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elissabaratheon · 8 months

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We are pleased to announce the arrival of { PRINCESS ELISSA BARATHEON } of {STORM’S END} to King’s Landing! The { 48 } year-old { FEMALE } is whispered to be { CONTROLLING & OPPORTUNISTIC } but in reality they are { DEVOTED & LEADERLY }. They are also said to resemble {RACHEL WEISZ}. They are { FOR } a new treaty of peace and unity between House Targaryen and House Stark. Things, however, are not always quite what they seem, are they?

written for godsandmonstersrpg by mini (27, she/her/hers, est) pinterest

Demographics

Name: Elissa Baratheon (née Swann) (pronounced: eh-liss-uh)

Nickname/Alias: Called Lissy as a little girl, and still called as much by her siblings and husband, though she is loathe to answer to it.

Age: 48

Place of Birth: Stonehelm

Sex/Gender: Cisgendered female

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Physical Appearance

FC: Rachel Weisz (as she appears in The Favourite)

Eye color: Hazel

Skin color: White

Hair color and Style: Dark brown, waist length, parted down the middle, curly.

Height: 162.56 cm/5’4”

Body type: Slender, soft-dramatic kibbe type.

Fitness level: Limited, though not entirely sedentary.

Tattoos: N/A

Scars/Birthmarks: Typical stretch-mark scarring attributed to multiple pregnancies.

Notable features: Heart-shaped face, broad and notable cheekbones, narrowed jawline.

Disabilities: Osteoarthritis (early stages, particularly notable in hands, knees and hips)

Fashion style: Dresses herself in modern fashions, albeit with more modest cuts. Sports the black and white colors of her born House as often as the black and gold of her marital House.

Accessories: Rarely seen without some adornment of jewelry, particularly necklaces. She has a great collection of rings, but pain in her hands has caused her to largely abandon her wearing of them.

Cleanliness/Grooming: Regimented to a fault in her own hygiene patterns. She prefers to feel and look clean and well put together.

Posture/Gait: Healthy posture. Graceful bearing, albeit during flare-ups she can have a slight limp, which she is loathe to have seen by others.

Coordination (or lack thereof): Well-coordinated.

Psychological Traits

Personality type: ENTJ-A, The Commander

Bold, imaginitive, strong-willed, always able to find a way to get what they want — or to make a way if needed. Focus is placed on objectivity and rationality. Effectiveness is preferred over social harmony. Decisive, thorough, and highly organized.

Personality traits:

Positive: Disciplined, leaderly, charismatic, methodical, courteous, devoted

Negative: Calculating, deceitful, arrogant, domineering, opportunistic, possessive

Temperament: Choleric

Characterized as decisive, focused, and goal-oriented. Highly practical, rational, and logical. Excellent strategic planner. However, their high degree of ambition and determination can sometimes be perceived as aggressive or overbearing. May struggle with a strong desire for control.

Mannerisms: Wringing her hands together.

Educational background: Provided with the typical education afforded to a highborn girl. Well-read on her own accord, versed in house histories and political strategy.

Religious background: Raised to worship the Seven. Not a particularly devout believer, but has nonetheless committed to an image of piety.

Intelligence: Highly shrewd, strong consequential thinking skills.

Self-esteem: Strong.

Hobbies: Avid reader, enjoys overseeing the breeding of fine horse and hunting hounds.

Skills/talents: Excellent at embroidery, however the skill has become increasingly difficult to perform as she’s begun to suffer from arthritis in her hands.

Favorites:

Foods and Drinks: Fish, lamb, plums, Arbor Red

People and Animals: Family, pets (see below)

Events: Prefers private family meals, enjoys hosting feasts.

Songs: Brave Danny Flint, The Dance of the Dragons, Jenny’s Song

Morals/Virtues: Loyalty, prudence, diligence.

Phobias/Fears: Her body failing her, her children predeceasing her.

Angered by: Disobedience, disrespect, carelessness.

Habits: Rewriting letters before sending them, rising in the early morning, tapping her fingers when impatient. Frequent use of dreamwine due to difficulties sleeping.

Desires: Successful, politically astute marriages for all of her children. She does have hopes and desires for their happiness, but believes that happiness is predicated on a secure future. The advancement of House Baratheon’s interests. The potential reclaiming of Dragonstone for House Baratheon.

Flaws: Places rigorous, high expectations onto her children. Struggles to concede to another’s opinion or point of view.

Secrets: TBD

Regrets: TBD

Communication

Languages known: Common Tongue, High Valyrian. She rarely, if ever, speaks the latter — her accent is poor and she does not like to demonstrate this fact. Her knowledge of the language was driven only by her insistence that her husband and children would not speak a language unknown to her.

Accent: Stormlander

Style and pacing of speech: Modulated, tight and matter-of-fact at times.

Pitch: Measured, even, rarely described as loud.

Laughter: Quiet, polite, more a smile and movement of shoulders than a true laugh.

Smile: Close-mouthed, pretty, ladylike.

Use of gestures: N/A

Strengths, Weaknesses, and Abilities

Physical strengths: Relatively healthy, but not particularly strong.

Physical weaknesses: Soreness and weakness from recurrent joint pain.

Intellectual strengths: Strong organizational skills, excellent memory and capacity to learn.

Intellectual weaknesses: Struggles to integrate divergent opinions when she has set her mind onto something.

Interpersonal strengths: Highly observant, politically savvy and charismatic.

Interpersonal weaknesses: Places high expectations of success upon her children, whom she in part views as extensions of herself.

Physical abilities: Slightly below average.

Magical abilities: N/A

Physical illnesses/conditions: Suffering from the beginnings of arthritis. This is most notable in pain/tenderness in her hands, and pain/stiffness in her hips and knees. Infertility following the traumatic birth of a sixth child, who was stillborn. Early stage menopause.

Mental illnesses/conditions: Struggles with recurrent insomnia. Has a difficult time controlling her thinking.

Relationships

Parents: The late ruling Lord Donnel Swann and Lady Jocelyn Swann

Not unlike many of his Stormlander brethren, Donnel Swann endured the challenges of changing loyalties during the War of the Five Kings. First sworn to Renly Baratheon, his allegiance shifted to Stannis in the wake of the younger Baratheon’s demise, and shifted once more to Joffrey under the duress of Lannister control. He pledged his banners once more to the Targaryen Queen and her Baratheon consort, and was intent thereafter to wipe away any stain of indecision from his family’s name. Donnel lent himself as a leal servant of the crown, and for a time left his brother Balon to mind Stonehelm while he served as castellan at Storm’s End.

Jocelyn Swann, born to House Buckler, proved a steadfast and loyal wife keen to see her husband’s name risen to some honor and acclaim. She was not a particularly affectionate woman to her children, and had little empathy for childhood timidity displayed by Elissa. It was at Jocelyn’s behest that Elissa married not long after she had reached her majority. Elissa considers herself to be a great deal warmer than Jocelyn had been.

Siblings: The current ruling Lord Swann, additional siblings of House Swann (see wanted connections)

The siblings retain close relationships in adulthood, and Elissa continues to ensure the Swann name is regarded with respect.

Children: Cassandra, Jasper, Roelle, Orryn, and Matthos Baratheon (individual connections to be expanded upon), along with an unnammed daughter who died shortly following her birth.

Motherhood was the beginning of Elissa finding her footing and power within her role as Lady of Storm’s End. She considers herself to be a devoted mother, though might be regarded as overbearing. She closely involved herself in the rearing and education of her children. While she can offer them praise and pride, she can just as easily offer criticism and judgment. Still, she has a deep and enduring love for each of her children, and all that she does she believes she does for their betterment. Elissa generally did not enjoy pregnancy, and struggled in particular with the successive births of Jasper, Roelle, and Orryn. She believes her children have been spoiled to enjoy a “long youth” as compared to her own upbringing.

Her sixth pregnancy, carried two years after the birth of Matthos, ended in a traumatic preterm delivery (at about the 28 week mark). Elissa suffered a puerperal fever following the delivery that took several weeks of treatment and bedrest to properly recover from. Likely uterine damage was sustained in this delivery, as Elissa struggled with infertility onward.

Nieces & Nephews: Daeron, Rhae, and Visenya Targaryen through marriage. Daenys Targaryen through marriage.

Extended family: Rhaenys Baratheon née Velaryon, TBD

Pets: Buckskin female destrier called Tempest (about 20 years old), white female alaunt called Elenei (about 9 years old)

Both her horse and dog were at times prized breeding specimens, but have since been retired by Elissa. She does not often ride Tempest, but keeps her well-exercised and in superior stables. Her dog is often closeby and is highly obedient, if mistrusting of others.

Partner(s)/Significant other(s): Prince [TBD] Baratheon, her husband (see wanted connections).

Specifics of relationship dynamic are TBD.

Friends: Companion/confidante, see wanted connections.

Longtime companion, informal spymaster, most trusted friend.

Rivals: House Targaryen of King’s Landing & Dragonstone

Enemies: TBD

Significant Background Events

Her father’s appointment as castellan of Storm’s End occurred when Elissa was still fairly young, and the family relocated to the Baratheon stronghold while he took up this role. Elissa arrived at the castle as a timid girl, albeit intelligent and studious. Her mother set her aspirations on Elissa marrying the young son of Daenerys and Gendry swiftly, and those expectations landed heavily on Elissa’s slight shoulders. She was taught to pursue the same interests and hobbies of the young Prince, and given unyielding expectations of success in developing courtly manner and womanly skills.

As Elissa came into her adolescence, she began to chafe under the demands of her mother. Though she would obey the expectations put onto her, she began to yearn for a personal sense of control and power. She did not wish to be a frightened waif, but instead a sharp-witted woman who had some handle on her own destiny within the confines laid out for her.

Elissa’s marriage to the Baratheon heir occurred shortly after she reached her majority. She became pregnant fairly quickly into the marriage, and after the birth of Cassandra, Elissa increasingly felt some handle on the direction of her life.

(To continue to be expanded upon.)

Character Growth

Character comparisons/archetype: Archetypal mentor and political animal. Character comparisons include Lady Macbeth, Olenna Tyrell, Cersei Lannister, Margaret Beaufort, and Agatha Danbury. LM and Olenna stand out for their mentorship roles and ability to work as a power-behind-the-throne. The comparison with Cersei is minimal, but present with regard to some of the projection present in her relationship with her children. She recognizes them as individuals, yet also sees them as extensions of herself and her ability to succeed. Success for them is success for her. Margaret Beaufort and Agatha Danbury stand out as young mothers groomed initially to be small-voiced, penitent, dutiful wives. Margaret’s historical influence and command over her child is relevant, as is Agatha’s journey to becoming a revered leader of society. All that to say, I think she is outwardly far more polite than the majority of these comparisons. She believes that it is important her public image be one of piety, kindness, and charity. She knows how to play the game, and is following the old LM adage — look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it.

Core values: Family, respect, power.

Internal conflicts: Her own physical health, battling her desire to see her children pursue their own happiness versus the futures she wishes to secure for them.

External conflicts: Navigating her children disobeying her wishes, exploring avenues to build and contain power for House Baratheon.

Goals: Political advancement and success for House Baratheon.

Wanted connections:

[ ELISSA BARATHEON ] our [RACHEL WEISZ] fc is looking for their [ BROTHER / LORD OF STONEHELM ]. They’re about [ 35+] and look like [ UTP ]. You [ MAY ] contact the mun at [@elissabaratheon ]. I imagine that Elissa has retained a strong relationship with her brother throughout the years, and he may be similarly politically-inclined and therefore an ally to her. Just as she seeks to further the cause of House Baratheon, she similarly holds loyalty to House Swann, and can certainly conspire with her brother to see that his House and lands continue to prosper. She may in turn expect him to assist her in her own political machinations.

[ ELISSA BARATHEON ] our [RACHEL WEISZ] fc is looking for their [ SIBLINGS ]. They’re about [35+] and look like [ UTP, any gender is fine ]. You [ MAY ] contact the mun at [@elissabaratheon ]. Any additional siblings of House Swann would be fun to have! I imagine close-knit bonds and political scheming. Elissa will do for her siblings whatever they need done, but she expects them to repay the kindness. The extent of those “debts” may have a bearing on the state of the relationship.

[ ELISSA BARATHEON ] our [RACHEL WEISZ] fc is looking for their [ NIECE/NEPHEW ]. They’re about [ 20+ ] and look like [ UTP, any gender is fine ]. You [ MAY ] contact the mun at [@elissabaratheon ]. The heir to House Swann, and perhaps a character who was fostered for a time at Storm’s End in their youth. I can imagine Elissa holding a mentorship role for this character, and perhaps lending a hand in orchestrating an advantageous betrothal. It would be interesting to explore how this character interacts with their Baratheon cousins, and if perhaps they are living up to the standards some of Elissa’s own children are falling short of (in her eyes).

[ ELISSA BARATHEON ] our [RACHEL WEISZ] fc is looking for their [ HUSBAND, PRINCE AND RULING LORD OF STORM’S END ]. They’re about [ 48-49 ] and look like [ UTP ]. You [ MAY ] contact the mun at [ @elissabaratheon ]. Just reinforcing the already-posted wanted connection for Prince Baratheon. Happy to expand upon a specific relationship dynamic with a prospective partner, I’m open to anything ranging from devotional to adversarial.

[ ELISSA BARATHEON ] our [RACHEL WEISZ] fc is looking for their [ CONFIDANTE ]. They’re about [35+] and look like [ UTP, any gender is fine ]. You [ MAY ] contact the mun at [ @elissabaratheon ]. A longtime friend and companion. I imagine this highborn character could serve as a lady-in-waiting, a councilor, or a similar role that has afforded them continued closeness. I would love to see this character act as an unofficial “spymaster” of sorts for Elissa — ably managing a network of servants/spies who ferry information throughout King’s Landing.

#elissa — headcanon #history

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skiplo-wave · 1 year

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Did you know that there is two different stories in Ariana Grande's first and second trilogy of perfumes? There's her story which is pretty easy to read. And she usually names her perfumes after her songs. But the second story is told through the scent notes. Her two trilogies are the phases of life & womanhood. A lot of perfumes tell stories that people don't realize. Here is the breakdown:

Ari: This perfume symbolizes innocence & girlhood. The raspberry note: It's kind despite the tart flavor that it can give off. It's gentle but easily broken if you are not careful. The pear note: This one is interesting because this can symbolize so many things and it depends on the person. You are still learning a lot at this age. The grapefruit note: It says a lot about this perfume and how usually girlhood or childhood is the only time someone loves themselves the most and are happiest. The vanilla orchid: Beauty, purity & innocence. The lily-of-the-valley note: Dreams & purity. The rose note: First love and new beginnings. The marshmallow note: Innocence and still growing. The musk note: Sudden success and/or wealth. The woody note: If its mixed, it symbolizes growth and is close to the number #5.

Sweet Like Candy: This perfume symbolizes transition & womanhood. The blackberry note: Often loses that innocence and has been exposed to much of the harsh realities of the world. The pear note: Again, it depends on so many things. You are still learning but it also could mean at this age virginity and fertility. The bergamot note: On the search or finding peace and happiness. The whipped cream note: It falls in line with cream colors basically. It can be maturity, womanhood and sensual. The marshmallow note: Continuing to grow. The black currant note: True to themselves. Also representing truth and shielding magic. The frangipani note: A inner strength. This is a note that is often used for boss bitches lol. The jasmine note: This is part here for a reason because often jasmine is associated with beauty and modesty but also very sensual. And she wears her black leather bunny suit in the picture for the perfume box for this perfume lol. The honeysuckle note: True happiness and true to themselves. Sometimes even for a lost love. The vanilla note: Love, lure, lust and sexuality. The cashmere wood note: Wealth, music and self.

Moonlight: This perfume symbolizes growth & wife. The plum note: A very promising future. It symbolizes growth and you learned what you needed too. And they / beauty can withstand any storm on the horizon. The black currant note: This note interestingly returns. They stayed true to themselves in another transition of life. The marshmallow note: It also returns and you can use this as a signature. These people you can't forget. The peony note: A good and pure heart. Someone that is kind to someone even if they hurt them. The vanilla note: If you see this return again, it leans toward more sexuality. The sandalwood note: This person is usually really calm but they have a smart ass side too you have to watch out for lol. The amber note: They held out on a long journey or process of something but also rewarded with more confidence. Amber is very associated with wife or wives.

Cloud: This perfume symbolizes self & mother. The lavender note: Calm, peace and serenity. But also it can say this person is at peace with everything in their lives, even the past. The pear note: It comes back into play. This likely places on fertility but at this point with the other notes, it could represent the egg release. The bergamot note: It makes another return. This will usually come back for magic. Magic can also be part of conception. The whipped cream note: Leans toward sensual. The praline note: Wealth, security and receiving. You could put this more toward conception. The coconut note: Death, resurrection, incarnation but also reincarnation. Which is very interesting. The vanilla orchid note: This comes back into play but it would lean toward beauty. Beauty to glow. The musk note: Success is usual the meaning in a second round. It could align with birth. The woody notes: You see this again, it means #5. Because of the notes in this, either 5 children or a very big family.

Thank U, Next: This perfume represents life & death. The first story obviously about her exes. This is the second story behind that. The raspberry note: Fragile. The pear note: Release. The coconut note: Fallen. The pink rose note: It can mean gratitude and good memories. The macaron note: This one is hard to place but if you go by the symbolism of cookies, it's about giving and thankful. The musk note: Success. Perhaps even passing easily into the afterlife.

God Is A Woman: This perfume represents afterlife & angel. The pear note: Goddess/Angel. The ambrette note: Harmony, soothing and sleep. The orris note: Hope, heavens, throne and victory. The turkish rose note: Wonder, beauty, light, heaven and God / Allah. The madagascar vanilla note: Reunion, family, bond and healing. The sandalwood note: Calm. But what is also interesting of the sandalwood making a return in this particular perfume is the fact that in some cultures, sandalwood was used as a tool to carry prayers up to the gods and creating a bridge between heaven and earth.

#asks

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milkywaygg · 2 years

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Baby, Don’t Go (Prologue)

I’ve gotten an idea from someone a while ago for the story that I’m about to post. I figured I start posting my more recent work so that I can get more people to see it!

Idea belongs to Quanktumspirit. Ty for ur note!

AN: I’ve written this based off one of my older fanfics from a different account, “I Thought You Loved Me”. This one has basically the same concept, except the 4 Fairies are going to be a bit more friendly with each other than written in the past. It’s important to note that this story contains mentions of pregnancy and abortion, topics that might cause controversy or triggers to some. If this makes you uncomfortable, I’m warning you now before you go any further. None of the events that happen in the story reflect my personal beliefs on the subject, and will not be disclosed.

Other than that, please enjoy!

“Mr.Fairwinkle, we need someone to drive truck 6. The fairy assigned to that truck had left early since she had some sort of family emergency.”, a voice rang from Miguel’s work phone as he groaned, rubbing his temples together, wishing he had some sort of a heads-up. The sun was blazing hot outside the window; even the high-powered AC and magic powered fans didn’t seem to be a strong enough combatant, so Miguel couldn’t imagine himself trapped in one of the trucks for fever long.

“Mr.Fairywinkle, are you there?”

“Yeah yeah, keep your pants on. I got it.”, Miguel snapped, a semi-annoyed tone in his voice as he got up from his desk and shut off his computer, before briefly looking at the picture next to him. Right front in center was a portrait of himself, his wife Yolonda, and his twin daughters, Blonda and Wanda, millenniums before they had both grown up and moved on with their lives. Miguel still couldn’t believe Blonda was winning an acting award for the latest movie she had starred in, “Magical Love”. He had always complained that romantic movies were just some sleazy way for those snobby FairyWood producers to make a quick cash-grab, but all the movies Miguel had seen Blonda in, well..find him a time he was actually wrong.

As he gathered some of the paperwork and the route information needed for Truck 6, Miguel took the family portrait and took it out of the picture frame, folding it in his front pocket as he headed out the door. But before that, he got another glance at his daughters, before finally, he studied his beautiful wife for a mere few seconds. Yolonda towered him in the picture, being at least 8 inches taller that he was, and sported a swirly, plum purple hair-style flowing down past her plump shoulders. She wore sparkly blue eye shadow and ruby-red lipstick, complimenting the foundation and blush caked all over her face. She also shared Blonda’s extravagant sense of fashion, wearing a deep purple dress in the picture, alongside some white heels Miguel could only guess costed a fortune.

Miguel knew his wife loved him, but often than not (and especially lately), Yolonda would find an excuse to leave the house for the evening, usually decked out in sparkly gold and purple party dresses, or some leather pants and jackets, and when she’s just getting home, Miguel’s getting up for work. The more he thought about it as he drove down the road towards a rather shabby-looking neighborhood, the more he began to question much of what happened from the last few weeks. The lights dying down as he turned right into a subdivision, surrounded by houses much smaller than what he was used to. Likewise, Yolonda had started to seem a bit colder than when their daughters were around. Miguel had tried several times to get Yolonda to open up, only for her to tell him, “Nothing’s wrong Miguel, you’re crazy”, or “We’ll talk later. I gotta meet up with my friend”. It was almost as if Yolonda was stuck in her high school years.

A few minutes later, Miguel had parked towards his first stop of the evening; a dumpster that rested right next to a small, lavender house on the end of the street. A matching mailbox with the surname “Cosma” was written on it, and a cobblestone path seemed to be leading the way towards a dark purple, oak door. Miguel leaped out of his truck to open up the dumpster lid, before he heard the sound of a door creaking open behind him. Exiting the door was a tall, lanky male fairy with green hair and rectangular glasses setting his briefcase down next to him, alongside another fairy, a cyan female, wearing a stained, matching dress, and a weary look in her eyes. The male fairy was dressed in a black suit and tie, and a green sweater underneath his jacket.

“N-Now Nora honey uhm..a-are you sure you don’t need anything from me before I go? I don’t know how long my sister’ll need me for. A-and I don’t think the funeral will be until Sunday, so it’ll be at least two days.”, the man said timidly, looking at his wife who casted a lazy glance.

