#there's something going on that I'm trying to carefully ignore but I'll probably introduce you to it soon... | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

milkybonya · 3 years

Text

i'm not the same boy you knew back then

Warnings: food mentions and some angst, party mentions

Pairing: Yedam x (gn)reader

Summary: where Yedam broke your heart in high school because he didn't know how to act but now he's desperately in love with you and wishes you still felt the same :")

word count: 5.8k

inspired by Walls by All Time Low (it has explicit language! be careful~~i've put a link for it at the veryyy end of this fic)

[a/n]: I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY FOR THE FLASHBACK PART OF THIS OML I'M SORRY FOR THE CHAOS AND MESS BUT I HOPE YOU ENJOY

Hey there it's good to see you again, It never felt right calling this "just friends". I'm happy, if you're happy, with yourself.

"Isn't that Yedam?" your friend, sat beside you, asks. They point to somewhere behind your head, and naturally, you turn around to follow their finger with your eyes.

As the doors to the lecture hall swing shut, a familiar boy begins to walk quickly down the steps. While grinning, he decides on a spot near the back, far away from your almost front-row seat. You let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding and face the front.

"Since when did he go to our university?" your friend asks, also facing the front now.

"I have no clue," you admit.

You'd purposely accepted an offer at a faraway university to avoid having to see Yedam ever again after high school. High school had become one of the worst times of your life thanks to him.

Yedam's pov

As soon as I enter the hall, I find [y/n] with my eyes immediately. They look at me with a mix of shock, disgust and hatred, but seeing them fills me with so much joy that I can't help but smile.

Deciding not to bother them, I pick a spot near the back and sit down. I wonder to myself if switching to [y/n]'s school was the right choice...

[y/n]'s pov

It was obvious you were too much for me. Oblivious, I was young

Back in high school, you had the fattest crush on one of the school's most popular kids, and you hated yourself for it. It wasn't like you could control your feelings... but your heart was set on him. His smile made you feel so warm and you felt happy despite him not having the slightest clue who you were. You always watched him from afar, peering at him as he walked into the classroom while waving at all of his friends before taking a seat at the back.

By some chance, you got paired with him for an assignment. You thought he would be disappointed, since he had never spoken to you, but contrary to his somewhat intimidating aura as a result of him being a popular kid, he smiled warmly at you as you introduced yourself.

"I know you're [y/n]," he said quietly, looking down at the assignment instructions in front of him.

"How do you know?" you asked him.

He looked up and leaned in closer to you to whisper into your ear, only after being sure that no one was watching.

"It may not seem like it, but I do know my classmates."

When he moved back, he flashed you a grin before returning to the assignment instructions again. Your heartbeat was flooding your ears.

After meeting up several times to do the research and plan out the presentation together, you and Yedam somehow grew closer. You had always thought he was some sort of chic, cool guy, but he turned out to be super soft and sweet. The two of you laughed at each other's dumb jokes and procrastinated late into the night sometimes, only beginning your work when the café was about to close.

On one of those days, Yedam asked if you wanted to go to his place to finish the assignment.

"It's due in two weeks and we still have so much to do... plus we're so busy that we can only meet once a week," he explained, pouting slightly.

You agreed, feeling somewhat nervous and excited at the prospect of going to your crush's house for the first time.

His parents were home but asleep as it was late for them, so the two of you quietly went to his room.

In-between muffled giggles and late-night snacks, the two of you managed to get a lot of work done before you felt as though you'd hit your limit. After yawning and stretching, you told Yedam that it was time you went home.

"Do you live far from here?" he asked you.

You, in fact, did live quite far from his house, but you felt bad telling him this, so you lied and told him you lived close by.

He pouted and looked down.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to just sleep here... but I guess it makes sense for you to go home," he said, helping you pack up your things.

Yedam... wanted you to stay the night? How could you miss such an opportunity! Your crush! Wanted you to stay the night!!

Yedam noticed that you'd stopped moving, holding your pencil case in your hand as you thought about what to say.

"Is everything okay?" he asked you.

"Yeah... I actually... live kind of far," you mumbled, not wanting him to get mad at you for lying.

"You do? Then why did you say you live close by?" he asked, also taking his hands away from your backpack.

"I didn't want you to walk me home or anything," you explained. Yedam smiled at you, shaking his head.

"Don't worry about it now... do you have any clothes to change into?"

"Just my gym clothes... but they're dirty," you told him, shyly.

"Do you want to take something of mine to wear?" he asked you, already standing up to look through his closet without waiting for your answer.

You were going to say no, again, not wanting to bother him, but he had already pulled out some of his comfier clothes for you to wear.

After changing into them and walking back into his room, you avoided Yedam's eyes as he quietly lost his mind over how cute you looked.

"Um, so..." Yedam started, scratching the back of his neck.

"Would you be okay with sleeping in my bed? I'll go sleep in the livingroom-"

"No, no! I'll go sleep there-"

"No, I can't let a guest sleep on the couch!"

Both of you sighed, not being able to win against one another.

"Listen, it's either you sleep in my room and I go to the livingroom, or we both sleep in my bed," he said, pointing to his bed behind you.

You froze, trying to consider your options as your heartbeat grew louder.

"Well... I guess we're both sleeping here then," you said, in a tone that tried to sound confident but was a little shaky.

You plopped yourself face first into the bed to hide from your embarrassment, feeling the bed shift a few seconds later as Yedam joined you.

"Scooch over towards the wall. I'll sleep on this side so you won't fall off the bed at night," he said, pointing to the side of his bed that faced the rest of his room. You smiled at Yedam's kind gesture as you moved over.

He had turned off the light and it was dark now, and both of you lay side-by-side on your backs, staring up at the ceiling.

"Are you... asleep?" he asked you quietly a while later. You shook your head at first, but then realized he couldn't see you. So you said a quiet "no".

You felt Yedam shift as he turned to face you. You carefully turned your head towards him too, wondering what he was up to. It was hard to see in the dark, but he was just admiring your face. You looked away, feeling embarrassed, until you felt him shuffling closer to you.

It was a little nerve-wracking watching his figure tower over you in the dark. Blinking up at him, you parted your lips to ask him what he was doing, but he spoke first.

"Am I allowed to... kiss you?" he asked, quietly looking down at you.

Yedam... wants to ???? Your crush wanted-

You found yourself nodding before your thoughts could entirely be processed, and watched as Yedam lowered himself onto you with a small smile. His heart soared as he watched your reaction -- your eyes were squeezed shut so tightly out of nervousness.

Before his soft lips met yours, he found your hand under the blankets and held it in an attempt to ease you of your nervousness. He didn't know that it only made your stomach feel the effects even more intensely.

Your lips touched for only a moment, but it felt like a whole eternity. When he pulled away, he moved off of you quickly and shuffled over to his side of the bed again.

"I'm sorry.. I'm so sorry," he mumbled, looking away from you. You were confused.

"What's wrong?" you asked him.

"I... I was supposed to tell you I like you first but then now you're right beside me--wait not that I like you... wait I mean I do, but I didn't want to tell you like this--"

Hearing his unsure confession was all the confidence you needed to pull him closer, accidentally tightening his hoodie strings as you pulled him in to carefully press your lips against his again. He completely melted into your hands, then, wrapping an arm around your back and holding you close.

That was probably one of the last good memories you have of him.

After that, Yedam turned into a different person the next morning, avoiding your eyes and missing any trace of a smile on his face as he pushed a plate of breakfast towards you.

"Let's not walk to school together, okay? I'll be leaving first," he told you, leaving you alone in his own house.

You had no clue what was going on and no appetite to eat. After waiting a few minutes, you walked to school after him. You had no idea how to even get to school from his house, so after getting lost and arriving late, you finally managed to make it.

When you tried to approach him in class, he would turn his back on you and ignore you. It made you feel so small that you stopped even trying.

It was really hard for you to show up to school after that, because of how terrible you felt, but you still tried your best. Your friends knew something was wrong and they did their best to help you, but it didn't stop you from thinking about Yedam and why he was acting so strangely.

Until he texted you one day in the middle of class, asking you to meet him in an empty classroom.

You told yourself you shouldn't pay him any attention, especially after he ghosted you like that, but you still followed after him, curious to see what excuse he would give you.

In the classroom, you couldn't see anyone, so you thought Yedam hadn't arrived yet until you heard him call out your name from behind a file cabinet. By the windows.

"Come here, [y/n]," he said, motioning for you to approach him. He was smiling at you again, just like he did on those days when you'd study with him in the café. You told yourself to just turn around and leave, but your feet guided you to him.

You frowned up at him.

"What the heck have you been doing?" you asked him, tears already threatening to leave your eyes.

"[y/n], I-I'm sorry... you know how it is for me, with my popular reputation. Some kids saw us at the café and posted pictures of us, saying that I was going around dating a loser-"

He was holding onto your hands while wearing a pitiful expression, but you coldly pushed him away after hearing him out.

"So you've been acting weird because I'm tainting your reputation? Yedam, we never even dated! You gave me some... half-assed confession and... kissed me in the middle of the night and then ghosted me," you told him, sternly.

"I know, I'm sorry... It's so pathetic but I really do like you... I'm just really bad at this, I know, but I'm telling you now I like you-"

"In an empty classroom. Behind a file cabinet."

"Please, [y/n]. Date me for real... I promise I won't let you down."

You and your kind, innocent heart believed his promise. You believed him because his eyes were sparkling and he was holding onto you so tightly.

Yedam told you that you had to date him in secret, and that was just one of many red flags. He explained that if his friends found out, he would be teased and you would be hurt by their words, too. Nonetheless, you agreed. At school, you never spoke to him. All you got were stolen glances, Yedam winking at you every time you turned around in your seat. Somehow, that was enough to make your heart flutter.

You could only see each other in each other's homes, since even the risk of being caught out on a date was too much for Yedam to handle. The two of you would intertwine hands while watching a movie. You'd rest your head on Yedam's shoulder, or sometimes he would rest his head in your lap and you would gently stroke his hair, watching as his eyes squeezed shut tightly while he indulged in the feeling of your love.

Sometimes the two of you would listen to music together, quietly sharing earphones while staring out the window.

Sometimes you would just talk for hours into the night.

Yedam's smile would never leave his face when he was with you.

Except for when he was at school.

And you could handle it. At least you thought you could, until the final straw.

For Yedam's birthday, a few of his friends had gathered in his home, celebrating. You were also invited, of course, after you begged Yedam to let you come. He had told his friends that he invited you as a gesture of thanks for working on the assignment with him... it broke your heart to hear this lie, but you shrugged it off, again.

Everyone was feeling excited as they all started a game of spin-the-bottle. You felt incredibly out of place and already angry, even more so upon seeing a girl getting all handsy with Yedam, stroking his thigh with her hand and playing with his hair. She was constantly glued to him, but you shrugged it off, again.

After the bottle's mouth faced Yedam, the girl beside him dared him to kiss someone. How childish, you thought to yourself. You watched as Yedam locked eyes with you and started to stand up, making his way towards you with a small smile, but the girl beside him stopped him.

"Where are you going, damie? Isn't it me who you should kiss?"

Yedam looked back at her and then at you.

"I-"

"C'mon, it's your birthday!" she said, dragging him back down.

That literally is not an excuse and makes no sense, you scoffed to yourself, rolling your eyes.

The next few moments were a blur, but Yedam ended up kissing her and you felt like a piece of paper being torn in two. We can't even look at each other in public, you thought to yourself. You fought back tears and got up to leave. No one seemed to mind or care about where you were going, since none of these people were your friends anyway. Even Yedam was preoccupied, his lips on the mouth of this other girl.

You couldn't just shrug things off anymore. This was it. Now, it was your turn to ghost Yedam.

You hadn't told him, but your family were planning to move to another city soon. You told them to plan the move for earlier so you could leave that dreaded place and leave Yedam. Ignoring all his calls and texts, you transferred out the next week, and that was that.

I'm gonna break down these walls, I built around myself. I wanna fall so in love, with you, and no one else, Could ever mean half as much, to me as you do now. Together we'll move on, just don't turn around, Let the walls break down.

You can't focus in lecture as everything that happened with Yedam flashes before your eyes. Just as you're starting to live a normal life without him, he has to show up and allow of the trauma to resurface.

As soon as your class ends, you quickly pack your bags. Your friend does the same, understanding exactly what is going on. But it seems like Yedam and his feet move a little faster.

Just as you're about to leave your row, you look up to find Yedam standing at the end of it, a small smile on his face.

You sigh and turn around, telling your friend to do the same so you can leave through the other side. But Yedam just follows behind you quietly. He doesn't say a word and just follows you as you and your friend as you leave the lecture hall to go to your next class.

Suddenly, you stop. Your friend and Yedam stop, too.

You turn around, your fist clenched into a tight ball.

"Yedam, can you please stop following me? Do you not have classes of your own or things to do? Please leave me alone," you told him, turning your back on him again and walking forward.

Your friend didn't follow you, though, but looked back and forth between you and Yedam. So lost in your thoughts, you walk to class on your own, not noticing that your friend isn't following you.

Yedam's pov

After they say those words and leave, I feel my heart breaking in two. Of course I know how much I've hurt [y/n], but their words make me realize that I'll never be able to completely understand. I almost start crying right there and then...

"Yedam, right?" their friend asks me. I look at them and nod, confused.

"Listen, [y/n] hates your guts. They're not going to talk to you and hear you out, so I'll do it instead. I know [y/n] might regret it if they don't hear you out, even if they don't want to."

I smile at [y/n]'s friend. That sounds exactly like [y/n]...

"You've probably heard a lot of awful things about me, and it's all true. But... [y/n] probably didn't tell you about those nights we spent in each other's rooms... the times that we did get to spend with each other alone.... sorry, what I'm trying to say is that I've always loved [y/n]. Not even 'like', but I've always loved them. And I don't think I'll be able to stop... I know I was such a terrible boyfriend back then. I don't think I can say I even was much of a boyfriend... but I've changed. I can promise that I've changed. I know it must be so arrogant of me to ask if they'll give me another chance but..."

I trail off, my brain shutting down as I struggle to find anymore words to express myself. [y/n]'s friend nods after I trail off.

"I see... well, I've heard about your promises. I heard they couldn't be trusted but if you've changed, then maybe that has changed, too. [y/n] has a really kind heart, but I won't let them date a jerk ever again. So unless we both know for sure that you're different now, we are not letting you date them."

With that, [y/n]'s friend walks away and leaves me there.

[y/n]'s pov

In class, you feel completely empty, unsure of how to feel. You only notice that your friend had not been beside you this entire time when they take a seat in the spot beside you, apologizing that they're late.

"Where were you?" you ask them, looking up as they sit down.

"I was talking to Yedam," your friend tells you, never one to lie.

Your face fills with disgust at the mention of his name.

"Why would you do that?" you whisper loudly, causing some heads in the lecture hall to turn your way. You mumble an apology before returning to your friend.

"I wanted to hear him out," they say, casually opening up their notes.

"What did he say?"

"So you are interested, huh?" they ask you, teasing.

"No, I'm not!"

"I know, calm down! He just said something along the lines of how he's always loved you and does now, too, and that he's changed--"

"That is the most garbage thing I've ever heard," you say, interrupting your friend with a scoff. They smile, shaking their head at you.

When you return to your dorm after all your classes, you find a small gift bag hanging on the door knob to your room. Curious, you pick it up and notice it has your name written on the side.

You could recognize that handwriting from a mile away.

As if it's the side of a hot pan, you drop it, watching its contents spill to the ground. A pack of your favourite snack falls out, along with a neatly handwritten note, a CD player and earphones.

I guess it wouldn't hurt to look, you tell yourself.

Picking everything up and walking into your room, you sit on your bed and read the note over.

[y/n]!! ah, it doesn't make sense for me to be cute or excited in this note, does it? >.< please forgive me.... i'm a little nervous... here is that snack that you've always loved... do you still love it now, too? and here is something that i wrote for you~it's on the CD. just press play and i'll let the song do the talking... i wrote this after you disappeared.

- yedam

This song better be god tier if he's coming to leave it at my door, you think to yourself.

As the song fills your ears, it seems to fill your empty heart too. You can tell it's full of Yedam's sincere feelings and thoughts... or he's just doing a good job of acting while singing. You can't seem to tell, but you still tear up a little.

You hear the door to your room swing open, as your friend, who also happens to be your roommate, barges in.

"What are you up to?" they ask, placing some things on their desk. They turn around immediately when they hear you sniffling.

"ARE YOU CRYING?" they shout, sitting beside you and wrapping their arms around you.

"This... song... Yedam..." you croak, just handing them the earphones.

When they listen to it, they also go quiet.

"It sounds really sincere..." your friend tells you, quietly.

"I'm not the only one who feels that way?" you ask your friend, looking at them.

"You know him better than I do, so you're probably right," they tell you, standing up.

"Why did this boy have to show up and make a mess of my life again," you groan, hiding your face in your hands.

"Well, I have just the solution! I know you're probably going to think about him and not get any work done anyway, so should we just go to a party?!" your friend tells you, jumping up and down.

"A party?" you wrinkle your nose in disgust.

"It'll help you stop thinking about him! Please, we never went to any parties last year!! Let's go, just this once!" they beg.

After thinking it over, you agree. What's the worst that could happen?

Wearing one of your favourite fits and feeling good, you walk alongside your friend, who already has a groove in their step as the two of you make your way to the house where the party is set to be held. It isn't that hard to find, since you're just following the bright lights and loud music in the distance. It's a wonder the people in that house aren't being arrested for causing such a ruckus...

Finally there, you step inside and try not to bump into any weird people. The music is so loud its deafening, and you shrivel up at the sound of it. Your friend wraps their arm around you, pulling you in close and guiding you to the snack/drink area so you can take what you need and go to a quieter place.

Your friend did beg you to come today, so they won't force you to dance or do any things you don't want to do...

Now equipped with everything you need, you make your way to the basement, where it's a lot quieter despite being so busy.

"How's this for a change?" your friend asks you, grooving along to the distant sound of the music from upstairs.

"It seems like you want to dance," you tell your friend.

They shake their head.

"I'll stay with you toniiiiiight!" they cheer, hugging you tightly. You laugh.

"It's fine, just go up! The crowd doesn't seem too scary or weird down here," you tell them as you watch two people play mario kart in front of a TV.

After asking you 1000 times if it's really okay, they leave you there with a drink in your hand. You continue watching the two people playing mario kart, secretly rooting for the boy in orange because his fit looks really nice, even if you're only looking from the back.

He ends up losing and you let out a "noooo!" loud enough for the two to hear. When they turn around, you discover that the boy in orange had been Yedam all along!

I take back rooting for him... he deserved to lose!

Widening your eyes at the sight of him, you quickly turn away and try to navigate your way towards another room. To your surprise, as soon as you walk in, Yedam is in there, holding the door open at the other end and panting.

"[y/n]," he calls out softly, smiling slightly. You can tell he's testing the waters and wondering how to react.

You try to walk out of the room, but the door behind you has been shut by some drunken idiot! He's pressed up against the frame and no matter how much you push, the door just won't open.

"[y/n], if you want to leave, it's okay. I don't want to bother you," Yedam tells you, stepping aside from the other door and motioning for you to walk through.

You sigh.

"No, it's fine. I guess we're here for a reason now, or something," you mumble, sliding down the wall until you're in a comfortable sitting position.

Yedam smiles, closing the door behind him.

"Still caught up in all that destiny stuff?" he asks you, joining you in sitting on the ground but also keeping his distance.

You scoff in response. How does this kid remember everything about me?

"So... what are you doing in my house?' he asks you.

"Your.... house?"

"Yeah, this is my house. You didn't know?" he asks you, looking bewildered.

You think about your friend. They must have brought you here while knowing it was Yedam's house...

"Um... nevermind that. How... have you been?" Yedam asks you, wringing his hands.

"Me? I've been doing great until now. How about you?" you spit out your words sarcastically, but Yedam doesn't seem to mind.

"I've been... well... I'm not sure. It would be cheesy for me to say I've been feeling lost without you, but that's kind of how it is," he tells you, chuckling nervously.

"Yeah, super cheesy. It also doesn't make sense, Yedam," you tell him, avoiding his eyes.

"I know it doesn't, but to me it does. I know our relationship was a mess, but those times that we spent together were... something else. Probably some of the best times of my life, honestly," he tells you.

"And why... are you telling me this?" you ask him, curious to see how he'll respond.

"Because I know I'm in the wrong and there's no excuse for my past childishness, but... I've missed you. And I still do. I know I was really caught up in my reputation back then and I didn't open myself up to you properly, but I want to do that now."

He runs his fingers through his hair, and something inside you turns. You didn't realize just how much you loved it when Yedam did that until now... he looks so pretty--

No. What are you thinking?!

"I haven't missed you though, Yedam," you say.

He smiles sadly.

"I know. And there's no reason for you to. But I'm just... asking for a second chance in case you think there's anything left."

You gulp and look up at the ceiling. You hadn't even considered the possibility of dating Yedam again, but talking with him now is different. He's less cautious and seems to be a lot more comfortable with you.

Someone knocks on the door behind Yedam and Yedam tells them to come in.

"Oh, am I interrupting?" the boy asks, slowly backing away.

"It's fine, I'm just talking to [y/n]," Yedam says with a smile, gesturing towards you. You greet the boy and his eyes light up.

"[y/n]?! The one you always tell me about? Gosh... it's so nice to meet you!" the boy says, shaking your hand and sitting down in front of you.

"You put up with a lot of Yedam's antics, I've heard," he says, laughing. Yedam laughs along, but you're still in shock.

Yedam had never told anyone about you... but now this random boy knows everything?

"It was more than antics. I was... really bad to [y/n]. I'm surprised they haven't left yet," Yedam admits, leaning back.

"I transferred to your old high school after you transferred out, and this boy was always sad. He didn't talk to anyone but me, only because the teacher asked him to show me around. He told me everything about you and eventually told the rest of his friends, too. You were his biggest and only heartbreak... I swear everyone at our school knows about you," the boy explains.

"What did you tell them?" you ask Yedam.

"He told us how he had been dating you in secret because he was afraid to ruin his popularity, but that he regrets it a lot. A lot of his friends left him after finding out you dated Yedam," the boy explains. Yedam nods along.

You're in shock. The boy who was so secretive and insecure exposed himself as a heartbreaker?

"Anyways, I'm sorry to be interrupting. I'll leave now!" the boy says, standing up and closing the door behind him.

"You... told everyone?" you ask Yedam. He nods.

"I feel like it was the only thing I could do for you. You deserved to be known as the one who held my heart," he says, holding his chest and laughing at his own cheesy words.

You find yourself laughing along and loosening up.

