quirrel/ghost and they break into an abandoned jewelry store and have fun trying on various things and make fun of the people who wear a lot of jewelry. Gottah have silly fun in the apocalypse lol.

All the Pretty Things

Summary: Ghost and Quirrel find a jewelry store with an odd feature, have some fun poking around in the glitter and glam, and have a talk.

Notes: This is from the Ghosts That We Knew universe, at some nebulous point in the near-ish future. xD Things get convoluted enough, and writing for this prompt definitely didn’t go anything like I expected, but also doesn’t end up going anywhere I wasn’t planning on going anyhow. This is considered (future) canon for my story.

Quirrel snorts when the crumbling passageway they were making their way through drops down and dumps them into a closet. Looking up at Ghost, he smiles and says, “It’s another closet. By my count, that makes twenty-two. Do you want to place bets on what’s going to be on the other side?”

Shaking their head, Ghost lays on their stomach and props their head on their hands as they look down at him. Of the twenty-two closets below this crumbling maintenance hallway, four of them were second closets that led into the same shop. Out of the eighteen shops so far, six were some variation on small art objects for five different themes, seven were bizarre herbal remedy/soul reading/soothsaying setups, four were shops for cloaks, capes, robes, and hats of some sort, one was furniture, and the last was bedding.

Sadly, they were too far away from the Pleasure House to take advantage of the furniture store, but they had raided the options for bedding, blankets, and pillows. Ghost was surprised at Quirrel’s creativity for how to get the pillows down to a size such that Ghost could manage to store them, but he does love his pillows. Well, he loves anything soft and squishy that he can lay in, on, or wrap around himself. Watching him surround himself with the silk they had given him makes them feel warm and happy, because he sounds so happy.

He watches them for a few more moments, then asks, “You seem lost in thought; what are you thinking about?”

They huff softly. Caught. They point at him.

“I… me?”

Ghost nods.

“Ah… well!”

They chuckle silently when this seems to fluster him. Dropping his gaze, he looks around the small closet as if it will have suddenly sprouted magical mushrooms while they talked. It seems only fair – they feel similarly when they catch him gazing at them and looking all soppy and affectionate.

The only warning they give him is a quiet snort, and they roll off the edge of the ceiling and drop beside him. He startles back with a yelp, and they snicker.

“So kind,” he grumps, but steps up beside them to rest his hand on the side of their head, gently pulling them against his hip. He caresses the base of their horn with his thumb when they wrap their arm around his leg.

With a last gentle squeeze he says, “Shall we?” and gestures at the door.

Ghost nods, and he steps forward to open the door.

They find themselves in a room of… mirrors?

Ghost turns around slowly as they walk into the room, watching thousands of reflections of themself spin slowly, followed by thousands of shocked-looking Quirrels.

There is a divan with several cushions on one side of the room, and a small dais on the other.

Quirrel quietly closes the door they just came through, which fully completes the mirror enclosure.

Ghost looks up; the ceiling is also mirrored.

What the fuck is this place?

“Uhmm…” Quirrel says intelligently. Not that they should judge, it sums up their thoughts quite nicely.

Ghost walks over to the divan and hops up onto it. It’s surprisingly comfortable, and they poke the cushions a few times before flopping over.

“Uh…”

They roll onto their side and prop their head on their hand to look at him. He seems a bit distracted.

He stares at them for a few moments before suddenly turning away. Being as there are mirrors everywhere, this in no way allows him to disguise the fact that he is getting turned on by seeing them lounging.

Ghost is confused.

Which doesn’t surprise them, as they are confused approximately 100% of the time that he is so reliably aroused by anything, particularly by them. They can’t find any logic to what titillates him, which would probably make him laugh as he tells them it’s the root of their confusion.

There are a number of things that are almost 100% guaranteed to turn him on; many of the things that he finds arousing are also things that other bugs consistently find arousing, at least as far as they have managed to pick up from reading or listening to other bugs. So, while they don’t find those things arousing for themself, his reaction isn’t necessarily surprising.

Sometimes, he just seems to be in a mood where merely existing appears to be arousing; trying to anticipate what he will find alluring on those days is impossible. That hadn’t been his mood today, at least so far.

A room full of mirrors with a divan… wasn’t on their mental list of things that might possibly float his boat. It’s weird.

He rapidly figures out the folly of having turned away, and sighs as he crosses his arms across his belly, meeting their gaze – one of their gazes anyhow – in the mirror.

They tilt their head, hoping he will explain.