“Linnie, does it look like I need you to babysit me? I said go! I’ve got everything under control. It’s not like the kids are still living with us.”

“I-I know. I just wanted to make sure you were ok before I left.”, Linnie said softly, “Oh Nora, could you please not drink so much while I’m away? I don’t think that’s good for your health.”

“Oh my god.”, Nora rolled her eyes, “Why do you care? I’m a grown adult! I should be able to drink whatever I’d like.”

“Well..yes…b-but don’t you think you can be a bit…I-I just don’t want you in the hospital.”

“Linnie, I’ll be fine. Go on now. You sister’s waiting on you.”

“Ok dear…I love you.”, Linnie said softly, gently approaching Nora as he tried to kiss her, only for her to shake him off, making Linnie flinch a little bit.

“I-I don’t know yet Lin. I’m still mad.”

“O-Oh ok then…I’m sorry. I-I know this is all so sudden, but Daisy doesn’t have anyone to support her right now, and I’d like to see my dad one more time before he…”, the man squeaked, before gulping, “he gets put to rest. I-I really hope you can forgive me.”

“I mean..”, Nora went on, taking another swing of the beer in her hand, “Is a little planning too much for you, though? I mean, it seems like now that the kids have moved out, you don’t want much to do with me. It’s like you’re never even home. Did you only stick around because you wanted children? Are you that selfish?”

“I-I-I…no dear, of course not. I would never do that to you, I promise. It’s just…I-I don’t know. I thought you didn’t like to be bothered while you were watching TV?”

“Yeah well, some intimacy here and there would be nice. Women have needs too, Linnie. It’s not all about you men. You know, we hadn’t been active since Cosmo was born.”

“Well uhm..I-I don’t know if I want to anymore…the pregnancies were kind of rough.”, Linnie squeaked once more, reminding Miguel of a little mouse, “And you know how I don’t trust condoms anymore.”

“Ha! I thought you loved children.”

“I-I do! Of course I do. I-I just don’t like the pregnancies..”, Linnie blushed, looking down on the ground with embarrassment, “You have no idea what it’s like being barely able to get out of bed in the morning because of all that extra weight, o-or vomiting at 3 am, or crying just because there’s no milk in the fridge.”

“Heh, you sure it’s not just because you’re a pussy?”, Nora mocked, making Linnie flinch back, offendedly, “Look Lin, all I’m saying is you can be a little more attentive to my needs, instead of springing these plans on me last minute and finding some excuse to leave. Seems to me you hadn’t learned much from those 3,000 years.”

Linnie fell silent as he stared at his wife, before picking up his suitcase and wand. He muttered a goodbye to his wife, before Miguel watched him vanish from thin air, and the woman head back inside. 3,000 years? What happened during those 3,000 years? Was there more to the soft-spoken male tat Miguel had no idea of? Miguel found himself in a trance before his walkie-talkie went off, telling him that he was way behind schedule, and that he needed to make his way to his next stop soon. Miguel climbed back onto his truck and turned the key into the ignition and finished the job, continuing on with his route before turning in for the evening.

Exhausted and tired, it was now around 10 PM before Miguel was able to close up shop, finishing all his paperwork and making sure all the trucks were parked appropriately. About 30 minutes after that, he poofed with his wand back to his mansion, where noise was all but seldom.

“Yolonda? Babe? You home?”, he called, as he walked down the long hallway, towards their kitchen, where a note lied down on the bar.

Miguel-

Went off with some girlfriend’s off for their birthday. Might be too drunk to come home, so hopefully I’ll see you in the morning. Left u a TV dinner if ur too tired to cook.

Yolonda

Of course. She couldn’t even be bothered to leave her note with an “I love you”. Scowling, Miguel took the portrait out of his shirt, and slammed it on the table, before turning around and grabbing his wand once more. Maybe a drink from the Ol’ Fairy Pub will clear his mind…

#fairly oddparents #big daddy #mamacosma #cosmo and wanda #mrs.fairywinkle #fanfiction

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morsingwyatt14 · 2 years

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imaginethoseguys · 3 years

Text

Liquid Courage

Hi, I need to submit a seminar paper in 10 days so naturally I wrote this 3k+ fic for Itadori Yuji girl, bye

Pairing: Itadori Yuji x fem!S/O Word count: 3.3k Warnings: fluff, drinking, drunk confessions, slight angst, au motifs Summary: No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys who she felt comfortable enough to be herself with.

Yup, no way that was happening. a/n: Itadori's in his 20s (as well as s/o)

gif credit

It wasn’t Yuji who offered to spend the Friday night at a bar. He didn’t enjoy drinking that much, and there was some weird old movie at the local theatre that they could watch and make fun of together. But it was an unusual occasion, they were on a week-long mission, dealing with curse activity in Osaka, and, well, it was her who asked, so of course he agreed. He never went against her suggestions, he trusted her fully, maybe even too much. Possibly, it was her way with words. Somehow, she knew exactly what to say in situations where Yuji often found himself at loss for words. She was reliable and reassuring and had a certain kind of warmness to her.

Or, possibly, it was Yuji’s six-years-long crush on her that had him blushing and hyperventilating at anything she did, so opinions were divided on this one.

No matter the chosen activity, Yuji would be equally excited to simply spend time with her. He didn’t even need her to reciprocate his feelings. He felt comfortable in his lovable bubbly state, and she most likely loved him as a friend, so all was well. Trying to take things further would be a risky move anyway and he would not dare take his chances at the expense of making things worse between them because the last thing he would ever want is to make her upset or uncomfortable. He still remembered all her stories about friendships she inescapably lost after the “I need to tell you something” texts in the middle of the night from guys with who she felt comfortable enough to be herself. Yup, no way that was happening.

“Oh, look, they have homemade plum wine!” her exclamation brought Yuji’s attention back to reality. “And it’s in pitchers too. Lucky!”

“You do remember you can’t hold your liquor, right?” he said, propping his face on his right hand while watching her mumble giddily “plum wine and soda, plum wine and soda.” She lowered the laminated menu sheet and leveled him with an annoyed gaze.

“I am a grown young woman who earns a living by exorcising curses, I’m pretty sure I can handle a glass or two, Yuji .”

“Including that time when you threw up on Fushiguro mid-conversation?”

“That was graduation! And we did shots.”

“Yeah, it was also 7pm.”

“Enough of you, mister.” She threateningly pointed a finger at him and turned around to call the waiter. Receiving an acknowledging nod in return, she turned back. “Besides, if we’re talking about you, everyone is terrible at holding their liquor in comparison.”

“I’m just heavyweight.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“You’re just a beast machine who suppressed the King of Curses and can run 50 meters in 3 seconds,” she shook her head at her own description, “no wonder you’re Special Grade. Why do you bother drinking at all? Pretty sure it does nothing to you.”

“I don’t do it on my own. I like the company.” He said timidly.

“Aw, see? This is why I love you.”

Yuji’s eyes widened unintentionally, but she didn’t look at him long enough to see it, her attention swiftly taken away by an approaching waiter. He assured himself he was better at controlling his feelings, but it was all falling apart now, like a bunch of lies, because he could feel his entire face and ears pulsate from heat. He stared at the way her lips moved, making the order.

as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend as a friend

“Yuji? Yuji!”

He snapped back, looking even more surprised.

“You wanted the Ginjo-Shu, right?”

His gaze lingered on her face, open and bright, with eyebrows slightly raised.

“Yeah.”

This is fine.

* * *

“Ah, see? This is exactly what I was talking about.”

Yuji furrowed his eyes helplessly and took the glass from her hand. She tried to down her drink in one motion but missed and spilled it over herself. Looking back now, he wasn’t sure if it was her being lightweight or her not stopping in time.

“When did that even happen,” he mumbled to himself, “she was fine a minute ago.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” she moaned in drunk annoyance, “because I am here.”

“So it seems,” Yuji smiled.

“And I may be many things, but there’s one thing that I am not, and it is deaf. Or stupid.”

“Yup, that’s two things though.”

She sighed loudly and leaned back on the wooden wall of their booth. They were surrounded by soft mixes of white noise: distant frying and sizzling from the kitchen, clinking of glasses, and giddy discussions of the upcoming weekend. They could almost feel like they belonged here, to the normal crowd of Osaka drinking their weekly stresses away, complaining about their bosses, bills, and personal dramas.

Is that what it’s like to be normal? Both of them thought.

Yuji looked over at her and felt the heat returning to his cheeks. This drink spill felt too deliberate to be accidental. And her bra was very thin, and the bar’s AC was on and—

Yuji groaned and swiftly took his hoodie off, almost throwing it in her direction.

“Wear this, please.”

She didn’t really fight it and slowly put it over her head, beginning to crawl inside. She stopped somewhere in the middle and breathed in.

Ah, it smells so good. Smells like him.

She pressed the fabric into her face, taking in his scent. When did he manage to put on cologne? That’s just unfair.

“You okay in there? Are you stuck?” Yuji looked questionably at the wrinkly bundle that was now his hoodie with her somewhere inside.

“Listen, Yuji.”

“You’re just gonna talk to me like this, huh?”

“I’m sorry,” she murmured in a soft voice. “I know this isn’t how you would spend your night, but—I wanted to—you know. But in the end, I just—and—”

Suddenly, she felt a gentle tug, and her head popped out of the hoodie, revealing Yuji’s face lightened by a warm smile.

“I told you, I like the company.”

There was a needle prick somewhere around her heart, and she pressed her lips together, taken by a sudden wave of sadness.

“Let’s get back, yeah?”

* * *

Their hotel wasn’t far from the bar, but due to her condition, the walk back took longer than usual. Summer was ending, the air was still warm, but there was a tingling coldness with each wind blow, a careful reminder of the approaching grey sky and smell of wet concrete, covered by tired leaves.

The path to the hotel entrance was hidden among the sleeping quarters, illuminated by floor lights, and framed by tall bamboo sticks. Yuji walked first and was right in front of the automatic sliding doors when he stopped and turned around to check on her. Instead of right behind him, he saw her at the beginning of the entrance path with her head down.

“Hm? Are you okay? Wait, are you sick?? Then stay right there, if you wanna throw up, do it—um—” he swiftly looked around. Seeing a gardening pot near one of the doors across the street, he pointed at it. “Here, maybe in this pot? Wait, no, this is a nice neighborhood, imagine waking up and finding vomit in your plants… ah, maybe in this bamboo? I’m not sure if it’s real though… ah, but this hotel allows hosting of jujutsu sorcerers because the owner is a friend of someone from the higher-ups, and if we vomit here—"

“Yuji.”

“Oh, maybe vomit in my t-shirt? And I’ll carry it to the nearest dumpster? No, that’s a horrible idea. Are you sure you can’t hold it until we get to our room? Then—”

“I’m not sick, Yuji!” she said loudly, maybe even too much so. “Although all this vomit talk is grossing me out.”

Yuji raised his eyebrows. “Then what’s wrong? Wait, did drinking uncover your hidden phobia of hotels? I read that somewhere…”

She smiled sadly. “You’re such an idiot.”

He bared his teeth, clearly offended. “Well, I’m sorry for trying to be helpful! Jeez, if you can’t walk – just say so, I’ll carry you to our room.”

“I don’t want to go to our room!” she yelled again. Yuji’s eyes widened in surprise, but he didn’t say anything.

“Because then we go to sleep, come back to Tokyo and—I—” She squeezed the hem of his hoodie, “and I’ll never get another chance.”

There’s a short silence after her outburst. Yuji glanced over her hands that were clenched in fists and looked to the side.

“I mean, it’s not like this is our only chance to visit Osaka, we can always book a vacation and come back here.”

“Huh? Who cares about Osaka? It's—”

“I’m not very smart,” he interrupted her quietly, “so you’ll need to be straight with me, otherwise I won’t understand what you mean.” Then, his voice got even quieter. “Or I’ll start imagining things that aren’t real.”

“Yuji, I—” she tried to speak fast, because she felt a betraying lump in her throat, “I never wanted to drag you into a bar. There was this old movie at the local theatre that we could have watched, but I—If I didn’t drink, I would have never gotten the strength to say the things that I’ve been meaning to say for a long-long time. And this trip felt like a perfect opportunity, and you’re right, I’m a lightweight and I overdid it, and I was so close to saying it, but I thought—I cherish you so, so much , Yuji, it hurts me to even think about it. I tried to tell you before, after graduation, but you distanced yourself from me that night, so I figured it was a bad idea. I still think it is, but I—Yuji, I—”

Yuji shortened the distance between them with a desperately fast sprint and grabbed her with both of his hands, squeezing her so tight that she could barely talk anymore, her face pressed into his chest. He was silent for a bit.

“I distanced myself from you during the graduation night because you looked so vulnerable. I thought you were doing things you would regret the next day, so I didn’t want to take advantage. Because when you’re like this with me, I,” his hands trembled, “It’s so hard for me not to be selfish.”

“Wait, Yuji,” she tried to move away from him, but no matter how hard she pushed, she would never win Yuji in a battle of strength. “Please, let me finish.”

“No,” he sounded uncharacteristically serious. He lowered his head and pressed his cheek to her forehead. “When you say that this is not the way I would spend my night… You can invite me to dumpster dive or read books about molecular physics in a public library, or lick poles in winter, and I’ll choose it over anything else. When I found out we would go on this mission together, I was so happy. I can be doing the grossest, most stupid, and pointless things, but if I’m with you – it would be the best way to spend all the time I have. I hate being alone, and it's all I ever felt for so many years of life. But when I met you—when I’m with you – I feel so warm. You make me forget about the bad stuff. When you’re next to me, I—I feel wanted. So please,” his hands weakened his grab on her frame, letting her lean back and catch a glimpse of his face. “Please, don’t give me false hopes.”

Their breaths were hot and shaky as they looked each other in the eyes, hypnotised by each other’s presence. She cautiously moved closer to him and cupped his cheeks. Yuji swallowed thickly, he had to stop himself, but her hand was soft and warm, and the number of times he dreamt about this exact moment didn’t let him move an inch of his body. She raised herself on her tiptoes and leaned to his lips. She smelled so sweet, and her body was so close to his that—

“Ghh, stop,” Yuji groaned and pressed his forehead to hers in agony.

“Why?” She asked breathlessly, “you don’t want this?”

“ No ! I mean, yes. God, I want this so much my head could explode, b-but,” he leaned back slightly, revealing his glowing red face, from the neck to the tips of his ears. “You’re drunk, and we’re tired and I,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly. “I want this to be right. If you wake up tomorrow and don’t remember any of this, I—”

“Stop talking,” she moaned and pulled him back by the fabric of his t-shirt, crushing her lips into his, arms then moving up to snake around his neck. Yuji had to resist. He had to, but when she touched him like this, the taste of plum on her lips, and when her—

“Mhm,” Yuji groaned hopelessly, feeling her tongue explore the insides of his mouth. It was hot and wet, and he felt like his heart could stop. Suddenly, he was so putty in her hands, he would do anything for her to keep touching and kissing him like this. No, for her to do anything she wanted with him. He would make a pact with a curse and sell his soul to stay like this a little longer, or to never feel the need to breathe again, so her lips can remain sealed with his forever. Still desperate for air, however, he forced himself to pull away, a shining string of saliva stretching between their lips.

She breathed in, preparing to talk. “I—”

“No, please, don’t say it.” He pressed their foreheads together again, breathing heavily. “Allow me to be selfish. I—I want you to say it tomorrow, in the morning. So that—”

“—It’s real?” she finished for him.

“Yeah,” he smiled bashfully, looking into her eyes. He could see himself in the glassy reflection of her eyes. They were bright and kind, and they looked at him the way he never thought would ever happen. He never thought he would be close enough to her to have the chance of examining just how deep and gentle they are.

Yuji moved a hair strand away from her face. “C’mon, I’ll carry you.”

He lifted her in one motion and pressed firmly to his chest. She could hear the rapid pounding in his chest, and it made her heart race after it. Pressing her ear closer, she could almost hear his thoughts. She didn't really need to hear them, she got the general idea from how uneven were his breaths and how his fingers trembled around her form.

While they waited for the elevator inside, she looked at him.

“Can I keep kissing you?”

His face heated up for a hundredth time this night, as he diverted his gaze nervously. She could feel his hands now squeezing her a little tighter.

“Y-yeah. I would like that.”

* * *

Yuji did not know that pain can bring such an amount of happiness with it. There were two single beds in their room, but they ended up sharing one of them together, which resulted in soreness and numbness in different parts of Yuji’s body. His back ached from arching it so that he didn't fall, and he couldn’t feel his right arm anymore because he went to bed while hugging her. Not that he was complaining though. He could go to sleep on hot coals for all he cared if that meant she would lie on top of him. Feeling her body next to his sent vibrations down his spine. Suddenly, he heard her groan, and his heart fastened its pace.

Nanami Kento was right when he said that getting old is manifested in small things. One of them was getting morning sickness and headaches from any amount of drinking, moderate or otherwise. She hid her face in both of her palms and turned to the side, trying to hide from the morning sun. Sliding the palms down to her chest, she was met with Yuji’s glowing but anxious face: his hair was a mess, and there was a big imprint on his right cheek from the pillow wrinkles. She smiled softly, reaching out to fix one of his hair strands.

“Hi,” she rasped.

“Hi,” he responded, sounding relieved.

“Remind me to never drink again,” she said, turning on her back tiredly. “I lose years of my life from each hangover.”

“I mean, it’s exactly what I’m doing each time, but the strategy doesn’t seem to be working.” He chuckled, slowly getting up from the bed. “I’ll bring you an aspirin.”

Her eyes traced his features radiating in the morning sun as he made his way to the coffee table across the room. He had plenty of scars across his back and more on the chest. None of Jujutsu High students got anything close to normal school life, but Yuji certainly took the cake. And to remain so gratuitously giving and caring all while dealing with so much burden and pressure—her heart sank from just the thought.

She sat up as Yuji sat in front of her on the side of the bed, giving her a glass of fizzling water. She smiled in gratification and brought it to her lips.

“By the way, can you tell me what we ended up doing yesterday? I don’t remember shit,” she said nonchalantly before starting to gulp down the medicine.

The look on Yuji’s face filled with terror and chagrin; he felt his fingertips grow colder as he grasped the bedsheets beneath his hands. He lowered his gaze in silence, feeling the heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Meanwhile, she downed the glass and put it on her nightstand. Looking back at him, she lifted the corners of her lips.

“Kidding.”

He let out a questioning yell and grabbed a pillow, aiming a blow. “You’re so mean! Never ever do that shit again!”

He threw the pillow into her face, and she laughed, grabbing his hand, and pulling him on top of her. Yuji positioned his hands on both sides of her head and felt the familiar heat run up his neck to his cheeks, nose, and ears.

“Sorry,” she whispered softly.

“I’ll think about it.”

She lifted her hands and palmed his face, looking deep into his amber eyes. Yuji swallowed thickly, both of his palms twitching uncontrollably.

“Yuji.”

“Y-yeah?”

“I love you.”

The warmness from her hands went deep beyond his face. He felt her arms reach out gently into his chest and cradle his heart, calming its frantic heartbeat and holding it with such care that it sent lumps to his throat. He fought back the quivering of his lips as her thumb stroked across the scar right beneath his eye.

“I love you so so much,” she murmured fondly, squinting from her growing smile. Yuji lowered his body closer to hers and hid his face in the crook of her neck, hugging her from behind.

“If you don’t stop, I might die.”

“Why?”

“I shouldn’t�� feel this happy.”

She closed her eyes contently and wrapped her arms around his neck, pressing a slow kiss to his temple. “Well, that’s not for you to decide, dumbass.”

She played with his messy hairs, breathing in his scent.

“But if you don’t reciprocate, I might die as well.”

Yuji rose sharply on his hands and leaned forward, crushing his lips into hers for a quick second.

“I love you,” he said loudly after breaking the kiss. Then he leaned in and kissed her again.

“I love you. I love you I love you I love you,” he kept repeating after kissing her over and over again. “I lov—” She interrupted him mid-sentence and took initiative, thrusting into his lips and parting them with a twirl of her tongue. He moaned and gave in, moving his head to the side.

Please, don’t leave me

I’m with you until the world collapses

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk x reader #itadori yuji #itadori yuji x reader

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theredsuzuran · 3 years

Text

Muzan x reader ~ Lily

This is a song fanfiction on the song Lily by Alan Walker, k-391 and Emelie hollow. This story is inspired by the Japanese legend of yamato no orochi. I might do a second part as well. It's my first ever fanfiction so please excuse my mistakes.

Warning : mention of slight gore and blood

Enjoy

Lily was a little girl

Every decade on the night of full moon the first born female child of (L/n) clan are sent as bride to a powerful demon named Akai lurking on the mountain of Akakura which was believed to be inhabited by oni from ancient times. Your great grandfather and his then pregnant wife was attacked by that demon although on their constant begging and vows of servicing to the demon he spared their lives but on one condition that was they needed to send him one girl from their household every decade on this very full moon night. Your sisters and aunts, who you never get to see were presented to that oni. You being the oldest daughter of your family was nominated as the bride this year.

Afraid of the big wide world

When you first get to know about this, you were absolutely terrified and angry of the idea to be separated from your parents and siblings in order to serve your duty as a bride to that potentially harmful demon who you knew would devour you as you never saw any of your elder sisters or aunts come back therefore it was nothing but a human sacrifice in your judgment and being a child it horrified you, often causing nightmares of the said demon. From a very tender age you were brainwashed that the outside world was a dangerous place and it consists of unknown creatures lurking around the earth's surface with the sole purpose of causing grave harm to people. Being a child you were easily convinced but as you grew older your curiosity got the best of you as well as the urge for understanding the outside world became a necessity.

She grew up within her castle walls

Now and then she tried to run

And then on the night with the setting sun

She went in the woods away

So afraid, all alone.