A moment of silence stretches between the two of you, and Yedam breaks it by standing up.

"Do you wanna play mario kart with me? You seemed to be having fun watching," Yedam asks you quietly.

You nod, also standing up.

The two of you play for about an hour, screaming and yelling at the TV just like you used to in your bedroom when you'd play games together.

"I won!" you declare in glee, turning to Yedam to do your signature high five with him. His hands meet yours, and you only realize what you're doing only after its already happened. You awkwardly move your hands away, facing the screen again.

"I'm sorry..." you mumble.

"No, I'm sorry! It's really okay, [y/n]... if you feel uncomfortable around me, you don't have to--"

"Your song touched me a lot, Yedam. And now I feel like... I want to try again. Just like this game," you say, pointing to the screen that has try again written in the corner.

"Are you sure?" he asks you, slowly.

You nod, deciding you've made up your mind. You've seen a lot of green flags already -- enough to decide that it's okay to move forward.

Yedam smiles and looks down at his lap. Then his head lifts up quickly, his eyes lighting up.

"I can take you to that café you always wanted to go! They have one in this city... and there's a museum next to it too! Do you want to go there? I.."

As he continues talking, you realize that all of the things he's saying he wants to do were things that you never did with Yedam, even after one year of dating him. It was always stay-at-home dates and ignore-each-other-when-we're-at-school. Somehow, you feel excited, wondering what things will be like.

"[y/n]! I've been looking everywhere for--oh, Yedam? Hi!" your friend greets you both.

"Did you have fun dancing?" you ask them. They nod, pointing to Yedam with their eyes.

You get up and whisper into your friend's ear.

"We have a lot to talk about, but I think..."

Your friend doesn't even wait for you to finish before they say, "well, I have to leave early now. Yedam, can you walk [y/n] home? Great, thanks!"

With that, they disappear and you shake your head at your friend's strange behaviour.

Yedam is all smiley while still sitting on the ground.

"Do I get to walk you home now?" he asks you, standing up.

"I wonder what would've happened if you walked me home that day, too..." you mumble, thinking about the day you slept over at Yedam's in the same bed as him.

"What, do you want to sleep over today, too?" he asks you.

You shake your head.

"I don't want things to turn out like that again."

"You mean, you don't want me to kiss you like I did then?" Yedam teases you, sending you a wink.

"You--shut up!" you yell, chasing after him with a pillow.

This boy literally broke my heart, you think to yourself. He is testing his limits...

After you both calm down, Yedam walks you home. It's a little quiet at first, until Yedam speaks.

"Can... I hold your hand?" he asks you.

"This soon?" you say, still grabbing his hand anyway. He looks down at your hand in his and smiles.

"Yeah... you don't know how long I've been wanting to do this for," he admits, swinging your arm up and down as you walk.

You shake your head at him.

"Let's run!" Yedam declares, racing forward with your hand in his. You trail behind him, the sound of laughter escaping your lips and ringing in Yedam's ears. It leaves a bright blush on his face as he thinks to himself about how much he's missed your laughter.

The two of you slow down, panting.

"I'm so tired," Yedam wheezes, laughing at how weird he sounds.

"Do you want me to kiss it better?" you tease him. He raises his eyebrows at the comment. Maybe it's the adrenaline from all the running or the feeling of the night air, but a courage surges through you as you snake your hand around the back of his head and pull him towards you, pressing his warm lips to yours.

You pull away shortly after, feeling breathless again. A blush dusts Yedam's cheeks as he stares at you with wide eyes.

Your own stomach is full of butterflies, but you ignore it and walk forward.

"Are you not coming?" you yell to the boy behind you. He laughs and chases after you.

[a/n]: i just want to say that i do not condone getting back together with a toxic ex so soon... i was just really excited while writing and sped up the plot >.< but don't ever get back with someone who has hurt you unless you are 100% sure! please take care of yourself!!

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lostinanothersmemories · 2 years

Note

Great now I can't stop thinking about Darlin' meeting their younger self. I'm gonna go cry in a corner.

🌧

It’s been on my mind for so long but thanks for the opportunity to torture them

tw: mentioned underage drinking, suicidal tendencies/thoughts, implied very rough childhood

They were groggy already the headache pounded through their head. They needed a drink or at least something to take the edge off. Their surroundings were unfamiliar setting off every instinct to get ready for a fight. To figure an escape before they could lose a fight. Carefully they slip off the bed as silent as can be crouching in the darkness carefully padding over to the door. Pressing their ear against the door they can hear voices mostly men.

"David, I know but is this really the best option?"

"Yeah, we didn't know them when they were this young, they won't even know our names if we introduced ourselves."

"There is no better option. Are we supposed to put them just out on their own?"

"Neither is awake right now we still have time to at least try to find someone, anyone they would know."

"Milo there-there isn't anyone. Ash

Weird people and their weird conversations...Ultimately finding that door to be a bust considering they know it's a bad decision to walk up to strangers. Only to hit a trash can beside the door. The voices go still, fuck, they book it ignoring the thumping of their footsteps. Slipping under the bed with ease and pulling the blanket to hide them further.

Only one pair of footsteps enters the room sighing when he sees no one. "I know you don't know me but I'm not here to hurt you." Liar, "I can prove it if you come out." Trap, "Listen Tanker-uh I mean-well you never liked me calling you by your name. Something about it being too personal. I took it to heart when we were younger, I'm not gonna break that trust I had to earn by doing something you said you didn't like. Truthfully I don't know what to do, you have no idea how much I hate saying that but I'm clueless. You-"

They flinch when he steps closer, cursing their rebellious body. "Okay, it's okay. I won't come closer. Are you hungry? Hurt at all, I don't want you in pain." He's a good liar, a weird liar but a good one. It makes them want to talk.

He stands quickly when another pair of shoes go by the door. Another flinch raises through their body, "Milo wait just give them distance."

The other speaks too quietly for them to hear. "Okay, okay. I'll take care of it."

"I'll be right back okay?" He speaks softly. They take a breath waiting for the two to leave the door. It's wide open, the only opportunity they may get. They sprint for it abandoning the shelter of the bed only to find another by what they hoped was the front door. A turn and they meet the kitchen, a block of knives right within reach.

He's noticed them though, already calling out for the "David" they heard earlier. They back themselves against the wall unwillingly a knife held close to their chest in case someone tries to grab them.

The same shoes approach again, consoling the one who spotted them, "Asher it's okay. I'll handle it." He kneels down matching their height, "Hey there. I'm glad to see you aren't at least too injured. I don't want you hurting yourself could you set the knife down."

Shaking their head they grip the handle tighter. "It's okay if you don't want to you've gotta be terrified. I just can't let you run off though okay? It's dangerous out there."

Their eyes narrow, "I know I probably seem dangerous as well. You know probably would have been a bit helpful if you had told be just about anything about you." He pauses almost sorrowful, "Gabe would have been better at this."

They have babysitters handed off one after each other since they refuse to move or give up the weapon. They introduce themselves, David was the first the one most willing to talk and try to get them to respond, Milo who talks about his cat too much, Amanda who shows them card tricks, Christian who's far more quiet then the rest mostly saying things that make no sense, Asher who tries to get them to laugh. Asher is the one who makes the mistake. Sits against the wall instead of in the doorway moves off to the side long enough for them to run past. He hand reaches out only to meet metal before they run away.

They don't see the other one coming, only feel a hand around their chest another grabbing the hand with the knife. Despite their screams the one they can't see walks them back into the danger. "Stop it," they near growl. "Screaming and crying wouldn't help you know better than that."

It only makes them start kicking. They barely pay attention to the others but see their eyes wide. They know they hit a sensitive spot when their breath hitches and they freeze for a moment. They don't get pushed back into a corner but set not so gently on the couch. Their voice softly spoken by the one that stopped their flight. "I know you're freaked out you just gotta give me a second you brat." They finally see them, no NO. Their fight kicks up against

"I don't want you you gave me away!" They sigh but keep them sitting despite their attempts.

"Not your parent, kid. Unfortunately family resemblance is a stronger fighter then we are. Go on look, no amount of genetics gives the same exact hand scar."

Cautiously they stop fighting and look gently lifting their hand to compare the two. "I'm not gonna bother with the whole wolf and magic talk but congrats there is magic. You are the result of a stupid fucking demon messing up something that is above my paygrade to understand."

"You are me?"

"Well technically my time so reverse but sure whatever you want kid."

"But-I don't, I-" Tears well up despite their efforts. "I don't wanna have to fight anymore." It breaks the dam in them tears streaming down their eyes trying to hide from the strangers around them. They are pulled into a hug by the older version of themself their hand rubbing their back. It's weird, unfamiliar, but nice. "It's alright, it gets easier. I promise it's not much longer now."

#redacted asmr #...darlin

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wanderinginksplot · 3 years

Text

Rex + Engineer!Reader

This is the prequel to the Rex + Blanket Fort + Kisses one-shot found here on my masterlist. As this is a prequel to that story, you don't need to have read it for this to make sense. And as you could probably tell from the picture, this takes place during the Onderon arc.

Rex x gn!reader: intended to be early romance, but could be read as platonic.

Word Count: a bit more than 3,400

Warnings: canon-typical violence, including spoilers for the Onderon arc (S 5, E 2-5) of Star Wars: The Clone Wars

---

"And Captain Rex will train everyone in the encampment on basic combat skills and maneuvers," General Skywalker announced.

You didn't pay overly much attention to that. The general was younger than you had anticipated, but he was clearly used to combat and had the kind of authority usually honed through commanding large groups of soldiers. Still, you knew his order didn't apply to you and moved to slip away from the area. Your schematics needed a lot more work before the rebels could attack without bringing buildings down.

"And where are you running off to?" a muscular man with light hair asked, stepping into your path.

You gave a tight smile. "Classified, sorry."

The man nodded toward the general. "General Skywalker says everyone needs combat training."

"Oh, not me," you reassured him. "I'm a contracted engineer, not one of the Rebels. I'm just here to make sure they destroy as little of the infrastructure as possible while they take back control."

"And do you live in the encampment?" he asked.

You narrowed your eyes at him, feeling sure this was a trap. Eventually, you gave a short nod.

"Then you'll be training with me," he said firmly. "Captain Rex, 501st Legion."

You reluctantly shook the hand he offered and introduced yourself, finishing with, "-but I'm strictly an engineer."

"We're worried that this isn't likely to end without one or several attacks on this encampment," the captain told you. "A few hours of training could save your life."

"And a few hours of work on the city's schematics could save the lives of countless civilians," you argued. Sending that he would continue trying to convince you, you shook your head. "The Gerrera siblings are the ones who hired me. I'll let them make the final choice."

"And I'll leave it to the Generals," Captain Rex agreed.

Clearly not taking chances, he marched off toward where Steela Gerrera and Lux Bonteri were talking with Generals Skywalker and Kenobi, as well as a Togrutan female you vaguely remembered as being a commander.

"Generals, Commander," Captain Rex greeted with a crisp salute. You rolled your eyes. Soldiers. "We were hoping you could settle a difference of opinion."

"A difference of opinion?" General Kenobi repeated with a frown.

"What opinion would that be, Rex?" General Skywalker asked.

The captain explained the situation while you stood in silence. Steela met your gaze at several points during the conversation, looking concerned each time.

"We're only here to train the rebels," General Skywalker said after Captain Rex had finished talking. "Not anyone else."

"All of us are rebels," Steela argued, ignoring your signals that you didn't want training at all. "Just by being here in opposition to the Separatist forces, we are all considered a threat to their power."

"A contracted employee is different than someone who joined your cause because they believe in it," the commander countered, wrinkling her nose. "We aren't offering training to mercenaries."

"We're talking about an engineer, not someone hired to perform assassinations," Lux contributed. "What could it hurt?"

"Generals, Commander," Rex said, his quiet voice somehow drawing their attention. "I think every member of the rebel group needs to be trained. I think it's important."

"Rex…" General Kenobi sighed, but Skywalker interrupted before he could expand on his thoughts.

"I trust Rex's instincts," he told the older general. "If he thinks everyone needs to be trained, we'll make it happen."

You made a frustrated noise before you could stop yourself. "I don't need training. I'm an engineer. I don't work in combat situations."

"That's the thing about combat," Skywalker said with a shrug. "You don't always have to look for it. Sometimes, it comes to you. Especially in wartime."

The group split up immediately afterward, seemingly having come to an agreement. You followed Steela, determined to make your case and get back to your schematics.

"Steela, you know I'm not here for fighting," you said, jogging to catch up to the young woman who had hired you. "It isn't part of my contract."

"It isn't, you're right," she agreed. "But I would think carefully before I turned down a chance to learn such a valuable skill considering how dangerous the galaxy is right now. Surely this could be helpful as a freelancer traveling the universe alone?"

You didn't have an immediate answer to that. Steela clearly noticed, nodding solemnly at you before turning away. "The choice is yours to make."

You gritted your teeth, but your feet refused to move from the spot. To your left was the strategic tent and your unfinished set of schematics. To the right, the Jedi were helping the rebels set up some kind of training ring.

"Well?" a voice prompted. You already recognized it as belonging to Rex.

You stood still for a beat longer before giving a loud and heartfelt groan as you turned toward the freshly constructed training ring.

---

You were bad at fighting.

It wasn't really a shock to you. You had never been particularly graceful or good on your feet. That was why engineering had been such a draw - all mental work, almost no physical.

Rex, to his credit, turned out to be a surprisingly good teacher. He had kept everyone basically together as they learned new skills and practiced as a group. Still, he was determined that you would learn to defend yourself and here you were, fighting to shoot targets in the dying light, long after everyone else had scattered.

"I'm sorry," you apologized yet again as you missed. You were half an hour into intensive shooting lessons with Rex and you had yet to hit a single target.

"You don't need to apologize," he assured. "We'll just keep working until you get it down."

"I don't know if I can," you admitted, lowering the heavily modified blaster pistol until it was resting on the table in front of you. "We're losing the light and it's a bad idea to illuminate any more of the jungle than we have to."

"That's true," Rex agreed, rubbing at his neck while he studied the unharmed target. After a moment, he took the blaster pistol from your hands and holstered it at his side, then removed the holster belt as well.

You nodded sympathetically, hoping you could call it a night and put in a few hours of work on your schematics so the day wouldn't be a total waste.

Rex sighed, removing the subtly armored jacket he had been wearing during that day's training. "I guess we'll… we'll just have to switch to something less impacted by visibility."

"Wait, what?" you had time to ask before the stoic captain flat-out tackled you.

You were aware enough to know that Captain Rex had twisted to take part of the impact himself, but you still hit the ground hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. In that moment of hollow gasping, Rex had pushed you onto your stomach and pinned your hands behind your back.

"The first rule of unarmed conflict is that you can't let anyone surprise you." Rex paused for a moment. "Actually, that's the first rule of any kind of conflict."

"Is the second rule that you shouldn't suffocate your sparring partner?" you croaked out, turning your head slightly so your face wasn't actively being pressed into the dirt anymore.

Rex laughed. It was the first time you had heard anything other than firm orders from him and you paused. It was a nice laugh. You were forced to gather your thoughts a moment later as he released you and helped you to your feet.

"You probably won't see a lot of hand-to-hand fighting with droids, but the armies aren't capable of anything beyond following orders. The armies are commanded by sentients, and those sentients are often closer to the armies than you would think."

"I have no intention of going after Grievous without a weapon," you joked. "Preferably more than one."

"You should stay away from Grievous no matter how many weapons you have," Rex advised. "But this is good to know, anyway."

"Actually, I agree with that," you said, surprising you both. "I'm a freelancer. Anything that helps me defend myself in a potentially hostile situation is a good thing."

"Okay, let's work on your hits, then," Rex suggested.

What followed was two full hours of unarmed combat practice. Rex was always the target, letting you throw punches and kicks against his open palms. When he realized that you were pulling your strikes because you were afraid to hurt him, he found a padded guard among the assortment of equipment the Republic had sent along.

Eventually, though, you were panting and bone-tired. Rex seemed to realize that without you saying anything.

"One last set of strikes and you're done for the night," Rex told you. It was the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to you.

But as you punched, Rex moved the guard you had been aiming for. You shot him a look, but he only held the guard up, wiggling it slightly. You set up again, but Rex pulled away at the last second, dodging your fist to bop you on the shoulder with the guard.

"What are you doing?" you asked, exasperated. "You said this was the last set."

"It is. Or, it will be as soon as you actually manage to make contact."

You grimaced at him. This time, when he twisted the guard away, you turned with it. You were focused on keeping your footwork correct and your hit strong. You never even saw him move his foot between your ankles, but with a light tug, you were on the ground again.

"Seriously?" you asked from your spot in the dirt.

Rex laughed again, and this time, you didn't enjoy the sound at all. "Do you think your opponents are going to stand there and let you hit them? They're going to fight dirty - they always do. You just need to-"

As it happens, you never did learn what you needed to do. Rex had stepped too close, and your engineering experience told you that his ankles were at an angle that made him vulnerable to a hit. You kicked his ankle lightly, barely making contact, but it was enough to send one of his feet careening against the other. Rex stumbled, failed to regain his balance, and fell.

All of this was done on instinct and you felt as surprised as Rex looked when he landed on his butt in the dirt next to you.

"Good job," he said, breathless but sincere.

"Thanks," you accepted with a grin. "Does that mean I surprised you?"

"Not a bit," he denied, deflating your ego a bit. "I knew you were capable of it. You're an engineer. Engineers like angles and math. That's all combat is, adjusted for whatever you think the other side is going to do."

"Wait, that's… that's a really good point," you mused slowly. "Can I see your pistol again?"

Rex didn't move. "If you shoot me, you'll surprise me in the wrong way."

You snorted. "I'm not planning on shooting you, Captain. I just want to test how the application of math might help me."

After eyeing you for a moment, Rex stood in an enviably graceful motion and hauled you to your feet as well. Wordlessly, he handed you one of his blaster pistols. He had warned you before you began shooting that he had made numerous alterations to them, but you were still surprised by the weight of the weapon in your hand.

This time, instead of relying on instinct - point, aim, shoot - you worked to apply some logic. When you were sure about your angle, you squeezed the hyper-sensitive trigger and watched the resulting beam of weaponized light hit the target.

It wasn't a perfect shot, of course. Math couldn't fix everything. Still, you had hit the target and you cheered aloud, echoed by Rex's congratulations behind you. You had the presence of mind to set the pistol down before you turned, then Rex was grasping your forearm in the odd way warriors shook hands.

"Great job!" he told you warmly. "You're getting better."

"Thanks," you accepted, trying to vocalize your gratitude. You probably could have been offended by the tone of surprise in his voice, but you chose to overlook it.

"Now we just have to dial in your aim and get you comfortable with firing at moving targets, especially during chaotic situations."

Despite your best efforts, you felt your expression fall at that. Rex laughed again. When had he gotten so cheerful? "I'm kidding. That can be done tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" you repeated doubtfully.

Rex folded his arms across his chest and stared at you steadily. "In one session, you've gone from unable to shoot a gun or throw a punch to knocking me down and hitting a target. If you can keep that pace of improvement, you'll be a force to be reckoned with."

"Or at least be able to stop clients who try to cop a feel," you added.

Despite his darkening expression, Rex's tone was unconcerned. "I'm sure you could break the hand of any di'kut dumb enough to try it now. With some training, you'd be able to tear that hand off completely."

And so you continued to train with Rex after everyone else had finished learning to disable tanks and other intense activities. During the day, you finalized schematics, studying holoimages of Onderon’s capital city of Iziz. Your goal was to record your best guesses for the most and least structurally-sound sections of the city.

The dedication the rebels showed for the safety of the Onderonian people was a big reason you had agreed to take this job. Despite what the Jedi seemed to think, you weren't actually a mercenary. You chose your jobs very carefully, and if something didn't match your morals, you would respectfully decline.

Between schematic work in the day and training at night, your time with the rebels flew past. Captain Rex continued to be patient and helpful as you worked to master the combat moves he taught you - ones decidedly more focused on self-defense than the moves he taught the rebels. The first day you had beaten him in a grappling situation, he had beamed up at you with dirt on his face and told you how far you had progressed. The squeezing of your heart at the praise warned that it was probably good that the captain and both Jedi generals were withdrawing from Onderon shortly, leaving Commander Tano to assist with the remaining rebel efforts.

Despite your determination to stay out of the conflict, you had eventually been forced into it when the Separatist armies had attacked the rebel base. One of the rebels you had known by appearance if not by name had been hit by blaster fire before he could use the rocket launcher held in his hands. He had held it up to you, begging with his eyes that you take out the ship that had fired on him before it could do more damage.

You had accepted, and the ship was a roiling ball of flame before you could make yourself nervous about shooting anything other than Rex’s now-familiar blasters. You tossed aside the rocket launcher and found a discarded blaster. From that point until the combat had ended, thoughts of schematics or building solidity were gone from your head. You were as much a part of the rebel group as anyone else, and you watched with the same horror as Steela Gerrera fell to her death, despite the best efforts of Commander Tano.

The funeral was lovely. Onderonians didn’t believe in mourning for their dead. Instead, they truly celebrated all that the departed had done to create a better society… and Steela had done a great deal.

When things had ended, you were sitting on a raised set of stairs overlooking the ceremonial area. The dais holding Steela’s cloth-draped casket was filled with people far too important for you to bother. You were glad to see Saw speaking with King Dendup. After he had handed you the agreed-upon payment for your services - despite your many attempts to refuse the credits - Saw had left, ignoring the sympathy you tried to offer. He needed to speak with someone, and if that someone was the man he and Steela had worked so hard to save, so much the better.

“Nice ceremony, huh?” someone asked from behind you, and you twisted a bit to find General Skywalker standing there with Captain Rex beside him.

You nodded, but you could feel that it was a half-hearted motion. “Steela was so young. She had a lot of promise.”

“She died fulfilling the mission she set out to finish,” Captain Rex countered. “She knew the risks and thought Dendup was worth it. Her choices were her own. All we can do is respect them.”

With a joyless smile, you said, “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

“It never does,” General Skywalker admitted, sitting next to you. Rex’s comlink chimed and he stepped a respectful distance away before answering it.

Skywalker sat beside you in silence for a while. Normally, you would speak first just for sake of politeness, but you weren’t feeling that generous. You let the silence linger while you watched the activity on the dais.

“Have you ever thought about using your talents for the Republic?” the general asked eventually.

“I thought I was a soulless mercenary?” you asked before you could think better of it.

“And I thought you didn’t work in combat situations,” Skywalker countered. “But I’ve seen the battlefield recordings. You handled yourself well.”

You glanced over at him in surprise. “Are you trying to contract me on as a soldier?”