Quirrel groans softly, glancing up. He goes absolutely still when he sees the mirrors on the ceiling. After a moment, they hear him swallow, and he whimpers slightly.

“Ghost…” he says, his voice sounding mildly strangled.

They sit up and hop down, walking over to stand beside him. He doesn’t look down, but seems to be tracking their movement using the mirror on the ceiling, so they look up. He whimpers again when they meet his gaze.

They watch him for a few more moments, then take pity. They are absolutely not interested at the moment, so they shake their head and drop their gaze. Reaching up, they grab one of his hands and step closer, kissing his palm. Looking back up at the ceiling they once again meet his gaze, and press another kiss into his palm as he moans softly. Huffing quietly, they press their tongue against the base of his thumb before kissing his hand again.

Stepping away, they squeeze his hand gently between both of theirs. When he looks down they sign, “I go see what out front. You go feel happy, come out after. Ok?”

He shakes his head and starts to say something, but apparently makes the mistake of glancing at the divan, and groans.

Glancing back, they sure hope it isn’t the divan that’s arousing. Although it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing they’ve heard of, they suppose. Shaking their head, they pat his thigh and then abandon him to his fate with the divan.

- - -

The front of the store appears to be a jewelry shop. It still doesn’t explain the mirrored room, at least not to the extent of having that many mirrors. That room would have made far more sense in the shops that sold capes and cloaks, but those had just had a few curtained off areas with one of those tri-fold mirrors in each. One of the shops actually had small rooms instead of curtains, but the rooms were still outfitted with the standing tri-fold mirrors and not… that.

Poking through the drawers behind the counters, Ghost hopes Quirrel is willing to explain. They aren’t completely sure they will want the explanation, but if he’s going to randomly be so completely and utterly floored by furniture, they figure they need to know about it. Maybe it’s the mirrors? They know some bugs like watching other bugs get it on. Maybe it also applies to watching oneself have sex?

They shake their head. Sex and arousal are confusing as fuck. Having had sex a few times now hasn’t opened up any vast depths of understanding, nor have they suddenly been graced with unassisted arousal. They hadn’t actually expected that to happen, but had occasionally heard some pushy bug or another claim they could do that kind of thing. Quirrel’s only comment on the subject had been that sex was different than masturbation, and that they may or may not find the experience more pleasurable, but that he would be surprised if it changed their overall drive, even if the novelty of it all temporarily boosted it.

That conversation had happened a week or so before they had actually gotten around to having sex, but a day or two after they had tried to initiate when they had been so desperate to avoid thinking about the whole mess that was the other Vessel and that fight.

In retrospect, they are glad he stopped them that time and made them think it through.

The drawers are full of a variety of chains for necklaces, and things one would hang on a necklace. The contents look like they are duplicates of several of the items on display, which makes sense. They pull out one of the chains and drape it across their hand. The metal links are fine, and flattened somehow. It doesn’t fold over the way they would have expected, instead curving into an arc, and then stopping.

Fascinated, they push on it gently. Their experience with jewelry and other luxury items is limited. They don’t need things like food or water, and have gone without for years from time to time. It’s boring to not eat or drink, but it certainly makes running away and hiding far easier. When they need to hole up, they can literally hole up. But it also means that they haven’t gone shopping for much of anything beyond paper, ink, and journals.

Holding the chain up, they watch the light reflect off of it as it swings. It’s pretty, and they drape it across the back of their hand again. They like pretty things, similarly to how Quirrel enjoys comfortable things. Ghost is certain they would like comfortable things as well, if falling asleep on them didn’t tend to result in them attacking and ‘killing’ the pillows or blankets.

This on the other hand… Ghost pulls the chain across the back of their hand, feeling the metal slither across. This is pretty and it feels nice. It isn’t something that they would be sleeping in, just something they would wear. Like Quirrel wears his mask.

They fiddle with the clasp until they figure it out, then put it on. They sigh when it dangles down to their crotch. Being small is fucking annoying sometimes.

Leaving it on, they lean over and start digging through the drawer of chains, trying to see if there is a pattern to the storage and – more importantly – a much shorter chain.

By the time they find one that only dangles down to the middle of their chest, they have bedecked themself in six other chains. Huffing, they step back. The flattened shape of the chains mean they don’t jingle the way they expected, although they can’t see how they look with all of the chains on.

Likely ridiculous, but they need a mirror to confirm that. Quirrel has usually been quite flustered if they interrupt his current pursuit, so they should probably be polite and find a different mirror.