As a child most of the time you were confined inside the four walls of your room, you were not allowed to go out unless required. There were servants who tended you day and night. It was necessary because the child for the sacrifice should be flawless in every aspect and most importantly healthy or else great catastrophe would fell upon your family. Sometimes you wish you were a sick person. That doesn't mean you didn't try to run away from home. Every now and then you tried escaping from your residence and one time during sunset you were successful in escaping, that was for the first time you went out from your house, you ran miles and miles away, bare foot. For the first time in life you were so far away from home you never imagined this day might come. The softness of the green grass beneath your feet, the fresh air lingering in the atmosphere made your heart giddy. As you stopped running for a while you encountered the sight of a city in which there were lots of people gathering around the street, both men, women and children of your age wearing lavish clothing and accessories, you have zero social interaction skills, servents being an exception even your parents also were not available all the time, on top of that you were timid and young, this overwhelming crowd of unknown people startled you which was honestly frightening but you were determined. Therefore you brush off your worries in order to explore the city, you were happened to be in the middle of a festival, which you seem to know since your servants who served under (L/n) family often talk about such festivals obviously they are not allowed to discuss such things infront of you but somehow you managed to eavesdrop and acquire information. Festivals are truly majestic, it was way better than the stories you have heard from the maids at your residence. It was colourful, lively, cheerful, loud nothing like the world you are used to see. There were various stalls consisting of items like jewelry, cloths that are being displayed on the street, on both sides of the road. The the smell of hot dishes like yakisoba, Takoyaki and ikayaki from different stalls hitting your nostrils making your mouth watery. As you were wandering around aimlessly, admiring the lighting and beauty of the festival, you bumped into a bunch of drunk men, you quickly turned away to apologize but a man with rough demeanor pulled your arm and started throwing curses at your way which definitely made you uncomfortable as you looked around to ask for help but none of them responded or came to your aid.

"look where you walking, brat!"

"I am sorry, please forgive me" you were not accustomed to such rude behavior as your maids and servants and even your family members were gentle towards you which was likely because you came from a very wealthy family. Which was quite visible by those men by the way you dressed, expensive (f/c) kimono wrapped around your figure made with the finest silk in the country and the gold hair pin tucked in your smooth (h/c) hair.

They warned her, don't go there

There's creatures who are hiding in the dark.

"What's with the hurry miss, join us for a bit?" With that said from the other guy, your eyes widened, you tried your best not to cry, they warned me your mind started to race with the worst case scenario as you started to remind your parents word about the outside world but you came back to your senses as they yanked you down the alley. Your heartbeat increasing rapidly, sweat covering your (s/c) countenance, your mind was going blank but you snapped out from your thoughts as you noticed the man's arm closed to your face without wasting any time you bit the man harshly causing him to drop your hand, taking advantage of that situation you ran towards the opposite direction earning screams and curses from behind. You didn't try looking back but you knew they were chasing you from behind. You stumble across the way as never in your life you ran so fast and somehow manage to get into the wood. Being exhausted and breathless you collapsed onto the ground. The sound of footsteps growing lounder as they were approaching you, tears stared to form up in your face am I going to die?

"Found you kitten" one of the drunkards chasing you commented, grabbing a handful of your (h/l)(h/c) hair roughly, lifting you up from the ground, then he took out a knife from his pocket and brought that near your neck in order to create a minor cut which begun bleeding instantly. You screamed in pain but no words came out from your mouth, you felt completely defeated and tired. There was no hope. You felt as if you were going to die but you didn't want to. Yet.

Then something came creeping

It told her, don't you worry just-

Suddenly rustling of leaves and bushes were heard from afar which caught you and the rest suprised.

"Who's there?" The man holding you shouted but complete silence was observed. This pissed off the man even more and he shouted angrily this time with more intensity.

"Come out or I will kill this girl in this instance" no sooner did the words left the man's mouth than he saw you were out of his sight and standing before him was a slender pale man in his late twenties having remarkable dark curly hair and plum red eyes contrasting his features sharply. He was holding you firmly but gently in his arm.

"How did you-"

You saw his eyes glowing under the moonlight pointing directly towards those men, his glare was deadly and menacing which could make anyone fall on their knees. One of the men began to charge towards you but his attempt went futile because the man holding you kicked the man with such immense strength that he went flying over the air and died a painful death crashing loudly against the ground snapping his neck in the process. The other man in feat of pure rage tried to punch that mysterious man but his head exploded due to the pressure of that raven hair blocking his attack. The other man who watched all of that fainted. It was a gruesome scene for you to witness but you tried your best not to cry because the man infront of you just saved your life.

"Thank you mister for saving my life, I thought I was going to die if it were not you I'd be dead, I appreciate your help" your voice still shaking, you lowered your head and then look up for the first time his red orbs met your (e/c) ones. The moonlight reflected through the branches of the trees made you see his face clearly, you have not interacted with men before except your father, siblings and uncles so being closed with a man this handsome made you a little nervous. You could feel your blood rush through your cheeks. Seeing you nervous made him chuckle slightly, he gently put you down on the ground from his arm.

Follow everywhere I go

"A young girl like you should not be roaming around in the woods late at night, there are a lot of people and creatures having full intent to hurt fragile beings like yourself" he spoke to you with his calm, monotonous voice.

"Yes you are right mister and I apologize for causing you trouble but I really needed to come out" you replied with a soft hum. Which made that man curious.

"Is that so? What's your name child?"

"My name is (y/n)(l/n), and yours?"

"Muzan kibutsuji"

A perfect chance for him to devour this girl which was driving him crazy because of the aroma she was emitting, he can take full advantage of this situation, there was no way in hell this girl could protect herself as minutes ago she was cowering with fear and misery, how pathetic he thought.

"I was meaning to say this for a long time now kibutsuji san you have the most beautiful pair of eyes, it's very unique, I am glad to meet you" the sudden compliment coming from you widened his eyes. He have been living for a thousand years now both humans and his underlings alike are scared of him even his demons admire and respect him out of fear. All of them knew how ruthless, manipulative, egoistic and deceitful this man is but this girl shows her genuine gratitude towards him even though she is vulnerable and exposed. What a clueless human he thought letting her guard down to none other but the dangerous Muzan kibutsuji. There was pure innocence in her voice and glowing admiration in her eyes, gleaming with positive energy which evoked strong emotions in all his seven hearts that were stoned ever since he abandoned his humanity.

"Its dangerous for you to go back alone let me escort you home" the demon replied which you gladly accepted. For now.

Muzan held your hand tightly as the two of you began to walk out from the forest and enter the town again, talking on the way, learning about each other.

"How old are you (y/n) chan?"

"I am 13 years old, kibutsuji san"

"Muzan will be fine, (y/n)"

"Sure Muzan!" You smiled enthusiastically, you enjoyed his company as you were not allowed to have friends it made your heart flutter with an unexpected feeling of warmth. You wanted to clinge on it. Never in your life you felt so secure and content.

Top over the mountains or valley low

"Say (y/n), why did you ran away from home?" Muzan asked

"I don't want to get sacrificed to the oni" you replied with sudden drop to your voice. Muzan stopped walking and looked down at you with concern written over his face, he didn't know why he was acting this way but there was this sudden urge to keep you safe, the thought of seeing you suffer made him somewhat sick to his stomach.

"What oni?" He asked this time holding your shoulders gently, he could say you were scare to talk about this but somehow you felt at ease around him which you never felt towards anyone, you started to trust him even though you just met him.

"There has been an old tradition in my family for generations, every decade on the night of full moon the first born female child of our family is sacrificed to the oni living on the mountain of akakura for last 50 years, I am next in line that's why I was running away, I am not ready to die" you replied almost sobbing

Give you everything you've been dreaming of

Just let me in

"Once I attain the age 18, I will too be send to the oni as his bride" tears came rolling down your cheek, the demon lord can sense your terror which you were trying to hide. What a pitiful creature, I shall be your savior he thought to himself.

"You are a brave girl, I admire your inner strength (y/n)" he cupped your face with his arms, caressing your features softly brushing away the tear drop forming in your eyes.

"I don't know for how long" you replied smiling a bit. appreciating his effort to soothe your anxiety.

Everything you want in gold, I'll be the magic story you've been told

Everything was good until you heard your name coming across the other end of the street, it was two of your servants and your uncle approaching both you and Muzan. The look in your face suddenly changed to that of a drastic one, the slight flush which covered your countenance few seconds ago was gone and was replaced with a pale look similar to that of muzan's. It was evident to the demon from your expressions that it was rather unpleasant for you even though they seem to know you and by judging the looks of your uncle, he figured you two are related.

"Where have you gone milady?" One of your maid came rushing towards you, but you hid behind muzan's back averting your gaze from the maiden and your uncle. As you could feel an intense glare coming from him. Thanks to your uncle you are in great trouble now.

"My name is (u/n)(L/n), this girl's uncle, I apologize on behalf of my niece for causing you trouble" the (h/c) hair man said to muzan.

"I am Tsukihiko kibutsuji, Do not worry about that and (y/n) didn't create any disturbance" it would be a bit suspicious to you that why muzan lied to your uncle about his real name if he didn't mention he was a demon earlier when you two were conversing and he needs to hide his identity in order to survive.

"Thank you so much for your help, (L/n) family will owe you for this" he bowed to muzan showing his gratitude towards him while glancing at you with the corner of his eyes.

"You here young lady, I hope you won't run away like this you could have just asked our servants or me if you really wanted to go out that badly, you have made your mother worried sick" the man cooed directing towards you.

𝚕𝚒es you thought You'd never let me go out, you are only behaving nicely because of muzan.

"(Y/n)" the soothing voice hit your ears and you looked up to see muzan "you must go back home, as your uncle stated they must be really worried, right?"

You felt really defeated but you decided to let go of him, he already saved you from a great disaster. It would be selfish of you to ask for more but you really hoped he'd help. Before you headed back you asked turning your head back at his direction.

And you'll be safe under my control

"We will still be friends right?" Muzan was taken aback friends? He thought a genuine smile appearing on his face. He nodded at you which made you sigh with relief and then you waved goodbye to him in the hope of seeing him again someday, your first friend.

"Yes (y/n), we will meet again"

Just let me in, ooh.

#kimetsu no yaiba #muzan kibutsuji #kny muzan #muzan x reader #fanfic #demon slayer #demon slayer fanfic #demon lord #demon x reader #anime

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berrynarrybanana · 3 years

Text

Holiday Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

A/N: This was meant to be a blurb, but I got carried away. I honestly don’t know how I feel about it, but I wanted to post some Christmassy stuff in between now and Deck the Halls, so here’s a little something. It’s basically over a thousand words of Harry pining for some girl he just met. That seems to be my favorite trope, yeah? Anyways, I hope you enjoy and I hope that you all remember that Christmas isn’t about what you have or what you’re able to give, it’s about spending time with the people you love the most. I’m always here for you all if you need me and I love you loads. Thank you!

Word Count: 5.1K+

Warnings: A little smut, pining, flash forward, ofc

Prompt: “You’re wearing the Santa hat, whether you like it or not” | Taken from this post here!

It wasn’t that Harry hated Christmas.

He loved spending time with his family, drinking mulled wine and talking shit with his Mum and Sister on the couch until the morning light. He loved the Christmas cookies that everyone seemed to bake just for him. Every single one of his friends would wrap them up in cute, candy cane striped cellophane bags with a little bow as if they were worried he’d been deprived of sweets. He loved the warmth that enveloped him when he stepped into any building, dodging the cold winter winds and brutal snowflakes that hit his skin. He loved most things about the season, but he truthfully hated the actual holiday itself.

He hated the music, each song covered by about twenty different artists, (yet, they always sounded the same, somehow), playing on a loop on every single Christmas station. He hated how rude people were in the shops and on the road, as if their time was more important than anyone else's. He hated the stigma around giving expensive gifts, stressing over the perfect thing to get each of his friends. If he could, he’d give them all something homemade, but he was shit at doing anything crafty.

His boots crunched against the snow as he walked towards his mother’s front door.

He let himself in, kicking his shoes off before he removed his scarf and his winter coat. He could hear laughter from the kitchen, Gemma and his Mum giggling far too loud. They must have cracked into the mulled cider a little early, and truthfully, he was jealous. He’d spent the last four hours stuck in traffic listening to white Christmas over and over and over again. He shut the front door as Evie wrapped herself around his legs, her soft purring catching his attention as he glanced down at the black and white kitten.

“Hiya, darling girl.” He crouched down, scooping her into his arms before he delivered a series of kisses over her head. “Daddy’s missed you, eh. Have you been good for your nan?”

She meowed in response, causing Harry to coo at her before he scratched under her chin.

“That’s my girl.” He pressed another kiss to the top of her head before setting her back to the ground.

He knew they would indulge in several cuddle sessions over the next few days, so he wasn’t worried about missing his one and only pet this holiday season. He walked through the house, finding his way into the kitchen where Gemma was tipping back a glass of dark red liquid, and his Mum was rolling out cookie dough with a bright smile on her face. What Harry wasn’t expecting, was the curly haired girl with a cookie cutter in her hand next to his Mum.

“Hello!” He called out, offering a smile as he walked over to the kitchen island. “I see we’ve started having fun already.”

“It took you forever to get here!” Gemma said defensively, picking up a chocolate kiss before tossing it at Harry. “Do you want a drink?”

“Something hot, it’s like the bloody tundra outside.” He shivered at the thought of the harsh wind, his eyes trailing back towards the new girl.

“Stella makes the best peppermint hot chocolate you’ve ever had in your life.” Gemma groaned out, her eyes rolling back in her head. “She puts peppermint vodka in there.”

“I can make you one if you’d like?” Stella’s voice was soft and painfully american. “We’ve got a slow cooker full of hot chocolate.”

“If you don’t mind.” Harry gave her a smile as he pulled out a stool, sitting next to Gemma. “Nice to meet you, Stella. I’m Harry, by the way.”

“She knows who you are.” Gemma reached over, pinching Harry’s side. “Stella is a new transfer at work. She’s new to England, and we thought we’d show her a proper English Christmas.”

“Stella, love, you should probably find another family to spend Christmas with if you want a proper English Christmas.” Harry snorted. “Ours is half arsed at best.”

“We have a lovely Christmas, thank you.” Anne piped up, flicking flour in Harry’s direction as Stella laughed softly. “Don’t scare the poor thing off, we’ve just made her feel at home.”

Stella turned her back, walking towards the stove.

“I suppose we do have a good time.” Harry hummed out. “I can’t wait to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas for the millionth time.”

“They’ve got an animated one now!” Gemma exclaimed. “We’re going to do a double feature.”

“Lovely.” Harry rolled his eyes.

Moments later, a steaming mug of hot chocolate laced was placed in front of Harry.

He looked down at the grinch mug before looking back up at Stella.

“Thanks.” He offered her a smile, but she merely nodded back at him before taking her place next to Anne again.

He watched her, sipping at his drink as Gemma and Anne chatted about some Hallmark movie that was meant to premiere at some point during the week. She wasn’t normally the type of girl that he dated, but he had to admit that she was beautiful. Her cheeks were round, a soft blush smeared over them that he assumed came from a makeup product. Her lashes were thick, and long, shadowing her hazel colored eyes. She had thick brows that seemed a little unruly, and plump lips stained with a plum colored lipstick that matched her smoky, purple eyeshadow. He wasn’t a huge fan of the plum color, but he had to admit that it brought out a lot of the warmer tones in her eyes and in her beautiful, brown skin. He also thought that it complimented the lighter strands in her curly brown hair that bounced about everytime she turned her head.

He tried not to be too obvious with his curious gaze, but he couldn’t help it. He was almost mesmerized by her beauty, but he was more so confused by his attraction to her. She was far too quiet for his taste, her eyes cast down on the cookies she’d been cutting out for the last few minutes while everyone else chatted.

He watched her place them on the tray carefully, obsessing over how they landed before she reached for the colored icing. He watched her pipe onto the little shapes, her tongue nestling in the corner of her mouth as her unsteady hands worked diligently on the cookies.

This was a Styles family Christmas, and the Styles were a rowdy and messy bunch. He’d never seen his Mum or Gemma put that much work into sugar cookies before, and it was almost painful to watch her perfect each and every one before she slipped the tray in the oven. He watched her reach for the cheeky little chicken shaped oven timer that Gemma bought when his Mum fist moved into this house. In all of those years, he’d never seen anyone actually use it.

“Did you hear me, my little turtle dove?” Anne brushed her hand over Harry’s back as he sipped at his cocoa. “They’re calling for a huge storm this weekend, are you packed for that?”

“I left some stuff here the last time I was around.” He turned his head, smiling back at her. “I think I should be fine if I get stuck with you lot.”

“Good.” She nodded, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too, Mumma.” He wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her into a hug.

The warm scent of vanilla and musk greeted his senses, flooding him with comfort and nostalgic memories of cuddling with Mum on the couch. He missed having her around him. He missed having his best friend around to comfort him when he needed it the most. When he let go of her, his heart sank a little in his chest. She pressed a kiss to the top of his head before moving back to work on more cookie dough.

“Why are you making so many cookies?” He asked, brows furrowing as he brushed his fingers over the sickly green mug with the cartoon characters face on it. “Do you plan on feeding an army?”

“No, but Stella suggested that we take some down to the local homeless shelter on Christmas Eve.” Anne smiled over at the girl. “That’s her family's Christmas tradition, and since she’s not with them this year, we thought we’d make it happen for her here.”

“Thank you again, for agreeing to this.” Stella smiled at Anne. “It really means the world to me, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“You’re a part of the family now, dear.” Anne teased. “Even if you’re not spending Christmas with us, this little tradition of yours has been officially integrated into our own Christmas tradition. We’ll always have a little bit of Stella with us during the Holiday’s now, eh.”

Stella laughed at that, reaching her arms out to wrap Anne in a hug.

Harry almost felt a little jealous at how seamlessly she fit in here.

“If you keep staring at her, she’s gonna want to run back to America.” Gemma nudged her elbow into his side. “We get it, she’s hotter than you.”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry rolled his eyes at Gemma as she smirked. “I wasn’t staring.”

“Okay, Casanova.” She snorted. “Whatever you say.

Harry wasn’t sure why he was hard.

He just wanted to close his eyes and go the fuck to sleep.

After a long day of travel, and an even longer evening filled with Harry pulling down Christmas decorations from the attic, he just wanted to sleep. He wasn’t looking forward to taking the annual trip to the Christmas Tree Farm tomorrow. Since Robin passed, Harry was the only man in the family, which meant that he often had to do the heavy lifting. He found that most of his strength lay in his core, despite the amount of lifting he’d done to buff up his arms, and he wasn’t looking forward to tossing a tree on top of his car while everyone watched.

Truthfully, that was the worry that should have been plaguing his mind as he lay in bed. Instead, his mind was lost in hazel colored waves that crashed on dark plum shores. He couldn’t stop thinking about Stella’s eyes or her perfectly shaped lips. He spent most of his night watching her drink from a wine glass, her cheeks turning a shade darker with each joke that she shared with his family. If there was one thing that he was shocked about, it was the dry humor that tumbled from her perfect plum colored lips. She was a funny girl, despite being quiet, and he laughed at every single joke she told without shame.

As he shifted his about, trying to avoid any further thoughts about her lips, the tip of his cock brushed against the warm flannel of his pajama pants. He let out a throaty groan, reaching down to push his palm into the crotch of his pants to soothe the pressure building in his lower belly. He couldn’t jack off to the thought of Gemma’s new friend, it would be awful, and it would surely land him on the naughty list. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best not to picture her lipstick staining his lower belly, his upper thighs, and eventually...the shaft of his cock. But after a few minutes of trying not to think about it, that was the only thing he could see behind closed eyes.

With an annoyed grumble, he dipped his hand into his pajama pants, tugging his cock out while his free hand pushed the band of the pants down his hips. He licked over his dry lips, making a mental note to buy some chapstick tomorrow as he gave himself one, swift stroke. He bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to moan as he brushed the pad of his thumb over the weeping slit of his cock. He was pathetic, dripping down his cock over a girl that he barely knew. He couldn’t believe that he was being that guy right now, tugging at his cock desperately to the thought of a beautiful girl on her knees for him. He wanted so badly to have her there, whispering filthy words in that gentle tone she had, encouraging him to cum on her tongue.

When he did cum, her name spilled from his lips.

His chest was heaving as he came down, the tinkling of Stella’s laughter filling his ears.

Seconds later, he heard her bid goodnight to Gemma before the door next to his own shut.

He was totally fucked for this girl.

The next morning, he didn’t expect to see Stella sitting at the breakfast bar when he came downstairs.

He stopped in the doorway, his cheeks growing warm as he looked over her sweater covered back. Thoughts of her name tumbling from his lips last night flooded back as he looked at her. She was wearing a lavender colored, cable knit sweater, and her curls were tied up in a messy ponytail on top of her head. Most of the curls had fallen out, covering up some of her neck alongside her fingers. Her cheek was propped on her palm, her gaze focused on her laptop as she lifted a mug of steaming liquid up to her mouth with her other hand.

Harry cleared his throat, walking toward the stove so he could put the kettle on. No one else in the house would be up for hours, but Harry couldn’t turn off his internal alarm clock no matter how he tried. He also hoped that he might find a moment of peace from the very girl sitting in his Mother’s kitchen. She haunted his dreams, her face playing on the silver screen in his mind all night long. He hated how infatuated he was with this woman that he barely even knew.

“Morning.” She spoke up first, her voice scratchy and tired. “Did you sleep well?”

“Splendid, yeah.” He nodded, filling the kettle with water. “You?”

“I’ve slept better, but that’s to be expected.” She said softly. “I spent a little bit of time on a skype call with my brother’s, so I was up longer than expected.”

“But you’re up fairly early this morning, aren’t you?” He put the kettle on the stovetop before turning around, his eyes landing on hers. “Why’s that?”

“I wake up this early anyways.” She smiled at him. “I usually like to go for a walk in the morning to wake myself up.”

“That’s nice.” He lifted his hand, scratching at the stubble on his jaw. “I usually like to go for a swim or a run in the morning, too.”

“Where do you swim?” She asked.

“There’s a men’s swimming club not too far from my home in London.” He said. “It’s freezing cold, but you get used to it after a while.”