“Force, no,” he denied quickly. “As an engineer. I sent samples of your work to a friend of mine who works as an engineer in the private sector and they were impressed. The GAR is struggling to find good engineers comfortable working in combat. The pay is a bit lower than you’re used to, but it’s steady work.”

Ah, he had cut straight to the heart of your problem with freelancing. The fight to survive between jobs meant that anything extra you were making was eaten up by the time you were hired on again. And your morals meant that jobs weren’t nearly as frequent as you would like them to be. But being in constant combat… Yes, you had survived this time, but that didn’t mean you were rushing to repeat the experience.

You grimaced. “I appreciate the offer, really, but I don’t know if it’s for me. Combat engineering isn’t really my specialty.”

“I think you’re selling yourself short,” General Skywalker told you seriously. “I’ve seen samples of your past work, and a lot of it is on worlds that have a lot of fighting. I’m sure you know that none of your structures have sustained extreme damage, no matter how much combat was happening around them. That’s an impressive record.”

“You researched me?” you asked, feeling a little stunned.

“Well, the Republic likes to know who they’re hiring. But honestly, I’m not the one who did the research,” Skywalker said, looking past you. You followed his gaze to Rex, who was suddenly very intently looking at his comlink. With a mischievous grin, the general added, “I think my captain has taken a liking to you.”

You fought back a grin, turning away from the captain, and your eyes fell on Steela’s casket once more. Suddenly, keeping a straight face wasn’t as much of a struggle. “If I said yes, what would my official job duties be?”

“You would oversee a group of construction experts - both civilian and enlisted - using maps and satellite footage to find the best possible choices for locations to build bases, bridges, or other structures to help us complete campaigns,” he answered easily. “Preferably, to win campaigns, but that’s more on us than you.”

“And would I work with your group?”

“The 501st?” Skywalker asked, sounding surprised. “I’m not sure, but probably. We’re a planetary landing battalion, so we always need someone who has the knowledge of places to build. You might have to stay behind on some planets to supervise base construction, but you could always catch back up with us. Is that something you would want?”

“Yes,” you said firmly. “If I did agree to that-”

“I’m no good at negotiations,” he interrupted with a self-deprecating smile. “You speak clearly about what you want and I’ll do what I can.”

“I’ll work for the Republic,” you said, feeling the nerves twist in your belly. “If you can make sure I’m permanently attached to the 501st.”

“Deal,” General Skywalker accepted immediately, holding his hand out for you to shake. “Welcome to the 501st.”

---

A/N - I assure you that there is no timeline of any sort happening in my writing, so don't think too hard about where this should fit into the narrative. It won't end well.

Thanks for reading!

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#star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars fanfiction #sw tcw fic #tcw rex #captain rex #rex #rex x reader #rex x you #star wars fic

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barelyaware · 3 years

Text

Chapter 3 of Purely Political is up ~

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Ao3

(rated M)

It's a little awkward between them for a few days. But soon enough, they're back to finishing eachothers’ sentences and laughing about everything and nothing.

Katara starts attending meetings about trade and international relations. She slips him notes when the council is being particularly stubborn and talks in his ear between discussions. She whispers to him the plans she's made for that day’s tea, new scrolls she’d like to share, or where she'd like to take a stroll after dinner.

Zuko finds himself happier than he can ever remember. Just her presence is enough to soothe his nerves.

The days go by quickly and the night of the roomshare finally arrives. While he's a little on edge, he knows that there isn't actually anything to be nervous about. After all, he knows nothing is going to happen between them.

Katara is already in bed by the time he enters his room and he makes sure to position himself on the very edge of the bed when he joins her. He's thankful he's had such a long day, otherwise there'd be no chance of him being able to sleep with her this close.

But it's not long before he's drifting off.

That night, Zuko dreams of Katara. He dreams of warm skim. He dreams of his hands pulling through luscious curls. He dreams of her mouth on his.. and then not.

When he wakes up, he notices two things at once. First, he's holding Katara, who's clad in nothing but sarashi wraps, against him in his arms. Second, he has a very stiff situation that's currently pressing against her backside.

Zuko is still groggy with sleep as his hips stutter forward against her on instinct before he can think to stop himself. He hears a high-pitched gasp in response and he can feel his blood run cold.

“Z-Zuko?”

Shit shit shit shit shit

He releases her at once and rolls as far from her as he can without toppling off the bed.

“Zuko, it's okay.” Her voice is full of compassion as she reaches for his arm, but he dodges her touch.

“No it's not! Nothing about this is okay!”

“Zuko, you need to calm down.”

“I DON'T NEED TO CALM DOWN! I NEED ..I need to leave.”

He can hear Katara start to say something, but he ignores her and storms out as quickly as he can.

...

Zuko doesn't mean to avoid her. At least, not at first. Meals have been awkward since that night. He doesn't know how to explain himself and Katara is still upset, based on her shortened sentences and clipped tones.

After a week of this tense atmosphere, he feels like he's losing his mind.

Then, a new set of tariffs is being introduced by the Earth kingdom ambassador and suddenly Zuko is drowning in paperwork. He takes dinner in his office that night so he can continue working.

The next day he tells himself that he’s taking his meals alone because there's still so much to do. After a couple days he finds it impossible to keep lying to himself about what he's doing. So instead, he tells himself that he’ll stop this childish evasion just as soon as he can find the words to tell her… to tell her what exactly?? I have feelings for you and I don't know how to stop them because I have no self-control. I long for you so ardently that I can feel my blood swimming in the veins of my heart everytime you hold my hand and I also cant stop thinking about pinning you against a wall and having my way with you..Fuck.

He only sees her in meetings and soon he finds himself appointing one of his advisors to take his place when he knows she'll be in attendance.

He's never felt like such a coward.

Without her near, time passes too fast and too slow. It’s now the afternoon before the night of their second roomshare, and he's banging his head against his desk trying to rattle together any coherent thoughts for how to apologize and explain himself . He's interrupted, though, by a few hard knocks on his office door.

He quickly fixes his hair and readjusts his robes to look somewhat presentable. “Enter.”

The doors swing open and there is Katara. Her eyes are red. It looks like she’s been crying and the sight makes his heart clench.

“Are you planning on avoiding me tonight too?”

“Katara, I'm not—”

“—don’t lie to me!”

“I'm sorry.” Zuko sighs, resigned. “I have been avoiding you and I’m sorry.”

“Do you not want me here?”

“No! I like having you here, I swear.” Zuko puts up his hands in surrender to her, trying to think of how to clear up this mess. “I’ve truly come to think of you as a friend.”

“A friend?” Her voice is dripping with emotions he cannot name.

“Was I being presumptuous? I’m sorry, I know we haven’t talked lately and I know it's my fault, I just—“

“I'm your wife, Zuko,” her voice is low and shaking slightly.

“I know that..”

“I'm your wife and we're meant to have a child and you don't even see me as a woman!”

Oh .

“Katara, we don't have to worry about that right now. No one is expecting that right away. The roomshare is part of the marriage contract, but it's really just tradition. We don't have to actually do anything.”

“You're being obtuse!” He doesn't like the way she folds her arms and looks at him like she knows something he doesn't.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he snaps.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing!” She’s starting to storm out and this is not what he wanted at all.

“Katara, wait! .. I do! I do think of you as a woman.” The words start to tumble out of him and as they do, they feel like they're burning a hole in his throat. “ Of course I do. Almost too much. I mean, wasn’t it obvious? I just.. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I didn't mean to touch you like that and I'm so sorry, I mean, I know we didn't marry for love or anything and I don't want to mess this up.” She pauses and turns around, her expression softening ever so slightly. “But the last thing I want is for you to think that I don't like you being here. I'll control myself so please, just..don't feel uncomfortable around me and don’t feel like I don’t want you with me.”

Katara pauses for a moment, processing his words. Then she smiles softly and reaches out to grasp his hand. “I'm not uncomfortable. Not at all.”

Agni , how he's missed her hand in his.

…

Zuko has already laid himself down when Katara enters from the bathroom and drops her embroidered blue silk robe to reveal her sarashi wraps. His eyes linger on the bare skin in between them before he forces himself to look away. As she comes closer, he can smell the scent of jasmine on her and he swallows roughly as she joins him in bed. Her face is glowing in the candle light and he can feel his heart pounding.

“Goodnight Zuko.”

“Goodnight, Katara.”

“Umm, Zuko.. could you take out the lights?”

“Oh! Of course.” He extinguishes the flames around the room with one smooth gesture, just quickly enough to hide the flush of his cheeks.

Somehow, the room feels quieter in the darkness.

He probably won't get any sleep tonight, he thinks to himself. He can hear the clock on the wall ticking, painfully slow in the dark silence. But he can hear her gentle breaths even as he tries to focus on the nothingness.

And then she shifts, turning to her side. When she does, her body leans back into his. Her back is now brushing against his chest and he can feel a spark light up his upper body. A familiar heat he knows he’ll have to focus on to keep under control.

Then she shifts again.

Her body is flush against his. The heat starts to overwhelm him and he doesn’t even know if she’s awake.. but no, she can’t be—

“Zuko..,” Katara sighs as she leans her head into his shoulder and the sound shoots through him like lightning. His whole body stiffens up.

“What—what are you doing, Katara?”

She turns her head to meet his eyes over her shoulder.

“Zuko? I thought you wanted—”

Zuko puts a hand on her shoulder, trying not to jolt at the electricity he feels through her skin.

“Katara, I thought I was clear. We don’t have to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

Katara turns around to face him fully, a new ferocity in her eyes. “I’m not the one who’s uncomfortable, so stop using me as an excuse just because you are!”

Zuko tries to breathe like normal but realizes he’s forgotten how and he feels his exhales come out weak and unsteady instead.

“..It’s not that I’m uncomfortable.”

Katara reaches out carefully and holds her hand to his chest.

“You’re not?” Katara breathes in and out and he can see her chest rise and fall in the moonlight. “Do you just..not want me?

“How could I not want you?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think about what they mean.

“I want you too.”

He pinches his arm beneath the sheets cause surely he’s — Ouch ...so he’s not dreaming.

He can feel his eyes glazing over as he starts to give into the fierce heat rushing through him. He wraps an arm around her and holds her back firmly to his front.

His lips find the shell of her ear and he whispers, “You’re sure?”

He can feel the shiver down her spine and relishes the husky undertone of her voice as she replies, “I’m positive.”

...

Zuko wakes up the next morning holding a naked Katara, her head nestled into his bare chest and his arm around her with his palm splayed on the smooth skin of her lower back.

He tries to take stock of how he’s feeling but his thoughts are jumbled.

The only thing he can settle on is how wonderful she feels beside him at that moment.

She wanted him.

He still can't believe it. But he has no idea what this means beyond that or, he thinks to himself somberly, if it actually means anything at all…

#zutara #zutara fic #my fic #zutara fanfic #katara #zuko #atla fanfic #atla #my posts

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hellchilde · 3 years

Text

The Thing With Feathers

wow it feels like ten million years since i posted a real fic

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: 陈情令 | The Untamed (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Sòng Lán | Sòng Zǐchēn/Xiǎo Xīngchén, Song Lan | Song Zichen & Xiao Xingchen, Xiao Xingchen & Xue Yang | Xue Chengmei

Characters: Xiao Xingchen, Song Lan | Song Zichen, Xue Yang | Xue Chengmei, Wen Qing

Additional Tags: Disabled Character, Blindness, Blind Xiǎo Xīngchén, Lack of Communication, Established Relationship, brief scene with blood, Recreational Drug Use, (but it's just weed), Alcohol, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Cock Warming, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Reincarnation Vibes

Words: 8970

Summary: Sometimes, all you need to throw your life into sharp focus it to stumble over a dying criminal in the street and let it consume your life.

Or: Xiao Xingchen finds Xue Yang injured alongside the road and the rhythm of the carefully constructed life he has with Song Lan no longer seems entirely stable.

It happens when he's walking home from class.

This time, the reason for Xiao Xingchen's loss of vision is not so noble or meaningful. Sometimes things happen for a reason, but sometimes things just happen and it's shit luck and you have to make due with the cards you're dealt. Sometimes you're too young when your vision deteriorates to nothing, but at least that means you don't have to see their pitying looks in the encroaching darkness. But sometimes, there is a good man who is there for you and can help you pick up the pieces when your life changes too quickly for you to deal with. That is a spot of good luck, because this man is someone you love and could picture a life with, even if it's not the life your parents had intended, or the life you set out to start back when the possibilities were endless. This time, Xiao Xingchen learns the lines of Song Lan's face with his fingertips before his sight is completely gone, and lets him reshape their lives to accommodate this unforeseen obstacle to what could have been a story of happily ever after.

With a white cane in hand and a determined set to his face, Xiao Xingchen walks the increasingly familiar path between home, subway, school, subway, home. Never did he plan on learning a new language in his late twenties, but that language is braille, and he refuses to be totally helpless in a world designed against him. Audiobooks help, but he can't listen to them while he walks, has to stay vigilant with his remaining senses or let himself be pummeled by people who won't see him. Shame the onus has to be on him. So it might be dark, but maybe it's not, when he trips over something and sprawls inelegantly, embarrassingly to the ground. His cheeks and ears are burning, he dropped his cane but finds it quickly. Stupid, stupid, he should have felt it.

He reaches back to feel what he tripped over, and feels fabric, flesh. He gropes his way up, increasingly concerned when the person doesn't move or make a sound, and he smells blood. Then finally he feels the blood, sticky and warm but cooling, and is worried he is feeling a corpse until he feels the chest rise and fall and hears the wheeze of breath. He snatches his hands away, worried, and scrambles for the phone in his pocket. It has a voice-to-text option, and that makes up for the lack of buttons. He's never had to dial 9-1-1, and he thinks his voice on the line to the operator is nervous and panicked. He can't even tell her for certain which street he's on, except that it's five blocks from the campus where he had class.

That must be enough. The EMT's arrive and take stock of the situation, and they reassure him, and when he asks them if he can ride in the ambulance, they agree without too much argument. The ride to the hospital is horrible, though, because he has no idea where he's going or how far away and every turn makes him motion sick. He still doesn't consider leaving behind the man he found. The emergency room is chaotic, but one of the EMT's spares the time to lead him out to the waiting room, and someone eventually gets him some water.

“He's in surgery, and then they'll be admitting him for observation,” one of the staff says to him. He's already given his report to the police, explained his innocent side. He's not a suspect for what appears to be a violent crime, but they took his contact information. Otherwise, Xiao Xingchen doesn't know much. “You don't know him, so … you can go home if you want. I'm sure he would appreciate the kindness of a stranger.”

“Were you able to find an emergency contact?” he asks. So far, he has been the only visitor present.

“No,” the staff says. “Don't worry, the police are looking into it.”

“I would prefer to stay with him,” Xiao Xingchen says, because he does always try to be noble, even without a sword in his hands.

The staff member, maybe a nurse or a receptionist but probably not a doctor, reaches out to touch his hands where they're clasped protectively around his cane. He makes a face because he wouldn't have accepted the touch if asked permission, but at least it's kind. “You're a good man,” the staff member says. “We'll help you to the waiting room near where he'll be resting.”

At some point, someone gives him a sandwich wrapped in plastic and a cup of coffee. The sandwich is ham and soggy, but he eats a little of it, and the coffee tastes old and watery. At some point, Xiao Xingchen sleeps in his chair. At some point, someone informs him that the man made it through surgery and is sleeping. At some point, Xiao Xingchen awakens to the feeling of his phone buzzing in his pocket.

“You didn't come home,” Song Lan's voice says, strained. “I was worried.”

“I'll be home soon,” Xiao Xingchen replies. “I have to make sure he made it through. I'm the one who found him, it's my responsibility.” He doesn't like the hospital, which is cold and antiseptic, and his chair isn't comfortable. He's still going to stay. He has to, even if he has to rely on the kindness of strangers to find the bathroom.

Song Lan sighs, too familiar with this side of him. “Call me to come pick you up,” he says quietly. “The hospital isn't far.”

Xiao Xingchen says goodbye and hangs up and only resents a little that the offer makes him feel helpless. He rubs at his eyes, which feel gritty and sore, and locates the remains of his soggy sandwich to at least get something in his stomach. He listens to the sounds of the hospital around him, beeping machines and ringing phones and quiet voices and people rushing by in non-skid shoes. He seems to be politely ignored, or perhaps forgotten, but he doesn't know how long it's supposed to take until he learns what happened.

At some point, another member of staff approaches him and sits beside him, clearing her throat softly. “I have some news, Mr. Xiao,” she says, accented Mandarin. He tries not to be insulted that they think his English isn't good. “The police have found out the identity of the man you found. Apparently … he's wanted for murder, and some other crimes. He works for some very bad men.”

Xiao Xingchen frowns, the information hard to take in. A criminal? He saved a criminal?

“You did a good thing,” she continues. “They'll bring him in to face justice. They wanted me to thank you.”

He manages to nod, trying not to reveal how shaken he is by the news. Why should it bother him so much? He doesn't know this man and has no connection to him other than finding him mostly dead on his walk to the subway. And yet he still feels betrayed. He did something good, he saved a man, and he turns out to be a criminal. It doesn't feel fair, but so little in his life feels fair.

His intentions have been to stay until the man wakes up and introduce himself, get to know him, but he no longer wants that. Instead he digs out his phone as soon as the nurse leaves and dials Song Lan's number to request a ride and pulls himself to his feet, legs feeling stiff from a long night spent in an uncomfortable chair. He still has that feeling that he should at least peek in on the man that he saved, but then, what's the use in that when he hasn't peeked at anything since his vision gave up on him?

It doesn't take very much help from others to make it down to the front of the building and out the doors – the elevator had braille, and the flow of traffic was relatively logical. He takes a breath of fresh air and stands by the curb to wait for Song Lan, his cane clasped in his hands. He hasn't bothered to ask the time, but by the temperature outside and the birds and the angle of the sun he can feel on his skin, he guesses it's midmorning. He's been out all night. No wonder Song Lan was worried.

He hears the car, and the door opens, and there's Song Lan's voice instructing him to get in. He reaches out to feel the edge of the car door and then climbs inside, settling gratefully into the familiar passenger seat to let Song Lan pull away from the hospital.

“Did he wake up?” Song Lan asks after a few moments of silence.

“I don't know,” Xiao Xingchen replies, collapsing his cane back down to make more room in the footwell for his legs. “They told me they found out who he was. A criminal wanted for murder, with mob connections. I didn't want to stay after that. I'm sure they'll arrest him.” He's still not sure how he feels about that. Bad, bad, like there's rocks in his stomach.

Song Lan thinks about that, his driving much smoother than that of the ambulance, mindful of not taking the turns too quickly. “Well, it's a good thing he's off the streets,” he says at last. “And good that you didn't let him die. It's best that he faces the consequences of what he's done.”

Xiao Xingchen nods and chews on his bottom lip, turning towards the window to feel the sun on his face. He's tired, more tired than before, and he thinks he'll sleep all day even if it'll totally throw off his sleep schedule. He feels depressed, for no reason he can put a finger on. How had he been the one to stumble on that man?

He takes Song Lan's help here and there to get inside, finding it reassuring to always reach out and find him there, and then they are safely behind a door and he finds the bed and collapses into it. When he wakes up again, Song Lan is stretched out beside him, breathing deep and even in sleep. Xiao Xingchen sighs, rolls over, and scoots unobtrusively out of bed to find the cigarettes he has hidden in a corner of the closet in case of emergency. He secludes himself on the fire escape to smoke in peace and rub his temple while he attempts to figure out what he's feeling.

He hasn't figured it out by the time he's finished one cigarette, and he has just enough self control to cut himself off after one, then retreats back inside to at least pretend to do some work.

The next time Xiao Xingchen hears about Xue Yang (which is the name of the man he saved, that murderer and mobster and … rapist, for all he knew) he is on the news. He emerges from their bedroom one morning in search of the coffee pot and some breakfast, and Song Lan actually has the TV on, a rare occurrence this early in the morning.

“... released from City Hospital this morning, in custody of the police,” the reporter says. “Xue Yang has known connections with alleged crime lord Wen Ruohan, and charges against him include murder, arson, assault, armed robbery, and fraud. Yang will be facing these charges in a court of law, following investigation into the listed charges, and is currently being kept in custody at an undisclosed location. Yang was found two weeks ago by a civilian on the street following a vicious stabbing, supposedly an attempt on his life carried out by a rival gang. The investigation into Yang's attack is still ongoing with no suspects.”

Xiao Xingchen feels his face fold into a frown, and he steps forward until he finds Song Lan, letting him press a bowl into his hands and starting to eat without really tasting.

“I guess he can walk now,” Song Lan comments with a dry voice.

“What does he look like?” It doesn't matter. Xiao Xingchen still wants to know, to satisfy some perverse curiosity about that evil man he happened to save from bleeding out on the street.

“Like a punk,” Song Lan says. “Like a smug little punk. Like he's going to get away with all of it.” He sets his bowl down and leans in to kiss Xingchen's cheek, running his hand over the other as if he can smooth out the frustration there. “Don't listen to too much of this. I'll be back tonight.” And then he leaves, the sound of his footsteps circling the kitchen island, pausing to pick up his coat and bag, pausing to slip on his shoes, and then the sound of the front door.

Xiao Xingchen takes a few more bites of the food – it's oatmeal, and it's alright, but it's not the way he would have prepared it – and the news is still on in the background, now on to some other story that he cares less about. He puts the bowl down and goes for coffee next, still half the pot left and soy creamer set out nearby. Thoughtful. Song Lan takes care of him.

He doesn't follow the direction. He gets his tablet and sets it up to search for this Wen Ruohan guy. He doesn't keep enough track of the news to have any idea about organized crime, but once his tablet understands what he's asking of it, it pulls up some articles. The text reader's voice renders the shocking events dry and bland, but at least it's something. It makes it sound like Wen Ruohan has fingers in pretty much every bit of crime in the city, maybe further out too. Not surprising that a criminal like Xue Yang would take up with him, do some of his dirty work. The top of the pack never lets that kind of thing touch him. That's why they can't make anything stick when it comes to bringing charges against him. The movies get that much right.

His next search is for Xue Yang himself. Most of what pulls up is the recent stuff about him being in the hospital, the stabbing, the murder charge they want him for this time. Few of the articles he finds come with image descriptions, so if there are pictures, he doesn't know what they are. He can access the public parts of Xue Yang's criminal record. People keep getting his name wrong, calling him “Mr. Yang.” He listens to the text reader list the dates and bare-bones facts of the previous charges. Some of them he had been arrested for, served time. Others seemed to disappear too quickly.