Ghost discovers an additional problem when they start trying to walk around and find another mirror – the slope of their shoulders means that the various necklaces keep slipping down, refusing to stay put. They’ve currently draped them over the top of their cloak, but Ghost is certain that shifting the chains under it instead wouldn’t help anything. Sighing, they stand there and fiddle with one of the necklaces, running the flat chain over the back of their hand, then through their fingers. Deciding that they want to see how silly they look more than they want to not feel foolish, they lift their hands up and walk around the room until they find a mirror.

Standing in front of it with their arms in the air, they snicker. They definitely look absurd this way. They drop their arms to their sides, and their cloak falls back into place.

While a bit less absurd, wearing seven necklaces of lengths varying from short enough to fall to the middle of their chest to the one that is dangling just below their knees is definitely not dignified. They giggle as they run their hands along one of the chains again.

Hearing a door open, Ghost turns to see Quirrel emerge from the room of mirrors. They snort as he glances away; this has to be the first time they’ve ever seen him act embarrassed by anything regarding sex. They know they regularly catch him off guard, and often fluster him, but he hasn’t ever seemed genuinely embarrassed before

Either their snort or the chains catch his attention because he immediately looks back and then just stares at them. Well, they can give him something to giggle about. Having him acting awkward about sex is upsetting, and is not something they ever expected to see. They don’t want to ever see it again, either.

Sticking their hands back up in the air, they walk over to him as he continues to stare at them, speechless.

When they stop in front of him, he finally manages to utter, “Uhmm…”

That again? Maybe they are magic mirrors, and steal brains?

Ghost puts their hands on their hips and glare up at him.

He shakes his head but doesn’t say anything, choosing to look around the store first. Looking back down at Ghost, he asks, “I take it we found a jewelry store?”

Ghost nods.

He continues to stand there, hand on the door handle, staring at them.

Ghost sighs.

“You sit down, please? You upset, I not understand why. I want to understand, please tell?” they sign.

Quirrel sighs.

Turning, he pulls the door to the apparently brain-stealing mirror room closed.

They dig the pad out while he closes the door, moving slightly to the side so he can lean against the wall instead of the door when he sits. They don’t know the range of the mirrors’ effect.

He continues to stand there facing the door once he’s closed it, eventually resting his head against the door. He finally sighs again, turning back around and then sitting in front of them. He takes the pad when they hand it to him, draping it across his chest and belly, and they step into his lap and wrap their arms around his neck, nestling their face into the side of his head and rubbing against his kerchief.

He huffs quietly as he wraps his arms around them, pulling them in for a tight hug. They work one of their hands up under his kerchief, massaging the back of his head as he finally relaxes. They kiss him through the kerchief, then the side of his face as they pull back. They can’t kiss his cheek while his mask is on, so they rest their hands there and press their forehead against his mask.

Quirrel chuckles softly as he cups their head in his hands, his fingers brushing the back of their head.

“Abandoning me to my own devices didn’t upset you at all, did it,” he murmurs.

Ghost huffs and shakes their head. They aren’t sure why he thinks it would, but are aware enough to know it frequently bothers bugs. However, expecting him to adjust his libido to match theirs is just as realistic as trying to go the other way. He might not explode, but he’d likely feel like he was going to. For them to say no and then try and make him feel guilty for handling things himself would be manipulative.

He gently pushes their chin up and ducks in to kiss them, humming softly as he brushes his fingers along the back of their head. When he finishes, he presses his forehead against theirs again as he says, “I love you.”

They trace their thumbs along his cheekpads and press against him, then kiss the middle of his mask as they pull back to sign, “I love you, too.”

Quirrel trails his fingers down the side of their face as he sits back, smiling as he looks at the necklaces again. He meets their gaze as he tangles his fingers into the longest of the chains, saying, “You look preposterous in all of these, you realize.”

Ghost snorts and pulls their arms out from under their cloak to wrap them around all the necklaces, shaking their head firmly.

He laughs. “You’ll trip! You have to hold your hands up to keep them from falling down!!”

Giddy that he’s laughing, they bounce back and attempt to flap away, only to discover that having all of the chains on top of their cloak prevents it from transforming into the wings – or at any rate prevents it from lifting up and flapping. They crash to the ground on their back and stare at the ceiling, slightly dazed.

They hear Quirrel snicker, and his face appears above theirs, grinning brightly. “See?”

They flip him off, and he sits back, laughing. He reaches forward and wiggles his hand under their head, and they huff as he helps them sit back up.