“Jeeze, you swim outside in this weather?” She lifted her head from her palm, her eyes growing wide. “I could never.”

“It’s an acquired taste.” He chuckled softly. “What are you working on?”

“A new piece for my blog.” She said. “I started out using it as a diary of sorts, but people apparently love reading about the disaster that is my life.”

“I’m sure it’s not all horrible.” He hoped that he sounded encouraging and not rude. “You seem like a lovely, and positive person.”

“I try to be.” She shrugged, reaching for her mug. “I could say the same about you.”

“I try to be.” He smiled at her. “Would you like some breakfast?”

“Oh, I was actually thinking of popping down to this little bakery Gemma told me about-”

“Mandeville’s.” His heart picked up, a smile stretching across his lips. “Had my first job there.”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” She laughed, wrapping both hands around her mug as she leaned back in the barstool. “I figured I’d go grab some pastries for everyone. I know it’s kind of a busy day with the Christmas Tree Farm, so I thought it would be best if your Mum didn’t feel the need to cook.”

“She would love that.” Harry said. “Maybe I could go with you? We could both get our walks in, and I can see Mary before she hunts me down and drags me to the bakery.”

“I would love the company.” She smiled. “But enjoy your tea first, I’ll just be working on this until we’re ready to go.”

“Cheers.” He nodded, watching her eyes drop to her computer screen.

She wasn’t wearing a stitch of makeup this morning, and Harry almost wished that she was.

He wished that she had covered up her beautiful, freckle covered skin so that he didn’t fall harder for her beautiful face. He wished that she was hiding away those little blemishes that made him swoon, because she was actually a human after all, not some angel sent down from heaven to torture him. He wished that she covered those beautiful lips in that plum lipstick again so that he could imagine kissing it off of her. He hated the feeling stirring inside of his belly, the butterflies a tell tale sign of his feelings.

He had a crush on Stella.

And there was nothing he could do to stop himself from falling for her.

Stella’s gloves were precious.

They were a bright red, little snowflakes and reindeer stitched into them.

She offered to let Harry borrow a pair of her gloves, claiming that she’d brought plenty of pairs for the winter, but he politely declined before shoving his hands in his pockets. She looked so cozy, wrapped up in her winter coat with a beanie on top of her head and a matching scarf tied around her neck. Harry wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and cuddle her so that they could both stay nice and toasty on their walk. He wanted to kiss her bare cheeks, paying special attention to each freckle on her skin as the winter sun cast over them.

He was so infatuated with her that it was almost embarrassing.

“I can’t even imagine what it was like, growing up in a place like this.” Stella turned her head towards Harry, the tip of her nose a little red. “It’s so picturesque.”

“It’s alright.” He gave her a small smile. “I always wanted to get out when I was a kid.”

“Of course you did, we all do.” She chuckled. “I think everyone should run away for a little while, it really gives you all of the tools you need to really appreciate your hometown when you go back. I don’t know that I’ll ever move back to my hometown, but when I visit it, I feel a little bit more appreciative of the pivotal role it had in raising me.”

“I feel the same way about Cheshire.” Harry nodded. “It’s a big part of who I was, and that helped make me who I am. I wouldn’t be the same without this place.”

“Exactly.” She said.

“So where exactly are you from?” He asked. “I mean, obviously America-”

“Is it that obvious?” She asked, narrowing her eyes playfully, her lips pursed. “I don’t think it is.”

“It’s a neon, flashing sign above your head kind of obvious, love.” He snorted. “But I can’t place what your accent is.”

“It’s not really an accent.” Stella shrugged, turning her attention back to the sidewalk. “I grew up on the road for most of my life, but my family settled in Georgia when I was about twelve.”

“Interesting.” He said. “How did you like Georgia?”

“I didn’t, at first.” She laughed. “I hated it so much. I loved being on the road with my family, traveling places like Hawaii and Los Angeles. When we moved to the south, I despised everything about it. It was so plain and boring compared to places we’d lived before. But like I said, moving away has made me learn to love it more when I go back.”

“How long have you been gone?” He asked.

“About three years.” She said. “I lived in Amsterdam for a year, and then Paris, and now I’m here.”

“Which place is your favorite?” He asked. “Be honest with me, now. You don’t have to say London just because you’re trying to get on my good side.”

Stella tossed her head back, laughing loudly.

“I think it’s truthfully London, Harry.”

His name sounded like honey falling from her lips.

“Why is that?” He asked.

“Because I’ve found my chosen family.” She turned back, giving him a smile that thawed out the chill creeping up from his toes. “Starting with Gemma, of course. She was the first person to take me under her wings, and I’m so happy that I have her in my life. Then I started to find other people, and we all became this really close knit group of friends that felt more like family than my actual family does. I don’t know how I’ll ever leave this place.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t.” He said softly. “Maybe this is home.”

Please don’t go, Stella.

Stay here with me forever.

Love me.

“My contract is up at the end of the year, but we’ll just have to see how things go.” She said. “I might be convinced to stay.”

“Well, I guess I have a lot of work to do.” He chuckled.

“Why are you so keen on me staying?” She asked him, her brows raising as she gave him a knowing smirk. “Do you have a crush on me, Styles?”

His cheeks grew hot against the cold wind.

“Alright now, don’t let that go to your head.” He grumbled, tucking his neck into his scarf as Stella’s smile grew wider. “It’s all your bloody fault, you know?”

“What have I done?” She laughed louder. “I’m just me.”

“That’s exactly it.” He let out a breathy chuckle. “You’re you, Stella.”

The Christmas Tree Farm was going well.

That was up until Gemma decided that they absolutely needed to take a family picture in front of the big Christmas tree, Stella included. They had picked up a few little trinkets and such while walking around the market included in the farm. Anne picked up a reindeer headband with bells stitched in, plopping it on her head the second she found it. Gemma found an elf’s hat with little ears attached to the side, putting it on her hair before fussing with her hair. Stella found a crown made of poinsettias that she plopped on top of her curls, the red and gold working perfectly with her red lipstick and gold eyeshadow. Harry, however, wasn’t exactly in the spirit.

“You’re wearing the bloody santa hat, whether you like it or not!” Gemma shoved it towards him with a frown. “If you stand next to Stella, you’ll like Mr. and Mrs. Claus!”

“Shut up, Gemma.” Harry sneered, snatching the hat from her hands. “I didn’t tell you about that so you could throw it in my face!”

“Well, I’m doing it for the greater good of our family photo!” She glared at him. “Put that hat on before I shove it on your head myself.”

“Fine.”

“Are you two alright?” Stella smirked, adjusting her crown on her head as she walked up to Harry and Gemma. “Santa is still putting people on the naughty list you know?”

“If anyone’s going to be on the naughty list, it’s Harry.” Gemma tossed her arm around Stella’s shoulder with a proud smirk. “He’s being a pain in the arse.”

“Is the hat really necessary to the photo?” He groaned, dropping his head back.

“Yes.” Stella and Gemma said at the same time.

“Alright, alright.” He groaned, tugging the hat over his curls. “Are you both happy now?”

“Ecstatic.” Stella smiled brightly at Harry. “I think you look handsome.”

“I’m going to just point out…” Gemma pulled her arm from around Stella, tucking her hands behind her back. “That there’s mistletoe hanging from that piece of wood above your heads.”

“Gemma-” Harry’s eyes grew wide.

“And I’m promptly going to walk away.” She smiled at Stella. “Meet us at the tree in ten minutes.”

“Gemma-” Stella held her hand out as Gemma walked away, her eyes growing just as wide as Harry’s were. “What a sneaky little elf.”

“Tell me about it.” Harry shifted, adjusting the hat on his head. “Devious little-”

“Well, I guess we can’t break tradition.” Stella looked up at Harry, shuffling forward slowly with a little smirk on her lips. “I mean, what would Santa say if we didn’t kiss under the mistletoe?”

Harry licked over his bottom lip, his fingers twitching.

“You really want to kiss me?”

“I might.” Stella’s toes were almost touching Harry’s now. “But the question is, do you want to kiss me?”

“I do, yeah.” He nodded. “I’ve been thinking about it ever since I laid eyes on you, Stella.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” She raised her brows. “Now is your chance, Mr. Grinch, lay one on me.”

Harry lifted his hands, pressing them to Stella’s face hesitantly before he lowered his lips to hers in a soft kiss. It was a gentle peck, one that anyone would share underneath the mistletoe, but Harry wanted more from Stella. It seemed that she wanted more as well, her arms sliding around his neck as she pressed up on her toes. He let his hands fall to her waist as the kiss grew more intense, his hands holding onto her tightly as she brushed her tongue over his lower lip. He tried his best not to smile into the kiss, letting her have what she wanted by parting his lips. When her tongue slipped over his, he let out a tiny moan, gripping her hips tighter.

“Get a room, you two!” Harry groaned, pressing his forehead to Stella’s.

“Gemma, I swear to god-” Harry turned his head, whipping his santa hat off before he threw it in her direction. “Go bother someone else!”

Stella laughed, ducking her forehead down to Harry’s chest as he rubbed his thumbs over her side gently. He felt her body shaking underneath his hands, his heart hammering in his chest when he realized just how close they actually were. He turned his head back, lifting a hand up to guide Stella’s chin up. He pressed his lips to hers once, twice, three more times before she pressed her palms to Harry’s chest.

“We’ll never stop if we don’t move away from the mistletoe.” Stella whispered. “And I think Gemma might physically pull us apart if we miss that Christmas picture.”

“Let it be known that I’m only partaking in this picture because I want to stand next to you for as long as I can.” Harry smiled. “I think I have a little more than a crush on you, Stella.”

“I think I have more than a crush on you, too.”

“Madeline, stop right there.” Stella let out a frustrated sigh as she looped her arm under the baby carrier, her eyes falling down to the sleeping infant. “Milo, promise Mumma that you’ll listen when you get to that age?”

“Give him here.” Harry brushed a kiss over Stella’s temple, his hand massaging her lower back gently. “You go catch up with speed racer, okay? I’ll be right behind you with the baby and the diaper bag.”

“Thank you.” Stella turned her head, puckering her lips out. “I love you.”

“I love you.” He hummed out. “And our beautiful babies, even if one of them has a death wish and two left feet.”

Stella snorted out a laugh, pulling her arm from the carrier before she stuffed her hands in her pockets. “I better go help her up the stairs.”

“Please, we don’t need a repeat of last year.” Harry smiled.

“Yeah, I would like to avoid a trip to A&E this year.” Stella snorted.

He watched Stella walk over to an antsy Madeline, her pigtails bouncing about as she jumped from foot to foot in excitement. Harry chuckled softly at his daughter, amused by her excitement. He was happy that she found so much joy in Christmas, just like her Mother did. He watched Stella hold a hand out, waiting for Madeline to take it before they both conquered the brick steps outside of his Mum’s house. When they got to the top, Stella lifted Madeline up, kissing over her cheeks as their daughter giggled. Harry lifted Milo’s car seat from the base, his eyes falling down to the six month old with hazel eyes and soft cheeks just like his Mother’s.

“We’ve got our hands full with those two, mate.” Harry pulled the soft, wintery blue blanket up to Milo’s chin, tucking it around his shoulders so that he would stay warm. “Gonna keep us both on our toes, I know it.”

Milo cooed up at him, causing Harry to smile wider before he ducked his head down to kiss his son's soft cheeks.

“Let’s get you into Nan’s before you turn into a popsicle, my love.” Harry said. “Mumma won’t be happy if we have to spend Christmas thawing you out.”

As Harry made his way up the stairs, he couldn’t help but remember five Christmases ago.

He was walking up the exact same steps on his own, unaware of the magic that was waiting inside for him. He was unaware that the girl Gemma brought home for Christmas would one day be his wife, and the mother of his two beautiful children. He had no idea that they would spend long nights together, planning their future and holding each other tight. He opened the front door to his Mum’s house, smiling at the sound of Madeline telling his Mother a story with animated gestures, her curly pigtails bouncing around as Stella tried to wrangle her jacket off.

“And then Daddy told me we could get a puppy next year if I was good enough!” Madeline squealed out as Harry shut the door.

He dodged the steely gaze he got from Stella after she heard the word puppy.

“Sorry.” He mouthed over at her, causing her to shake her head as she tried to fight off a smile.

“You’re a menace.” She mouthed back. “But I love you.”

“I love you, too.” He said it outloud, his heart soaring in his chest.

Stella gave him a heart warming smile, Madeline’s coat still in her hands.

Seconds later, Milo let out a tiny cry causing Harry to snap back into dad mode.

He rested the carseat on the ground, carefully pulling his son out before pressing a kiss to his chubby little cheeks. As if Gemma could sense his presence, she barreled into the living room with her eyes set on Milo.

“There’s my little man.” She held her hands out, wiggling them as Harry rolled his eyes. “You get to see him every day, Harry. Pass him over to his auntie.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes. “Please be careful with him, I kind of like this one.”

“Piss off.” Gemma snorted out, sliding Milo onto her hip before pressing a bright red kiss mark into his forehead. “Has Daddy told you that without auntie Gem, you wouldn’t exist?”

“Gemma-”

“Can you believe that?” She looked up at Harry, a hint of something nostalgic and genuine sparkling in her green eyes. “If I’d never brought Stella to family Christmas, we wouldn’t have two beautiful babies to dote over every year.”

“I can’t even begin to imagine what life would be like without them.” He whispered. “Thank you, Gemma.”

“Harry, I really didn’t-”

“Gemma.” He said her name sternly, pressing his palm to her bicep. “Thank you so much, from the bottom of my heart. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” She said softly, her eyes watering. “Now, if you could do me a favor and bring a hot friend around, I’d really appreciate it.”

“I’ll see what I can manage.” He let out a wet chuckle, his own eyes watering.

“What are we managing?” Stella wrapped her arms around Harry.

“We owe Gem a favor.” He sniffled, turning head to press a kiss to Stella’s forehead.

“Why are you crying, baby?” Stella frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing at all.” He pressed his lips to hers, softly brushing his nose against the tip of hers as his. “Just so incredibly grateful to have you in my life, that’s all.”

“You’re so sappy around the holiday’s.” Stella brushed her palm over his belly. “I love you, Mr. Styles.”

“I love you, too, Mrs. Styles.” He said. “Merry Christmas, Darling.”

“Merry Christmas.”

#not edited #as per usual #harry styles writing #harry styles fic #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry writing #harry fic #harry one shot #harry imagine #harry styles X ofc #harry styles christmas fic #harry styles blurb #harry blurb #harry styles christmas blurb

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cherrynojutsu · 3 years

Text

Title: Like Gold

Summary: Sasuke grapples with love and intimacy regarding his developing relationship with Sakura after returning to the village from his journey of redemption. Kind of a character study on Sasuke handling an intimate relationship after dealing with PTSD and survivor’s guilt in solitude for so long. Blank period, canon-compliant, Sasuke-centric, lots of fluff and pining, slowly becomes a smut fest with feelings.

Disclaimer: I did not write Naruto. This is a fan-made piece solely created for entertainment purposes.

Rating: M (eventual nsfw-ness)

AO3 Link - FF.net Link - includes beginning/ending author's notes

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Chapter 6/?: Roots

It's pouring rain by the time Sasuke awakens, a tempestuous sort of hush awash a village swathed in grey. He's gotten a very good night's sleep, only waking once around five to groggily hearken as the pitter patter of droplets began against the asphalt and metal of the roof. He'd watched the beads of liquid slowly connect to others, forming small rivulets pulled downwards by gravity on the glass of his bedroom window, before he made the decision to try to fall back asleep. To his bewilderment, it had actually worked; a rare occurrence, as it usually doesn't. No dreams, no nightmares, just blissful emptiness, like he was allowed for once to drink in the moisture of rest like a tonic, exuding into his being much like the precipitation trickling into the soil outside.

It's nine thirty when he rolls out of bed, reluctant to leave the warm requiescence of his comforter, but also wanting to give himself plenty of time to get ready. He'd like to shower before he heads over to Sakura’s, and he also wants to eat something light for breakfast first. He decides on ochazuke, because it’s relatively easy to prepare and he thinks he would like more tea; two birds with one stone. There are sesame seeds in his cupboard that he could sprinkle over the dish, at the end. He sets a portion of brown rice to boil before brewing a cup of the caffeinated green sencha to eventually seep over it.

It smells really good as it permeates into the hot water, earthiness propelling upwards and sinking into his nostrils. He'll have to thank her again today, now that he knows what her gift actually contained.

While he lets things stew, Sasuke considers the kitchen table, where he left the remainder of the gifts yesterday. Now is as good a time as any to find a place for each of them, he supposes. He makes quick work of washing the paring board before setting it aside to dry. The cough drops find a home in his bathroom's mostly empty storage behind the mirror; he takes the two lozenges left from the hospital and puts them there, too, to use before he opens any of the new packages.

He decides that the photo should go on the bedside table, next to the clock. He can always move it, if he changes his mind. It catches his eye for longer than is strictly necessary.

Eventually he returns to the kitchen, removing the strainer from the tea and stirring the pot of rice twice as he waits for it to finish cooking. The barrage has lessened since daybreak, not overly loud, but enough to create an ambient sort of background noise that is a nice change of pace; less of a storm and more of a quenched thirst for the earth, emptying from rooftops down the gutters and into the ground. Sakura’s building is older, too; it probably will sound much the same at her apartment.

He savors the ochazuke once it’s finished, a simple but enjoyable way to start the day, caffeine threading its way into his system gradually. Washing the dishes is his next task, followed by an extremely lengthy shower, temperature near thermogenic. The bruises from his two spars with Naruto are still sore, but not terrible; the heat feels good on the marred skin. Water drifts across more bruising that has bled into existence overnight on his shins, before it sinks between his toes and vanishes down the drain. He’s not sure why he watches it; it just seems compelling today for some reason, everything pulling downward.

When he’s dry, he throws on a comfortable pair of black pants and a matching long-sleeved shirt. He doesn’t want to read more of his book since he has a little less than half left of the one on kenjutsu, so he decides to complete some meal prep instead, testing out the paring board by chopping and slicing various produce; mushrooms, bell peppers, broccoli, carrots, tomatoes, green onions, and burdock roots are slowly removed from his fridge, cleaved into neat pieces, and then returned to their respective assortment of bags and containers. The small bits of metal attached to the board allow for cutting goods with ease, a bit ingenious. It works extremely well, much more efficient than the hassle of summoning a clone to simply stand there holding each item still. It’s not that he doesn’t have the chakra to spare, but it feels more dignified this way.

After enough time has passed, Sasuke pulls on a pair of grey socks, sandals, and his cloak before he leaves, library book concealed and protected by the black garment.

It’s marginally chilly outside, but not terribly cold like it would have been earlier in the morning. Petrichor overwhelms him, an aroma he is well acquainted with. He is reminded of the scent of the foliage the handful of times he passed through the Land of Rain, and also of drizzly days spent as a child here in Konoha. Every bit of vegetation he glimpses on the way to Sakura’s apartment complex is drinking up the liquid greedily, drop after drop of nourishment with which they will sustain themselves and use to grow.

The puddles are starting to join in their crevices, small streams of gentle cascades forming. It captures his attention like the shower drain did earlier, and it feels nostalgic for some reason, like there is some forgotten secret that the land beneath is whispering through the medium of interconnected pools, rippling outward until they touch more solid soil.

His hair is a bit damp when he arrives at her building just prior to eleven. Illumination flows from beneath doorways of variegated colors; everyone else is inside today, too. The tonality is similar to the harmony overheard at his own apartment, as he expected; he finds it comforting.

He knows he’s a little early, so Sasuke takes his time going up the stairs. Once he reaches the sage green of her threshold, he raps twice and waits, studying Sakura’s plants in their terracotta pots. There are a few amongst them that he doesn’t recognize, which is curious, given that he’s wandered so many places and has grown familiar with a vast diversity of flora. There is lucky bamboo pushed towards the back of the array, in the area that gets the least amount of light. A spider plant is to its left, and a golden pothos, along with a snake plant, are sandwiched to its right, towards the corner. A lilac moth orchid blooms near her door, a paler variety than he has seen anywhere else. Coral kalanchoe spill out the side of a taller planter, next to pink and pistachio mums, faded yellow butterfly ranunculus, and a small vessel filled with white daffodils, sunny insides flourishing outwards. There are succulents, too, tricolor lavender scallops sprinkled throughout several of the ceramic containers, along with a strain he doesn’t recognize.

Yarrow and jewelweed emerge from smaller pots on the edge of the spread, which makes him wonder if the few plants he’s unfamiliar with are being grown for useful purposes rather than decorative. Perhaps she keeps them for her work crafting antidotes; he knows that the roots of plants can often carry medicinal benefits. One of them is quite odd looking, now that he is peering down at it closely; dark plum-colored stems spread upwards with circular leaf-like shapes at the crown, trains of spiky white flowers budding from them. Another one he can’t identify has a tiny whitish yellow flower, dwarfed by the huge wrinkled leaves that surround it.

They appear as if they have been tended already, the loam damp as it is outside with no opportunity for warmth to dry them as of yet, though this verdure is more tame, less wild. She must water them in the morning. All of them are so different, yet they are all alike, too, stringy germinations and rhizomes expanding to suffuse through their similar planters.

Her door clicks open, and he shifts. Sakura smiles up at him, sunshine on a rainy day accented by a dimple, wearing an extremely comfortable-looking outfit: an oversized cream crewneck that slips off one of her shoulders a little, and a juniper pair of jogging pants that he thinks would be too long for her if not for the gathering at the ankles.

"Good morning, Sasuke-kun," she greets, eyes he loves radiant on his. "It's almost ready; come in."

He responds, “Morning,” and follows her inside, placing his library book on the console table momentarily, where her lamp is already switched on. As he shrugs off his cloak and toes off his sandals, she drifts back to the kitchen, something likely needing her attention there. He notices as she goes that there is an extremely fuzzy pair of beige socks on her feet.

As he hangs his cloak, he realizes that her apartment smells like roasted tomatoes and toasting bread, overpowering any vague notes of her tea cabinet in a way that makes his mouth water.