When Song Lan comes home, he is still on the couch, bent over his tablet, hair uncombed and falling over his shoulders and still wearing the loungewear he had put on that morning, which doesn't really count as clothes. He startles when he suddenly feels a hand on his shoulder, too wrapped up in what he had been listening to and thinking about to pay attention to the sound of the door opening or Song Lan saying his name.

“What are you … oh,” Song Lan says, and Xiao Xingchen feels the presence of him reading over his shoulder. “I see you didn't follow my advice.”

“I wanted to know more,” Xiao Xingchen says, feeling oddly defensive. He switches the tablet dark so Song Lan can't read over his shoulder. “Maybe he's a smug punk, but I saved him. I want to know what kind of man I saved.” Why he's weirdly obsessive about this, he still doesn't understand. Why he wants to know more of these dark details. It isn't like it gives him a thrill – well, not a good thrill, that would be kind of sick. It isn't like he's ever even interacted with Xue Yang. Except that he spent a good portion of one day covered in his blood and waiting for him to wake up at the hospital, and for some reason that made it feel like Xue Yang owed him something.

Song Lan sighs so it stirs the hairs on the top of his head, then pets them down again. Not the first time Xiao Xingchen has forgotten to comb his hair, especially on days he stays in. It's a worried kind of touch. “Will you please turn it off for a little while for dinner?”

Xiao Xingchen considers being contrary and refusing, but his stomach rumbles as a reminder that he only broke away long enough to eat some pickles and crackers in a lunch that required minimal effort but could hardly be counted as real food. He submits, then, pulling Song Lan's hand down from his head to kiss his inner wrist. He rises to his feet to follow Song Lan to the table, sits beside him and takes the prepared plate. Song Lan must have guessed some of his mood that morning, because a couple of the dishes are among his favorites from this particular restaurant.

That softens him, and he feels a little bad for considering being contrary or brushing off Song Lan's worry as being patronizing. Guilty, even. Doesn't Song Lan have enough to deal with without his boyfriend being bratty? It's the unfortunate truth of their circumstances that Song Lan shoulders more of the financial responsibilities, more of the housekeeping, more of the cooking. Xiao Xingchen does what he can, and he's gotten to be a pretty fair hand at cooking even without being able to read labels. It's still more for Song Lan.

Xiao Xingchen finishes up his pad see ew, wipes his mouth clean, and gets up to drape himself over Song Lan's lap. His chopsticks clatter lightly on the edge of the plate, and then his hands settle on Xiao Xingchen's waist. Xingchen feels a smile spread over his face, and his hands slide into Song Lan's hair, and he leans in for a kiss.

Being intimate like this has changed. As his sight faded, his other senses sharpened. In some ways it's useful, like being able to so distinctly smell the differences between spices, but his skin is now also more sensitive. Every touch, every brush of lips or teeth, has the potential to be overwhelming. It had caught him off-guard at first, the sheer electricity of it lighting him up more vividly than any lit room. It had been intense enough to scare him, and hence to scare Song Lan, and since then his touches had grown increasingly light and gentle, wary of startling him again. Or perhaps it is that Song Lan is no longer so certain of sharing himself with someone who can no longer see him. He has never been the most touchy-feely person, and Xiao Xingchen wouldn't blame him if the shine of their relationship had faded by now. Occupying that strange liminal space where he was part caretaker, part boyfriend – that can't be easy.

So how can Xiao Xingchen ask for that firmer touch, the way they could get so carried away with each other the way they used to when they were younger and more carefree? What right does he have to demand even more?

He still kisses Song Lan wild and reckless, soft lips and sharp teeth catching at Song Lan's mouth, kissing the flavor of Thai food off his lips. Song Lan sighs against him, hands slipping up under Xiao Xingchen's oversized cardigan and the t-shirt underneath, circling against his waist. There are calluses on his fingers, just rough enough to feel, and at least while they're kissing Song Lan isn't protesting. Xingchen squirms slightly, trying to get his hands to slide down, as if he could wiggle them down. They stay where they are, though Song Lan's grip tightens, starting to dig into his skin.

Xiao Xingchen breaks the kiss to pant softly against Song Lan's lips, only now realizing that he has one hand tangled up in his hair, the other pressed flat against his chest, feeling the steady thud of Song Lan's heart beneath his skin. His own heartbeat feels like it's echoing that beat, knocking up hopefully against his ribs. Maybe this time … maybe this time it would work out. Maybe this time he could somehow convey the kind of attention he was craving, and maybe Song Lan would be amenable to fucking his brains out.

Sure enough, Song Lan shifts his grip, finally down even if it is over his yoga pants, cups his ass and stands up with him clinging koala-style. Xiao Xingchen has no intention of letting go, pressing kisses into Song Lan's jaw, his throat, over his lips, wherever he can reach, his arms settling around Song Lan's strong shoulders and his back arching to press closer against him. This is better, this is closer to what he wants.

Song Lan deposits him on the bed, doesn't drop him, just setting him carefully on the mattress like fine china. But still he crawls over him, whispers kisses into his skin, teeth scraping lightly down his throat. The light touches make Xiao Xingchen gasp and writhe, his skin feeling so oversensitive that he can't even stand still wearing his clothes. Song Lan hovers over him, on his hands and knees, still barely touching him except for the brush of his lips.

“Zichen,” he breathes, needy, eager.

Song Lan pulls back, and Xingchen can just weather the feeling of being watched, breathing and trying not to feel self-conscious beneath the weight of Song Lan's gaze. His fingers are still in Song Lan's hair, twisting and trying to pull him back down. He bears it for a few moments, then stretches up to try and find his lips.

But before he can make it, Song Lan's hand takes his own, unpeeling his fingers from his hair and kissing his palm before pressing his hand to Xingchen's chest and sitting up. The gesture has an air of finality to it, and Xiao Xingchen can't help it, he covers his face with his hands. It's like being blind has erased any ability he had to control his expression, and he can only imagine what his face is doing right now, because it certainly feels all twisted up and hurt and mad and frustrated.

“I'm sorry,” Song Lan says, because he isn't good at reading people but he isn't blind, and he sounds regretful. “I'm sorry, it just wasn't...”

Xiao Xingchen rolls away, taking a moment, then sits up, his back facing Song Lan. “It's fine,” he says, as though merely saying the words will make it so, and he knows his voice sounds too tight. “It's fine,” he repeats. He wishes there was a switch in his body that he could just turn off, rather than having to sit with the coiling warmth still lingering in his stomach, refusing to dissipate just because Song Lan is no longer touching him.

He feels Song Lan touch his hair lightly, then the shift of the mattress as he stands up. The ensuite shower turns on shortly after, and entertains the vindictive thought of forcing his way in and pushing Song Lan up on the shower wall and just...

He doesn't know what. Song Lan had already made his “no” very clear, and Xiao Xingchen has no intention of crossing that particular boundary. He knows there wouldn't be any coming back from that. Taking care of himself feels equally out of the question. It's not what he craves, and doing it alone feels empty.

He goes to clean up after their dinner, finding some comfort in scrubbing off the plates and plunging his hands in the soapy water. It doesn't perfectly redirect his energy, but it takes the edge off. Then he steps out to the fire escape again, retreats, cowardice. The cold, damp wind slaps him in the face, and he takes a lungful of the foggy air, pressing his back into the wrought iron to feel it dig in.

He should tell Song Lan. There are things he should say, explanations, verbalizing his desire and upset and love and frustration. How it feels to be treated as an invalid, even when Song Lan does it so soft and gentle. Song Lan will tell his part too, the part where his desire can't always keep up with Xingchen's and that particular quirk where touching makes his skin crawl, where he treasures Xingchen and wants to protect him by wrapping him up tight in bubble wrap, kept and sweet and placed high on a shelf never to be touched.

He kicks the fire escape, just to make himself feel a little better, and wedges himself in. He should have brought his tablet. He could have done more research. Without it, he just listens to the sounds of the city at night, traffic and ambulances, someone singing, a baby crying in the distance. He lets it all flow and melt around him, lets his body relax into becoming the ambient temperature of the fog, cold and misty and amorphous.

By the time Xiao Xingchen retreats back inside, his thoughts are as cool and calm as the air outside. He slips into bed, fitting into the space behind Song Lan, slotting in, his knees in the crook behind Song Lan's knees, his cold nose tucked against the back of his neck. Song Lan smells clean, and Xingchen feels sorry for earlier, silly for letting himself get carried away. He's happy here. He is happy.

That thought circles his brain as he drifts off to sleep.

Time passes. Xiao Xingchen dials back his research to what he thinks is a normal amount of interest. There is always news to follow – Xue Yang seems to be at the same time the media's darling and their favorite villain. The tabloids keep commenting on how he looks, calling him angelic and sweet-faced while at the same time condemning him for what seemed like an ever-increasing number of crimes. Song Lan quickly learns to simply leave him to it, and in return Xingchen can moderate himself so he doesn't lose entire days to sitting on the couch and burying himself in news and police reports.

Life is pretty much normal. There's a routine, a rhythm, comfortable and familiar. Xiao Xingchen further adjusts to life in a world that isn't built to accommodate him, his steps ever more certain on his path. He can visualize his future stretching before him, and none of it looks bad. No surprises, no tragedy. He figures losing his sight is bad enough to fulfill the quota for drama for this lifetime.

Xiao Xingchen listens to the trial when it starts. From what he can tell, this is apparently very fast, but he doesn't know enough about the American justice system to confirm that. There's plenty of media coverage on it, but despite their efforts to highlight the most exciting parts, the trial itself seems to be fairly dull, nothing like the TV shows. That doesn't decrease Xiao Xingchen's interest, but it does help to prevent him from focusing too much on it.

Song Lan has a launch party for work. Xiao Xingchen doesn't know enough about computers to know what it's really for, some piece of software or another, something Song Lan has been working on for months. It's a cause for celebration, and while Xingchen doesn't relish the need to dress up, he lets Song Lan help him with it. Most of his wardrobe is in interchangeable shades of neutral, white and black and gray – he made sure of that before his sight was gone. But it's better to be safe than sorry and accidentally choose something inappropriate or clashing. Anyway, he knows Song Lan quietly enjoys dressing him, making sure he looks nice. It suits the same part of his personality that's so good at the nitty-gritty details of code, a fierce, strict streak of perfectionism.

Xiao Xingchen has no doubt that they make a sharp picture when they arrive. He left his cane at home, since it would be too cumbersome in a party setting, and thus holds Song Lan's arm to navigate their way inside. It's a club, it smells like a club, alcohol and bodies and several layers of perfume and cologne, and there's music playing with a low bassline that reverberates in his ribcage. It's probably dark, which means that people will be asking all night long why he's wearing his dark tinted glasses. Hopefully sticking close against Song Lan's side will decrease the need to explain.

Parties like this are always a little awkward. Xingchen is friendly and willing, but he doesn't speak the same language as these technology prodigies. Maybe he could have wandered and found other partners of Song Lan's coworkers, but he was always wary of losing track of Song Lan in an unfamiliar place. And Song Lan is good, he's considerate, but sometimes he gets so wrapped up in whatever conversation he gets involved in that Xingchen falls by the wayside despite being attached to his arm.

It's still fun and interesting to be out of the apartment, chatting with people, picking canapes off the trays, accepting the drink that Song Lan passes to him. It's one of the fruity ones that he likes, but strong enough that he can taste the alcohol under the juice. He's playing the role of arm candy tonight, but he lets it be fun, lets himself be the sweet and sparkly juxtaposition to Song Lan's dry, serious demeanor. Song Lan's coworkers forgive him easily when he doesn't know the more technical details and humor him by talking about other, more accessible topics.

Inevitably, though, they turn back to talking shop, and Xingchen tries to follow but it all starts to sound like gibberish. He sighs and ceases to pay much attention to the conversation since they're not really paying attention to him, and he sips his drink, wishing the music were better. Though, of course, the inevitable result of sipping a drink all evening is that he has to use the bathroom. Xingchen realizes it with some dismay. There's no good way to bring it up without sounding like a complaining toddler, but he doesn't even know which way to point himself to find it if he were to just wander off. So he just … waits. Song Lan will have to go eventually as well.

Except the situation is steadily growing towards urgent, and Song Lan shows no indication of breaking away from his conversation, focused the way he can get sometime. Xiao Xingchen starts to fidget anxiously, hoping to somehow telepathically convey what he needs. Unfortunately, he doesn't magically develop psychic powers. He's inches from giving in to the embarrassment of asking to be escorted to the bathroom when he feels another hand on his free arm.

“Hi,” a female voice says, one that he doesn't recognize. “Song Lan, do you mind if I borrow him for a minute?”

Xiao Xingchen could curse, and desperately hopes that Song Lan makes up an excuse to keep him from being pulled to another conversation with strangers. He can't focus on being friendly when his body is screaming at him. He feels Song Lan look up in surprise, finally breaking from his own conversation.

“Oh, right, of course,” he says, gently taking Xingchen's hand from his arm to pass him over to the woman. “Xingchen, this is Wen Qing. She's a doctor and a friend.”

“Alright,” Xingchen says, voice cracking, shooting Song Lan what he hopes is a desperate look before Wen Qing tugs him away. He's panicking, he thinks he might die, he wants the earth to swallow him up. He clears his throat and touches Wen Qing's hand, her pace never slowing. “I'm sorry, I'm terribly sorry, but...”

Before he can finish, she pulls him through a doorway. Their footsteps turn echo-y, and he feels a glimmer of hope. She continues pulling, then places his hand on what feels like the handle of a urinal. He makes a sound, desperate still, and feels for the edges of the porcelain before letting go of her entirely so he can relieve himself.

“You looked like you were suffering over there,” she says, only far enough away to give him the space he needs to get the job done. “I know how Song Lan can get too intense in his conversations and forget the world around him.”

“Thank you,” he breathes, shooting a small smile in the direction of her voice. “Unfamiliar places are always a little difficult, especially without my cane. I hope it wasn't too obvious.”

“Not to the tech nerds,” she says, putting her hand on his shoulder to help lead him over to the sinks after he gets his slacks fastened up. “They might be geniuses, but they're oblivious to any kind of subtlety. Feeling better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Xiao Xingchen says again, washing his hands and then relaxing a hip against the sink. He isn't in a rush to go back out to the music he doesn't like. “So you're a doctor?”

“Cardiac surgeon,” Wen Qing clarifies. “I normally don't get to see below the belt. But don't worry, I'll remain professional.” It sounds like she's smiling too. Xingchen isn't surprised to find that she's friends with Song Lan, with that dry kind of humor.

“I wasn't too worried about it,” Xingchen says. “Do you come to a lot of these things?”

“A few. I was dating one of them for a while, made some friends. They keep inviting me, and the appetizers are good, and every once in a while I get to help somebody's poor boyfriend find the bathroom.” He feels her pull his jacket straight, adjusting his collar slightly. “So. Been together long?”

“Since college,” Xingchen tells her. Maybe she isn't very close with Song Lan, to have not heard the story before. “Actually, we met in the airport when I arrived in America. I was so lost and overwhelmed, and he stepped in to help me find my way in a new country and a big city. It was just a happy coincidence that we ended up going to the same school while he was getting his graduate degree. And then from there, it's basically just history.”

Wen Qing laughs and touches his shoulder again. “Somehow, I doubt it's 'just history,' but we can leave it at that, if you want,” she says. “That's very sweet. I'm just glad you look as lost by all their talk as I am. Do you smoke?”

“Ah...” He doesn't want to lie, but also isn't sure about how likely it is his answer would get back around to Song Lan.

“Doesn't matter,” she says quickly, taking his arm again to lead him out. “Come hang out with the wives. We're all the wives, regardless of gender.”

Together, they wind through the party, past snippets of conversation and a speaker rolling out bassline in waves. Wen Qing pulls him out of a door, and the sound of music is dampened. A comforting cloud of cigarette smoke wafts around them, and there's a soft hum of conversation.

“Hey, wives,” Wen Qing crows. “I bring fresh blood.”

“One of us,” someone chants, and Xiao Xingchen grins and gives an irreverent salute.

The wives are apparently the company he was craving. He no longer has to pretend to understand or be interested in the technobabble, and instead he can pluck crackers smothered in cream cheese and prosciutto off of the platter that they stole from the catering staff and sip from the bottle of wine that they had also stolen. He can listen to one of them chatter about a thesis project on Emily Dickinson and steal drags from cigarettes and blunts passed to him. It's closer to the way he and Song Lan operated in college, parting for their own friend groups before drifting back together, and the wives are closer to the kind of people he would choose for friends, free to be bohemian while their significant others take advantage of the tech boom and bring home the bacon.

Xiao Xingchen hasn't bothered to check the time on his phone, but it feels late by the quality of the air and the conversation. They've stopped talking about anything of substance, and he's leaning on Wen Qing's shoulder. He's a little drunk and a little high and feeling soft and easy. Song Lan's touch doesn't even startle him when it comes to rest on his shoulder.

“Let's go home,” he suggests in a low murmur, and Xingchen peels himself up. The wives moan and complain, and someone reaches for him, fingers catching on the edge of his jacket with a soft cry of, “Chen-chen, don't leave us!”

Xiao Xingchen gives his goodbyes and makes his promises to stay in touch – his phone is full of their phone numbers. He leans on Song Lan to make their way out and down to meet their car. They slide into the back seat, and their hands find each other on the seat, fingers folding together in the most intimate touch Song Lan would allow in public.

“Time's it?” Xiao Xingchen asks, sleepy and smiley and soft.

“Close to one,” Song Lan replies. He sounds a little drunk too, and his thumb runs over the space between Xingchen's thumb and index finger, fitting into the hollow. “Did you have fun?”

“Mmm,” he hums and smiles more. “They were nice. Wen Qing was helpful, and you know how useless I am when you talk shop.”

“I should have known you'd get along with them. I should have introduced you earlier. I'm sorry you were bored with me.” He snorts softly. “Chen-chen.”

Xiao Xingchen's giggle is significantly less dignified, but at least it's not too loud out of consideration for their poor driver. “You know I can't help if they think I'm cute!”

Song Lan doesn't protest, but he doesn't have to. They're back home, and he thanks the driver, and comes around to help Xingchen out of the car and back into their building. They're quiet due to the late hour, so the sound of the keys feels like it echoes in the still night air. Xiao Xingchen lets himself inside with a sigh of relief and kicks his shoes off, and opens his mouth to suggest they go to bed only to have Song Lan's lips and teeth and tongue providing an effective gag.

Song Lan backs him against the wall in the entryway, and his hands span Xingchen's waist, broad and solid. Xingchen can taste the alcohol in his breath, but he probably tastes the same. His head spins, his stomach flips, feeling simultaneously over- and under-fed on those canapes, but thrilled with possibility. The kiss is rough, with teeth, not like delicate good morning kisses or gentle good night ones that he's gotten used to. This kiss demands, and expects him to answer – and so he does.

Xiao Xingchen moans into it and grips back at Song Lan's shirt, returning the kiss with equal fervor. Sleep is no longer on his mind. Instead, he has to get his hands on Song Lan's skin or he might just evaporate. He tugs until he can get Song Lan's shirt out of his slacks and he can slide his hands underneath, flat against the skin of his stomach. His skin is warm, solid, and he can feel the frantic rate of his breathing beneath his touch. It feels like a dream, like it's so much that it can't be real, and at the same time it's so real, so perfect, everything he wants.

It feels like Song Lan needs this as badly as he does. With hands tight around Xingchen's arms he pulls him away from the wall, further into the apartment. Xiao Xingchen assumes they'll go to the bedroom, to the bed as usual, but he finds himself bent forward over the couch instead, the familiar fabric under his fingers and the back digging into his stomach. Song Lan presses against him, rubs against his ass, pushes his shirt up and runs his hands over his back. Xiao Xingchen lets out a shaky breath and pushes back against him, just as demanding and desperate.

Finally, finally Song Lan reaches around to get his slacks unfastened, pushes at them impatiently, and locates the zipper to shove it down. Xiao Xingchen squirms to help get them down his legs and winds up with them stuck around his knees, but at least it's some relief. Song Lan seems to think that's enough; his fingers grip into the flesh of Xingchen's ass, squeezing and massaging and spreading. He pants into the couch cushions, his breath coming back hot and wet against his cheeks and the sensitive tip of his cock bumping up against the back of the couch in a way that isn't altogether pleasant but at least it is some sensation. He's hard, he needs it, his skin feels like it's sparking with heat at every brush of Song Lan's fingers.

He remembers with some despair that they don't have any lube in the living room and is just about ready to straighten up, drag Song Lan back to the bedroom so they can do it properly. Then he hears something tear and feels slick fingers slide against his ass. Song Lan came prepared. Such a good, thoughtful boyfriend, even if it is frankly out of character for him to anticipate sex like this. When it happens, if it happens, there's so much delicate kissing and foreplay and it's consistently in the bed or the shower where they're prepared. But he can't even speculate on it, Song Lan's fingers feel too good, pushing the lube inside him fast, impatient. He wants to spread his legs but he's trapped by his slacks and can only pant helplessly against the couch cushions.

Thoughtfully, Song Lan's clean hand reaches down to brush his hair out of his face, tracing the line of his jaw. The fingers inside him spread once more, then slide out, and that's all the warning he really gets before he feels Song Lan's cock press steady and inexorable inside him.

The sound he lets out would be embarrassing under any other circumstance, low and broken and wet. It's been long enough that he almost can't handle the stretch. It's almost too much and makes him choke. His knees feel weak. His spit is making a wet spot on the couch cushions. Song Lan still doesn't stop, not until his hips are pressed flush against Xingchen's ass. His breath is coming heavy now, ragged. He's thoughtful again when he pauses to let then both get used to it, his hands resting on Xingchen's hips, one of them tacky with drying lube, and he pets soothingly at one hipbone like Xingchen is a skittish horse.

Like that, Xiao Xingchen remembers that he's supposed to breathe, and he takes a deep, shaking breath before letting it out loudly, and he can feel it relax down his spine. Song Lan pets him again, approvingly, then eases out of him only to slam back inside. Xiao Xingchen chokes on another cry, and that seems to encourage him, the pace rough and quick.

Time ceases to exist. Xingchen can't see, obviously, but the pleasure feels like starbursts of color in his mind. The apartment is very quiet, except for the wet slap of skin and too much lube (Song Lan was always careful like that) and their labored breathing, punctuated with moans and whimpers punched out of Xingchen's throat. It is so rough, he knows he is going to be sore, aching and remembering this for days. But it's so good too, Song Lan's cock stretching him and hollowing him out, making a space inside him. He's so hard it hurts, and his own cock is leaking. Song Lan's hand reaches down to cup it protectively, preventing it from smearing over the back of the couch. The pressure is maddening without friction to go with it, and Xingchen sobs out his pleasure, trembling and pushing back on him.