Pushing to their feet, they choose to wrap their arms around the necklaces again and go back over to the mirror. Yes, they look silly as fuck, but… but. They hadn’t ever wandered into a store like this and poked around to see what they might look like if they wore something different. They might be stuck with the cloak, but…

Sighing, they start fiddling with one of the chains again, running it across their hand as they watch it in the mirror. They huff quietly, and trace the chain to find the clasp, starting to open it. They jump when Quirrel closes his hand over theirs; they hadn’t even noticed him move. He’s sitting beside them, and smiles when they meet his gaze. He gently tugs their hands away from the clasp.

“Have you ever had the chance to put anything like this on, wear jewelry or decorative wear?” he asks softly.

They retrieve one of their hands and wobble it, then turn to look in the mirror again. The few times that they may have had the opportunity – that they recall – they felt far too self-conscious about it. It would have meant letting someone know their cloak wasn’t something they could take off, and at some point they decided that if they couldn’t remove their cloak, it meant there wasn’t any point in trying to wear something different.

Ghost touches the necklaces again, feeling the smoothness of the links, looking at the colors against their cloak. They think they recognize the gold ones as… well, as gold. But there are two silvers, one that’s bright with a slight trace of blue, and one that’s softer, yet still just as bright, but has a slight trace of pink instead of blue. The gold and the slightly blue silver both look nice against their cloak. The slightly pink silver also looks nice, but the other two look better.

Quirrel asks, “Do you know what the metals are?”

They shake their head.

“Would you like me to tell you?”

Ghost turns to look at him and nods.

“I’m sorry I teased,” he says softly.

They snort and shake their head. “You not worry, I not upset. I know I look silly, it ok I look silly. I…” They turn back to the mirror, touch the necklaces again. “I not see before, not try before. I see now, I feel… I not know I feel. Unsure.”

They watch themself in the mirror as Quirrel leans over and softly kisses their horn. It feels different, watching. Seeing him kiss them, not just feeling it. They aren’t sure how that makes them feel either. It’s both surreal and more real. He hums softly, kissing them again before sidling over to sit closer, moving so they are standing where he can loosely fold his leg in front of them but still be off to one side, his other leg – the one he usually keeps more upright – behind them.

Lifting the gold one, he says, “I expect you know this one. It’s gold, or at least mostly gold. It gets complicated, but gold is soft enough that for a longer chain like this, one that’s also thicker, pure gold is often not the best choice.” He laughs softly. “It wasn’t something the aristocrats liked to hear, of course.”

They can feel his knee brushing their cloak near the small of their back, and watch him as he sits casually folded around them. Can see, for the first time, what they look like as a couple. How other bugs might see them; as lovers, maybe more.

He lifts the slightly pink silver one next. “This is platinum, which is rarer than gold but has the unfortunate characteristic of looking an awful lot like silver, and not being obvious that it’s more valuable, so the nobles didn’t tend to bedeck themselves with it. It’s also a fairly soft metal.”

Maybe more? They hadn’t thought about it before Ogrim had brought it up, and the idea had shot straight through their likely non-existent heart, short-circuiting their void-displaced brain. Perhaps it had been self-defense, their subconscious refusing to look at something they had always believed they could never have. Because now, now… oh, how they want the more. It doesn’t make sense in this ruin of a kingdom. There’s no legal benefit, and the gods have abandoned it. There are only a dozen or so bugs here who would possibly ever know.

Pausing, he leans in and brushes a kiss against the base of their horn again, turning to look at them in the mirror as he leans his head against theirs. Their chest seizes up as he smiles at them, wrapping his arm around them. He looks happy, he’s holding them and he’s happy. He’s with them, and he’s happy to be with them.

And they want; want to call him their spouse, to call him their husband. To be called his spouse in return.

Gasping, they turn and grab him in a tight hug, shuddering.

Maybe mirrors have a magic to them after all.

“Ghost? Are you ok?”

They nod firmly; he sounds worried. They didn’t mean to worry him, they are just… overwhelmed. Love is far more overwhelming than they had realized.

“Alright,” he whispers, pressing them against him and tucking his chin over their shoulder, hugging them firmly and then holding them.

- - -

Quirrel finishes up his explanation of the various metals and short tidbits of information about their properties, and helps them remove all but the shortest of the necklaces – which happens to be silver. Ghost promptly puts the ones they removed around Quirrel’s neck as he laughs. They certainly fit his body better, although the longest one might get caught somewhere inconvenient if he’s wearing it and gets aroused again.