Sasuke reaches for his book from the console table and goes further into her living space, where the rest of her lamps are also turned on already; no hard lighting. He assumes they'll read on her couch, so he sets the text on the end table, closest to the side where he’d sat the previous night. There are two blankets thrown over the sofa now that weren't there yesterday, one appearing plush that is a color somewhere between mauve and lavender, and the other one a knit heather grey. It’s probable that they came from her bedroom; perhaps the walls are some variant of violet, a color he would not have expected.

As he turns, intending to join Sakura in the kitchen, his eye catches on a familiar photo, and he stops. Perched on one of the few empty areas of one of her bookshelves is their original Team Seven portrait, in a pale wood frame, near white. It's different in finish from the other frames adorning her walls near the kitchen, much lighter in color.

He is struck by it for multiple reasons; it wasn’t there yesterday, meaning it probably has also come from her bedroom, and it is very close in finish to the wood of the uchiwa fan he gave her as a birthday gift. He hasn’t seen it; Sasuke knows most women keep ornamental fans like that in storage for safekeeping. He vaguely recalls his own mother used to keep hers, though less ornate and made of paper rather than silk, in boxes, stored securely for future use at festivals and such in her closet. She’d shown them to him, once, and he’d seen her carrying them on special occasions, from time to time.

Sasuke studies the picture and the wood grain for a long moment, gaze softening. He wonders if she moved it out here to make him feel more at home.

He breaks his contemplation by making his way to her kitchen finally, where Sakura is flipping a grilled cheese sandwich over in a pan, one of two. A slow cooker lies atop the counter, lid condensed with moisture, with plates, bowls, and spoons laid out next to it.

It smells really good.

Green eyes fall on him, bright and filled with exuberance. "These are on their last minute, I think, so if you wanted to, you could dish up the soup while I finish them. There’s a ladle in there.” She gestures towards the drawer beneath the counter where the slow cooker rests. “It's tomato miso; I hope you like it. It should be done by now.”

His stomach suddenly feels tied in knots in the best sort of way. A gilding of warmth spreads throughout his entire being, veins and arteries and capillaries slowly immersed in something numinous.

“...I’m sure I’ll like it,” he murmurs, reveling in the blush that inks its way onto her cheeks, all the way back on her cheekbones to surround the freckle he’d touched yesterday. She looks away shyly, grinning like he has given her some grand compliment. The corners of his own mouth twist upwards.

Sasuke pulls the ladle from the aforementioned drawer, where it sits amongst other utensils, setting it in one of the bowls already placed on the counter. When he removes the lid, his olfactory senses instantly flood with a wave of savory miso; by the aroma, she must have used red, middle range, a perfect foil for the acidity of tomatoes. When he grabs the ladle again, he stirs it a few times; quartered shiitake mushrooms, kombu, scallions, and tomato chunks - he thinks they are of the plum variety - circle the pot, filling it near to the brim just below the surface. Sakura has made a considerable amount of it, much more than is needed for a single meal for two.

He shifts the plates closer to the slow cooker, bowls set atop them, before ladling soup in, careful not to spill and making sure to get an even mixture of produce with which to fill the broth in each. He rinses the ladle clean, and she mentions that there are small plates in the cupboard to his upper left, to rest the ladle on; he grabs one as she moves to open a different cupboard behind him.

Sasuke returns the lid to its place to trap in the slow cooker’s heat, rotating the dial from hot, past low and into the warming setting. When he turns back to Sakura, she’s shutting the stove off and moving the pan to a cool burner. Both of the sandwiches are resting on a cutting board, sliced diagonally.

The sandwiches smell really good, too. She veers the halves onto the empty space of the plates using the knife, before leaving it, along with the paring board, in the sink.

They each grab a plate and spoon before heading to her dining table, in front of the northern window. The dangling market lamp is already turned on, and fat droplets are slipping down the glass.

It’s a calming lunch they share, a steady lulling of inclement background noise alternating between bites of sandwich and spoonfuls of soup as they watch the street below. The avocado is good in grilled cheese; it’s something he would have never thought to add. Sakura dips hers into her soup, so he tries it, too, and finds he likes it even better that way. The soup on its own is something else, though; filling and savory, near perfectly spiced. She’s a good cook.

“It’s good. Thank you,” he compliments halfway through as she chews and swallows a bite.

She beams at him. “You’re welcome.” She studies him before adding, “There’s enough for leftovers, if you’d like any more.”

He nods and takes another mouthful, looking out the glass thoughtfully. The residential buildings across the way are also lit up, soft light blurred through the fractals of raindrops.

“Do you think Naruto’s doing his homework on a day like today?” Sakura asks eventually.

“Tch.” He turns his gaze to her. “I doubt he’s even awake yet.”

Her grin is mischievous. “You’re probably right. It's his weekend. No Hinata around to wake him up? Definitely still asleep.” She sighs exaggeratedly. “Kakashi-sensei will be so disappointed. Though it’s better than copying someone else’s, I guess.”

“...Did he used to copy yours?” He’s more amused by that prospect than he should be, though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer.

Sakura furrows fine pink brows as if she knows that he knows the answer, too, but she’s still smiling. “He used to ask if he could. I was too good of a student to let him.”

“...Figures.” A ghost of a smile overtakes him, a cleansing sort of sentimental fondness for bygone days during which their third squad member was at his most annoying.

“I think Shikamaru used to let him. It was too much effort to say no that many times.”

Sasuke exhales through his nose, a rendition of a laugh as she takes another bite of her sandwich, dipping it first in the soup and looking amused. Nara would.

He also takes another bite, and mulls over his next words.

Swallowing beforehand, he inquires, “...What’s in Suna?”

Sakura blinks in surprise, analytical eyes quickly working out that he’s referring to her comment yesterday at Ichiraku’s. She turns to the window, smirking and chewing her food as if considering something of great importance. The dimple sinks in and out as her mouth moves; he averts his eyes back to his plate before he gets caught staring.

When she swallows, she’s quiet for a long moment, then says ambiguously, “I’m not sure I should say anything. Insider knowledge.”

Interesting. Sasuke is sure she has the same friendly camaraderie with Nara that she has with everyone else, but he assumes the insider knowledge must have actually come from Ino; she is the type to know everyone’s business, given how much she apparently shares her own with Sakura, and she is Shikamaru’s teammate, though they're both Jonin now.

“...No hints?” He presses, pinning her with a stare. Now he’s more curious; it must be something good, if it’s a secret of this magnitude.

She bites her lip, still grinning, then bites into her sandwich, watching precipitation race down the glass.

“One,” she finally acquiesces, as if it’s a monumental conspiracy. He raises an eyebrow in anticipation.

“It’s in Suna sometimes. Other times, not.”

He narrows his eyes and suppresses an urge to twitch, because that could really be anything, given their line of work, but based on her bemused expression, he’s not going to get more than that. He settles for studying her until she looks elsewhere, a shy giggle escaping her throat as if this is very funny.

“Sorry. Not mine to tell.” She raises another spoonful of soup to her lips.

“...But Kakashi knows?”

She swallows. “Oh, yes. He might have known before anyone else caught on.”

“Naruto?”

Sakura appears to be deliberating. “...Mmm, he’s more observant than when we were kids, so he might. I kind of doubt it though. They’re pretty good friends now, but…”

Sasuke hadn’t known that. He waits for her to finish her thought, staring at her pointedly. Her gaze flicks back up to his after a second.

She shrugs, then. “He’s a good strategist. I kind of think he’ll hold a higher-up position, once Naruto becomes Hokage, if Kakashi-sensei doesn’t promote him before that. He’d be an asset as an adviser.”

Shikamaru became the chief coordinator of the Shinobi Union, after the war. That type of advancement would make a lot of sense. He would be well-suited to assist the Hokage even now, moreso in a few years. It speaks to Naruto’s increase in awareness, Sasuke thinks, that he would be planning ahead to compensate for areas he is less strong in by appointing sensible counsel. A clan head is an astute choice, especially one who has put in efforts to make peace.

It’s odd, to think of the roles everyone in their generation has come or will come to fill, the more he considers it. Distinctively different plants with roots distending into analogous vessels, like the terracotta ones on Sakura’s doorstep.

“Nara’s a good choice for that,” Sasuke finally says, realizing he should respond.

Sakura inclines her head before lifting her bowl to her mouth to drink the last of her broth. She’s finished her sandwich now. He’s about finished with his, too.

This is nice, he thinks as she smiles at him before glancing outside again. “It’s really coming down now, huh?”

It’s the type of question that doesn’t really need an answer, but he nods anyway, because it is. Meager ponds are collecting in the street, rills tracing pathways over the awnings of the building across the thoroughfare. Pitter patters on the roof have grown in intensity to rival those of the early morning. It reminds him almost of the summer monsoons Konoha tends to get, though this clearly isn't one, still being in the throes of spring. Moisture is good for roots, he supposes.

He sips the last of the broth from his bowl, and she looks back to him. “Would you like another bowl? Or maybe some tea? I can brew some while I do the dishes.”

Sasuke considers the offer. It was a pretty filling meal, the soup piquant and packed with produce as it was. “...Tea would be good. I can help.”

Sakura seems like she’s going to protest, so he adds, “Thank you for the sencha… and the rest. I didn’t have loose leaf yet; I like it.”

She flushes, smiling at him softly. “You’re welcome.”

A silence filled by drizzle passes in which they regard each other, and then she’s standing to collect her plates, so he follows her example and grabs his own before trailing behind her to the kitchen.

It’s early enough still that they can have caffeinated tea, so she cycles through the loose leaf options she has as the sink fills with suds; matcha, chai, ginger peach, white monkey, and rose bouquet white. “The white monkey isn’t as sweet as it usually is; I think I got a unique batch. It’s more woody and peppery than anything; I’ve been mixing it with matcha.” There are the pre-packaged versions, too, but she doesn’t read them off, since they have more specifically sweet flavors, like caramel vanilla, banana dessert, and strawberry shortcake.

He picks white monkey at her recommendation of it not being too cloying, and she grabs one of the banana dessert pre-packaged tea bags for herself. Sakura makes short work of setting the water in the kettle to boil before procuring two teacups and siphoning some of the white monkey blend into a small strainer she pulls from another drawer.

Once she’s done that, she unplugs the slow cooker and reaches for something from a lower cupboard - two hand towels - to put on the counter; he assumes one is to utilize as a dish mat and the other is to actually dry with.

“If you really want to, you can dry… But you’re a guest, so you don’t have to,” she murmurs, expression affectionate in a way that makes his neck warm.

So Sasuke helps. She washes and rinses - her dish soap is lemon-scented - and strategically sets each piece atop the first towel he’s laid out. He dries one side of the plates and bowls, then flips them over one-handed to dry the other, stacking them on the clean expanse of counter to his right. It doesn’t take very long with them working together. When she goes to empty the sink, she gives it a scrub and a rinse with the soapy sponge she’s been using, efficient as always, before rinsing any remnant suds from her own hands.

“I can show you where everything goes,” Sakura says, so Sasuke helps her put things away, too, mentally cataloging what’s in each cupboard for future reference. Her storage system is well thought out, organized in a way that makes the most sense for the layout of the space.

When she reaches upwards to put the cutting board back in its place, the sleeve of her top slips further to one side, gravity pulling the fabric downwards on her slender frame and exposing some of the skin of her upper back. There is a dusting of tiny freckles just above the interior portion of her left shoulder blade that he hadn’t known was there. The way they are scattered reminds him of serpens caput, missing only one of the constellation’s general equivalent of stars. He forces his stare away, ears reddening, when she turns to remove the pot from the slow cooker.

“Thank you for helping.” Sakura adds coconut creamer and sugar to her own cup of tea, stirring. “Would you like lemon with this one?”

Sasuke thinks, still a little distracted by dainty freckles, before shaking his head. If it’s woody and peppery, he’ll probably like it fine on its own. She pushes his teacup towards him on the counter with a look that tells him to test it, so he does, and finds he was right; it’s herbaceous, with a scant amount of woodiness and pepper lurking underneath. Maybe the tiniest hint of sweetness, but barely.

“It’s good,” he tells her quietly, before taking another sip.

Apparently the grey blanket is reserved for him; she takes the lavender once they head to the living room, curling up on one end of the couch with it, tea and her book on the table. Based on her bookmark, she’s about halfway through hers. Sasuke does the same on the other end, mirroring her pose, back propped towards the side of the couch with feet extending to the middle rather than going off the front. He keeps his knees slightly bent so he doesn’t invade her space too much, though he doesn’t think she would mind.

He steals one last glance at her before opening his own book to get lost in the different ways to wield a blade. The rain on Sakura’s roof is ataractic, accented by the pleasant smell of tea, the sensation of a full belly, and a warm blanket that smells like her, though it’s more raspberry this time than any lingering antiseptic.

It’s nearly three by the time he finishes his book, mind swimming with descriptions of sword forms. Sasuke peeks at her and sees she’s almost done, too, so he rereads the more engrossing passages, the ones that were particularly well fleshed-out. He’s so relaxed that he thinks he could fall asleep despite the caffeine, if he closed his eyes for more than a few minutes; focusing on rereading should help him stay awake.

Sakura closes her book after a bit; he looks upward at the sound, meeting green.

“How was your book?” She asks, lips twisting upwards; she must have noticed he finished his, despite still reading her own.

"...Good."

“Learn anything?”

“...A bit.”

Her smile widens as if she is amused; maybe he should elaborate, but he’s not sure if practical applications of swordsmanship are something she’s interested in.

Evidently they are, because she questions, “Care to share?”

Sasuke begins explaining the concept of iaido, derived from iaijutsu, the samurai skill of drawing one’s sword and cutting in the same movement, rather than cutting from an assumed stance after already drawing the weapon. It’s a simple idea, one he’s experimented with in the past, but there had been illustrations on a few of the pages showing different forms, and two of them he has never attempted. The pictures helped; he thinks to himself when he visits the library again, he’ll seek out one containing more visual aides.

He expounds upon the chapter on dual swordsmanship, too, primarily utilizing one sword to attack and another to defend; the defensive stances detailed are some he would like to try, specifically tailored as they are to be used with one arm. Some of them he’s already used intuitively, but one of the forms captured his attention, involving a slight variant sweeping of the blade to repel an attacker that would situate them at a more advantageous angle. It could be useful, if he ever needs to draw an enemy into a trap.

“Interesting,” Sakura remarks, and it seems genuine. Maybe it is interesting, in the case of someone who has, at least to his knowledge, never used a sword. He would like to ask her about medical ninjutsu sometime. “So it was a good read?”

He inclines his head to indicate yes. “...And yours?”

Sakura grimaces. “It… wasn’t terrible, I suppose. I didn’t really like the author’s writing style. Ino and I differ in that regard. She reads things more for the story itself than the way it’s told, so sometimes this happens.”

Sasuke raises an eyebrow so she’ll clarify. She shifts slightly, bringing a finger to her chin in thought. “It was too… straightforward. Limited and repetitive vocabulary, not a lot of dialogue structural variation, though it’s well-researched; I’ll give it that. It takes place during the second Shinobi War. A civilian woman’s husband going off to battle, they have to evacuate the area, the costs of conflict, that sort of thing. The ending was sad…” Her voice trails off, punctuated by the plunk of deluge, then she adds, “I guess it makes sense that the protagonist would think in limited language given the rudimentary basic education structure of everything back then, but it’s not very… poetic. It was like the author felt nothing as they wrote it, a kind of detachment from the whole thing.”

He suppresses an urge to smirk, reminiscing on her letters and extensive vocabulary. “...You like poetry.” It’s just an observation, but it’s something he hadn’t known about her, prior to now. Very Sakura.

Color floods across her cheekbones, and she looks at him with an expression that is very tender, as if there’s something else she would like to say. He could stare for hours, entranced by her as he is. “...I do.”

Sasuke wonders, then, if any of the books on her bookshelves are poetry books. He hasn’t read the titles carefully. It occurs to him that she might have more books in her bedroom, now that he’s thinking about it. When he was younger, he used to keep many of his own in his room, too, sorted by genre.

“Did you finish your other book already?” Sakura asks him, then, expression inquisitive.

He nods, eyeing her as he contemplates what he would like to say. He decides not to phrase it as a question this time; he wants her to offer, so he knows he's not requesting too much. Give her an out. She trains with Ino in the morning on Mondays and has lunch with her after, but she hasn’t said anything about her plans for the afternoon.

There’s still something in him that’s nervous, tightening as he speaks, careful to specify time. “...I was thinking of going tomorrow afternoon to get some new ones.”

Her smile unfurls slowly; Sakura really can read him well. “...I was, too.”

His chest rushes with warmth, anxiety released in a single relieved breath; it's not too much, then. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and that seems to encourage her, because she adds, “Ino and I are usually done with lunch by around one. It’s supposed to be nice out, I think. We could…” Her voice trails off, as if she’s considering. “...We could meet at the library around one thirty, and then maybe… take books to a quieter area to read, after. If you want. I... think I know a spot that should be fairly dry by then.”

“...I can meet you here,” Sasuke offers in a low voice, a confession he's more comfortable with now. The way she glows in response as she agrees is captivating.

Sakura invites him to play go with her, after. He agrees, because he wants to, and also because he doesn’t want to leave just yet. They set up the board on her dining table, a gridded battlefield of sorts beneath the market light.

She absolutely demolishes him in the first round, carefully surveying the board before each play of her white stones with careful calculation and syllogism. It’s to be expected, because she has always been smarter than him, but also because he hasn’t played in years and is woefully out of practice, ill-prepared to deal with this sort of onslaught. The second round is closer, but he still loses. It’s a challenge, as he knew it would be; Sasuke finds her moves to be quite roundabout, more about the long haul tactics of trapping than any short and quick route to victory. There are times where he realizes he unknowingly played right into a ruse more than five turns previous.

It’s four thirty by the end of the second match. Sakura’s attention flashes to the clock once as she puts away the board; he helps, sorting his own black pieces into their respective container. He will have to head out soon, though he’s not looking forward to it. He is quite comfortable here, with her.

“It’s still coming down out there,” she muses as she rises to store the box, peering through the glass before turning to make her way to the bookshelf she’d retrieved the set from earlier.

“...It is.” He gazes out the window, distracted by the puddles and their ripples below them in the street. It feels almost as if something is tugging on him to focus on them, suggesting something orphic, beyond simple rainwater.

The soft clicking of teacups and small plates being collected from her coffee table resounds behind him, so he turns to her, thinking he could offer to help wash them.

“I made enough soup for leftovers, so if you want to take some home, you can.” Sakura says, before the words make it out of his mouth. Outwardly he remains blank-faced, but something in him sighs. He’s not really sure what he's going to do with the rest of the day. Sparring with Naruto would be unwise on a day like today; he’d probably catch a cold. He could go by a store and buy a book to read, he supposes.

Being back in Konoha is odd like that. He used to just… walk, if he didn’t have anything to do on his journey, or read her letters, but now that he has had the opportunity to spend time with her, he selfishly just wants more of it. Time spent alone seems dimmer in comparison.

He would like to take some soup back to his apartment, though. It was kind of her to offer; he should probably say something.

She looks contemplative when he looks to her, though, carefully clutching porcelain, and thank you lingers in his throat, unspoken.

“Or… If you would like to stay for dinner, and do something after... you could.”

The faintest of stings begins behind his retinas, something long in the tooth stirring, aged roots buried so deeply he had perhaps forgotten they ever existed in the first place. He thinks it is the feeling of being wanted, of having a place in someone’s home.

He hopes she’s offering because she genuinely wants him to stay. She has a mountain of responsibilities, he knows, although it is her day off.

“...You’re sure?”

Pink brows furrow as if she’s confused how he could ask such a thing; she shuffles her weight slightly from one foot to the other. “Of course.”

An interlude passes in which the torrent measures time, the beat of a ballad that is very old. Her next words are hushed, pianissimo lyrics that he’s sure she has no idea just how much he has yearned for; she’s biting her lip and peeking at him from beneath pink lashes as she says them.

“I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.”

The daunting prospect of a lonely evening evaporates completely. His tongue feels tied up in his mouth, but he nods, hoping she can read in his eyes his gratitude; he’s fairly certain that if he spoke, it would come out hoarse, not at all suitable as a response to the song she has just offered to him.

Sasuke thinks that she can see it just fine, because she gives him a breathtaking smile that could sustain him for a long time, a drop of honey added to an overflowing teacup in which he sips the surplus, with a tinge of an aftertaste that isn’t too sweet for his liking.

The dishes are tackled together. After they finish, she reheats tomato miso soup and cooks two more sandwiches for supper. Another meal is shared at her dining table, overcast skies overlapping into evening, the lights from the windows of Konoha glowing more and more as time passes. It’s just as good the second time, flavorful and filling.

They watch a geology-focused documentary on her television about lava, earthquakes, and landslides. Sakura questions him afterwards about the little time he was in the Land of Volcanoes, south of the Land of Mountains. He hadn’t stuck around for any extended time due to the extreme heat, but what time he did spend there is seared into his memory due to the intensity of it. He had come rather close to one of the region’s volcanoes, within sight of a smoking center mere miles away with lava tendrils trickling outwards, in the process of cooling but still alarmingly hot.

It makes him feel more appreciative for the rain here today, recalling it. Here in Konoha, he could touch the streamlets if he wanted to; he doesn’t need to keep a distance.

They follow up the documentary with a movie after; this time he tells Sakura to pick one. It’s unique, including some fantasy elements, about a struggle between the gods of a forest and the humans living on its edge that consume its resources. The protagonist is cursed by an animal attack, and seeks out a cure from one of the deities. While traveling, he sees other areas in which humans are ravaging the earth and warring with the gods of nature, a thought-provoking contrast considering they’ve just viewed a program detailing the inner mechanisms and wrath of volcanic eruptions, much like gods of nature in their own rights. The conclusion is open-ended; though the hero tries to broker a peace between humanity and the spirits, there is no feeling of resolution or success, no guarantee that one side will mediate with the other. It isn’t quite what he expected it to be, but he notes that the characters were quite realistic, allowing for the viewer to identify with them and better experience what they must be feeling secondhand; it was not told in a detached sort of way as she’d said the book from earlier had been.