When he cums it's a punch to the gut, fingers white-knuckled against the couch cushions and a cry ripping out of his throat. His heart feels like it's hammering so hard that all he can hear for a few moments is the whoosh-whoosh of his heartbeat. But he realizes quickly that Song Lan has felt it. He drapes himself over Xingchen's back, fucking him hard and fast, racing towards the end. It must crash into him too, because he grunts and transforms into a heavy, shuddering weight, pressing him into the couch, his cock twitching inside.

Time still doesn't really exist. They might stay draped over that couch for hours, for all Xingchen can tell. His ass is sore, he can barely breathe, he's going to have bruises where the couch is digging into his midsection, and he feels like he hasn't been this happy in months. It's not just the sex – though, to be fair, the sex is amazing and a big part of it. It's what comes with the sex. He feels connected to Song Lan like this, special, needed. And then, taken care of, because eventually Song Lan straightens up and helps him up, drops down to help him work off his shoes and slacks so they can walk back to the bedroom. His arm supports Xingchen around the waist because he's for surewalking with a limp right now. He helps him get his shirt off and brushes his hair back over his shoulder and kisses his cheek, so sweet.

Xiao Xingchen makes to go to the bathroom. He still smells like smoke and wine and sex, and Song Lan won't want that in their bed. But before he can pull away, Song Lan pulls him back in close, nuzzles his hair and kisses him again in a way that makes his heart feel soft and warm, honey in his chest. He lets Song Lan lead him to bed, even though he has the distinct sensation of cum slowly starting to leak out of his body.

“Here, keep it in,” Song Lan rumbles low, curling up behind him and pressing his fingers into Xingchen, pressing it back inside. Xingchen sucks in a breath, his body feeling oversensitive and raw but good. It's not too much. Then there are some sounds behind him, and then he feels Song Lan's cock press into him again. That is almost too much, and he makes a small sound, not sure if he could handle a second round.

But it's not to fuck him. Song Lan settles, their bodies pressed close, fitting perfectly. Song Lan's nose presses into his shoulder, and he kisses there a few times. Without too much preamble, they fall asleep.

The next morning, of course, they are stuck together. It's a little disgusting, but there isn't a thing that Xiao Xingchen would have changed about the night before. He stirs a little, then makes a sound of complaint, his body protesting the movement from the waist down. Song Lan wakes up next, and Xingchen can practically hear his grimace when he remembers the position they were stuck in.

He's as careful as he can manage when he pulls away from Xingchen's body, pressing a gentle hand to his arm to indicate he should stay still. There are some bathroom sounds, water running, and then Song Lan returns with a warm, wet washcloth to gently wipe him clean. Xingchen has to bite his knuckle; his ass feels raw, sore and swollen. He can feel precisely how hard they went. He still doesn't regret a moment.

Song Lan treats him soft and sweet that morning, brings him breakfast in bed and combs his hair. They're both quiet, Xingchen because he's hesitant to say anything that will break the spell, and Song Lan because he seems exhausted from socializing so much the day before. Sometimes it's harder than others. Then to recuperate, he's quieter than usual, minimizing his interactions, sometimes even with Xingchen himself. Xingchen doesn't take it personally, and usually uses the time to indulge his own inner introvert and work on his own projects.

Nothing wrong with that, except that they continue to not talk about it. Xingchen can't make the shape of his desire into words, the way Song Lan's touch lights him up, the way he craves the desperate way they came together after the launch party. Song Lan's touches feel apologetic, half guilty, wary of pushing too far, like he's afraid of his own attraction. They haven't had to navigate anything like this before, where before they were coasting on instinct and now the waters feel choppy.

Xiao Xingchen finds it a welcome distraction to turn to the trial. There's no shortage of material – Xue Yang continues to be the media's darling or scapegoat by turns, sometimes both in the same article. He figures out how to find the best news channel to listen to what he can, certain amounts of testimony from witnesses and arguments from lawyers. He thinks its a small blessing that he himself was such a useless witness when it came to the stabbing incident, so he hasn't been called to court. In any case, that's how he first hears Xue Yang's voice, surprisingly young, always irreverent and teasing, even when he's supposed to be taking the court show seriously.

And it really does seem like a show. The prosecution is fighting as best they can, but the defense is barely working at all, their questions lazy and confident at the same time. The judge doesn't seem in any kind of hurry to help the prosecution when the defense steps out of line. Everything is played to the media like a huge circus, and everyone is marching towards a foregone conclusion.

Then, as quickly as it started, it's over. The media coverage disappears overnight. It's not old enough to be old news, but that's how it's treated. Xiao Xingchen has to search and search to find anything about the conclusion, and all he can find is basically a footnote stating that a settlement was reached, which sounds frankly preposterous. The charges against Xue Yang included murder! He hadn't thought it was possible that a settlement could be found against a potential murderer, especially when the prosecution had brought witnesses and evidence galore. It feels profoundly unfair, a sincere lack of justice, and he wonders how natural-born Americans feel about their supposed “justice system.”

His dissatisfaction with the finale of the trial makes it hard to put it all behind him. He struggles with sleeping and focusing on his projects and his studies, he's snappish and short-tempered and withdrawn from Song Lan. Even if Song Lan asked what is troubling him, he has no confidence that he could articulate it to any understandable degree. So Song Lan can't help, and Xiao Xingchen doesn't know how to help himself.

It's on a random day when Xingchen hears a knock on the door. That's unusual – Song Lan left for work, but he would have texted if he forgot his keys, and Xingchen doesn't think they're expecting any deliveries. He debates just leaving it, pretending he's not home, but the knock comes again, more insistent.

Heaving a big sigh, he picks himself up from where he had been lounging, attempting to read and feel somewhat productive but mostly just feeling listless. It crosses his mind that Song Lan might have gotten it in his head to do some kind of gesture, getting him flowers or something – not that flowers aren't thoughtful, but he thinks the gesture is now lost on him since he can't see them. He doesn't think he brushed his hair this morning, but this delivery man will just have to tolerate him looking a little messy. He finds the door and opens it, trying to put a pleasant expression on his face.

“Hello, can I help you?” he asks, and waits for a response.

None comes. He waits a few moments, then frowns. Was something dropped off? He considers bending to check for a box, but there's a feeling rising, a prickling feeling on the back of his neck that tells him he's being watched. But if there's someone there, why aren't they speaking? Why aren't they telling him why they're there? Belatedly, he realizes this might be some kind of burglar who could take advantage of him. He doesn't have a weapon, but there's an umbrella in the stand next to the door and knives in the kitchen, and though it's been years he still has his martial arts training. How much that will help, he doesn't know, he hasn't even attempted to fight anyone even to spar since he lost his sight, and he doesn't think running through the exercises and stretches in the morning will really help if someone actually attacks him.

Whoever is at the door still hasn't spoken, and it's making his nerves go haywire, his heart pounding even though he hasn't even moved. Maybe he's being stupid and getting freaked out over nothing. Maybe there's no one even there, and there's no reason for his skin to feel nervous cold/hot. “Hello?” he says again, this time significantly less confident, his voice giving out halfway through.

There's another few moments of silence, then a wild cackle, not an attractive laugh at all. It feels familiar, somehow, though it's not until Xue Yang speaks that Xiao Xingchen recognizes him.

“Wow. I guess you're real, huh?”

#xiao xingchen #songxiao #song lan #the untamed #mdzs #fanfic #my fanfiction #cql

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katedrakeohd · 3 years

Text

Once Upon a Merry Birthday - Part Three

[Masterlist]

Rated PG : sexual themes, suggestive language.

Word count: 3730

Synopsis: Drake and Kate's roleplay "first date" scenario continues, taking foreplay to another level.

This isn't a stand-alone story, you need to read parts one and two to understand the context.

This started out as a story for the 12 days of fictmas, but I didn't finish it all in time. And since there's a Part Four coming too... we won't be done with this until January.

Writer tags: : @texaskitten30 @emichelle @leelee10898 @zaffrenotes @alj4890 @burnsoslow @kat-tia801 @darley1101 @msjr0119 @annekebbphotography @god-save-the-keen @plumeriavibes

@ofpixelsandscribbles @camillemontespan @ao719 @cocomaxley @cordoniansgonewild @twinkleallnight @the-soot-sprite @cordoniantrash @axwalker @innerpostmentality @lucy-268 @janezillow

Reader tags:: @mom2000aggie @sfb123 @bbrandy2002 @debramcg1106 @desireepow-1986 @speedyoperarascalparty @hopefulmoonobject @fluffyfirewhiskey @jovialyouthmusic @sirbeepsalot

Drake places his hands on the back of Kate's chair. The heat from his body radiated across her shoulder blades, and his warm breath smelled of whiskey as he bent down to ask, "Can I have my seat back now?"

Kate shivers as his breath caresses her skin. He turns her chair and then offers her his hand to help her up. "Such a gentleman."

"Only in public," he murmurs as he bows to kiss her knuckles.

"We haven't been formally introduced. My name is Drake Walker."

"Walker, like the whiskey?," Kate replies.

"No, Drake, like the dragon."

Kate pulls her hand back out of his grasp, the warmth of his fingers was like a delicious fire that blazed up her arm. "Kate Darling."

"Darling, such an endearing sort of name. I can't place your accent."

"I'm from New York."

Drake sits down and then gestures to the seat beside him, "Please sit with me Kate."

Kate sits down, sliding her wine glass over to herself. Amanda walks over, smiling at them both but addressing Drake first, "Would you like something else to drink?"

Drake slides Preston's diluted Coke back across the counter, "Can I get a new one of these?"

Amanda nods, pouring it out and drawing new soda from the fountain and a fresh scoop of ice.

Kate looks Drake up and down, appreciating how nice he looked all in black. "I thought I smelled whiskey on your breath earlier. Not having another?"

Drake shakes his head and sips at his Coke, "I haven't had dinner yet, so I need to pace myself."

Kate swirls the wine around in her glass, biting at her bottom lip. "Have dinner with me."

Drake places his drink down, raising his eyebrows, "Is that an invitation or a request?"

"It's my Birthday and I don't want to eat alone."

Drake nods, "Happy Birthday, then. I would be honoured to have dinner with you."

Drake signals to Amanda, "The lovely Kate has invited me to have dinner with her, could you bring what's left of that bottle of Merlot to our table?"

"Only if you settle your drink tab first."

Drake leans to the side to pull out his wallet, "Certainly."

He leans over and whispers to Kate, "Go find us a table, and I'll be right over."

Kate nods, leaning in to cup his face in her hands and kiss him softly on the lips. "Don't be long."

Drake groans softly at the desire in her eyes, wondering how much longer this first date roleplay was going to continue. He leans back reluctantly, and turns to hand Amanda his credit card. Kate slides out of her seat and gives him a long lingering look before walking into the dining room.

Amanda grins at him as she hands his card back, "You two are clearly hot for each other, so why all the polite pleasantries? Get your freak on already."

Drake looks over to the booth in the far corner of the restaurant that Kate was sliding into, "Not yet, we need more foreplay."

A waiter approaches Kate's table with a pair of menus tucked under his arm, Drake takes another long swallow of his Coke and then gets up out of his seat. Amanda places two clean wine glasses on the bar next to the bottle. When the waiter leaves, Kate makes eye contact with Amanda and nods,

"You're all set, go get her tiger."

Drake flashes Amanda a smirk and then picks up the bottle and glasses, cradling the stems between his fingers, "Is that your way of wishing me luck?"

Amanda picks up his unfinished Coke and dumps it out, laughing quietly, "Like you need it. With the way she's looking at you over the top of her menu, I'd say you're already a lucky man."

Drake nods with a smile, turning away from the bar, "Thank-you, Amanda. You certainly have a way with words. Have a pleasant evening, and if I don't see you again before I leave, a Merry Christmas too."

"You too, sir."

Making his way over to Kate, Drake couldn't help but appreciate how elegant she looked. With her dark hair cascading over her bare shoulders in waves, long curled lashes and ruby red full lips, Kate could have been a star from an old Hollywood movie. When she glances up from the menu and meets his gaze with a smile, his heart skips and he can't help but feel a wave of desire wash over him.

Arriving at the table, he shows her the bottle of wine and carefully sets down a wine glass in front of her. She nods and he pours her some, before sliding into the seat across from her. He pours wine for himself, and then sets the bottle aside. "So, Kate Darling, what brings you all the way to Cordonia from New York?"

Kate gives him a little smile, a twinkle in her eye as she leans forward in her seat to fold her arms on the table. "Now, that's an interesting story. You probably wouldn't believe me."

Drake tried to ignore the way her breasts threatened to spill out of her dress, he quickly diverted his eyes to her face. "Try me."

"Do you believe in fairytales Drake?"

Apart from the fact that I pretty much live in one? Drake shrugs, picking up his glass of wine. "That depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Whether or not there's a happy ending."

"Would you believe I came here following a handsome Prince?"

Drake takes a sip of his wine, grimacing at the bitter taste and then swallows. "A Prince, huh? And how did that turn out? Certainly the guy you came in with wasn't acting very noble."

Kate toys with the stem of her glass, tracing it with her fingers. "It turned out that the Prince wasn't my type."

"I see, and what kind of man is your type?"

Picking up her glass of wine and settling back in her seat, she looks Drake over. With his large callused hands, his broad chest and shoulders and the hint of black hair peeking out of the open collar of his shirt; he was almost too masculine for his black dress shirt and jacket, if that was possible for someone so handsome. When she meets his dark eyes again she answers, "Someone more humble, rough around the edges, and less refined. The unsung, mysterious hero kind of guy."

"So the knight in shining armor that slays dragons, and then whisks away the fair maiden on his galloping horse." Drake answers with a smirk.

Kate grins back, "Something like that."

Drake takes another swallow of wine, feeling the effects of the alcohol, but missing the burning sensation of his whiskey.

Kate giggles at him, "You're not a wine drinker are you?"

Drake smirks back at her and sets down his glass, "Is it that obvious?"

"You throw it back as if you're expecting some sort of satisfaction out of it. Like the smokey burn of your whiskey. But you're doing it wrong."

"Oh? Enlighten me then."

"Whiskey is all fire, smoke and a punch in the throat. Whether you sip it or not it goes down the same. Wine is more earthy and rounded in flavour. You hold it in your mouth and feel it with more than your tongue. Let your taste buds and palate bathe in it until you experience the notes from the fruit it came from, and appreciate the sundrenched vines that gave it life."

Drake raises his eyebrows, "You make wine sound like poetry."

"A great wine is."

Kate takes another sip of her wine, closing her eyes and savoring it for a moment before swallowing. She moans quietly with pleasure as she discerns the specific flavors. Drake swallows too, feeling a different kind of thirst. To Drake the wine just tasted like bitter grape juice, but after hearing Kate describe how she used her whole mouth to experience it, he thought about what else she's had her whole mouth wrapped around. He suddenly felt hot all over, and shifted in his seat as his pants felt tighter too. He clears his throat, trying to swallow the lump threatening to make his voice come out like a squeak.

"So Kate, describe what it tastes like to you."

Kate licks at her bottom lip and then smiles, "Well, to me I taste black cherry, with notes of cocoa and plum."

Drake looks doubtful, "Really? Shouldn't there be a grape in there somewhere?"

Kate shrugs, opening up her menu. "If I wanted the taste of grape I'd just order grape juice."

"It would definitely taste sweeter. If I was looking to taste hints of chocolate and cherries with my drink, I'd ask for some chocolate covered cherries with a side of brandy."

Kate giggles, "For someone who enjoys such a strong drink you certainly have a sweet tooth."

Drake chuckles, "Hey, I like my food and I'm no stranger to dessert. A guy can't live off of whiskey alone."

After opening up his own menu, Drake wonders what meal would go best with the wine. He needed something to distract him from the way Kate looked in her dress. He couldn't see what she'd been so self conscious about. He'd argue with anyone who refused to believe she'd had a baby just a few months ago.

Kate looks up to see Drake staring at her instead of looking at his menu.

"What are you hungry for, Drake? And I'm talking about food."

Averting his eyes down to his menu, he smiles. "Well can you blame me? You're easily the most beautiful woman in the room. Don't forget that you already stoked the fire with that kiss you gave me."

Kate glances around the room. Apart from Amanda the bartender, and an older woman sitting with an elderly man, she was the only other woman in the room. "You seemed friendly with the bartender. She's certainly attractive."

Drake looks up, hearing the hint of jealousy in her voice. "Well, you walked in on the arm of another man. As for Amanda, it's her job to be friendly. Why is it so difficult for you to take a compliment?"

Before Kate can respond, the waiter returns to their table. "Hello, I'm Eric. I see you've already chosen a wine, could I interest you in an appetizer?"

After the bitterness of the wine, Drake was in the mood for something sweet and salty. "I think we'll start with the Charcuterie board to share." He glances at Kate, "If that's okay with you?"

Kate nods. "Works for me. Oh, and I'll have the Sautéed Forest Mushrooms to go along with it."

After Eric leaves with their order, Drake settles back in his seat with a sigh. His neck was itchy from the stray hairs left behind from his haircut and they scraped his skin inside his collar. Kate noticed him fidget as he smoothed down the back of his hair and rubbed at his neck.

"I knew I heard your voice when I was down at the spa. Is your new haircut not to your liking? I think it makes you look very handsome."

Drake grins, finally giving in and scratching at his neck. "You do? I figured since you were there to get all pampered and polished, that it was only right that I made an effort to look good too. If only I'd had the chance to shower afterwards, because now the stray hairs from my trim are pricking my neck like crazy."

Kate offers him her napkin, "Here, undo another button on your shirt and then give your neck a wipe. It's better to do it now before our food arrives."

Reaching up to undo his button, he pauses. "Are you offering me your napkin just so you can watch me undo my shirt?"

Kate laughs and then picks up her glass of wine to finish it. "Maybe. At least it will spare me from watching you twitch, squirm and scratch at yourself like you have fleas."

Drake smirks at her briefly and then undoes the two buttons near his collar. "Haha, fleas. I suppose you think you're funny?"

The napkin works its magic, and he appreciates the cool smoothness of it as he wipes his neck and throat. Kate watches his every move with interest. It was like watching him shower with his clothes on. A flashback to earlier in the day when he spontaneously stripped down for the sake of hot chocolate pops into her head. Despite the thin material of her dress and the cool atmosphere in the room, she felt a surge of heat bloom under her skin and creep up into her face. She hoped Drake wouldn't notice.

Kate picks up her menu to pretend to look at entrees. The low rumbling chuckle of Drake's voice sends a thrill fizzing through her veins that rushes to her core. "I do believe you're drunk, Mrs. Walker."

Yes, drunk on you. Kate closes her menu and leans her elbows on the table, propping her chin in her hands. She could feel the heat in her cheeks against her cool fingers. "I blame that on you, Mister. I haven't had a sip of alcohol for a year and a half, so my tolerance for it is super low."

Drake feels a sudden stab of guilt, "Oh shit, you're not still breastfeeding are you?"

Kate shakes her head, "Nah, I stopped two months ago. Once Brooklyn became too heavy to comfortably hold in my arms while feeding, I started pumping my milk instead and freezing it. When the reserved milk ran out, Hana and I introduced her to formula."

The image of Kate using a breast pump suddenly invades Drake's thoughts, and he shoves it away for another time. The guilt creeps back in when he thinks about how much he's missed of Brooklyn's first six months, making him realize why Kate was so reluctant to leave their daughter behind. She was growing so fast that Kate didn't want to miss a minute of it.

Eric approaches carrying a tray with their appetizers. Drake shakes out the napkin he borrowed from Kate, and offers it back to her. She's reluctant at first, thinking of the possibility of the hairs he was wiping off his neck still being on it, then she thinks about the possibility of his cologne being on it too and accepts it.

Eric lays down the Charcuterie board and Kate's plate of mushrooms. "I'll let you two tuck into these and then come see you later about entrees."

Kate smiles, "Thanks, Eric. These look great."

While Drake is preoccupied by looking at the board of cured meats and cheeses, Kate sneaks a sniff of the napkin before spreading it onto her lap. It did carry the faint scent of him, and she can't help but notice that he's forgotten to re-button his shirt.

Drake picks up a cracker and a piece of prosciutto while Kate spears a mushroom from her plate, "So what did you say to Preston to make him act like such an ass?"

After swallowing her morsel of mushroom, Kate replies. "I told him to pretend he's the worst date ever, so that we'd get your attention."

Drake scoffs with a slight shake of his head before putting the cracker and meat into his mouth, "It definitely worked. If I was sitting closer I would have torn him apart with my bare hands for touching you like that."

Kate grins at her husband as he washes down his mouthful with a swallow of wine. She always found his fierce protective side so damned sexy, and now regretted handling Preston's bad behavior herself.

"Oh really? I would love to have seen you fight him for me. I suppose he's too sore now to do a replay for my amusement. Poor Preston."

"I was hoping for a romantic dinner date this evening for your birthday, not emasculating brutality. Then again it was fun to watch you stick up for yourself." Drake winces again with a chuckle as he refills his glass, "I'll have to add some extra money to his Christmas bonus this year for enduring that knee of yours."

Kate slips her foot out of her shoe and then extends it to tickle at Drake's ankle with her toe. He flinches and bangs his knee under the table, rattling the glasses. "Ow! I wasn't expecting that sneak attack."

Kate giggles, sliding the side of her foot up the inside of his calf. "I bet part of you enjoyed that. I apologized to Preston in advance, he wasn't expecting my sneak attack either."

Drake clears his throat in warning when he intercepts Kate's toes with his hand as they end up on his seat, wiggling against his crotch. "Excuse me, but can you keep your feet to yourself please?"

Kate withdraws her foot with a pout, finding her discarded shoe and tucking her foot back inside. "Oh, come on. Let a girl have some fun on her birthday."

Drake adjusts himself and then slides his foot forward to trap the toe of her shoe against the floor. "I think we've made enough of a scene for one evening."

Kate spears another mushroom, pulling her knees off to the side and crossing her ankles to get her feet out of his reach. The deep vee of skin revealed by his open shirt still taunted and tantalized, but she was enjoying it too much to mention it. She decided to tease him back to gauge his reaction.

Lowering her voice she makes eye contact with him as she slowly licks the button top of the mushroom before putting it into her mouth. "I guess I'll behave then."

Drake sucks in a breath as he feels the blood rush to his groin, he grips his thigh and squeezes, trying to distract himself with pain. He quickly tents the napkin in his lap to hide the full blown erection in his pants. He growls at her from across the table, "Damn it, Kate. You don't play fair."

Leaning her breasts on her forearm as she reaches across the table for the bottle of wine, she replies. "Nope."