They continue to poke around the store, looking at the assorted styles and ways to adorn a bug’s body. There are plenty of pins and brooches for those bugs who choose to wear clothing or cloaks, and Quirrel helps them choose a few to try on. He starts laughing when they decide to see how many they can put on, and shakes his head as he sits down to help.

Ghost definitely clinks now, and the monarch wings refuse to even try to transform. Laughing, they stand in front of the mirror and turn around. They almost glance back to the other room, but Quirrel still seems to feel mildly guilty. They don’t like that fact – they want to poke their nail into whoever said no to him, but then told him no for himself as well.

Maybe there’s another room that has more… normal mirrors for seeing behind yourself? There’s a door on the other end of the counter that neither of them have opened. Which… Ghost turns back and faces the door where the mirror room exists, finally realizing that it’s not exactly an obvious door. In fact, if they didn’t know it was a door, they probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.

Interesting…

They shake their head and then take off for the other door. Quirrel looks up and smiles at them as they pass him where he is browsing some of the various rings and bracelets, and they wave back.

Opening the door, they find a short hall with a couple of alcoves that ends in another door. Unlike the stores for capes, cloaks, and whatnot, these alcoves don’t have privacy curtains, but they do have a couple of chairs and small versions of the tri-fold mirrors. Which makes sense, they suppose. One generally wouldn’t bedeck themself with fifty or so brooches and want to see what that looked like. They snicker again as they poke into the other alcoves.

The alcove at the very end of the hall has one of the taller floor-style tri-fold mirrors – so, maybe someone would want to do that. Happy, they step into the alcove and position the mirror so they can see all the way around themself.

It’s something else they hadn’t done often, look at their backside. Not that it’s generally exciting, except for when it contains thirty or so of the fifty or so brooches and pins they have all over themself. They bounce, and watch as everything shifts around and clinks. They bounce again, and hear a soft chuckle as Quirrel walks down the hallway. They look up at him as he smiles down at them and steps into the alcove. He’s still wearing the five necklaces that had fit him, although he has added some pendants to a couple of them. His hands are full of rings and bracelets, his body language full of mischief.

He sits down beside them and dumps what he is carrying beside him. Shifting to be next to them again, he snickers and leans in to kiss them, and they huff. Turning to kiss him back, they ignore the magic the mirror is trying to tell them to focus on the magic in front of them.

Quirrel hums as he caresses the side of their face, fingers curling around their horn as his thumb rubs along their cheek. They run their hands along his cheeks, start to brush them along his mandibles before stopping and cupping them under his chin instead.

He briefly deepens the kiss before sitting back with another hum, trailing his fingers along the side of their jaw as he smiles at them. Huffing softly, they capture his fingers as his hand drops, pulling it back to kiss his knuckles and then press it against their chest.

He ducks back in to kiss their cheek, and gives them another smile as he sits up. Turning to his pile, he starts shuffling things around before looking at them in the mirror.

“Are you ready to look truly ridiculous?” he says with a grin.

They laugh as they nod.

“I don’t think they had rings small enough to fit your fingers—” Ghost glances up briefly as they shake their head, and he chuckles “—but some of these might actually work as bracelets or anklets, depending on how your body shifts.”

Ghost cocks their head as he holds one of the larger rings out, then shrugs and holds a hand forward. He grins and they slip their hand through it, and he laughs as it is blatantly too large.

They snort and look at him as they sign, “I small! You silly, you forget.”

Shaking his head he says, “It’s not easy to forget, love, but more a matter of I don’t think about it much any longer.”

He sets the ring aside and goes back to pushing through his little stash, and they fiddle with the edge of their cloak, slightly embarrassed.

“Not many bugs can actually wear rings,” he rambles on. “Even I have some difficulties with it, despite having fingers. To wear a ring, most bugs need it to have little prongs to hold it in place, and the ring needs to have a latch rather than just slipping on and off.”

Turning to face them, he holds one of the rings up to show them what he means. “I don’t think you would find it particularly comfortable, though.”

Ghost shakes their head, but takes the ring to look at it as he goes back to the pile.

“Other rings would be glued in place, and the bug would need to have a solvent that would work for that particular glue to get it back off. Some rings actually had a rubber backing and would either slip on or had a clasp and would clamp into place.” He turns to face them again, showing them a different ring that he opens. “This should be far less uncomfortable,” he says with a smile, and they hold their arm out again, holding the other ring beside them.