Sakura makes earl grey tea, after, and they visit for the better part of another hour, quiet voices awash in auriferous lighting, relaxed by bergamot malt and lemon slices. She inquires about his travels, which places overall were his favorite in the four other great nations. The way she looks at him as he answers makes his heart thump, as if she is hanging on his every word.

It’s near eleven at night by the time he rises for the entryway. The kiss they share before he leaves feels like the drizzle of the rainwater outside, mellow collections grown slowly but surely deeper from time spent together, inexplicably telluric like submerging into soil.

He steps in a few unavoidable collected pools of moisture on his way back to his own apartment, drenching his socks. It makes him feel strangely nostalgic again for some reason, a reminder of a place’s capacity for change, to absorb something and thrive again.

Sasuke has seen many parts of the world now, absorbed as much as he can through his brother’s eyes, and has just relived his favorites by describing them to Sakura. She didn’t ask him about his favorite place in the Land of Fire, though.

It may easily become Sakura’s apartment.

XXX

When he sinks into slumber, he is pulled further downwards into a memory from a very long time ago, something quondam that has since dissolved.

The recollection is hazy in the ways that dreams are, slightly murky as if he is viewing it through a puddle tinged with the loam of Konoha, but perhaps there is something about Sharingan vision even unactivated that embeds the visual acuity into one’s optic nerves, to live there in perpetuity for eventual retrospect. It is one of his earliest memories, he thinks; he would have been maybe four, meaning Itachi had to have been nine or ten, though there is no one he can ask to confirm.

There had been a summer monsoon, perhaps the first one he was old enough to remember, water temperate enough to exult in without catching cold. Their mother warned them not to be outside too long in the storm, and occupied the covered porch, observing them to make sure they heeded her will. There had been no precipitation for a while prior - he thinks there may have been a drought - so the moisture was welcome. Plashets collected in their sprawling yard, causing Mikoto Uchiha’s prized white lilies to appear as if they were emerging from small lakes. She had expressed concern that they may drown upon Sasuke’s examination of them, framing the boundary of their home, but he, in that naive viridity that small children have before the world beats it out of them, thought they were strong enough to persevere.

“I’m sure you’re right, Sasuke,” his brother had said supportively, before showing him a path that allowed a step in every puddle on their family’s grounds. They had raced to the far end of their property and back; he had clumsily fallen at the end of the first pass, getting soaked, as if he wasn’t already from the warm rain coating both of them from the ashen sky above. Mud stuck between his toes, squelching and cushioning his fall while simultaneously making him filthy. It had sloughed off so easily back then in the deluge, corroding all at once and bleeding into the mess of their yard to immediate murky liquidity.

Itachi helped him up by his left hand, getting covered in his muck before the water rinsed their digits clean, and then he was being challenged to a second sprint. Sasuke emerged victorious this time, though now, looking back with eyes that are not his own, he realizes his brother obviously let him win, trained Shinobi that he was by that point. Coming to terms with that is horrifying, because he can see now that his brother was still just a child, wisdom beyond his years be damned. Sasuke is sure Itachi would have to have killed people on missions by then, completely at odds with the soft-spoken and gentle countenance he portrayed at home.

Eventually there was enough drizzle that miniature rivers of connected pools formed, capillaries of nourishment interlacing everything. Sasuke had been fascinated by the changing landscape, until Itachi had ambled up to the porch to speak with their mother. Disappointment swept into him like a tide; he had thought that his brother didn’t want to play with him anymore. But then their mother had risen and gone indoors, and Itachi motioned for him to join him at the edge, beneath the awning.

She came back carrying a small pile of paper, which confused him. He’d watched, enthralled, as Itachi folded one of the pieces into something reminiscent of a boat, simple yet perfect.

“If you put them by the gutter, the force will push them sailing across the yard,” his brother had said; he remembers the inflection so clearly, strange because it is from a time when Itachi was young enough to have the voice of a child, so unlike the rich timbre he’d held later in life.

He had trailed after his brother to the gutter, and sure enough, the paper boat was propelled by the rain streaming down from the roof; it took off as soon as Itachi let go. Sasuke had stomped after it with approximately zero grace, mud coating him up to his ankles, until it reached the boundary fence, saturated through and less buoyant due to the barrage of droplets dampening it from above.

The absolute joy he felt, when he had sprinted back to tug on his brother’s sleeve to ask if he would show him how to make one, and he’d agreed. They’d returned to the pile of paper guarded from the elements by their mother, and Itachi showed him each step, creating another one alongside him as an example. His small hands were not very coordinated back then; his boat hadn’t turned out as nice, all wrinkled sloppiness instead of crisp, clean folds.

“You just need more practice,” Itachi had murmured. “My first one was messy, too. I’ll help you.”

Larger hands had closed around his, creating skillful creases and shaping with dexterity. The second boat turned out much better. Sasuke had given his first one to his mother, then, so she could race, too. Remembering the smile, the genuine look of motherly gratitude she’d given him, bruises something in his soul, precipitation on frail roots entombed deep; it reminds him of the struggle of swallowing a gulp of water after traipsing through the desert, dry mouth making it almost painful, a gargantuan effort that takes everything in him not to look away.

She’d followed them from the porch over to the corner eaves, staying under the cover to avoid getting drenched, and the three of them had released their creations. Sasuke thinks they had to have given him a small headstart, surrendering theirs just after his, so his boat would make it to the other end of the yard first. He’d run after it, Itachi meandering along behind him at a slower pace, while their mother stayed beneath the awning.

His brother had smiled at him as he jumped puddle to puddle in glee. They’d grabbed the now-soaked paper boats at the conclusion of their path, and brought them up to the porch to set in a pile. Then they constructed and raced more, a veritable treasure of a late morning. For his last of the day, Sasuke had tried folding one on his own again, and it turned out better than his first attempt. Though a little lopsided, it hadn’t capsized, sailing strong in the current unaided just like Itachi’s.

Their mother had made them shower and then drawn them a hot bath after, to ensure they were clean and warmed. She had parted his toes to get the mud stuck there out, soil spiraling and dissolving down the drain as he watched. He’d splashed Itachi in the bath after, and folded one more boat with a piece of paper his mother brought him, so he could see how much time it took for it to sink without getting flooded from above, an experiment in buoyancy.

She made miso soup with rice for a late lunch, with something from their aunt and uncle’s shop as a treat after, some variety of warmed pastry. Itachi had let him try his in addition to his own; Sasuke’s had been strawberry, but Itachi’s tasted of peach, gooey sweetness to top off a perfect day that wasn’t even over yet. Their mother must have made herself some tea, too; he remembers the aroma of jasmine filling the space, warmed by lamplight cast on dark wood. When she’d told Sasuke it was time for a nap, he’d become extremely sullen, because he didn’t want to sleep; he’d wanted to spend more time with his brother. It wasn’t often he was home for a full day, prodigy that he was by then and always on missions.

Itachi had surprised him. “I’ll take a nap, too. It's important to rest sometimes. You can join me, Sasuke.” His refusal morphed instantaneously to greedy acceptance. Sasuke crawled into bed with his brother in his room, huddled in the comforter for warmth as the deluge continued for hours, the dousing on their roof and peaceful breathing composing a conciliating symphony with which to lull him to sleep. Eventually he'd succumbed, tuckered out and content, though he'd tried to stay awake as long as he could so he didn't miss out on time with Itachi.

Ten year olds don't usually take naps. His brother may have feigned sleep just to get him to do as their mother wanted. That realization is trenchant, too, sharp like a blade, because it’s a cycle that would repeat itself until Itachi’s end, Sasuke never understanding until the moment had passed, always a step behind and looking backward instead of forward.

When he’d awakened later in the evening, he’d smelled food cooking, miyabi soup and some kind of grilled fish. Itachi hadn’t been beside him anymore, but after blinking groggily, his brother had appeared like an apparition in the door frame.

“Dinner’s almost ready, Sasuke.”

Drizzle is still pummeling his apartment building when he rouses in a dark bedroom, alone. No one appears in the door frame this time as he blinks unsteadily, throat choked before the silent tears come, because this memory aches, haunting his heart like some kind of drowned spectre, dripping muddy stains onto clean floors. Sasuke moves to wipe them away with his left hand, the one Itachi used to help him up from the mire, until he remembers that he doesn’t have a left hand anymore. Making a paper boat now would take twice as long.

Everything in him hurts, marcid marrow writhing in his bones as if they are dead roots that have gotten a drink after a decade spent in drought, someone trying to nurse something deceased or rotting back to life. He goes to the memorial stone under the tenebrose cover of two in the morning, but it doesn’t feel like his brother is there. All he has of him are the eyes drowning in his sockets and excruciating retrospection, intermixing with the rain soaking him outwardly.

I miss you, he thinks as he tries not to asphyxiate on the memory, hoping that his mother at least hears his thoughts here, echoed in the ponds collecting around the stone that bears her name. He has to leave eventually, because he starts picturing white lilies emerging from miniature lakes, full of life and swaying with wind and torrent, instead of cold and motionless grey granite, and he thinks he is going to start sobbing.

Sasuke returns to his apartment after the better part of an hour and stares out his living room window, nursing a miniscule cup of sencha tea, weak so as not to unsettle him too much. The weather lets up eventually, turning from a drench to a drip between the fine branches of the cherry blossom tree across the street. The puddles slowly begin to sink in, though there are remnants of dirt collected in the grooves of the pathways due to the overflow. The tree is starting to lose its petals; they float atop the collected areas of water, a hint of hope buoyant atop sorrow like a paper boat.

He isn't at all hungry, but Sakura said he should try to gain weight, so he forces down a very early breakfast of plain rice, tasteless, before he goes to rifle through the box in the closet. He averts his eyes as he lifts the lid, fumbling to turn the photo upside down without looking at it and moving it to the bottom of the container before sifting through Sakura’s letters.

He picks a favorite of his, one she wrote to him while he was passing through the Land of Savanna, the first autumn season of his journey.

Sasuke-kun,

I was so happy to see your hawk on the horizon today. I gave him some water since he had a long journey.

The way you described the grasslands changing color in Savanna was lovely. The trees are changing here, too, shedding all of their leaves and making the roads a sea of color. Naruto slipped on a scarlet one the other day coming out of Ichiraku’s. He almost dragged Hinata with him, but thankfully no one was hurt. That's providence, I suppose, though it's not a red thread.

Soon it will be the season for chestnut-flavored everything. Stout squirrels come next, and Tsukimi will be happening, too. I've only ever seen it here in Konoha and once in Sand, while we were on a mission. You'll have to tell me if the moon looks any different where you are. Don't forget to make a wish.

The air is turning crisp here, like the leaves, so I imagine it will be there, too. Please stay warm.

I miss you.

-Sakura

Sasuke comes to the realization then that he’s sitting in damp clothes, and that he is kind of cold; he hadn't thought to grab his cloak earlier, too overcome with mourning. He carefully puts the letter back, and makes the decision to take a hot shower. The heat makes him feel incrementally better, thawing him from the inside out. It also makes him realize his mouth feels dry; he’s probably dehydrated, and needs to drink more than a weakly brewed half glass of tea. He prepares another cup, stronger this time.

A mission summons arrives around nine. He uses the mirror of his bathroom to make sure he doesn't look too disheveled - the shower helped, he thinks, though he’s slightly pallid - before heading to the Hokage’s office.

He's the first one of those requested to arrive, though not by much. Naruto is sitting in his designated chair with the scroll again, looking for all intents and purposes like he just woke up.

"Teme?! Eh, really?!" The dobe turns in his chair to glare metaphorical daggers at Kakashi, who pointedly ignores him. "You're seriously not sending me with?! Bogus."

Kakashi simply inclines his head towards him, not even sparing Naruto a glance. "Sasuke. Good morning. Ready for a mission?"

He nods mutely, wondering what it could be. Naruto whines some more, but Sasuke tunes him out. There's nothing like his teammate’s complaining that grinds on him in the morning, though he’ll inwardly admit it is helping to coax him back into some sense of normalcy.

His replacement walks through the Hokage’s door next, impassive as always. He inclines his head politely at Sasuke, so he returns the gesture. Naruto heaves a sigh. "Oh, come on!"

Sai doesn't miss a beat, turning to Kakashi, absolutely devoid of any kind of emotion as he delivers Sasuke’s favorite invective. "Is Dickless not coming?"

Sasuke barely manages to suppress a snort as Naruto guffaws, launching an entire container of pens at Sai. "STOP CALLING ME THAT!" Not all of Sai's nicknames are poorly chosen. He loathes the one he has for Sakura, but Sasuke doesn't think he'll ever get tired of hearing Naruto’s. It improves his mood measurably.

Shikamaru Nara saunters through the doors last, looking extremely apathetic already. Shrewd eyes flick to Sasuke’s momentarily, too quickly for him to read anything from them, then to Sai’s, then to the pens Naruto is picking off the floor, before settling on Kakashi.

Interesting. So it’s the escort mission, after all.

Naruto is outright mad now, glowering but past the point of saying anything as he returns to his seat in silence. It seems he at least knows when to give up, these days.

"Now that I have you all here, I'm afraid I must break the news that this won't be a terribly exciting mission. Simple escort to Sand for our diplomat tomorrow. It may be a bit… overkill, but there will only be three of you on the return trip, and my newest batch of missions didn't have anything terribly exciting in it. It's better to complete something useful with enough time to get back in case we need you for bigger tickets next week; it can't be helped." Kakashi shrugs, before adding, "Sending Sai should shorten the trip and make it less taxing, at least, flying birds and all. Shikamaru will lead, like usual."

Kakashi goes on to disclose that they'll be leaving at dawn tomorrow. Apparently it's only a four day round trip with his replacement's jutsu involved; this means they’ll leave on Tuesday morning and be back on Friday evening, should nothing go awry. It’s not likely that it will; Suna and Konoha are strong allies at this point.

“Any questions?” Kakashi asks at the end of the briefing. Neither Shikamaru nor Sai say anything; he doesn’t, either. An escort is simple enough, especially one of a fellow Shinobi.

His old sensei smiles in a way Sasuke feels is directed mostly at Shikamaru. “Alright, then. Dismissed.”

Nara strolls lackadaisically out of the office as Sai follows. Sasuke gets the inkling that this will be a rather silent journey, between the three of them. He’s a bit thankful he hasn’t been assigned a mission with more talkative comrades, at least not for his first one back.

“Teme!” Naruto pipes up as he turns to leave as well, so Sasuke lingers. “Wanna spar this evening?”

His brows knit together while Kakashi looks between them, as if amused. Sakura has not invited him over for the evening, but he thinks of soft words yesterday anyway.

I missed you, when you were gone. You… can fill as much of my free time as you’d like.

“The day before a mission? You’re stupid. Pass.” Sasuke says, both because he’s hoping to spend the twilight hours with her, too, but also because he knows it will annoy the hell out of Naruto. They really shouldn't go all out the night before one of them leaves for a mission anyways; if one of them breaks something, Sakura will be stuck fixing it, and it’s supposed to be her day off.

Naruto looks miffed, a lone blond brow twitching, so he adds, “...Saturday, early morning. If you’re even awake. Dobe. ”

Before he turns away from Naruto’s spluttering, he catches an all too knowing gleam in Kakashi’s visible eye. Sasuke is suddenly sure that their old sensei is well-acquainted with Sakura’s work schedule. He can feel the hole being burned into the back of his head by blue eyes and a single dark one as he leaves the Hokage’s office, the dobe still struggling to come up with a response to his quick refusal.

He feels marginally better as he walks leisurely back to his apartment, noting along the way that more of the puddles are already beginning to dry up.

Sasuke fixes something more substantial for lunch, since he knows Sakura will eat with Ino; a chicken curry, fragrant with garlic and ginger and carrots, poured atop rice. He doesn’t have any potatoes, so he substitutes with other produce, a unique mix for curry; bell peppers, green onions, and burdock roots. It’s not bad, but maybe he’ll pick up some potatoes when he gets back from Sand.

He is looking forward to going on a mission again, he realizes as he eats. It’s probably going to be a rather routine one - it’s not likely that they’ll face any enemies in friendly territory - but it will be good to be amongst allies again, contributing to fulfilling a purpose, however slight. Sasuke thinks maybe he should make more of an effort to interact with Sai. It appears as though he and Sakura are close, if he’s been to her apartment; Ino was there, too, he supposes, but still.

Sasuke spends the remainder of his time doing the dishes and making sure everything in his fridge is wrapped well, to ensure it doesn’t spoil in the time that he’s gone.

XXX

Sakura’s hair is damp, pink more saturated than it normally is, when he meets her on her doorstep; she must have showered. The scent of mixed berries is renewed, and suddenly he is certain that it has to be some kind of soap, perhaps a body wash. She has her single fiction book in hand.

“Hi,” she says, grinning up at him with a disarming beauty that makes his heart skip. Her hair clings to her neck when she locks her door behind her; Sasuke focuses on a ranunculus bloom instead, noticing that there are two small cuttings of the flowers missing, taken from its rear portion, until she turns back around.

“...Hi.”

“How was your morning?” She questions kindly as they make their way down the stairs and out the glass door, spring sunshine filtering in.

He blinks once as he considers how to answer. “...Fine. I had a mission briefing.”

Sakura’s lips quirk upwards. “Anything exciting?”

He exhales through his nose, a shadow of a laugh. “No. Just an escort.”

Jade eyes twinkle. “Ah, I’m guessing… Sai and Shikamaru.”

“...Kakashi might listen to your squad suggestions more than Naruto’s.”

She chuckles a little. “No, it’s just that he usually sends them for that. You must have replaced Naruto; he’s the third squad cell member, most of the time. Sai’s jutsu makes it a quicker journey, especially with Temari’s fan techniques; she can create updrafts.”

Sasuke thinks he vaguely remembers a blonde woman who is Gaara’s sister; that must be the diplomat. The sibling of the Kazekage would be well-suited for such a job.

“...Maybe I’ll find out what’s in Sand.”

She smiles while biting her lip. She’s very pretty.

“Maybe,” she finally offers cryptically.

They weave through the road on their way to the library, taking care to avoid the water still lingering; it has sunken into the earth for the most part by now.

Sasuke checks out three books this time. One is another on historical samurai, this one with more illustrations as he’d wanted. The second is a historical account of the establishment of Nunogakure, in the Land of Silk. He had passed through the country twice, and had always been interested in learning more about its history, given the establishment of its hidden village by kunoichi and their record of hostility with the ruling daimyos. The third is a fiction book about an old man at sea, suggested to him by Ichika as she scans Sakura’s books, then his.

“It’s kind of proverbial, and not terribly lengthy. You seem like the type who would like it,” the librarian offers, so he adds it to his pile. It’s not quite an old lady giving him vaguely prophesying teacups, but it sounds interesting enough. He appreciates her kindness; not everyone in Konoha gives him this particular brand of easy acceptance after the debacle that was his past. Sasuke thinks perhaps showing up with Sakura helps. Ichika looks at his empty sleeve for a long moment this time; she must not have noticed the last time he was here, the unfilled end of it hidden by the counter.

Sakura says there’s a spot towards the slope of Hokage Rock that drains off the cliff, a hill that should be dry enough to sit on, so they meander upwards. It’s on the western side, just at the juncture where the grass begins to give way to harsher stone. A wild cherry blossom tree that he spotted from a half mile away is clinging to the precipice, a bit off the beaten path. It must have sturdy roots, he thinks, reaching deep into the dirt and bedrock to give it the strength to soar upwards even here on uneven ground.

As they near it, he observes that it’s losing its petals, too, late in blooming like the one across the street from his apartment; small green buds are starting to take the flowers’ place.

They read for a bit under its branches, sprawled out on the hillside. She was right; the ground is dry here, already soaked into the soil or run off the slope. It’s not too warm or cool out, an enjoyable spring day where everything is freshly watered. The book Ichika recommended is pretty good, full of oceanic metaphors, some of which he finds unnervingly relevant. Sakura might like it; it’s written somewhat artfully. He gets about a third of the way through its pages as the sun begins to hang lower in the sky.

It’s around four when he allows his focus to wander away from his book to her. He's been leaning up against the tree, in the only spot someone could; the rest of the area by the trunk is too asperous to sit comfortably, roots twisting ruggedly, but strong. Much stronger than white lilies, hardy enough to weather even the harshest storms. Sakura is on her back a few feet away, book open above her and pink hair settled in a halo on the grass. She looks extremely comfortable, as if lying like this in the small amount of shade offered is something she does all the time. Maybe this is a place she visits often.

Her book is titled Hazel Wood; he can tell by the cover it must be fiction, but he's not sure what exactly it's about. He's thinking maybe he’ll ask her later. He's also thinking maybe he should ask if she wants to do something after this; he would like to, if she's free.

She shifts slightly, and he slides his eyes to the skyline so he doesn't get caught staring, very suddenly becoming conscious of the fact that he’s been admiring her for the better part of a few minutes. When he looks back over warily, she is picking up a stray petal and situating it between the pages, sticking out like a bookmark to mark her place. Then she regards him, smiling like she's amused.

He arches a brow, unsure what could be funny, but she's setting her closed book neatly aside and pushing afoot to close the distance between them. He tilts his head up towards her as she walks to the tree trunk, and then she's reaching out. Two fingertips skim his scalp, and then she's handing him a cherry blossom petal that evidently had been caught there.

"A bookmark, if you want one," she offers, her expression saying she is incredibly entertained.

He blinks once before taking it, lone hand brushing hers for a millisecond. He's distracted by how soft her fingertips feel again.

"...Thank you." He puts the petal in his book to mark his spot as she straightens.

Now would be an opportune time to query her evening plans, but she beats him to it. "Would you want to stop by the market quick with me and then come over for dinner?" Comely green melts into charcoal when he looks up. "I was thinking of making teriyaki atsuage and cucumber salad, but I'm out of cucumber."

His agreement is immediate, insides twisting pleasantly.