Drake's appetite for food vanishes as Kate pours the last of the wine into her glass. She wants to play games? I'll give her one. He picks up a cube of cheese from the board in front of him and lays it on the table. Calculating the trajectory in his head he waits for her to lift the glass to her lips before cocking his finger against his thumb and flicking the cheese at her, aiming for the valley between her breasts.

As it makes impact, her eyes shoot open and she spits her wine back into her glass, causing some to dribble down over her chin. "Peh! Drake! What are you doing?!"

Drake throws his head back and laughs as she sets her drink down, sloshing wine onto the tablecloth. She wipes at her chin with the back of her hand, shaking her head as she feels a giggle bubble up out of her throat.

"Oh, that's it. You're on Buster."

Drake lines up more cheese cubes as Kate grabs the dish of olives. "You're going to need another shower after this."

"And it's going to be fun licking the cheese and cracker crumbs off of you afterwards," he replies, snapping a cracker in half before placing it between his fingers and launching it at her shoulder. She tries to duck out of the way, but still ends up with cracker in her hair.

Kate uses her fork to catapult an olive at him, aiming for the open neck of his shirt. It disappears in the vicinity of his collar and he cringes, scrunching up his shoulders as he feels the olive roll across his skin and land in his armpit.

"Ach! That feels weird."

"Hey, you're the one who flicked cheese at me first."

Drake pulls his shirt away from his chest and peeks in to see where the olive went. "Yeah, well I wasn't expecting you to pretend to give head to a mushroom before putting it into your mouth. I know where those naughty lips of yours have been."

Kate flicks another olive at him, this one hits him on the ear, and he flinches again. "Ok, that's enough!"

She spears another mushroom and eats it, poking it around her cheek with her tongue. Drake covers his eyes with one hand, sweeping the cheese projectiles back toward the board with the other. "You win, I can't compete with what you're doing to me with those mushrooms."

Kate sets the dish of olives aside, enjoying her little victory. "So you do find food seductive afterall."

Drake sighs, leaning back in his seat. "And I thought the way you described the taste of wine was sexy. But holy hell.."

Kate reaches across to pick up a roll of salami in her fingers. She licks her lips before biting it in half and then offering the other half to him. He leans in, hooking his finger against her hand and then pulls the meat into his mouth. He chews and swallows and then sucks the saltiness off of her fingertips. The pleasant jolt that shoots up her arm makes her shiver, and her eyes flutter shut.

"Oh God," she gasps.

He smirks as she pulls her hand back and then buries both of them in her lap. "You're welcome."

Eric returns to the table to find the contents of the charcuterie board scattered across the table, the mushrooms only half eaten and wine stains on the tablecloth. He pauses to collect himself and then asks, "Are we done playing with our appetizers and ready to order a main course?"

Drake glances across at Kate, taking in her flushed cheeks, and the dark desire in her eyes. He leans back in his seat and sucks in a deep breath before answering, "Actually, Eric. I think we'd like to skip dinner and have the check please."

As Eric nods, reaching for the empty wine bottle, Drake lays his hand on his arm. "Oh, and the wine is already paid for. We thoroughly enjoyed it, but I better not get charged for it twice."

#drake walker #choices #long post #drake x kate #the royal heir

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ladypaulsvn · 4 years

Text

Yours, Mine, Ours

Billie x Reader x Cordelia

Word Count: 2,919

Part 4/?

Read part 1, part 2, and part 3

Summary: Getting dumped by Cordelia hit you harder than you expected, but a certain medium was right there to cheer you up.

a/n: pretty long chapter this time, i hope you enjoy getting some insight into Billie :)

You were so confused. So. Fucking. Confused. You should be happy now. Your relationship with Cordelia was finally brought to light and no longer had a wear on your shoulders. Or at least, it shouldn't have anymore.

But that's exactly what it did. Instead of solving all your problems, Cordelia breaking it off with you only made them worse. Secretly, deep down, you had hoped that maybe she would've fought for you. But she didn't. She was emotionless and cold and it made you shudder. She wasn't who she used to be, that was for sure.

You felt awful. You had been ignoring Billie the past few days. She had called you, texted you, but you didn't respond to anything. Instead, you locked yourself up in your bedroom at the academy, crying and confused.

You could have Billie now! You didn't have to worry about things with Cordelia! Her feelings towards you were finally revealed. She didn't love you anymore. So why did you still love her?

You were curled up in your bed under the covers as usual when there was yet another routine knock on your door. You didn't bother to say anything, you knew it was Zoe. She had been coming to check on you daily, making sure you ate something, and drank some water.

"Y/n?" You heard Zoe's voice pierce your quiet room as she shut the door behind her. You were laying faced away from the door, and you weren't planning on moving.

"It's nearly dinner time. I brought you some food. Please eat something. At least drink this water." She said, coming into view as she placed a tray on your bedside table.

You glanced up at her and she smiled at you. You could see her brow furrow. "Cordelia's worried about you..." she whispered and you tried your best to make your face stay cold and barren of emotion.

"She's been trying to force me to come check on you multiple times a day. I've pushed her to just once." She added and you sighed, turning away from her and pulling the blanket over your head.

Your head the soft clack of her shoes against the floor, and the click of the door closing into the frame as she left. You sat up in your bed and reached over, grabbing the glass of water she had brought you.

Cordelia was worried about you.

Worried? About you? Seems highly unlikely, you thought. If she was so worried, why didn't she simply come check on your herself?

You rolled your eyes as you finished the glass of water, curling back up under the covers and falling asleep.

***

Billie was worried.

You hadn't answered her messages or calls all week. You normally wouldn't go more than an hour or two without responding. She was worried something horrible had happened, but she hoped that your phone was just broken.

Billie glanced at her reflection in the car mirror, fixing her hair and the pearl necklace that graced her neck. She quickly climbed out of her car and walked up the steps of the academy, ringing the doorbell.

She worriedly fussed with the watch around her wrist as she waited for someone to answer the door. Usually, Spalding would be at discretion, but to Billie's surprise, the door opened to reveal Cordelia.

You had told Billie about Cordelia, but Billie certainly hadn't pictured this from your description. She wore a scowl on her face, and her arms were crossed in a defensive posture.

Cordelia glanced Billie up and down. "What are you doing here?" She asked with malice, not moving from the door frame.

"Is y/n here?" Billie wasted no time. Cordelia narrowed her eyes. "Why do you need to see y/n?" She drummed her fingers on her arm. "If you must know, she hasn't been answering my calls or messages, so I thought I would come check on her. I've been worried." Billie explained and Cordelia scoffed.

"If she didn't answer you, there's a reason. Good day now, Ms. Howard." Cordelia said as she closed the door in Billie's face. Billie stood there, her mouth agape, as she heard Cordelia click all the locks on the door.

Billie sighed. What was she going to do now? She decided to call you, one last time. She paced on the porch of the academy as her phone rang and rang and rang. She was sent to voicemail.

She sighed into the phone, deciding to leave a message. "Hi y/n, it's Billie. You probably knew that because my number is saved in your phone, but that's beside the point. I'm worried about you. I came to check on you but Cordelia has locked me out, so I just wanted you to know that I'm thinking of you, and if you ever need anything, i'm only a call or text away." She hung up at the end of her sentence.

***

You had watched your phone ring and Billie's name light up on the screen. You ignored it until it went to voicemail, and you listened as she spoke.

Cordelia had locked her out? You were confused, and quite frankly, angry. You weren't sure if you wanted to see Billie, but Cordelia having the nerve to lock her out of the academy? What was wrong with her?

You decided to get out of bed and shuffle down the stairs, silently hoping that Billie might be still be there. There wasn't anyone in your path as you walked to the front door, and sure enough, all the locks had been placed.

You carefully unlocked them all and opened the door, peeking your head out to see Billie's car still in the drive way. She was buckling her seat belt and about to turn her key in the ignition.

You had two choices. You could let her leave, and go back to your room and sulk. Or you could run out to her car, tell her you got her voice mail and were happy that she cared and you were sorry for ignoring her.

You decided on the latter and raced down the steps, running up to her car just as she had started to pull out of the driveway. She saw you and immediately stopped the car, eyes wide.

You took initiative and opened up the passenger side door, climbing inside, not caring that you were only in your oversized shirt as pajamas at 5 pm.

Billie was speechless as you shut the door, turning to her. "I'm sorry." You said, finding yourself searching her eyes for comfort. "Y/n... I, did you get my voicemail?" She asked and you nodded.

"I did and I'm sorry. I wasn't ignoring you for any malicious reasons i've just been... down." You explained and Billie put a hand on your cheek.

"Sweet girl. I'm just glad you're alright." She stated and you blushed under her touch. "Did Cordelia really look you out?" You asked and Billie sighed.

"She didn't seem to want visitors today, is all." Billie replied and the two of you sat in silence for a few seconds.

"Can I come with you?" it came out as a mere whisper and Billie turned to you with an eyebrow raised. "Of course you can. Are you sure you want to wear that?" She asked, pointing to your shirt.

You had forgotten your attire. "I- well. I don't know if I want to go back inside... if i'm being honest." you confessed, looking to your lap.

There was a silence before Billie spoke again. "Would you like to come stay with me for awhile?" You looked up at her in shock. Was she inviting you to stay with her?

"Stay with you?" You asked and she smiled. "Yes, stay with me. I have a nice little house here and it does get quite lonely." Your eyes practically had stars in them as you nodded furiously. She had the biggest grin on her face.

"I should go... pack a bag or something then." You thought aloud and she offered "I could go inside with you, so you aren't alone." and you sighed in relief. You didn't want to run into one of the girls, or god forbid Cordelia and have to explain what you were doing. "Yes, please."

Billie turned her car off and you both got out, she grabbed your hand as you made your way back into the academy and up the stairs to your bedroom. You hadn't run into anyone, surprisingly.

Billie stood, watching as you grabbed a backpack from your closet and stuffed a few items of clothing inside. "Um, my bathroom is across the hall. I need my toothbrush so i'll be right back." You said and Billie smiled at you, watching as you disappeared into the hallway then came back with your toothbrush in hand.

"Okay, I think that's everything. I packed a few changes of clothes so I'll be good for a few days." You rocked on your heels. "Well let's get going then hm sweetheart?" She grabbed your hand again and soon enough you were both back in her car, pulling out of the driveway and on the way to her house.

You pulled out your phone and sent a quick message to Zoe.

You: Hey Zo, I'm staying with a friend for a few nights. Just wanted to let you know so you didn't think I up and disappeared on everyone.

Zo-Bo: A friend? Who?

You: Just a friend. I'll be back in a few days, okay?

Zo-Bo: ...Okay y/n. Be safe. I'll let Cordelia know.

You stuffed your phone back in your pocket and glanced over at Billie. She had her eyes on the road and you couldn't help but smile at how concentrated she looked while driving.

You felt safe riding with her, something you couldn't say about Madison or many of the other girls that drove you around places. Or really, dragged you around to different parties.

You arrived at her house a few moments later, it wasn't as big as you pictured but somehow suited her perfectly. A cozy little town house that was elegant, just as she.

She opened your door for you and pulled your bag out of the trunk, offering to take it inside for you. You shook your head and grabbed it from her, she had done so much for you already.

When she guided you inside, you immediately felt at home. It was cozy and decorated as finely as the pearls around her neck. There were book shelves lining the living room walls and across the way was a stunning kitchen.

A staircase was in between and she guided you up the stairs and into a room she introduced as her own. "You can stay in my room with me." She smiled at you as you set your bag down by her mahogany dresser.

"Your house is wonderful Billie. Absolutely wonderful." You said and you could see her eyes light up at the praise. "I'm glad you enjoy it. Please make yourself at home, i'm going to order us some food. Is there anything in particular you'd like? Any cravings?” She asked as she sat on the edge of her bed, grabbing the phone from the hook.

Of course she would have an old fashioned phone like that right on her bedside table. She was simply elegant. "No, no... whatever you want is fine with me." You said as you looked around her room.

She had a few paintings on her wall and her ceiling light was almost a chandelier with how studded with crystals it was. Her bed was four postered and had a lush duvet and patterned fluffy pillows. It wasn't one hundred percent perfect so you could tell she had slept in it the night before.

Her whole house was that way and it was refreshing to see her actually living, having a place she called home and you could genuinely tell that it was a home and it had been lived in.

Billie talked softly in the background, ordering some sort of Thai take out as you brushed your hand across the edge of her dresser, glancing at all the little knick-knacks.

A photo of her and someone else you hadn't seen before was in a small frame, next to that a small perfume vile that smelled just like her hugs.

A tiny ceramic poodle was next to that, and a folded up robe finished the surface. It was truly the essence of Billie, her room. Everything was just so her.

"The food should be here within the half hour." You jumped at Billie's voice, turning around to see her standing right by you. "Thai?" You asked and she nodded. "It's my favorite." She explained and you excitedly replied it was yours as well.

"I'm going to shower I think..." Billie stated before nodding, like she was confirming her own thoughts. "Yes. I won't be long. Keep an ear out for the delivery man? It's already been paid for." Billie have you a quick kiss on the cheek that left ur face burning red as she went through a doorway attached to her room. That must be her bathroom.

You decided to go downstairs, give Billie some privacy as she showered, but mostly because you wanted to explore the rest of her house. Get to know her a little better. Maybe she liked the same books as you?

You ventured down the stairs and into the living room first, eyes scanning the many bookshelves, reading the titles absentmindedly. You smiled as you saw a few of your favorites.

She had these pretty lamps set out on side tables and you'd never seen anything like them before. They were studded with flowing beads, creating a curtain under the lampshade that made a satisfying click-clacking noise as you ran your hand through them like hair.

They were a gorgeous dark red color, matching the throw pillows on her couch. Her house was cozy in more ways than one, one being her color scheme of dark red and soft cream and deep blues. You'd see Billie and think her to be one to have a house full of stark white and granite and soft pinks like her exterior, but it was quite the opposite.

You enjoyed getting this extra insight into who Billie really was, and temporarily forgot about all your emotional trouble with Cordelia. The doorbell rang and made you jump as you were lost in your thoughts. You quickly made your way to the door and swung it open, thanking the delivery man as he handed you the bag.

You wondered what Billie had ordered for you, maybe she got you the same thing as she got herself? You decided to bring the bag into the kitchen, setting it on the counter and unpacking it's contents onto the counter, setting it up for the two of you as you didn't see a dining table.

She didn't seem to even have a dining room, which seemed odd as her house seemed very traditional and homey. But then again, nothing about Billie was exceptionally traditional in the slightest. She always seemed have a few tricks up her sleeve.

"Smells divine." You turned at the sound of Billie's voice. She was wearing a soft pink silk pajama slip and fuzzy slippers, her wet hair draping her shoulders and her face free of any makeup. You had never seen her like this before and you were completely transfixed. "You are so beautiful." The words spilled from your mouth before you could stop them and she simply chuckled and thanked you with a kiss on the cheek.

You yourself were still in your pajamas you hadn't changed from in the last day or two, or three. Maybe it was four? The days had begun to blend. She sat at the counter so you followed suit. "I wasn't sure what you ordered for who so I just kind of set everything out." You bashfully explained, suddenly letting the anxiety course through you a bit harsher than before.

"I ordered the same thing for both of us, I hope you like it. It's my favorite thing from this delicious place and you didn't specify what you wanted so I went with my gut." She explained, picking up a box and opening it up, grabbing chopsticks from the bag.

"Eat up honey." You smiled at her words and grabbed a box too, feeling much better than you had in the past few days. You were glad Billie came to check on you.

You enjoyed this domestic bliss and relished in the moment as you both small talked as you ate. Discussing her up and coming tv show and other bits and pieces of her life. You liked hearing about her work and you especially liked the attention not being on yourself, so you let her rant about a million work related things as you both finished your meals.

The night ended with the two of you in her bed, her holding you close and tucked into her side. She laid a soft kiss to the crown of your head as she said goodnight and it didn't take you long to fall asleep.

You were so busy with Billie that latter half of the day, that you missed all the texts and calls blowing up your phone. Cordelia didn't like when you up and disappeared.

tags: @poulengp @sarahsbabygurl @duchessfics @shineestark @grilledcheeseandguavajelly @lana-b-bana @zamoimagines @chokemepaulson @venablesbitch @nowthisislanabanana @make--your--life--spectacular @mistyyygoode @mssupremepaulson @8plasma

#american horror story #au fanfiction #fanfic #ahs apocalypse #ahs coven #ahs murder house #ahs x reader #billie dean howard x reader #billie dean howard #cordelia goode x reader #cordelia x reader #cordelia goode #Spotify

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ethan-bears · 4 years

Text

Home for Christmas (Nolan Patrick x Reader)

You've resigned yourself to spending this Christmas alone. But Nolan has other plans.

Author's note: I started writing this out as a thought to send to @lindylovegang for her soft thought night tonight but I realized it needed to be a small book whole fic instead, so I decided to do this instead of editing my final paper. This is also not edited. I might edit it later. Who knows.

Warnings: light swearing, holidays, slight angst but it gets fluffy real quick, it's my first fic so it's probably not great, I'm on mobile and I can't figure out "keep reading" and I'm very sorry

Word count: absolutely no idea but good luck fam

gif credit to: bretthowden

*****

This was not how you wanted to spend your first Christmas in Philadelphia. Ideally, you wouldn't even be in Philly at all right now. You should be on a plane back home to your family and friends and the warm, familiar streets of your hometown. You should be waking up tomorrow morning in your grandma's house with the smell of warm bread surrounding you like a hug.

But no. You were trapped.

The blizzard had started to roll in earlier this morning, and you thought to yourself that it wouldn't be that bad, right? It was just some flurries. They wouldn't ground any flights, right?

Oh how wrong you wound up being.

After three hours of waiting for news in the airport terminal, followed by another hour and a half desperately trying to reschedule your flight to a time that would still work and getting nothing out of every airline representative in the building, you somehow managed to get an Uber driver crazy enough to come get you in the ocean of snow. Fighting back tears, you tried to console yourself in the backseat. At least your apartment would be warm. And you had a little tree, so it would still feel like Christmas. You'd make some soup and Skype your family, and while it wouldn't be the same as being with them, it would be better than nothing!

"Reckless optimist," you sighed as you flipped the light switch to your apartment only to be met with continued darkness. Alone in a dark, cold, apartment on Christmas Eve, snowed in with nowhere to go in a city that came nowhere close to feeling like home. Merry Christmas. Slumping against the door, you felt your hot tears break free and cascade down your face. You decided to let all the stress and frustration that had been building all day take over your body, sobbing harder than you could ever remember. Each new wave shook your body, sending you to the floor. You didn't care. It couldn't get worse, so why not act like it?

During a pause in the festivities you decided to check your phone to see if you had any messages from your dad, only to find a text you definitely didn't expect from someone who was definitely not your father.

Sir Nolan the Rosy-Faced: hey, just checking in, i know you're probably mid flight rn but just wanted to make sure you land safely when you do. Crazy storm. Text me?

Sniffing, you paused to process the message. Nolan wanted to make sure you were safe? It shouldn't really have surprised you, but the fact that he was concerned enough to text you while he thought you were still midair was...touching.

You fired a short text back explaining that the flight wasn't happening, thinking he'd respond with a simple "okay" or an "oh, sorry to hear that :(". But the next text you got (mere seconds later) surprised you again.

Sir Nolan: oh my god that sucks! Wait.....does that mean you're home alone tonight?

Me: Yeah, and the power's out, so it's suuuper cold, but idk it's fine, I'll just layer up and go to bed early I guess

Sir Nolan: are you okay?

That one hit you like a truck. No, you thought, I'm really, really not.

Me: Yeah, I'll be fine

Sir Nolan: are you sure? Cause I can come over if you want.

Any other night, you would be losing your mind at an offer like that. Ever since you had met Nolan, you'd had the biggest crush on him. All other crushes seemed like weak sauce compared to how you felt about him. But you'd cried all your energy out. The best response your heart could muster was a meek, "Sure, but don't worry if the snow's just too much."

You were met with a resounding, "Already on my way."

You decided that if you were going to be having company you should at least get up off the floor. You shuffled your way into your bedroom, habitually flicking the light switch before you remembered it was pointless. You fumbled in the dark to your desk drawer, trying to find your flashlight, and once you found it you turned it on and started changing into your warmest pajamas. Now that you weren't just a puddle of self-pity, you started to think about Nolan's sudden inviting-over of himself. You first met him during training camp when your work friend brought you along to meet up with Travis, her boyfriend. She figured that since you were new to the city and also a huge hockey fan that it couldn't hurt to introduce you to some guys on the team and help you make some friends. You weren't sure what to make of Nolan at first. He seemed so quiet and awkward that you thought your own quietness and awkwardness would make conversation impossible with such a knockout of a man. You wound up being horribly wrong, once again, but that time it was in a good way. Neither of you were really the super-outgoing party type, so whenever one or both of you started getting exhausted with the atmosphere you'd usually drift off into your own conversation in a quieter part of the room. As a result, he became a good friend incredibly fast. It seemed there was nothing you couldn't talk about with him, even though you still got nervous about certain things. Like your personal feelings for him. But that had never come up before, so you were safe. For now.

You knew he knew all about how hard the transition to Philly has been for you. How homesick you get, how you can't help but wonder if you made a mistake taking the job offer that brought you here (even though it was your dream job), and how you felt like it was hard to click with so many new people. Which was probably why he seemed so worried about you being alone tonight. He knew you felt alone most of the time anyway.

An hour and a half had gone by and you were starting to get worried about him. He only lived 20 minutes away, and even with the snow, it shouldn't take him that long unless he was stuck and just too proud to call you. It had given you time to call your mom, which you were grateful for and made you feel a lot better, but you couldn't ignore the knot in your stomach anymore. You were just about to hit "call" when you heard a knock at the door. Or more like a thump at the door.

You practically sprinted over to open it for the man-sized popsicle with his arms full of grocery bags standing on your doorstep. You paused for a second with your mouth hanging open, both amazed by the fact that he actually came over and by...him. The cold made his already pink cheeks bright red, and the snowflakes were sticking to his long eyelashes and the free locks of hair that didn't fit under his beanie. You had never seen anything more beautiful in your life.

"Can...can I come in?" Nolan's teeth chattered, snapping you back to reality.

"Oh, yeah, sorry! God, Nol, you're shivering!" you remark, ushering him through the door. Not that inside was that much warmer, but anything was better than being out there.

"It's cold," he laughs.

"Wow, AND he's meteorologist!" you quip back. "What can Nolan Patrick not do?"

Shaking his head, he made a beeline for your kitchen, looking for a place to set his bags down.

"Took me forever to find a place that was still open tonight," he muttered, pulling what looked in the dark like to-go boxes out of one of the bags. You shined your flashlight up to the ceiling to make it light the whole room as Nolan continued to pull items from his three bags. You just stood there, still dumbfounded by him.