He clamps it on, and it’s still slightly big but not by much. Unless they tuck their hand in, it wouldn’t come off. Huffing, they look down at it. It’s wider than several of the others, intricately braided fine wires of gold that have been set onto a solid backing of… they think it’s platinum. It has several small emeralds worked between the braiding. It’s gorgeous.

They look back to the mirror, and huff. Set against what they’ve done with their cloak, it does indeed look absurd, but like the necklace they are still wearing, they think they might keep this one. It spans from their wrist to the middle of their forearm, but it’s light and doesn’t seem like it would get in the way. Stepping closer to the mirror, they hold their arm up and look.

Quirrel shakes his head and holds his hand out to them. “I think I have a better idea,” he says quietly. They turn to face him again. “I think you are perfectly content to figure out how ridiculous you can be, but I also think you’ve discovered you like pretty things,” he says with a smile.

They’d known they like pretty things, they just hadn’t put that thought together with the idea of liking jewelry. They glance back at the mirror, and see he is still holding his hand out to them. They turn back and take it with a sigh. He tugs them over to where he is sitting, leaning his forehead against theirs. Ghost drops the ring they are holding and puts their hands on his cheeks, gently rubbing their thumbs under his eyes.

Pulling his face to angle it better, they kiss him. He hums and rests his hand on the back of their cloak, chuckling as his fingers catch on all the brooches.

Sitting back he asks, “Do you want to take these off and see which ones you may actually want to keep?”

Ghost snorts, then nods and turns around to have him start removing the ones from the back as they get to work unpinning the ones they can reach.

- - -

They’ve both selected several items to keep. Ghost is still wearing the necklace, and the ring/bracelet Quirrel had put on them earlier. He’s down to one silver necklace with a sapphire pendant, although he chose a couple of others with different chain styles as well.

The pendant has a thin band of finely braided silver filigree around the edges of a deep blue sapphire. There are a couple of small purple sapphires embedded into the filigree, as well as a few tiny diamonds Quirrel called ‘seed’ diamonds. Ghost had run across it tucked in the back of a drawer, and when they saw it they thought it would match his shell nicely, as well as the blue silk they still wish they knew how to use to make a cape or robe. Unlike some of the other pendants they have handed him, he cooed softly and immediately pulled the necklace off to string this pendant, putting it back on and finding a mirror. He still touches it every once in a while, and it makes them feel warm.

Ghost is now standing in front of what they finally recognize is a variety of engagement and marriage identifiers. They’ve seen a wide variety of them as they wandered, and while this array doesn’t have quite the extreme range, it is varied enough that they hadn’t picked up on what this corner of the store was until a few minutes ago. Quirrel joins them, looking at the assortment.

As far as Ghost can tell, almost all of the options are for monogamous marriages. They know it’s quite common for polygamous unions to simply use the more common identifiers and just stack them up, but know that isn’t always true.

Quirrel huffs a quiet laugh and steps forward, picking up a small dual-banded bracelet. The two bands are held together by small, twisted loops, although they must be attached somehow because they don’t move.

He stands there and looks at it for long enough that they touch his leg, curious why it’s holding his attention.

Glancing down at them, he shakes his head and starts to put it back. “It’s not…”

Stopping, he sighs. “These are the marriage bands my parents wore,” he murmurs. Glancing at the shelves for a moment, he leans forward and picks up a tray that is displaying several small bead-like items.

He sits down slightly behind them, pressing a kiss against the base of their horn before tucking them into his arms and resting his head against theirs. If they had wider shoulders, his chin would be on them.

“They didn’t specifically wear these bands; these are new,” he says quietly. “But this is the style that was used within our community in general, as well as some others. The self-pin and four twisted circles hold the two bands together and divide the circlet into five general relationships. The two bands represent life and death.” He leans against them briefly, then turns to kiss their cheek before continuing. “This pin here is the clasp, and represents the person wearing the bands. Depending on who you asked it could simply be the easiest place to mark the top of the circle, or a representation that the person is an important part of the whole family, and something is missing when you pull that person out of the circle.”

He huffs quietly. “Before I left, I was one of those that figured it was just a convenient starting point. But I think I’ve changed my mind. It’s a starting point, but also required to hold a family together.”