As they head down the hill together to beat the evening rush, books in hand, a single crow passes overhead, swooping low towards the center of the village extending before them.

That’s providence, he thinks, though it’s not a red thread. He stares at it like he’s seen a ghost until it disappears.

He helps her cook this time. Sakura handles the cutting and chopping while Sasuke seasons and turns the tofu as it fries in one of her pans, mixing together mirin and soy sauce to create the teriyaki dressing while she slices cucumbers and tosses them with other ingredients; she loads the salad with peanuts, sauces, garlic, and red chile flakes.

It’s another gratifying evening together. They play three rounds of chess this time, and it’s just as challenging as go; she cycles through positions intuitively, sometimes with seemingly little thought involved. Sasuke thinks she might be analyzing her next moves in her head during his turns, having a few planned out and simply narrowing it down based on whether he moves a rook or a pawn. He comes close to winning the final match, at least. With more practice, he might win once in a while.

Sakura offers to make tea again, after. He accompanies her to the kitchen, and when she opens the cupboard, his throat closes, because two new jars of loose leaf sencha from the tea shop have mysteriously appeared, one for the caffeinated shelf and one for the decaffeinated shelf.

Sakura’s expression is tentative. “I thought maybe sencha this evening. I… picked some up on my way back from lunch, earlier today.”

He nods weakly, tongue-tied and endlessly grateful.

She makes some for the both of them, finishing off her own with sugar and honey. Sasuke watches her swirl the spoon in the now fading luster of her kitchen, thinking the way she takes her tea is like her very being, so sweet.

Verdant eyes peek up at him when she walks him to her entryway, hours later. He sincerely hopes that she’s enjoying spending time with him as much as he is with her.

Then, Sakura’s voice lilts up to him, a quiet murmur, "Will you… come see me, when you get back?"

He blinks, sugar and honey pouring into him now, because it’s almost an answer to the question in his head that he hadn’t vocalized. Then his brow furrows, because maybe he’s failed at conveying that he'll spend literally any amount of time with her that she allows him. Sasuke knows his communication skills aren’t the best, and he has never been in any sort of romantic relationship, so everything is new territory, stunted by his lack of practice.

Her gaze flits away from him. "Just… so I know you're okay."

Oh. She means coming to see her right after debriefing, so she'll know he's returned safe. Something pleasant pools in his belly, sinking to the extremities in a way that feels nurturing. He realizes he is taking too much time to respond; she looks nervous.

"I will."

Jade centers back on him, reassured now, and he's not sure how he's going to go four days without it, this limitless green that soothes him to no end.

"Oh. Good. Thank you." Her expression changes to one that is considerably more relaxed, a tender look directed upwards that he has never seen her wear for anyone else.

Sasuke presses his lips to hers for a long time before he departs, a soft goodbye he’s hoping will convey all the words that are caught in his throat, gratitude and affection that have been stewing there since they were thirteen.

He thinks he feels love press back from hers, a delicate flickering that makes him ache, and perhaps providence. Sugar and honey, too. Sweetness doesn’t hurt him like the recall of pastries does, when it’s experienced secondhand like this.

XXX

The mission goes smoothly. Sai's jutsu does speed things up considerably, and the Sand delegate, Temari, uses her giant fan to give them a boost in places that are lacking in higher gales. He rides with Sai on the way there, while Shikamaru and Temari drift on the other; Sasuke thinks the separation must be so she can use the jutsu, strategically getting behind his replacement's bird to give him a boost before Sai can control it and have theirs catch the subsequent updraft, too.

Sasuke and Shikamaru fulfill lookout roles, him scanning ahead and Shikamaru scanning behind. It is refreshing to see the land from above, giving way from forests to grasslands to the beginnings of desert edges. He finds himself thinking about what his hawk saw, all of the times he brought correspondence to and from Sakura. It’s not as hot this way, traveling through the air with breeze ripping around them, though they make an effort to stay hydrated, still.

Sai is quiet, but Sasuke is, too, so he can't knock him for it. He wonders, scanning the horizon for the upteenth time, if Sai knows what's in Sand that interests their squad leader. He would have to, dating Ino, but he doesn't feel comfortable asking him something like that.

They spend most of the first day in relative silence, only spying a single squad of comrade ninja from Suna traveling hundreds of feet below them, just leaving the desert. Towards the end of it, as they finally cross into the first area that is truly all sand as far as the eye can see, Sai surprises him by speaking.

"Beautiful says Ugly is stupid happy that you've returned. I am certain that Dickless is, too."

The effect the words have on him is a little jarring and complex. There is the immediate familiar disdain for Sai’s inaccurate nickname for Sakura, intermixed with immature amusement at Naruto's epithet. A feeling of brotherhood follows, and his heart blooming with something tender, vines twisting or perhaps not-so-dead roots getting another drink. Stupid happy doesn’t sound like a phrase common to Sai’s vernacular, leading him to believe it was Ino’s exact wording, likely after spending the morning with Sakura yesterday.

He thinks it over as they soar over the last bit of terrain for the day, sorting through the different emotions. His answer isn't hesitant; it just takes preparation for him to muster the gall to vocalize it to someone he's not terribly close to.

"...I am, too." It’s an understatement.

XXX

They arrive back in Konoha on Friday evening, as scheduled. No issues, just more lookout duty and enjoyable wind offering relief from the heat. Peacetime is nice; anyone they saw to or from Sand was an ally, no foes. They only utilize one of Sai’s creations on the return trip, Shikamaru still observing the rear but this time atop the same bird as them. It’s a slightly longer trip, without the diplomat to speed things up, but they still make good time.

It's a bit after six when they leave Kakashi’s office, mission report paperwork folded neatly into his satchel. Naruto wasn't there; Sasuke assumes he's either been sent on a mission or has gone home for the day already. He supposes he’ll find out tomorrow, if a banging erupts on his apartment door after sunrise. It must have stormed again recently; the soil is damp, and everything is faintly greener than it was before.

He finds he missed it, the smell just after it rains that was decidedly not present in Suna, even if it does bring hard memories.

“Good work,” Shikamaru says simply to both of them as they step outside, ready to go their respective ways. It’s not necessary for him to say it, but Sasuke appreciates the acknowledgement. He’s aware it is probably not easy to trust him, after everything. Not everyone has the same confidence in him as Team Seven does.

Sai nods towards Shikamaru, then turns to him.

"Tell Ugly I say hi." His tone sounds almost kind as he turns to part ways from them in the street. Shikamaru glances at Sasuke for an instant, expression not containing an ounce of surprise, but he doesn't say anything as he turns to head the other way.

Tentatively, Sasuke starts out in the direction of Sakura’s apartment. She should be home right now, if she didn’t stay late at the hospital. He wonders as he gets closer if maybe he should wait a bit; she might be in the middle of cooking, or eating dinner.

He wants to see her, though. He's missed her greatly, and she did say to come by; he tries very hard to swallow his doubts.

Soon he's knocking on a sage green door that is beginning to look familiar. The plants are still damp indoors, too; maybe it rained as recently as this morning. It has to have been overcast for a good portion of the day, for the sunlight through the diamond window to not have dried the moisture from her watering them just yet.

Sakura opens the door wearing a smile; it grows wider upon seeing it's him, like she can’t help it.

His heart skips a beat when she says his name. "Sasuke-kun."

"Sakura."

She steps aside while holding the door open, a silent invitation for him to come in, so he does. He stands in her entryway uncertainly for a second, until she offers, "I'm making tenmusu; there's enough for two. Would you like to stay for dinner?"

Everything in him relaxes, any and all ambiguity dried by her kindness in an instant. "...I would. Thank you."

Little flecks of gold shimmer in the lamplight, facets atop something burgeoning with warmth. There is love there, in her eyes and upturned lips. He wonders if she can see it in his, if she has any idea of the true gravity of his feelings for her, all of the things that flare to life in his belly at the mere thought of time spent here.

It’s a break in routine, but there is something he would really like to do, something he has been working up the courage for over the past few days, so he takes the risk, pulse quickening; he hasn't kissed her anything but farewell yet, really, aside from their first, which was somewhere in the middle.

It is better than he imagined, vespertine devotion saying hello rather than goodbye. He skims the freckle on her cheek again as his lips brush hers, hand tender against her skin and silky pink locks. When she leans into his touch, he finds himself wishing there was a way for his soul to graze hers, to tell her the utterly selfish thing he wished for after her letter so many moons ago. Sakura’s soul would be warm to the touch, he thinks, like freshly-brewed tea or the flux of a summer monsoon, but much more illimitable, and endlessly ardent.

Her hands on his shoulders are becoming a familiar weight, grounding him like the roots of her namesake.

When they part, she blinks up at him once, and then suddenly her arms are wrapping around his center instead of his shoulders, pulling him close. His heart swells, and he hooks his lone arm around her waist.

She smells like home, he realizes. "...Tadaima," he murmurs against her hair.

"Okaeri," she responds, soft and sweet against his chest.

#naruto #sasusaku #ssfanfiction #cherry writes #like gold #fanfiction #2nd longest chapter to date idk how it got this long it just kinda happened lmao #also the paper boats scene was like one of the first four passages i wrote that ultimately became this fic #anyways that's providence

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writing-in-april · 4 years

Text

Painted Nails

Spencer x Female Reader

Big thankies sent to @zhuzhubii and @clean-bands-dirty-stories for beta reading this!!! Go check them out! This also fulfills my request from @thatsonezesty13 for more sub Spencer!! I have more coming for him as well, stay tuned.

Summary: Spencer’s dom paints his nails for date night and she goes crazy at the sight of them.

A/N: Y’all asked for it!!! This is the one out of three fics people voted to come first. Next up is mismatched then car wash to round out the three.

Warnings: femdom, bruising, marking, leg spreader bar, spitting, begging, praise kink, slight choking, slight edging, cream pie, blanket consent (in the beginning)

Masterlist Word count: 3.5k

The bottle of deep plum colored nail polish sat open on my white vanity, though I wasn’t using it for myself. Spencer’s hand sat delicately in my palm as I painted each nail perfectly, getting him ready for date night. He patiently sat naked on my fluffy white stool as I alternated each finger while standing over him in a black lace lingerie set and stilettos. He was always so good for me, never daring to break any rule that I set for him; he lived to please me. As I finished his last nail I set each palm to sit carefully on the vanity with his fingers spread apart.

“Don’t move sweet boy” I whispered into his ear as I went to go pick out his outfit for the evening. Our walk in closet was mostly filled with my fancier clothes, but to the left side hung Spencer’s nicer cardigans and button ups. My plan was to drive him crazy by wearing a violet colored dress as it was his favorite color, so I decided to go with a similarly colored button up and black cardigan. Moving to his dresser on the other side of the room I searched through the neatly folded clothes to find perfect slacks, socks, and a tie to all match.

He hadn’t moved an inch from where I placed him, being the best sub he could possibly be. I waltzed back over to him with the clothes in my arms ready to dress him and he surrendered his body to me, letting me slip his arms through his shirt and slowly button it up. Draping the tie over his shoulders I expertly knotted the fabric into a perfect half Windsor knot. I always did this every time he wore one, I loved taking care of my sweet boy.

“Thank you m’lady.” He mumbled under his breath almost inaudibly as I finished tying the knot on his solid black tie. My hands wound around the length of the tie and yanked him to my eye level so he could initiate eye contact with me.

“Now I know my sweet boy didn’t just mumble.” My eyes formed a glare as I grabbed his chin with my other hand to reposition him as he tried to escape my eyes.“You know to use your big boy voice when you want to speak to your Duchess.”

“Yes, m’lady. Sorry, m’lady. Thank you, m’lady” His cheeks heated up to form a beautiful blush along his cheeks, he often got embarrassed when I reprimanded him for breaking my rules, he just wanted to be a good boy always.

“Good, sweet boy.” I cooed, loosening my strong grip on the fabric. He let out a slight puff of breath, a silent tell that he was relieved that he wouldn't get a punishment from me tonight.

The silence between us once again surfaced as I finished dressing him, getting him to be the picture of perfection for our date tonight. I stepped back to admire my work, the purple button up I had chosen was set off perfectly by the darker hue of his pretty painted nails. The combo of colors stirred something deep inside me, desire, and I hadn’t even meant to match them so perfectly.

My hands tangled themselves in his hair pulling him down to capture him in a heated kiss, he was caught off guard for a moment, but soon melted into the exchange. Even though my stature was smaller then his I swiftly dominated the kiss, slipping my tongue into his mouth and pulling a deep seated groan from his chest. It quickly devolved into sloppiness, our noses bumping into each other as it became more heated, though he didn’t dare touch me without permission.

Gripping his jaw into my hands I forcefully cocked his head to the side so I could gain access to the column of his throat and suck dark bruises into his neck, adding yet another shade of purple to his attire. When I became unsatisfied with the amount of skin that he was showing I started to forcefully tug at his tie, undoing the impeccable knot I had made earlier. The clothes weren’t coming off fast enough so I tore his shirt open, the buttons popping around me. I did like the shirt, but I needed to gain access to him faster. Soon after he was completely naked besides his boxers; all of the progress I had made to get him dressed was completely nixed, though there was no way we were getting dressed again tonight. In my mind dinner was already cancelled.

I backed him into the edge of the bed and started to pepper hickies further down, covering from the bottom of his sternum up to the edge of his jaw. I pushed down on his shoulders to make him sit perched at the edge of the bed with his feet rooted to the floor. Towering above him I explored his form, adding as many marks as I could to his tan skin while still being careful to not give any relief to his half-hardened bulge, wanting to make him as desperate as possible for my touch. His chest was now laden with hickies, enough that he would have to dig out the concealer I had bought him when we first started dating to avoid teasing from Derek later.

“You look so pretty in purple, I just had to add some more.” The smirk was evident in my voice; I was proud of the petechia that speckled his skin to mark him as my own.

Once I was satisfied that I had painted his chest enough, I moved to capture one of his nipples into my mouth, drawing the second moan of tonight out of him. I carefully bit on the hardened bud while I moved to pinch the neglected other, beautiful whines escaping freely from him now as his hips jutted up from the bed trying to find some relief.

I caught a glimpse of his nails again when he fisted the sheets of the bed. Moving away from his chest, I grabbed one of his wrists letting my gaze fall onto the polish. Instinctively I lurched forward and captured his pointer finger into my mouth as I moved my hips to straddle his. He gaped at me in awe as I began to rock my hips into his own, matching the rhythm with my bobbing head around his fingers.

His bulge was hitting perfectly against my clit building an orgasm slowly from my core, though I decided to pull off and stop before it got anywhere. I still had plenty I wanted to do to him before giving him any release. He sat patiently awaiting my next move, even though I’m sure he would’ve loved to get his release now. The excitement was always better with a significant build up.

“I know I usually tie your hands, but I need them free today to have my fun so we’re doing something different,” I told him while maintaining a stare at his beautified nails. He flashed me an anxious look that would’ve worried me if I didn’t see his pupils deepen in want. I simpered at the look on his face, relishing in the fact that it took almost nothing for him to do anything I wanted. My heels clicked against the hardwood while I sauntered back over to the closet, I shifted through to locate the trunk of toys I had stashed. The trunk held something I had been saving for the perfect day - a leg spreader bar. It suited my mood impeccably. The stainless steel bar was adjustable so I could make him as pliable as I desired. Black leather cuffs were at each end attached to the bar with a delicate but unbreakable chain.

I took a slow walk back while hiding the surprise behind my back; I wanted to build the anticipation for him to an almost unbearable degree. When I finally made my way back in front of him he was sitting at the edge still waiting in bated breath for my surprise. My dominance remained unquestionable even as I sank to my knees, the object still hidden behind my back. I started to press dainty kisses and love bites to his inner thighs causing the bulge in his boxers to grow till he was painfully hard. Swiftly I pulled the surprise out, letting the cuffs dangle in front of him in all its glory.

“This ok Spencer?” Sometimes Spencer got lost in his headspace when I checked in with him, so I always made sure to ask firmly and use his name so he acknowledged me. Anytime I pulled something new for him I always triple checked that he was ok with my actions; I never wanted him to do anything he didn’t want to do just to please me.

“Yes, Duchess.” he whispered breathlessly almost inaudibly with his mouth slightly hung open in the beginnings of a gasp and eyes blown wide with lust.

“What did I say about muttering?” My tone wasn’t aggressive, rather it just held a slight edge to let him know that when it comes to consent I want to hear every word clear as a bell.

“Sorry again Duchess.” His voice clear but squeaky as he cowered at my reaction.

“Do that again tonight and you won’t get a reward.” I simply stated whilst I pulled his boxers down and began to attach the cuffs around his ankles making sure they were snug but not uncomfortable.

“Not too tight?”

“No it’s perfect Duchess.” This time he made sure to keep the volume of his voice up and steady. I started to adjust the bar, leaving it just under its widest position so he could still move his legs inwards just barely.

“Not too wide?” I asked. We had never used this type of apparatus before and I wanted to make sure it wasn’t hurting his hips by pushing them too wide.

“No, it’s perfect Duchess.”

I pushed his chest immediately after his final verbal confirmation until he was laying flat on the bed with his hands at his sides. I made sure to step out of his view as I stripped out of my lingerie and heels slowly; he wouldn’t get to peak just yet.

Sauntering back to face him, I let him stare at me in all my naked glory. Every time he saw me naked, he looked like he was seeing me for the first time, his face awestruck and filled with admiration. I straddled his hips once more, sitting further back this time so his bare cock couldn’t reach any of my skin.

“I want you to please me sweet boy, you always do it so well.” I pulled his hand up as I stated my decree, slowly licking up the outside of his pointer finger.

“Yes, m’lady.” He affirmed with a groan of understanding before pulling his hand back down and getting straight to work. His perfectly manicured nails slipped between my folds starting to rub eager circles on my sensitive button trying to please me the best way he knew. A gasp slipped its way out of me when he moved downwards to slip a finger inside, bringing much more stimulation then the intiatial movements. I was dripping at the feeling of his singular finger crooking upwards to hit my g spot and he soon added another, barely fitting them together into my tight heat.

My hips started to rotate to help stroke the fire building in my core. His fingers pumped diligently with the same tempo that my hips bounced in, making sure to hit that special spot inside of me every time to please me perfectly. We maintained the rhythm for a while until I started to falter as my release approached. He picked up the pace to make up for my floundering, his eyes looking in wonder as I was worked into an earth-shattering orgasm.

When he removed his fingers from inside of me they were glistening with my arousal. I grabbed his wrist roughly and brought it up to my eyeline to get a good look at the salacious sight. My tongue darted out, wetting my lips in hungry desire. He eagerly wrapped his lips around his own fingers as I pushed them to his mouth, bobbing his head ever so slightly around them to drink in the taste of my juices. I reveled in the sight before me, his eyes glazed over in lust, sucking eagerly on his own fingers that were adorned with the pretty plum polish.

As I pulled them out of his mouth strings of his own spit escaped, giving me a perfect idea. I thumbed the bottom of his chin, wanting him to open his mouth again for me, he opened obediently understanding my nonverbal queues with perfection. Pulling at the root of his hair with my other hand to tilt his head back to give me the perfect angle. I spat into his mouth letting it drip into the back of his throat before forcing his mouth shut with my thumb.

“Thank you m’lady.” He garbled out unprompted as he tried to swallow. A grin graced my face at his thanks.

“Good Boy Spencer.”

I spit again into my hand and wrapped my palm around his length, slowly pumping which in turn pulled beautiful whines from his bruised throat. My pace quickened as I jerked him off with expertise, precum pooling around my fist as a testament to his arousal. His hips tried to meet my strokes even though the bar was barely giving him any leeway, still I decided to squash his movements with a rough shove back down to the mattress. He was steadily reaching the precipice of an orgasm, though I refused to give him the satisfaction and pulled away briskly.

“Please Duchess, I’ve been a good boy for you!” He complained loudly which made my eyebrows shoot up into my hairline. He wasn’t one to beg, usually he just sat like a good boy and took what I gave him with no qualms.

“Well I was going to fuck you as a reward…” My voice taking on a sing-song cadence just to tease him further. “But, I could just do this instead.” I said with an exaggerated sigh as I began to jerk him off again albeit more lazily this time.

“Please Duchess, I’m sorry. C-can you please fuck me?” He flashed me his perfect hazel colored irises which had taken on the infamous puppy dog eyes. The combination of his pout and glistening eyes made me relent. I positioned my entrance so the head of his cock was rested right at my opening, but not before dragging my soaked cunt along the outside of his shaft, eliciting a soft gasp from Spencer even though it was the lightest of touches.

We groaned in unison as I slowly sank down onto his cock, letting every ridge catch onto my walls. I sunk down to the base, keeping still at first to take pleasure in the fullness I felt from being with him. He always hit the deepest parts of me that no other man could reach; I truly believe he was made for me. His hands once again fisted the sheets while also trying to pull his legs apart in vain, trying to fight the primal urge to thrust upwards. I rewarded his good behavior by a languid roll of my hips, his legs jerking against the bar at the stimulation gained from the motion. As I started to build a slow but steady pace I traced up one of his arms like a ghost with the hand that wasn’t busy keeping me balanced. Lacing my fingers through his own I pinned his hand swiftly above him in a firm grasp causing a desperate whine to come from Spencer.

“You looked so pretty I just had to have you, sweet boy.” I said softly which was in stark contrast to my rough movements to pin his other hand above his head.

“Oh my God…” He continues to gasp out declarations of disbelief at his pleasure being completely lost in it. I bit hard into my lip as I let myself quicken my hips, rolling in fervor and attempting to gain as much pleasure as possible. My eyes raked over Spencer’s debaucherous appearance, his eyes glazed in a lustful daze, mouth open in a permanent gasp, sweat glistening over his entire figure, and beautiful nails gripped around my own digging into my flesh. I inwardly groaned at the sight of him lost in the throes of passion; he looked picture perfect to me.

“I just couldn’t look at your fingers without thinking about them being inside me,” I was dazed with euphoria, a slew of raunchy comments falling from my lips joining in with his muddled words.