"Pat... what's all this?" you manage to squeak out.

"This," he said, pointing to the to-go tubs, "is soup. I'm not completely sure what kind, but I figured soup would be the best thing no matter what. I didn't know if you had any crackers, so I brought some saltines. And some oranges because I knew you'd want something fruity and healthy and oranges are festive. And this," he pulled a thermos out of the second bag, "is hot chocolate. Made it myself." He grinned, sliding it towards you, obviously proud of himself. You could barely contain your own grin, feeling yourself blush. You were proud of him too.

"I saved the best for last," he continued once you took a sip of the cocoa. You frowned.

"What else could you possibly have brought?" you asked, genuinely astonished.

He looked you in the eyes and gave you a smirk. Holy hell. You were glad he probably couldn't see how pink your own cheeks were getting. The things he did to you and he didn't even know.

He carefully pulled a basket out of the last bag, and you could see it was full of a bunch of other things. You couldn't believe it.

"Nolan..." You trailed off, feeling the tears starting to well up again. Inside the basket were a bunch of little gifts with a note that read "For: y/n, From: Us". It had some of your favorite candies, one of those cheesy home-state-scented candles, a scarf with your home team's name and logo on it, and a tin of your favorite tea from a tiny local tea shop in your home town. You tried your best to fight the tears, but you weren't strong enough, rendered useless from your earlier fit.

"Nol-" You couldn't even finish your question before your own sob choked you. You set your thermos and flashlight down to bury your face in your hands.

"Hey, hey," Nolan whispered, pulling you into a hug. You wasted no time in hugging him back, squeezing him as you sobbed into his chest. "Shhhh, it's okay," he muttered to the top of your head. He slowly ran a hand up and down your back, rocking you back and forth. It only made you more emotional. He had never hugged you before, and you hadn't been hugged like this in what felt like years. You just wanted to stay there in his arms forever and ignore the world around you.

"It was a team effort," he continued. "Some of us thought you could use some things that remind you of home."

"Who...who found the tea?" you said into his chest, muffled by his sweater.

"What?" He smiled, pulling out of the hug a bit to let you speak up.

You wiped your face and took a breath. "Who found the tea?"

He pulled the rest of the way out of the hug, much to your disappointment. He leaned his head down, staring at the floor.

"That was me," he mumbled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear. "I remembered you mentioning it, and it was hard to work out, but they agreed to send me some." Somehow, his voice kept getting lower and lower.

You could hardly believe your ears. He remembered that? You swore you had only mentioned it once in passing after you got a really disappointing chai from a coffee place down the street. You had no idea he had been paying attention. And he went to all the trouble of getting a store with a locals-only business model to ship a product long-distance. You started to wonder if.... No, you thought, don't get your hopes up again tonight.

You stared at him for another moment, trying to soak in the situation. He seemed surprised when you went back in for another hug.

"Thank you so much!" you whisper, knowing that if you said it any louder you'd start crying again. You could feel him relax into the hug and gave him a little squeeze before you ended it.

"Soup time?"

"Soup time." Nolan nodded, practically beaming.

You sat on the couch, eating as carefully as you could in the dark, though your eyes were getting pretty adjusted. From then on, it was conversation as usual. It came so naturally with him that even when you weren't saying anything, you were still happy. You exchanged stories about your favorite Christmases, what you thought the best cookies are, and weird things your families do during the holidays for hours, barely even noticing the time or the cold. At some point Nolan had pulled the blankets off the back of the couch and tossed them over both your laps. You didn't notice that you'd been getting closer and closer to him with every story until you laughed so hard you fell on his shoulder.

"Stop laughing!" He pouted, audibly trying to stifle his own laugh. "I almost got hypothermia. I could've died!"

"I can't...I can't!" you breathe between laughs. "You fell through the ice...but just one leg?!"

"Yeah, and I was stuck there on my side almost doing the splits between the ice and the water and my sister just stood there laughing. Just like you!" He nudged you, pretending to be annoyed. "But eventually she pulled me out and carried me back home. Couldn't move my leg for hours, it was just sticking straight out like..." He stuck his leg in the air, demonstrating, and only making you laugh harder. You could hardly breathe. You knew it probably felt funnier because of how exhausted you were, but you didn't care. Nolan had put a smile back on your face and back in your heart.

"Hey, Nolan?"

"Yeah?"

You swallowed. "I just... I'm not complaining that you're here, obviously, but... weren't you planning on spending tonight with Kevin and his family?"

"I was, but they've got each other, and someone else who's super special to me was sad and alone, which made me really sad to think about. You deserve to be happy and I wanted to help. Easiest decision I've ever made."

You really did not have it in you for another cry, so you settled for teasing him instead.

"That's really cheesy of you, softie."

"Take it while you can," he laughed.

"I know," you smiled.

Your eyes were starting to feel heavy and you let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

"Damn," Nolan remarked. You grunted in response, earning another laugh from him. "Wanna lay down?"

You nodded, leaning into his shoulder.

"You're warm," you sleepily drawl. You wanted to lay down, but you didn't want to get up to go to your bed. You wanted more snuggles, and right now you didn't care if he read into it or not.

He seemed to get the message, moving to lay down and taking you with him. He wrapped his arms around you after making sure the blankets covered you both as much as possible. You smiled contentedly, settling into your position and closing your eyes. You barely had time to contemplate how touchy he was being tonight compared to his normal reservations about hugs and touching before you were completely gone.

*****

Nolan woke up first the next morning. He was careful to move as little as possible to avoid waking you up. You looked so peaceful, curled up with your head on his chest. He felt his heart swell as you shifted to wrap your arms around his torso and fell back asleep within seconds. He smiled down at you, noticing how beautiful you were, even with your messy bedhead and your cheek squished against his chest. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. Just the two of you.

The power had come back on at some point during the night, so it was no longer freezing in the apartment, and the lights on your tiny tree had come on as well. He glanced back over to the kitchen to the basket on the counter. It had been embarrassing enough to admit to being the one who hunted down the tea like a police dog, so he left out the part about the whole gift basket being his idea in the first place. He would've bought you everything himself, but he wanted you to know that you had other friends, too, and that they wanted to show you that they were thinking of you. The scarf was Carter's idea, the candy TK's. Claude had suggested the candle, and being the local expert on how to be good to the woman he loved, Nolan took the advice and bought the candle as well. It did make him strangely jealous of your hometown in a way he couldn't quite explain. He was worried that you would be looking for any excuse to move back home, which he really didn't want. If it made you happy, then of course he'd support you, but he'd never felt for anyone the way he felt about you. The way you laugh, how passionate you get when you talk about something you care about, whether that's a person, a subject, a place, or what the best pizza topping is. He loved everything down to the way you word your sentences. He loved how much you loved.

He was awoken from his thoughts by you stirring and opening your eyes to look at him.

"Merry Christmas," you mumbled.

"Merry Christmas," he mumbled back.

You laid your head back down, enjoying the comforting rise and fall of his chest.

"You hungry? I can try and make you some breakfast. Emphasis on try," Nolan offered.

You laughed at the thought. "That'd be nice. But I don't wanna get up."

"Me neither," he sighed, tracing his thumb along your arm. He was not ready for when you suddenly shot off the couch, eyes manic and wide.

"Oh my god!" you shouted. "I didn't get you anything for Christmas! And you did all that last night!" You waved your hand at the kitchen. Nolan sat up, confused and cold, missing the weight of you on him.

"It's okay, y/n! I wasn't expecting anything."

"No, okay, I'm making you breakfast, and it's gonna be the best damn breakfast I've ever made. Lay back down," you insisted, marching off to the kitchen, wincing at the still-cold floor.

As nice as it sounded to stay under the warm blankets, Nolan didn't want to just sit there doing nothing. Suddenly he had an idea, even though it was a risky one. He decided it was a risk he needed to take eventually.

"Get out!" you playfully threatened, brandishing a spatula at him as he stepped into the kitchen. He put his hands up in mock surrender.

"I won't touch!"

"Good," you smirk, turning back to your pan.

Nolan shuffled around nervously, working up the courage to say what he wanted to. He swallowed and took a deep breath.

"I, uh...I have an idea for what you can give me. If you, uh, still want to give me something. Besides breakfast, I mean." Smooth, Patrick, he thought.

"What's that?" You met his gaze, making his stomach flip. The things you do to him and you have no idea.

"Maybe we can go out sometime? Like, just us. On purpose. To dinner or something?"

You looked like a deer caught in the headlights, making Nolan immediately second-guess himself. He bashfully broke your eye contact, focusing on the floor again. He felt the blush on his cheeks worsening.

"Are you... serious?" you ask, voice full of wonder.

"Of course I am!" he mumbled insistently. "Wouldn't ask if I wasn't."

You almost knocked him over with the force of your hug, a truly impressive feat.

"Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes!!!" you laughed, not even bothering to play it cool. Nolan smiled so much it started to hurt, but he didn't care. He felt like he could take off and fly, he was so relieved. The weight of the world was replaced by the weight of you clinging to his shoulders. And he couldn't imagine a better way to spend his Christmas. Maybe, just maybe, he thought, Christmas would be like this forever from now on.

*****

You relaxed into Nolan's arms as he followed you back to the stove, hugging you from behind and resting his chin on your shoulder. Suddenly, you felt something more than the giddy high of getting asked out by your crush. You felt a sort of peace you hadn't felt since before you moved.

You were home for Christmas.

#red i hope you like it im sorry if it's weird or if im weird #nolan patrick imagine #hockey imagines #emma writes

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etlunainmorte · 4 years

Text

Very brief mention of abuse and bullying. Read with caution. Thank you!

***

📷 Memories 📷

***

"I'll be home soon, Kyrie. I promise. Okay." Nero placed his cellphone back to his pocket just in time to see Nico's mysterious black - haired friend glancing at something outside the window of the trailer.

"See something you like?" The young Devil Hunter asked, his eyebrows knitted in confusion at the way the man stared.

"She has been at it for almost an hour and a half,..." The man answered with a low voice.

"I told ya, don't mind what she does." Nico, who was fixing the broken camera at the back of the trailer where her messy workplace was situated, answered almost harshly. She gave a quick look at her friend, saw him still staring outside the window, and rolled her eyes in defeat. Then, with a slightly irritated look at Nero, she added, "See? He just won't listen!"

"What are you looking at, anyway?" Curious, Nero finally gave a glance outside the window to see what the man was staring at. And lo and behold, he saw Mary sitting at one of the old benches outside not far from where the trailer was parked, doing something really,... unusual. "Oh, this is something new. What's she doing?"

"I saw her taking out a sketchbook from that bag of hers. And she started,... scribbling." The man answered.

"Huh. Really?" Nero scoffed and collapsed at the chair opposite V. "Well, that's something new. At least she's doing something really productive for a change."

"Meaning?" It was V's turn to ask a question.

Ever since he arrived at the location, V couldn't help but feel that there really was something very odd about what was happening. At first, he thought that Nico was only exaggerating things to make him come out of hiding, hysterically saying stuff like Demons appeared here and there, did this and that, and that she needs his knowledge to get to the bottom of this. Now, years of extensive studies on Demonology has taught V that the evil creatures would not appear and wreak havoc on the surface unless they are ordered to do so by a higher, sort of high - ranking, Demon. Or if they are seeking something of utmost value. Regardless, when V arrived, he proved Nico's words to be the truth. Demons did appear here and there and did this and that.

However, he can't say that his knowledge about Demonology is enough to solve this mind - boggling issue about these creatures appearing out of nowhere.

And Mary's odd behavior, and most probably his guilt of wrecking the damn camera, didn't help with the situation, at all.

"You see," Nero began. " ... Mary was - "

"Hey,... " Nico interrupted all of a sudden. The two men both looked at her and saw her pointing at something right outside the window next to her. " ... that's Morrison!"

Morrison? Thought V as the Artisan went out to greet the new visitor,...

***

It's unmistakable. Marsha heard the girl crying. And she has never even heard or seen the child do so.

The tall and perfectly poised woman abandoned her knitting and sped towards the living room to see her niece trying to patch up what looked like wounds on her palms with bandages.

And not just any wound,...

"Mary?!" Marsha called. The little girl almost jumped in fear as she heard her name being called and tried to hide her hands behind her back.

And this only made Marsha even more suspicious.

The woman sighed, strode closer towards the girl, bent down and grabbed her niece's arms. "You don't hide things from me, young lady!"

"But, Marsha, it's nothing!" The girl hopelessly argued, for she knew she was losing. Marsha finds out about everything, and that was a fact.

But, the older lady was having none of Mary's arguments. Marsha pulled her niece's arms from behind her back, held out her little hands, and saw, in utter fright and disgust, the lashes and blood painting the girl's little palms.

And the sight infuriated Marsha to the bone.

The next morning, Mary found Marsha knitting again on her little space in the huge library.

"I'm going to school." Mary announced with a loud voice over the Doris Day song that was being played on a vintage record atop one of the antique tables next to the shelves to her left. It was Marsha's favorite song.

And to what Mary just said, the older lady looked up from her handiwork and only raised an eyebrow. Raising her wire - rimmed glasses above her pointed nose, she said, "Oh, you're not going to school today, young lady."

Mary furrowed her eyebrows in disbelief. "Why?"

"Because, I said so!" The woman answered, her facial expression as stoic as ever. "Now, do come here and keep me company."

The little girl, although doubtful of Marsha's decision to not drive her to school that one particular morning, obeyed, putting her bag on the floor next to the iron table and sat across her aunt.

Looking at the many colorful yarns and several unfinished projects on the table, Mary asked, "How about tomorrow?"

"No." Marsha answered, her eyes never leaving her craft. Her answer remained the same for a week that Mary finally took up the courage to pick up one of the green yarns and a pair of darning needles from Marsha's knitting kit.

And this did not go unnoticed by Marsha, herself. Looking at Mary's freshly bandaged hands, and the needles she's holding, she nodded, and said, "Very well. I could teach you if you want. ONLY if you want."

Mary gave a sheepish smile and placed the yarn and the needles back to the basket before her. She, then, took out her sketchbook and some coloring materials from her bag and went on to finish that Venus art she's been working on for a week since Marsha forbade her to come to school.

It was not until another week when Mary finally found out that Marsha tried to press charges to the school and that awful teacher who gave her those wounds. Getting little to no justice after what happened, Marsha gave up and, instead, had Mary enrolled to a different school that was very far from that accursed place full of bullies, not to mention that devil Burns ( who only received penalties so light it's ridiculous, considering what he's done ) still on the loose and freely roaming about that campus.

It was also during that time when Mary almost memorized all of Doris Day's songs about love and heartbreak, and how not to question Marsha's decisions ever again.

***

" ... please, call me, Mary. I'm so worried about you - "

With furrowed eyebrows, Mary ended the voicemail from her aunt and made her way back to the trailer where she found, yet, another visitor sitting on a chair across that tall, black - haired man who stepped on Nico's camera.

Stuffing her cellphone back to her pocket, she saw the new visitor standing up and offering his hand to her.

"I'm Morrison." The man graciously introduced himself as he shook Mary's hands. "And you must be Mary Suermann! New accomplice of Nico?"

"Ah, yes, you might say that." Mary answered quietly as she took her hand from his, trying to ignore the fact that she could feel someone staring at her from behind her back. She carefully turned around without having to face V and stood next to the door, seeing that her companions were discussing something.

"So, let me get this straight," Morrison began as he settled back to his chair. " ... strange Demons began appearing randomly in some specific locations in this city? And not just any Demon, you say?"

"Yeah." Nero, who was sitting on the sofa next to V, answered. "Ahh, V, what did you say that Demon's name was, again?"

"Niddhogg." V answered, his low voice sending shivers down Mary's spine. She would never, ever, forget that voice, no. "But it wasn't particularly a Demon. It was a parasite that lives in an evil tree called the Qliphoth, which thrives on Human blood."

"And this Qliphoth tree," Morrison spoke. " ... are there any of those growing around here?"

"If there is,... then this city could very well be done for." V answered, successfully drawing all eyes on him in curiosity. "You see, this,... demonic tree,... grows quite,... let's just say,... rapidly. But, never mind that. The point is: there should be no Niddhogg if there is no,... Qliphoth,... to begin with."

"Niddhogg,... " Morrison mused as he rubbed his stubble. "I'm not gonna lie with you but, that is the first time I've heard of that thing. I don't even know what that looks like - "

"Exactly why Mary had to take pictures of it!" Nico added, emphasizing on the name like she was some kind of a criminal who committed such atrocious deeds. "Isn't that right, huh Mary?"

With a deep sigh, she took out her sketchbook from her bag, opened it, and handed it to Morrison, who gazed at it with such unmasked awe.

Not that the Demon illustrated in it was such a looker, no.

"Magnificent!" Morrison exclaimed. "Are you the one who drew this, Mary?"

With a little sheepish smile, she nodded, and answered, "Yeah."

Morrison looked up from the sketchbook, held it up for the others to see, and asked, "Is this the one?"

And to this, V's eyes widened for a fraction of a second. It truly was an exact and very detailed drawing of the demonic parasite Niddhogg.

Who knew this girl had some kind of a hidden talent?

"Indeed." V answered, a bit of admiration getting past his monotonous voice, which Mary didn't miss.

Nico, who was leaning against her jukebox, took the sketchbook from Morrison's hands and stared at it with widened eyes full of wonder and disbelief. This made Mary smile a bit, and V, who was observing this entire scene, didn't miss the little gesture.

"Whoa. Ya really are an artist!" Nico exclaimed.

"Why?" Nero butted in. "Don't believe her?"

Even before Nico could fire up her own response, Morrison cleared his throat and said, "I want to take a picture of that illustration, if I may. I would show it to my associate in the Devil Hunting business and see if he could crack any sort of thing, anything, regarding this demonic parasite."

Seeing that Morrison's statement was directed at her, Mary nodded, giving her full consent. And as the man began taking photos of her Niddhogg art with his cellphone, Nero asked, "Where were you going, anyway?"

"To the office of the said associate in the Devil Hunting business."

"You mean, Dante?"

"Right you are." Morrison handed the sketchbook back to Mary and placed his cellphone back to his breast pocket. "I have some things to discuss with him. About a man who was found dead in his own house just this morning."

"What happened?" It was V's turn to ask a question.

"Reports say he died of cardiac arrest. Not that big of a deal, to be perfectly honest. Except that this man was linked to the disappearance of a few children in the last decade. There are no sufficient evidence to prove his crimes but, investigations are underway after they found some curious things in his home right after his body was taken."

"And those are?" V pried even further, and it was honestly making Mary a bit nervous.

"Some trinkets and clothes that belong to children. Apparently, they were hidden in a small compartment just behind his fridge. The authorities found the man's body, and some emptied bottles of water, right next to it."

"Maybe they belonged to his kids, or something?" Nero tried to explain.

"Yes, except that this man had no children, or relatives living close by. And the only people he knew were his colleagues in a school he was teaching at. Now, don't you worry about this thing. You have your own problems to deal with. But, just to be sure that my hunches are wrong, I will speak to Dante regarding this - "

"This man," All eyes, including V's, all turned to see Mary looking wide - eyed and horrified as she stood near the door. " ... who was he?"

"His name," Morrison began as he stood up and gathered his things on the table. " ... was Roger Burns. He was a teacher at - "

"I know." Mary heard Nico's little gasp at what she just revealed. "He was my teacher."

"Oh!" Morrison exclaimed and put a hand on Mary's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for the loss of your teacher - "

"Actually, I'm not in the least bit sorry. In fact, he - "

"He?" Morrison and the others waited as Mary held out her hands to show them something. But, then, something made her stop as she somewhat stared in disbelief at her own hands.

V, who stood just in time to see what Mary was looking at, saw nothing but her smooth - looking palms.

"Girl, what are you trying to say?" Nico, who was getting a bit impatient, questioned.

Mary looked up, smiled, and brought her hands down. "Nothing! Just,... nothing."

"Alright, then! I'll take my leave. I'll see you around." Morrison, who pretended to not be weirded out by what just happened, tipped his hat and finally left the trailer with more questions than answers.

"Are you alright?" Nero, who placed a hand on Mary's shoulder, kindly asked.

With a smile, she answered, "Never better."

However, V knew that was a lie. Mary was hiding something from them. It was very clear to him. But, what was it?

And why should Mary open up to them in the first place? They wouldn't believe her if she told them that the scar caused by her now dead teacher was all but mysteriously gone!

***

📷📷📷

***

#vitale #devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #memories #mary suermann #v and oc #v and mary #chapter ii

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undeservedfavor · 4 years

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The Bucketlist

Mini-Series of Short Stories

SILK-Should I Let him Know[EN]:Chapter 2

youtube

Phoebe entered the door of the school.

Her heart was pounding...

She doesn't know what to expect today.

Ever since the accident...

First day of school was always a nightmare for her.

Not because she's mistreated...

But because people only see what she cannot do with her condition.

They do not recognize what she can do anymore.

People looked at her very differently because of her leg.

She saw a guy standing at the hallway and went to her.

"Do you need help miss?" The guy asked.

Phoebe nodded.

The guy was about to lift her books but...

She protested.

"You didn't even ask me what I need help with. I actually just need help in finding the Biology Lab... I appreciate it though. This would do." Phoebe said smiling to the guy.

The guy smiled back as he continued to carry her things.

"There you go. This the Bio-Lab. Anything else Miss?" The guy said returning the books carefully to Phoebe.

"Phoebe. Major in Biology. Thank you sir..." The name rang the guys ears.

"Joshua. Communication Arts Student." They both almost laughed at being too formal.

"See you around then..." Phoebe said.

"Just a tip. Ignore their weird stares, that won't kill you. Ciao." Joshua said.

With that...

He already left.

Phoebe was already preparing her things on top of her desk when she realizes that she was too early for class.

"Well... I appreciate early birds around here. I usually got tardy students... But never this early. In fact... You're earlier than me."A praise from a woman who just came in.

"Uhm... Thanks? I guess." Phoebe said.

"Oh pardon me... Sorry for not introducing myself. I'm Mrs. Freeman. I'm your Biology 101 professor." Said the woman.

"Nice meeting you Mrs. Freeman." She answered.

Later, the class started.

Mrs. Freeman told them to buddy up but there is not one single sould who wanted to sit beside and partner up with Phoebe.

The seat next to her is empty too.

"Phoebe, I guess it's you and me again..." Phoebe said mocking herself for fun.

The class turned their heads to the newly opened door as another student just arrived.

"Sorry I'm late." Said the familiar voice.

Phoebe was shocked.

She was overwhelmed by the presence of the man.

She cannot be mistaken.

He's still the same guy he met way back in middle school.

The guy who became his friend once.