His fingers run around the circlet, pulling out the pin and opening it before closing it again. “The top band represents the living family, although it is usually limited to parents and children. Some families would expand it and add a third circlet, representing grandchildren.” He holds it up, with the clasp at the top. “The top of the self-pin is slightly different than the bottom, so you know which of the two circlets represents life. Those outside the community often found the inclusion of those who have died morbid, but it wasn’t. Anyone who was a part of the family has affected it, and continues to affect it even after they are gone. Trying to hide that fact doesn’t change the truth of it. It’s why even if someone left a family group for other reasons, their marker was usually modified but not removed.”

Quirrel turns and kisses their horn, pressing his forehead against it after. He’s trembling slightly, so they turn to lean into him, hooking their arm over his shoulder and working their hand under his kerchief to caress the back of his head.

He takes a shaky breath before kissing them again, looking back at the circlet he is holding.

“There are two main divisions, partners and children,” he says. “There are five overall divisions, represented by the self-pin and the four twined circles holding the two bands together. Partners are divided at the self-pin, one section to each side. The one to the left as you face it from the top represents what most bugs would traditionally recognize as ‘spouses,’ and the one on the right is usually described as ‘siblings.’”

He chuckles softly. “They are all your partners, your spouses. Bugs you choose to share your life with, love. Sometimes you share your life with bugs you are romantically involved with, sometimes you share your life just as intimately but not romantically. Sometimes your true, related siblings are part of that family. Sometimes, your partners bring in a someone you aren’t so involved with, but they are still a part of the family. Sometimes the markers move back and forth between the two sides.” He laughs as he says, “Papa said that was to keep everyone guessing.”

Quirrel nuzzles their cheek. “The bottom three sections represent any children.” He chuckles again. “Or for those you regard as your responsibility, including pets. Not all families want or can have children.” He hums softly. “Any children in a family are the children of all partners. The divisions are mostly so that the genetics can be kept untangled within the community, which is particularly important if partners change.” He taps the bottom left division of the circlet and says, “The leftmost of the three is for children genetically related to any of the partners on the left-hand side of the self-pin. The middle section is for children genetically related to the person wearing the band. The rightmost division is for children that have no direct genetic relation to the person wearing the band.”

He falls silent, flipping it over in his hands a few times.

Turning it so they are looking at it edge-on he says, “This one has the death band made from a different material than the life band. Not all of them were that way; it was a fairly even mix, even within a family group. If someone died, their marker was moved from the life band over to the death band.”

Quirrel picks up the tray he had grabbed before sitting. “These are one style of markers, or beads. Currently blank, they would be marked somehow to make them unique for the bug they represent. Usually it was a part of their name, sometimes it was more creative. How they are attached to the band varied wildly; it looks like these have a little clasp so you can shift them around.”

He sighs. “This one is obviously meant to be a bracelet of some sort. There are as many ways to interpret the general symbology as there are bugs to think it up. Generally you wouldn’t find a ring trying to represent this style, as it would be too large. But pendants for necklaces were common, as were the bracelets.”

He looks at the bracelet for a while before setting it into the tray with the beads. He pulls them against him, turning them so he can tuck his chin over their shoulder. His breath catches, then he shakes his head slightly and sighs as he shudders.

Ghost wraps their arms around his neck and hold him tight. They wonder… no, they don’t. They know that if they turned around and chose one of the circlets or pendants and gave it to him, he would accept it with joy. They just don’t know if there should be more to it than that. They doubt they could get him distracted long enough for them to seriously peruse the options and choose something to give him later. The circlet he’s been using to tell them what things mean is obviously far too large for either of them, although Ghost could possibly wear it around their waist. They’d need suspenders to keep it in place.

Huffing at the mental image, they turn their head to kiss the side of Quirrel’s face and then step away to pick up the circlet. They poke at it, looking at the self-pin before pulling it out and spreading the bracelet apart. It isn’t hinged, and without the pin holding it together it’s definitely flimsy. Once the pin is in place, however, the whole thing becomes far sturdier. Holding it, they decide they like the symbology it represents.

They glance up at the wide variety of selections in this corner. They doubt very many of them reflect this particular kind of relationship. Most of them seem to be for the two bug partnership type. Ghost looks at the bracelet again, leaning back against Quirrel. They hadn’t ever even thought about being in a relationship, much less a larger one. Quirrel obviously grew up in such a family, and listening to him talk about his partners they know he relishes the idea of a large family.

They aren’t sure why he hadn’t been married before he left, although they think it’s for the best. They can’t begin to imagine how much worse it would be for him to have come back and learn he had walked away from partners, possibly children.