A sudden orgasm took what little breath I had away shocking my core blissfully. The coil in my stomach snapped into a small but powerful high, though my hips continued to shift to ride out the end of my out of the blue orgasm.

I completely focused on bringing Spencer to his ultimate pleasure fervently rocking my hips in a fury. Only little squeaks were escaping him now.

“Say thank you to your Duchess for fucking you.” I said to assert my dominance again.

“Thank you Duchess!” He yelled out into the air, loud enough that our neighbors could definitely hear. Another orgasm was coming around the corner for me, my body getting off to Spence’s desperate pleas.

My hips started to stutter as I teetered on the edge of my release, I could tell he was close too, the gasps from his lips increasing in volume at each time I rocked my hips.

“You’ve been such a good boy Spencer, I just want to give you the biggest reward possible.” I gasped out, his eyes widening in understanding as I let go of his hands and repositioned them to rest on my hips. “I’m going to let you cum inside tonight.”

Spencer's eyes rolled back into his head at my words while arching his back to the steepest angle he could manage causing my nipples to rub against his chest in blissful friction. He started to meet the bounce of my hips as best as he could while restrained with his own thrusts, causing a jingle from the cuffs around his feet. Normally I would berate him for the act, but I was so close to shattering into a million pieces for the third time tonight that I didn’t find myself caring. As I leaned forward to be as close as possible to his body my hand wound around his throat like a necklace applying pressure that I knew would send him over the edge.

“C’mon my sweet boy cum for me” My hot breath caressed his skin as my whisper hit his ear. One last whine fell from him and with one last swirl of my hips he filled me with his warmth, his nails digging into the sides of my hips as he rode out his high.

“Thank you Duchess.” He incoherently whined as his release flooded through him in waves. My teeth sunk into the shell of his ear as the last rope shot into me it caused me to be shoved over the edge for the final time. Our bodies were shaking in pleasure as we finished our respective orgasms, our breaths intermingling as we tried to catch them.

Once I steadied my breath, I guided his fingers to dip between my folds to collect our cocktail of juices, then I pushed them up to his lips to mimic my earlier actions. This time, however, he got to taste the culmination of us together. He swirled his tongue over his own fingers that were manicured to perfection, sinking his lips down as far as he could take them, only stopping when he reached the back of his throat with a choke. He pulled off his own fingers with a pop, flashing me a smirk as he did, which I then matched.

My body was still shaky as I got up to go to the bathroom, preparing to pamper Spencer with aftercare. I went to the bathroom to clean myself up and got redressed, though this time in a much less form fitting outfit, just a simple flowy robe. I got my little collection of aftercare items, a wet washcloth for cleaning, some snacks, lotion for his inevitably bruised ankles, and the softest blanket we owned. Spencer whimpered quietly when I cleaned his length, the overstimulation a bit too much for him. Squirting some lotion onto my palms I massaged the areas I had abused with kisses, then I squatted down to rub the lotion over his bruised ankles as well.

“Sorry for ruining date night Spencer.” I giggled out as I finished. I pulled the large fluffy blanket over us enveloping us in warmth.

“Don’t worry, I thoroughly enjoyed it.” He said pairing it with a characteristically Spencer kiss to my forehead. “Though I am a bit hungry now.”

“I'll make pancakes for dinner.”

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #Criminal Minds #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fic #reid #spencer #spencer reid imagine #Smut #mgg

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agerefandom · 3 years

Text

Home Sweet Home

Fandom: Twilight

Characters: Esme and Carlisle Cullen as parents: Edward, Alice, Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie as regressors

Words: 3,500

Summary: The Cullens always enjoy family night: a chance for all the children to regress, and for Carlisle and Esme to feel like parents. There’s nothing more relaxing. But tonight, Edward is refusing to come downstairs and join the family.

Content Warnings: Parental titles, diapers, mention of nursing. Brief mentions of blood and the angst of immortality.

Notes: The first two paragraphs are referencing this fic I wrote earlier this month! It’s not necessary to understand the rest of the fanfiction, though. Let me know if you notice any errors, this was a long one for me to edit myself so I only did two drafts. (Also I might put out my Cullens headcanons after this, I didn’t incorporate all of them into this fanfiction!)

Carlisle listens to the radio as he drives home, his mind drifting from thought to thought. It had been a busy day for the Forks clinic, but nothing compared to the ER in Seattle. His shifts there were full of the smell of blood and panic, constant calls and frightened family members.

But today, that one patient had been so frightened, and so young… it had made Carlisle’s unbeating heart feel bruised. He’s glad to be on his way home to his own children, safe with their mother. He hopes that patient is also safe at home, considering the offer he’d made to meet other regressors.

Carlisle’s home is a chaotic place, but full of joy, and he knows that few are so lucky.

He pulls up the driveway, waiting for the garage door to open before pulling into his spot and getting out. He had already changed out of his work clothes, now in plain slacks and his favourite grey sweater. Alice loves the texture of this one, and he knows it makes her happy to see him wearing it in the future, so he always makes sure to plan this outfit ahead of time.

He can hear his family’s voices inside, could pick them out if he focused enough. Alice is already waiting near the door, probably intending to tackle him once he gets inside. He can hear her quiet giggles as she waits. Carlisle won’t be surprised if Emmett is helping her with her ambush, but managing to stay quiet.

Carlisle braces himself and swings open the door.

“I’m home!” he calls out, just as Alice leaps at him. “Hi, honey!” he says, turning to catch her in his arms. Such a light little thing, his youngest daughter. “How are you?”

“Good, daddy!” Alice rests her cheek against his sweater, wrapping her legs around his waist. “You were gone so long!”

“Ah, boring work,” Carlisle sighs, already feeling the stress of the day melting away into the familiar smell of home and family. Human scents are so busy and overwhelming, emotions and history drifting from their skin. Here in their own space, Carlisle can pick out the clean smells of his family, each one slightly different but bearing the same mark: his venom, binding them together. “Much better to be home with my children.”

“Dad!!!” Sure enough, Emmett attacks from behind with a proper tackle, and only his verbal warning allows Carlisle to duck out of the way, chuckling. Emmett stumbles past and saves himself from crashing into the wall, just barely. He spins and runs at Carlisle again, this time jumping into his arms like Alice did.

He’s a larger boy, and Carlisle laughs as he catches him, thankful for the strength that allows him to lift his adult-sized children on each hip.

“Hello, Emmett. Trying to get daddy in a headlock again?”

“It was Alice’s idea,” Emmett says, resting his head on Carlisle’s shoulder.

“Hmm,” Carlisle murmurs, unconvinced. Alice and Emmett are the troublemakers of the household, occasionally pulling Rosalie into their schemes. It’s difficult to guess which of them planned the ambush.

Esme comes around the corner, carrying Jasper in her arms. Jasper is resting, eyes closed, his eyelashes brushing against his cheeks. Esme looks absolutely beautiful, but she always does when Carlisle is seeing her for the first time in hours.

“Darling,” Esme says warmly. “I see you’ve already found the children.”

“It was a surprise attack,” Carlisle explains, bouncing the two siblings once before releasing them to the floor and watching them scramble back to their playroom. “Very fierce warriors, our children.”

“Fearsome,” Esme smiles, and approaches to give Carlisle a kiss. He will never get tired of kissing his wife. Each one is a blessing, and an affirmation of her love.

Today Esme is dressed in a plum-coloured dress that brushes against the ground, designed to be unhooked so she can nurse the children that are young enough. There’s no nutritional point to the gesture, of course, but just like the diapers and pull-ups that their youngest wear, it’s an emotional comfort. A reminder of both childhood and humanity. For Esme, being a mother has always been her greatest fulfilment, and nursing her children the most loving gesture.

“Would you take the baby?” she says, smiling fondly down at Jasper. “He’s been fussy all day, and the playroom needs my attention.”

“My pleasure.” Carlisle carefully accepts Jasper into his arms, sneaking another kiss onto Esme’s cheek in the process. Jasper stirs at the movement, making a small sound of confusion. “Hush, sweetheart. Just daddy,” Carlisle murmurs, making sure the baby is in a comfortable position. “Nothing to worry about.”

Jasper blinks his eyes open and looks up at Carlisle, then burbles a little string of nothing words.

“Oh, really?” Carlisle replies. “Emmett didn’t tell me that.”

Encouraged by the response, Jasper continues to babble. Carlisle smiles and nods as he carries his son towards the living room. “An interesting theory!” He settles into the couch and listens to the sounds of the house. Esme is lecturing Alice and Emmett in the other room: apparently, one of them pulled down the hammock again. It’s a nearly daily occurrence, the hooking system far too delicate for a family of vampires, but Esme thinks that the children need to learn how to be careful.

“Oh, your siblings are in trouble,” Carlisle sighs. “We’re lucky to have one little angel.”

“Two little angels,” Rosalie corrects him, jumping into one of the nearby chairs.

“Ah, of course.” Carlisle smiles at her. She’s done her hair in pigtails, and decorated her bangs with colourful clips. Rosalie is their eldest daughter, regressing to around eight or nine, but she’s still quite young. “Two angels. Where’s your older brother?”

“Upstairs,” Rosalie shrugs. “Listening to music.”

Sure enough, Carlisle can hear the tinny sound of Debussy’s Reverie coming from Edward’s headphones upstairs. “He’s missing family time.” Carlisle is worried about Edward, although he knows it’s pointless. Edward had been his first son, after all, and although he loves his entire family, he finds that Edward has withdrawn more and more in the recent decades. “Would you go and fetch him, Rosalie?”

“I can try,” Rosalie says dubiously.

“Come on, angel,” Carlisle cajoles. He holds out a hand, and Rosalie comes over to accept it. He kisses the back of her hand, smiling up at her. “You’re the only one scary enough to make him come down.” Rosalie laughs, clearly pleased by that.

“Can I play science after I get him? Mommy said I wasn’t allowed.”

“If I can play with you, we can absolutely do some science after.” Rosalie has a talent for creating explosions in the ‘kitchen,’ which is mostly used as a laboratory space for the children who are interested in such things. They all need adult supervision, but Rosalie often tries to argue that she’s old enough to play alone.

“Fine,” Rosalie sighs. “I’ll get him.”

And she runs up the stairs, upstairs within a second. Carlisle can hear the whir of Edward’s tape player as Rosalie’s footsteps start towards his room. Edward has been alive for many forms of music, but for some reason he always uses a tape player when he’s regressing. It makes it easy for Carlisle to tell when he’s regressed, at least: he’s so quiet as a teen, the eldest of the five siblings. Almost old enough that his regression matches the part all the Cullens children play in the human world, pretending to be teenagers.

There are only a few years between Edward’s regression and his everyday mask, but a world of difference. Edward can only regress at home, surrounded by the familiar thoughts of his family. Outside of the house, the constant noise makes it impossible for him to do anything except constantly sort through the data pouring in from all sides.

Carlisle closes his eyes, shutting out the sound of Edward’s music and Esme struggling with the hammock while Alice plays around her. Instead, he focuses on Jasper’s even breaths as he lies against his father’s chest.

Carlisle matches his youngest child’s breathing, enjoying the motion. He’s gotten out of the habit through the years: it’s easier to get through the days of hospital work if you pretend to be breathing, but neglect the act itself and all the intensity of tastes and smells that come with it. Here at home, Carlisle will sometimes engage in meditation, turning his attention to the act of breathing: there’s something calming about the flow of air in your body, even if you don’t need the oxygen for your blood flow.

Jasper smiles in his feigned sleep, pressing a little closer to Carlisle’s chest. He clearly knows that he’s being copied.

“Precious boy,” Carlisle says fondly, brushing a hand across Jasper’s cheek. “So loved by his parents.”

Jasper fully smiles at that, closing his eyes tighter and pulling at Carlisle’s sweater in an approximation of a hug.

“I love you too,” Carlisle murmurs, knowing what the gesture means.

“Daddy!” Rosalie says, standing in front of the couch again.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Carlisle says, blinking up at her.

“You need to get Edward.” Rosalie crosses her arms. Esme enters the room, and Carlisle can tell from her expression that she heard a conversation that he missed. She looks worried, her eyes flickering to the ceiling where Edward’s room is.

“You’d better go,” she agrees. “Give the baby to mommy, he needs a change.”

Jasper is transferred between them again, happy to get back to his mommy’s arms. Carlisle will never be the favourite parent there, but that’s alright. He loves all his children equally. But now his worry for Edward is sharper, wondering what he missed in his preoccupation with Jasper’s breathing.

“Is he alright?” Carlisle asks, already halfway up the stairs.

“He’s fine,” Rosalie says. “Just little,” she adds as Carlisle reaches the door to Edward’s room, the words echoing up the stairs behind him.

Carlisle knocks on the door, realizing that the music had stopped when Rosalie came up. Another thing he hadn’t noticed.

There’s no answer from the other side of the door, aside from a small intake of breath.

“Edward?” Carlisle calls. “May I come in?”

Again, no response.

Carlisle pushes the door open cautiously, and sees Edward curled up on the floor under a heavy blanket. His tapes are spread around him, his headphones discarded on the floor and his tape player in one hand. He’s staring blankly at the wall, and doesn’t respond to Carlisle’s entrance.

“Edward?” Carlisle approaches slowly. “Are you alright?”

Slowly, Edward pulls the blanket over his face, hiding from Carlisle entirely.

“Do you not want to have a family evening? You don’t have to regress if you don’t feel like it. You can come read to your siblings, or you can stay here.” Carlisle knows that his worry must be clear to Edward, his words all but useless when Edward can read the flow of his thoughts. Even though the two of them are adept at voiceless conversation, especially in front of humans or even members of the family, Carlisle has always preferred to speak aloud when he’s alone with Edward. Still, he knows his mind is whirling with the questions he keeps unsaid. What happened? What’s wrong? How can I help?

The pile of blanket on the floor doesn’t move, giving Carlisle nothing to read.

“Do you want me to leave?” Carlisle asks, quietly enough that the family members downstairs wouldn’t be able to hear him.

Finally, a movement: a pale hand reaches towards Carlisle from under the blanket, splayed fingers in a wordless command. Don’t go.

“Alright.” Carlisle keeps his words voiceless, quiet enough that a human wouldn’t be able to hear. “I’ll stay.” He folds himself up and kneels next to Edward, and begins breathing to pass the time. The children downstairs are laughing about something, probably at Emmett’s expense if his angry reply is any indication. Esme is singing to Jasper, her voice drifting through the other noises. Esme’s voice was incredible when she was a human woman, and she has only improved since her death.

Carlisle quiets his mind, letting his awareness drift to the sensation of breath. Edward has often said that he enjoys being near Carlisle when he meditates, finding the relative calm of his thoughts a welcome break. Carlisle lets his worry drift freely in his mind, neither rejecting nor focusing on it. He can hear Edward beginning to match his breath, and he slows the rhythm further.

“I’m sorry,” Edward whispers.

Carlisle casts his eyes towards his hidden son, keeping his mind clear and restful. “Will you tell me what troubles you, Edward?”

“I can’t.” Edward pulls the blanket down and turns his face towards Carlisle.

Vampires are unable to cry, just as they are unable to eat or sleep. But they still remember what it was to cry, and Edward’s breath becomes shaky as their eyes meet, his face crumpling with the anticipation of tears that will never come again.

“Edward,” Carlisle breathes, his chest aching with the memory of what sympathy felt like when he was alive. “Please, may I hold you?”

Edward nods, stretching out his hand again, and Carlisle is beside him in less than a millisecond, lifting his son into his arms and cradling him close.

“What do you need, Edward?” he whispers against his son’s forehead. “I can deny you nothing.”

“Father,” Edward manages, and buries his face in Carlisle’s chest.

“My son,” Carlisle says, smoothing Edward’s hair back. “Hush, I’m here. My precious boy.” Edward’s body shakes with imagined sobs, and Carlisle continues his soft reassurances. “You’re alright. I’m here, Edward. You have me.” He focuses on the physical sensations: the weight of Edward against him, the silk of his hair under his fingers. The amount of fondness he feels for this boy, his son, his first family member, overwhelms him. He presses his forehead to Edward’s, cupping the boy’s cheeks.

“I love you,” he tells him.

“I know,” Edward says, bringing his hands up to mirror Carlisle’s. “Thank you.” His voice sounds broken.

Carlisle doesn’t know how long they sit there, fingers intertwined and foreheads pressed together. Edward’s breathing evens out, and the sounds from downstairs continue. Carlisle fills his mind with love and lets Edward drink in his unwavering affection, surrounding the two of them with contentment.

Finally, Edward takes a final deep breath and sits back on his heels, blinking his eyes.

Vampires are denied the emotional release of tears, and the emotional rest of sleep. They have no escape from awareness, and for those who feel their inhumanity as deeply as the Cullens, a deep fatigue sets in through the years. That’s why family night is so important, as well as the smaller distractions of sparring matches and baseball games. The fatigue eases for a while, when you are caring and being cared for. When things are simple, and easy.

“Can I be younger tonight?” Edward asks, finally seeming centered enough to ask the question that must have been weighing on him all day, if not longer.

“Of course,” Carlisle answers without hesitation. “How young?” You don’t need to know, he adds without words. We can always figure it out as we go.

“Like Jasper,” Edward says, and puts the ridge of his thumb into his mouth. “Is that okay?”

“Absolutely.” Carlisle offers a hand, and Edward clasps it tight. “Do you want to stay upstairs, or see your siblings?”

“Will they laugh?” Edward says quietly. It’s a fair question: the other Cullen siblings enjoy mocking Edward when they’re all adults, and Rosalie likes to make fun of the only older sibling when they’re small.

“They won’t laugh,” Carlisle answers in the same undertone. “I’m sure of it.”

“Then I’d like to be with them,” Edward nods.

“I’m sure your mother would love to see you,” Carlisle says, squeezing Edward’s hand. “Now, should we get you changed?”

Edward nods wordlessly, casting his eyes to the ground.

“Brave boy,” Carlisle praises, and gets to his feet, scooping Edward into his arms.

Edward flinches and wraps all of his limbs around Carlisle, making Carlisle laugh slightly. Such an extreme response when he’s seen Edward dive off cliffs with no hesitation. His boy must be very regressed already. No wonder Edward struggled so much to ask his question.

Carlisle sings one of his favourite lullabies as he carries Edward down the hallway to the boys’ room. Edward doesn’t wear very different clothes when he regresses, so he doesn’t have a regression closet. They’ll have to steal from the younger brothers for now, and find some new outfits for Edward later if this will be a repeated experience.

Carlisle beelines for the dresser and scoops a pacifier from the back of one of the drawers. Jasper doesn’t use them, and the pacifier has lain unused since it was tried and rejected. Edward has been chewing on his thumb ever since Carlisle picked him up, and Carlisle has a feeling the abandoned pacifier might finally have a use. He presses the pacifier to Edward’s lips, gentle enough for it to be refused, and Edward accepts it.

“Good,” Carlisle says, pressing a kiss to Edward’s temple. “Now let’s get you changed.”

He sits Edward on the changing table, and the boy curls into himself slightly. Carlisle breezes past Edward’s uncertainty, moving through the familiar motions of disrobing him and fastening a diaper around his hips, patting the tape into place.

“Safe and sound,” Carlisle murmurs. “Would you like a shirt or pyjamas, sweetheart?”

Edward blinks up at him, and sucks on the pacifier.

“Pyjamas it is,” Carlisle says, unable to hide the fondness in his voice. He finds one of the darker onesies hanging in the closet and guides Edward’s limbs into it, patting the baby’s belly before doing up the buttons. Edward squirms a little, but more in amusement than in protest.

Carlisle chuckles at his reaction and scoops the boy back into his arms.

“Let’s go see your big brother and sisters, hmm?” he says to Edward. “I think they have some guppies on.” Edward usually hates sitting around when his siblings are watching cartoons, pretending to read a book somewhere apart or convince his siblings to gather around and listen to him read. But today he perks up at the mention of cartoons, eyes widening with interest.

“Do you want to sit with your mother?” Carlisle suggests, careful to hold Edward steady on his hip as they make their way down the stairs. “I’m sure she’d love to spend time with her baby boy.” Edward clings to Carlisle’s shoulders. “Ah, fair enough.” Carlisle can’t help smiling at the boy’s attachment, even though he’s sure that he’ll change his tune once he sees Esme.

“Hi daddy,” Alice calls distractedly when they enter. Emmett and Rosalie both glance up briefly from the screen and then return to their cartoons without comment. Edward is hiding his face in Carlisle’s neck, and Carlisle can feel the slight rocking of the pacifier as Edward gets the hang of sucking on it.

“Hello angels,” Carlisle replies, and makes his way to the couch behind the children, where Esme is sitting with Jasper cross-legged on the ground between her legs, his head leaning against Esme’s knee so that she can pet his hair while he watches the cartoons.

“Good to see you two,” Esme says quietly, under the noise of the cartoon. “I was worried.”

“This little one needed changing,” Carlisle says, sitting down and trying to rearrange Edward in his arms, who is still determinedly hiding against him. “Edward, come out and say hello to your mother,” he teases, flicking one finger against Edward’s neck.

Edward wiggles, displeased with the attempt to tickle him, and finally turns his face sideways.

Esme gasps softly. “Oh, darling boy.” She reaches out to cup Edward’s face, and the boy lets her. “Look at my baby.” Carlisle smiles at the two of them, as Edward shifts towards Esme on the couch and she helps him into her lap, careful not to dislodge Jasper’s place on the floor at her feet. “There, let me hold you,” Esme coos, pressing him against herself.

She would be crying, Carlisle reflects, if she were still able. There is something about Edward trusting them with this, after so long and so many siblings. They have spent so many decades together, physically unchanging, and yet they are still growing and learning about each other. It is an unimaginable gift from the universe, one that Carlisle will never take for granted.

As Edward smiles around the pacifier and Emmett yells something at the screen, Carlisle leans back on the couch and lets his gaze travel around his family, a serenity deeper than meditation settling in his chest. This is his family first, and his Clan second, and he would do absolutely anything to keep them safe.

#twilight agere #fandom agere #agere writing #agere fanfiction #agere stories #sfw agere #my writing #my fics #twilight

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