This guy who never considered anyone's existence except for Zoriah's...

Is gonna sit beside her again...

"Hi. It's been a while... Phoebs." The man turned to her.

"Z-zack... Yeah. What a coincidence." Phoebe answered with a nervous laughter.

"G-guys? OMG. I can't believe I'm seeing the both of you here again!" A woman almost screamed behind them.

"Zoriah?" Phobe was shocked.

Oh, boy.

Is this a reunion or what?

"I-it's nice to see you again Zoriah... You looked prettier..." Phoebe saw it again...

The look that Zack gave Zoriah back then...

Is the same look that Zack has on his face right now.

"And hotter... Right Zack?" Phoebe said in addition.

Zack just nodded mindlessly.

He was still at awe when he saw his first crush...

No!

Let's rephrase that...

His 'first love'...

Since Zack is passed and got into the football team...

He missed almost everything about Zoriah...

He did not have enough time to hang out...

It was just Phoebe and Zoriah getting close to each other for the passed two years...

One day, after class, Phobe was left alone in the room since she's not like the normal students who can just barge out of the classroom when the class is over.

"Phoebs!" She heard a familiar voice call her out.

"Oh Zack, Zoriah did not attend the class, she said she's sick. What brings you here?" Phoebe said.

"Oh, I'll tell you later but... Why are you still her-?" He stopped as he realized why Phoebe cannot go home as fast as the others...

"Y-your leg... Does it still hurt?" Phoebe just nodded and sighed.

"I miss being normal like anyone else... You were about to tell me something..." She said.

"I have a favor to ask... Since you're so close with Zoriah..." Zack was hesitant.

"What is it?" She asked.

Zack held his nape nervously and spoke...

"Can you be my 'Wing-woman'?" He asked.

While he was talking Phoebe got pre-occupied again.

For her, it's like history repeated itself.

Then, the question popped out of nowhere...

Or did it come from the back of her mind?

Should I let him know?

Where ever it came from, she doesn't know and she doesn't care...

She cannot even pay attention to the man speaking in front of him for she asked herself again...

While Phoebe was on her way home, she can't help but think about what Zack asked.

The guy she likes...

No.

The man she loves, just asked if she can give him a leverage since he's planning to court her bestfriend.

Cruel and mean?

For Phoebe, it is.

For Zack, nah...

He doesn't know Phoebe's feelings anyway...

"Thank goodness, you're home Phobe, you should have called us that you need a ride home. Sweetie, would you like some Bacon and Eggs?" Phoebe's mom's asked her when she arrived and opened the door.

"I'll pass." She answered as she goes up the stairs.

Who eats Bacon and Eggs for Dinner?

They're weird, maybe that's the reason I'm weird too...

"Ugh! I can't believe I said 'yes' to him!" Phoebe said as she plopped down her bed.

She covered her face with both of her hands...

Almost two years has almost gone by...

Phoebe did everything in her power to be Zack's Wing-woman, giving Zack a boost by telling Zoriah good things about Zack, telling Zack what Phoebe likes and being there for him to pin-point what went wrong when Zoriah's getting annoyed of the courtship.

"Who will you date at the Graduation Ball Z?" Phoebe asked Zoriah.

They're at the girl locker-room changing for Gym class.

"Shhh... I know what you're trying to do Phoebe. Zack is not more than a friend and that's it." Zoriah said.

"I'm not doing anything..." Phoebe said innocently.

"Whatever Phoebs... Don't you think I'm getting fatter?" Zoriah siad as she drank one of her diet pills... The question she always asked Phoebe which confused her.

"If you're fat... I'd probably be kicked out by your mom everytime I go to your house, for unintenstionally breaking your room's floor and your house's ceiling downstairs using my weight." Phoebe joked.

Actually, Zoriah's pretty...

But she's a bit skinny, like a model.

Not that it's a bad thing, Phoebe even admired how Zoriah takes care of her figure and her weight.

She has a super metabolism that everything she eats flushes away that easily without even exercising.

But her weight loss is getting drastic as time goes by which worries her family and friends...

"Excuse me Phoebs, I'll go out. Coach is waiting outside." When Zoriah got up, she did not noticed that she dropped the bottle of her diet pills.

"Z, you dropped something..." She called but Zoriah did not hear it.

Then she went to pick up the bottle, she did not mean to but she saw the name of the drug...

"Fluoxetine - Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI)." Phoebe read the label.

She searched it online but...

It turned out to be confusing.

It was a type of anti-depressant.

Not a diet pill.

"Ahhh!!! Zoriah!!!" Someone screamed outside.

When Phoebe went outside she saw Zack carrying the unconscious Zoriah.

The look of worry etched on his face.

The look that he did not even feign for her when she got her leg injured.

When they got to the hospital. Zack was there too.

The doctors told them about Zoriah's medical history and background. She's Bullimic.

"Z, don't do that to yourself again... You look perfect in anyway possible. I love you." Zack held and kissed Zoriah's hand.

"Zack... I love you too..." Zoriah said holding Zack's cheek.

"I-I have to go..." Phoebe left them alone. She couldn't stand to be there with them.

She went outside to get some fresh air but how unfortunate... It rained.

She did not go back inside and let the rain pour into her head.

The tears would not be so obvious with water anyway. She thought.

Then, the rain really struck some sense into her head. A sudden realization came...

It's time to let him go... Zoriah needs him.

A month after, they all went to the graduation ball. Zack and Zoriah went together... Well, Phoebe does not have a date. The night was going well. She watched Zoriah and Zack danced all night. They looked so good together. Zoriah was resting her head at Zack's chest while the man, holding the small of her back. It really hurts but she just smiled with content.

#Youtube

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etlunainmorte · 5 years

Text

***

"So, will you take on the job, or not?"

The question has been bugging V, to be perfectly honest.

And it all started when a client visited the shop that one uneventful day.

V was busy sweeping the floor ( Dante was, as usual, sitting on his favorite chair with his booted feet propped up on the desk ) when the door suddenly opened, revealing a woman in her mid - twenties.

"Welcome to,... ah,..." the poet awkwardly began as he looked up from what he was doing ( he was instructed by Dante to keep practicing his greetings as a way of helping him loosen up in front of strangers and possible clients ) and took a look at the woman, who just ignored him and walked pass him.

"Are you Dante, the Legendary Devil Hunter?" The woman asked with her low and raspy voice.

"Yeah? How can I help you?" Dante lazily inquired as he stretched his arms like he just woke up from a long, undisturbed slumber

"I need you to drive out the evil spirit that's haunting my house." The lady demanded in a very bossy tone. "I'll pay you - "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Calm down, señorita!" The Devil Hunter, who was wide awake now due to the woman's brash attitude, held up both his hands in an attempt to interrupt his very demanding client. "This is a Devil Hunting Agency, and not some fancy paranormal shop for old wives."

The woman's eyes widened as she placed her hands on her hips, clearly annoyed at the ugly attitude that Dante just showed her. "As I've told you, I could pay you - "

"Nope! Not gonna drive out ghosts for ya, miss." Dante rested the back of his head against his raised arms once more as he settled his feet back on the desk. "And I hunt Devils, not spirits. They're just, eh. Small fry,..."

The woman closed her eyes, holding up her hands and balling them to fists as she kept her temper in check. And when she opened them once more, V saw her grab something from the pocket of her ripped jeans and carefully placed it on the desk. "If you ever change your mind, you should be able to find me on this address."

V's eyes never wavered from the woman as she made her way out of the shop, ignoring him once more and walking pass him like she didn't even see him standing there. He carefully placed the broom and the dust pan on one corner of the room and made his way towards Dante. He saw the business card on the table, picked it up, and faced the man behind the desk.

"The electric bill is due tomorrow." V reminded the man, hoping for him to reconsider. "Why did you refuse?"

Dante opened one eye and peered at him curiously. "Eh, I'm not interested in it."

"Why?"

Dante sighed and closed his eyes as he made himself comfortable on his favorite spot. "I told ya. Ghosts are just small fry. Not worth my time."

"But, the lady needs help. And she is willing to pay." V reiterated, stressing on the word pay. But, he was ignored by the Devil Hunter.

What's with people and their tendency to ignore him?

With a deep sigh, V left the man and read the contents, pondering for a while if he should accept the job in place of the lazy Dante. The simple card contained the name of the client and her address. Nothing more.

~ Avery L. Edwards ~

• No. 794 Swan Lane, Red Grave City •

He dragged his gaze off the words that seemed to hypnotize him and went out of the shop, hoping to find Avery L. Edwards.

And there she was, about to start the engine of her shiny dark bike with purple highlights.

"Miss Edwards,..." V called her attention, slightly running to catch up to her before she could drive away.

Avery fortunately ( and finally ) noticed him and removed her helmet, turning her gaze towards him and appraising him from head to foot. In fact, she looked so surprised that a man such as V was trying to have a conversation with her.

Was it his unusual appearance?

"And you are - ?"

"V." The poet answered, taking a deep breath and leaning on his metal cane for support. He, then, straightened his back and tilted his head to the side. "You can call me V."

"Oh. What can I do for you, V?"

"About the commission - "

"Stop. Right. There." Avery pointed at V, cutting him halfway through his sentence. "If you're planning to take on the Poltergeist at my home, then you're making a HUGE mistake."

Huh? "And may I ask,... why?"

"Furniture floating and smashing about. Disembodied voices in the middle of the night. And your skinny, princess ass begging to be fed and given vitamins. Are you goddamn sure?!"

Now, Dante may have sensed her odd attitude, but her wrongful assumption of him being incapable of the task did somehow put him on the edge. He looked at her straight in the eye, slightly bowing his head, and showing her his devilish smirk - a sign that he was more than ready for the simple task she originally have for Dante.

And this slightly unnerved the woman.

"I would like,... to see myself try." V simply told her.

The woman raised a scornful eyebrow. She knew that Dante was her one and only hope and choice. No other person in Red Grave could do it but him.

But, this man?

"So, will you take on the job, or not?"

"I would like to,... if you would allow me."

Avery furrowed her eyebrows and regarded him like he was some suicidal maniac begging to be fed to the lion. "Alright. I'll expect you tomorrow, then. Move into the house for a week. Bring whatever or whoever you need. You know my address."

"Would a cat and a bird do?" V innocently asked as he playfully twirled his metal cane in a display of confidence. This woman,... must be taught a lesson.

Avery pursed her lips and wore her helmet once more. "Sure. Whatever. I don't care. Just,... get rid of the ghost for me. I'll pay you. That I can assure you."

And with those words, she finally drove away.

Despite the question strangely bugging him, he was, in fact, feeling excited of this new mission. Yes, Dante might consider it as "small fry" but, facing Poltergeists was definitely a welcome change compared to his boring Devil Hunting routine. And he wanted so much to prove that woman wrong about him.

He was about to go back to the shop to pack what little belongings he have when he noticed Nico staring at him with wide eyes and open mouth. Apparently, she has been standing near the door for quite a while and must have heard the conversation between him and Avery. She almost dropped her groceries as she attempted to close her mouth and control her drooling.

Wait, did she look,... excited?

"Whoa, a paranormal investigation!" The Artisan gasped. "Can I tag along?"

"I don't - "

"Come on, man! Ya gotta let me!" Nico strode closer to him, flailing her arms about and almost sending her groceries flying everywhere. "This is like,... a dream come true for me! Okay, how about this: we'll split the pay 70 - 30. But, I'll be happy with nothing, though, if you don't want 70 - 30! But, come on, that's good deal, yeah?"

"Nico, I - "

"Please? I'll drive you on the way there. I will not be a bother."

V felt cornered. The woman looked really excited that he would surely feel guilty if he refused her.

Him, Griffon, Shadow, probably Nightmare, as well, and finally, Nico.

What could go wrong with this simple task of driving away a single evil spirit from someone's home with some comrades? After all, Avery did say he could bring just about anyone.

And what does her house look like, anyway? And what was the reason behind this Poltergeist's ceaseless haunting?

***

✒ P.S. I Love You ✒

***

~ A V X Reader set in a modern Alternate Universe.

~ Life goes back to normal after the fall of Urizen, the Demon King. V, one of the Demon Hunters who survived the demonic invasion, officially joins Devil May Cry and takes on small jobs to make ends meet. One day, a female client hires him to drive away an evil spirit that haunts her home. Along with Nico, who brings along her new state - of - the - art gadgets to help him on his new mission, and his familiars, Griffon, Shadow, and Nightmare, V moves to his client's home - a mansion rich with history, both happy and dark. And in that mansion, he finds a diary that once belonged to the client's great grandmother, a woman named (Y/N) (L/N), who is, somehow, connected to the hauntings of the restless spirit he must drive out.

~ A Halloween special from yours, truly. Enjoy. 🖤🖤🖤

***

✒ A special thanks to @la-vita for introducing us to Avery L. Edwards. ✒

✒ @micaelagua ✒

***

✒✒✒

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #p.s. i love you #v x reader #v x you #prologue

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etlunainmorte · 5 years

Text

✒ P.S. I Love You ✒

***

"So, how did your first night go?" Avery mildly asked later that same morning in the dining hall as all the occupants of the room enjoyed their fluffy pancakes, maple syrup, and coffee.

To this question, V carefully placed (Y/N)'s diary on top of the table, hoping Avery would recognize it.

"What's that?" Nico asked with her mouth full of those fluffy pancakes as she pointed at the leather - bound book with her fork.

"I believe this,... belongs to someone you know,... Ms. Avery." V simply answered as his peripheral vision landed straight onto Griffon as the demonic bird slyly landed on Roman's chair, probably with the full intention of terrorizing the man once more.

Avery's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she took the book from the table and examined it. "This looked super old." She opened it, and upon reading the words on the first page of the journal, her eyes widened like saucers. "Damn! I thought this thing's lost! Like, what the fuck!"

"My love, what is it?" Roman curiously asked as he leaned closer to her to see what was written on the journal. At the same time Griffon managed to steal one of his pancakes.

Avery focused her gaze on V, looking really baffled, and yet, happy at the same time. "This belongs to my great grandmother who died at 1899. You see, there was, how should I say this,... ?" She mused aloud as the others, especially V, waited for her answer. She pursed her lips, her fingers drumming on the table, and looked at them once more. "Something huge, like, really huge, happened here on that year, and I believe it was the cause of her death. You see, she passed away at the very young age of nineteen."

"What happened to her?" V, who was so shocked upon learning that the girl he saw - that radiant and lovely and happy girl he just saw - died that young, asked, his voice a bit unintentionally louder than he liked.

"I'm not sure, really. Some say she died of childbirth. Some say she died of an illness. I even heard some relatives say she died due to heart attack. The only thing I could remember was: every time I ask my relatives about it, there would always be a different version of how (Y/N) (L/N) - Lancaster died. And this thing?" Avery declared as she showed them her ancestor's diary. "It's thought to be lost. Either stolen by one of the Lancaster servants on the day she died or lost in a fire. But, you found this, V. What a strange coincidence!"

"I did. Yes." The poet uneasily answered due to the fact that the things around this house were really turning too mysterious for his own liking,...

... and due to the fact that Griffon was now happily lapping away at Roman's coffee, and no one even noticed, or they're just playing ignorant about it to not make Avery's soft Hispanic fiancé upset.

"Where did you find this?"

"At the room on the second floor. The one from the left."

"Hmm." Avery hummed as she closed the book shut. "That one from the left? That's very strange." She uttered, then slid the book back to V, who received it with much care and pride like a veteran soldier receiving a medal for his years of services. "Well, I'm not really a diary kind of person, and it's useless to me, anyway, so, you can have it. Nothing's written on it, anyway. Except for her name, that is."

"For real?" Nico asked, intrigued at what she just heard from Avery. "Like, nothing at all?"

"Yep."

"V?"

The poet obliged and opened the book. He browsed and re - browsed the pages and found nothing, except for (Y/N)'s name at the first page, and the date she wrote it.

May 1, 1898

V ignored the fact that he certainly saw (Y/N) write something in it on that weird vision he saw last night and turned his attention back to the group. Maybe she ripped the pages she wrote on or something?

"Ms. Avery, would you kindly tell me about these,... strange occurrences,... you've been experiencing as of late?" V asked, carefully choosing his words while trying to ignore Griffon as the bird ate one more of Roman's pancakes.

"Ah, yes. The ghost." She answered, emphasizing on the word, ghost. "If you want, I'll show you something first, then I'll tell you everything I know."

"Of course." V agreed as he stood up and finally gave Griffon, who successfully consumed Roman's entire breakfast, the subtle angry eye.

"What in the world?!" Roman gasped as he finally noticed his breakfast, or lack, thereof. Griffon simply flew away from him with what sounded like a strange and, yet satisfied, cackle.

A few moments later, all four of them found themselves in the music room that also served as the mansion's library, and as V glanced at the whole place, and the shelves upon shelves of old books, not to mention the grand piano in the middle of the massive room, with much wonder in his eyes, he could not help but smile to himself. The whole house may feel depressing and both physically and emotionally draining but, this place? V felt happy, or giddy, in it, as a matter of fact. Excited, even. Almost as if he was in an entirely different place, altogether.

It's as if what's left of the happiness, or positive energy, in this house were all concentrated in this area, and this area alone. Particularly on that old, grand piano. Yes. He could definitely feel it.

But, why?

"I stay in here whenever things in this house get too scary." Roman admitted to him with a sheepish smile, probably in admittance that he's not the bravest soul around. "When things get too much around here, I go to this room, lock the door, and read something." Roman chuckled as he scratched his temple and gestured at the grand piano. "I can't play the piano but, I'd really like to learn how. Avery can't really teach me, to be honest."

"Well, I'm right here if you need some musical assistance." V graciously offered.

"Wait, are you serious?!"

But only as compensation for being terrorized by this little Demon. "I' am."

"Gracias! I mean, thanks!"

"No problem."

"Over here!" Avery called from the farthest corner of the room. "Here's a portrait of my great gran."

In his eagerness to see (Y/N) as a portrait, V practically rushed to where Avery was. He wanted so much to see the happy and infatuated girl in that vision he had. He wanted so much to see her infectious smile, those shiny and bouncing (H/C) curls, the twinkle in her eyes.

Yes. Those big and beautiful (E/C) eyes,...

However, the smile on V's face vanished as soon as he laid eyes on (Y/N)'s portrait.

"Ah, she looks,... kinda sad?" Nico muttered as she looked up at the portrait of the Lancaster matriarch.

It was true. The girl that V saw and the girl in this portrait,...

... they looked very different. It was like they were a different person. For the once cheerful and radiant girl full of life,...

... was somehow depicted as a sorrowful woman without even a hint of a smile. That youthful face he once saw has seemingly aged a few decades, and those radiant eyes that captured his undivided attention looked dull and hopeless. Those plump, cherry - colored cupid lips turned into one thin, emotionless line, and her flushed cheeks turned hollow and ill - looking. The positive aura she gave off was absent in her frigid state, and the healthy color of her skin has become noticeably pale. And probably the most important of all: the girl he saw may only be wearing a simple white dress but, her beauty and charisma outmatched that of the matriarch's in the portrait, who sported the high fashion of the late 1800s from head to foot.

She really looked entirely different.

V's eyebrows furrowed and his lips went down to a frown at the sight.

What made her into this,... ?

Avery cleared her throat and gestured at the painting as if she was introducing them to a real person. "I'd like you to meet gran. Lady (Y/N) (L/N) - Lancaster." She sighed and dropped her arms. "Honestly though, Roman is right. This room is the safest place in this house. Anywhere else, you'll just end up either depressed, if you aren't already, or badly injured or wounded. Things don't just float around here. They'll float, then land straight to your face without a warning if you're not careful. The last six helpers I have left this place with all kinds of bruises and wounds on their body, even injuries like broken bones. And they all blamed that one ghost who resides within those rooms on the right side of the second floor."

That's where I first checked until that specter led me to (Y/N)'s room. "What's in those rooms?" V questioned her.

"Just an old bedroom and two study rooms. Nothing too important."

"I see." V answered. He, then, crossed his arms over his chest and regarded Avery very, very seriously. "Have you, perhaps, felt something else in it? A strong feeling? Anything at all?"

Roman and Nico watched the woman as she crossed her arms, herself, thinking deeply about the question. At the same time, V's trusty familiars, Griffon and Shadow, grabbed this opportunity to snoop around the area, particularly the shelves and the grand piano in the middle of the room.

"Now that you mention it, yes, I have!" She finally answered. "The last time I slept in one of those rooms, I felt,... sad and super tired. Like I wanted to end my own life! But, I know myself. I'm stronger than that. So, I moved my things to the first floor right next to this room. I may have acquired a bruise and some scratches during my sleep on the second floor but, I don't care. My great gran has protected me since I moved down here."

Roman smiled at his fiancé and wrapped her in a gentle embrace as he planted a kiss on top of her head. And the tender gesture displayed by the two kind of embarrassed both V and Nico, who looked away just in time when Avery reciprocated with a kiss.

"So, we would really appreciate it if you could get to the bottom of this mystery for us." Avery pleaded with a tone unlike the one she used the first time V met her. "If you want to ask any questions, or want to ask for any kind of thing at all. Please. Don't hesitate to let us know. Your presence alone means a lot to me and Roman. Thank you for coming here, V and Nico."

Nico smiled and nudged V with an elbow. "Sure. We don't want a ghost crashing on your wedding day, after all. Isn't that right, V?"

The poet only smiled as he simply nodded, his peripheral vision catching sight of his familiars already waiting for him near the piano, signaling to him that they have found a sort of clue.

After all, they would need all the clues, and help, they could get.

A restless and violent spirit that has the ability to manipulate things and hurt people.

That strong feeling of depression that could overwhelm anyone into committing suicide.

That one room on the left, and those three rooms on the right.

The huge time skips when he visited certain parts of the house.

This one safe room.

That strange journal he found.

The (Y/N) he saw on the vision.

And the (Y/N) that was depicted in the painting.

Not to mention her alleged "protection" to anyone who came into this room.

Many things don't add up. The scattered and unreliable information provided by Avery's relatives regarding the Lancaster matriarch's death and the things that took place in this house in the late 1800s, Maria and her enigmatic statements, that strange boy, that veiled ghost,...

... and (Y/N)'s drastic change to that unspeakable being of hopelessness,...

V has to stitch them all up and find more clues, and he truly hoped that Avery or Nico could help him solve this mystery.

But, first, he has to speak with his familiars about that thing they just found.

And maybe scold Griffon for stealing the red handkerchief from Roman's pocket just now,...

***

✒ @la-vita and @micaelagua . ✒

***

✒✒✒

***

#devil may cry 5 #vitale sparda #p.s. i love you #v x reader #v x you #chapter 6 #the lancaster matriarch

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