Ghost steps back forward and picks up one of the little marker beads, fiddling with the clasp to see how they open. If they give him one of these, it means that if they survive, they are accepting the possibility of having more partners – platonic or otherwise. That Quirrel would have other partners, although they are certain it’s far more complex than him showing up one day with someone else in tow.

Do they know how they feel about that?

Probably not, but they feel a warm happy glow at the idea of a larger family. They certainly don’t have an aversion to the idea of Quirrel being with someone else as well as them, even if they aren’t exactly excited about it.

Clamping the little bead into place, they figure that neutral is probably an acceptable place to start from. They can see their future opinion on the matter being highly dependent on whoever the future theoretical additional partner is.

Ghost looks at Quirrel, sees that his gaze is locked onto their hands where they have been investigating the bead and idly turning the bracelet around and around. They falter a little, unsure of what that focus means. His eyes snap to theirs when they stop turning the bracelet, his breathing slightly uneven. They shift so that they are facing him, and hesitate. They don’t have the right signs, but the thought of using the slate for this feels wrong.

Taking a deep breath they don’t need, they see Quirrel tense up but force himself to relax. They force themself to ignore it, and slip the circlet onto their arm for now so that they can sign.

“I love you.”

Quirrel smiles and touches their face, thumb brushing along their cheek. His fingers are trembling. “I love you, too.” he says softly.

“I want you. I not know how to tell you, I not know if there a way to say, a way to ask. I also not know right signs.”

Ghost hesitates as Quirrel goes absolutely still, relaxes slightly when they see a tear form. “I want to have a home with you. I want you to have a home with me.”

Quirrel seems to have stopped breathing, his gaze fixing on their face as they pull the circlet off of their arm. Knowing it isn’t the one they actually want to give him, they simply hold it up between them, lifting it up far enough that he can see it without glancing down.

Gasping as he shudders, he shakes his head slightly as he grabs the sides of their head and pulls them forward to press his forehead against theirs. Breath heaving, he starts to say something but gets stuck. Uncertain, they hook the circlet back over their arm and then put their hands on his cheeks. They’d been certain of his answer, but now they are starting to get nervous.

He shudders again as he inhales deeply, forcing the breath out slowly as he grips their head. His hands are trembling. He takes another deep breath and exhales slowly. Unsure, they start tracing their thumbs along the edges of his cheekpads. It’s not like they can take back what they said. They don’t want to either.

“There are traditional words and phrases,” he says, voice shaky. “I like yours better.” He laughs breathily, squeezes again. “Ghost… I…” He puffs another breathy laugh. “Although the problem with you choosing your own words means I have to figure out my own words. Ghost, yes, you are my home, my heart, my everything. I want nothing more than to be your home. Yes.”

Ghost huffs, stunned. They probably shouldn’t be, although their thoughts are all scattered.

Quirrel pulls them forward and wraps his arms around them with a laugh, squeezing tight as he rocks back and lifts them off their feet. He laughs again as he clasps his hand against the back of their head, holding them against his shoulder, and they wrap their arms around his neck and hug him back.

“Ghost! Oh gods, my love! You are an eternal source of surprise, but I have to wonder, do you surprise yourself as well?”

They snort. He knows that answer, knows that this was semi-impulsive.

Ghost wonders how much longer he’d have waited before he asked them. They are fairly certain he’s flinched away from asking at least twice in the last week or so.

But they nod, because they know it will make him laugh, and they love it when he laughs.

And Quirrel does laugh, tipping over sideways and laying them on the floor, his arm behind their shoulders as he rests on his elbow and looks down at them. Laughing with him, they reach up and pull his mask off, and he takes it from them to set it aside, humming as they start to work at the knot of his kerchief. As it falls to the side, his antennae swing around and start pattering along their horns as he leans back in to kiss them, humming as he smiles.

They don’t go any further in their explorations, setting up camp for the night in the store.

But not in the room with the mirrors.

End Notes: This will be incorporated into the main work at the appropriate time, which I will do my level best to make happen soon. I have been trying to figure out how to get these events to happen, but hadn’t managed to come up with an appropriate lead-in for the story. The prompt I received allowed me to find that scenario! Now I just need to get them back to the City of Tears for a day as an excuse to link this in. xD

Hopefully the fact that this doesn't quite match the parameters of the prompt is acceptable!

#hollow knight #fanfic #my fic #quirrel/ghost #fluff #love #romance #quirrel (hollow knight)#the knight (hollow knight)#prompt #Ghosts that We Knew #hollow knight: au

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