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faggotmox · 8 months

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3+1 Bryan Cock Warming

Rating: Explicit Fandom: All Elite Wrestling Relationships: Jon Moxley/Bryan Danielson, Bryan Danielson/Claudio Castagnoli, Bryan Danielson/Wheeler Yuta, Jon Moxley/ Bryan Danielson/Claudio Castagnoli/Wheeler Yuta, Bryan Danielson/Eddie Kingston, BCC Poly Kinks/Warnings/Ect: Cock Warming, Daddy Kink, BDSM, Punishment, Dom/sub, Subspace, Anal Fingering, Cock Cages Word Count: 853 Summary: Three times Bryan gets his cock warmed, and one time he warms someone else's cock. [AEW Kinkmeme Fill] [ao3] [faggotmox@dw]

1: MOX (Zen)

The warm, soft, fluffy look of bed and Bryan neatly nestled into the pillows wasn’t enough to redirect Mox’s anxious energy. For the last thirty minutes Bryan had watched Mox pace around, moving this or that, putting something away or in a travel bag as he got ready for their next round of flights.

Sometimes Bryan would just let Mox work himself up. Maybe that was mean, but offering help too early in the process of anxiety tended to lead to fights. Plus it let Bryan relax comfortably while he watched his very sexy, jacked, and shirtless boyfriend move around the bedroom manically. As nice as it was to watch Mox bend over and crouch in the very tight red boxer briefs, Bryan was starting to get dizzy just watching him.

“You need to relax,” Bryan called out tonelessly.

“Fuck off,” Mox snapped, throwing up the middle finger as he ignored the comment.

“I’m serious,” Bryan sighed, tucking an arm behind his head. “I mean, I do love watching your ass in those shorts, but if you get any more worked up then you’re not going to sleep well and I’m not dealing with you being grumpy while we travel tomorrow.”

“You’re an asshole, Bry.” Mox glared but at least stopped pacing.

“Why? Because I don’t want the man I love to be miserable and exhausted while traveling all day because I know that makes him feel fucked up?” Bryan smirked at the pissed off look that got from Mox. “I’m serious, Jon. I’ll help you finish in the morning.”

“And I suppose you’ll help me relax now?” The defensive look on Mox always made Bryan think of a grumpy puppy.

“Yup. So come to bed.” Bryan examined his partner very closely as the wall started to break down. There could have been a moment where Bryan needed to push harder, but Mox finally caved and climbed onto the bed. “Atta boy.”

“Are you gonna be a total prick the entire time?” Mox shot him a look as he got onto his side of the bed with a huff.

“That was sincere!” Bryan laughed. It was hard to make Mox take him seriously sometimes, but that was partially his own fault for always teasing the guy. “There’s a hockey game on. Let’s watch it.”

“Oh-kay…” Mox looked suspicious as he sank into the bed.

“Hey,” Bryan paused in his work of changing the channel to actually look at the other man. He reached up and took Mox by the chin. “Just let me help you relax, Jon. Trust me.” He was trying to express that he saw genuine distress without forcing Mox to be embarrassed.

“Yeah. Fuck, alright. Sorry.” Mox shrugged a little as he inched closer.

“C’mere.” Bryan pulled Mox flush against his chest and threw the arm with the remote over Mox to change the TV. “It’s going to be alright.” He assured quietly as the hockey game came to life.

It took Mox the first quarter to actually turn off and enjoy. There was still a lot of tension in his body so Bryan started running his hands up and down Mox’s leg and hip. Normally when they watched sports it was downstairs and it was much more lively, but this was just to take Mox’s mind off things.

When half time rolled around Bryan started to work on the next part of his Help Mox Relax and Get Out of His Head routine. A few light kisses roused Mox from his dream-like state. Bryan’s fingers fiddled with the hem of Mox’s underwear around his thigh.

“Go with it.” Bryan encouraged as he started to tug the red material down Mox’s thighs. “You won’t need those.”

Mox kicked the shorts off the bed while Bryan reached for the lube. It was good they had fucked earlier in the gym after Mox got frustrated that Bryan kept pinning him. It meant his partner was open and ready for him. All Bryan had to do was reapply some lube to Mox and then himself before he was gliding in with ease.

“Fuck…” Mox let out the long moan as he took all the other had to offer.

“You feel so good, Jon.” Bryan pressed his forehead against Mox’s shoulder. “Just relax for me.”

“I should find this kinda shit so annoying…” Mox mumbled, there was no bite in his voice anymore. “Your dick radiates zen or somethin’. Like a fuckin’ xanax.”

“Maybe I should start bending you over and putting it in you every time you start getting antsy.” Bryan grinned against his partner's shoulder.

“I wanna object ‘cause I feel like you’re teasin’ me, but your magic dick is working so I’ll let it slide this time.” Mox sighed as he leaned back into Bryan.

“I’d stop.” Bryan wrapped himself snuggly around Mox, just enjoying the feeling of his dick being warmed. “But I know you like it.”

“Fuck you…” Mox was already mostly asleep.

“I’ll fuck you in the morning, baby. Go to sleep.” Bryan shut off the TV so that there weren't any more distractions.

“P’mise?”

“I promise, Jon.”

2: CLAUDIO (Restart)

The weather outdoors was nice enough that Bryan had settled himself on his back patio to read. It was early in the morning; the sun was just above the horizon, his morning run already complete. After Grand Slam, Bryan found himself with a visitor.

The night had gone long with Claudio. The title lifted a weight off of the Swiss man that he desperately needed, the loss of it left him with nothing to hold onto. So he had sought out Bryan to be grounded. They had done a lot of work the night before, so Bryan was going to let Claudio sleep in. Despite what most people probably thought, Bryan considered Claudio's defeat to be an honorable one. Eddie wasn’t an easy enemy.

The back door opened up, causing Bryan to look over. A small smirk crossed his face as he took in the very sleepy Claudio. The old hoodie looked like it was one of Mox’s that was left around. A little too small for Claudio, and a faded Deftones logo. There was a questioning look on the larger man’s face.

“I thought you could use the rest.” Bryan waved him over. “I took a short run anyway.” That wasn’t true but it was a worthwhile lie.

Claudio made his way over, one hand rubbing at his eye making the hem of the hoodie ride up. Just enough of Claudio’s abs peaked out between hoodie and boxers. Bryan found a sleepy Claudio to be very cute. The little downturn of his lips until he got coffee, half lidded eyes, totally dreamy look. Before Claudio could kneel in front of him, Bryan waved him off.

“You did enough of that last night. Get in my lap, you deserve it.” He put the book aside as he moved himself into a comfortable position for Claudio to straddle. “That’s a good boy.”

It shouldn’t be so easy for a man that size to so easily fold onto Bryan’s lap, but he was frequently in this position. The heavy weight of Claudio eased onto him, knees resting comfortably against Bryan and the seat. Both arms went around Bryan’s neck as he reached around to hold Claudio at the waist.

“What do I have to do to get you to relax?” Bryan questioned, his hand stroking the back of the other’s neck. “You were a good champ. You’ll be a good champion again.”

There was a small shake of his head causing Bryan to sigh. Claudio had a hard time with the fall from grace. Even if he kept himself together at the surface, Bryan was there to see through the well put together facade. Gently, his hands started to sneak up under the back of Claudio’s (Mox’s) hoodie. The tender bruises being caressed made Claudio shiver. The damaged expanse of Claudio’s back was still smooth under Bryan’s fingers as he started to work out some of the muscle tension.

“Look at me,” Bryan’s soft command was enough to make Claudio lean back to look at him. Sad, warm brown eyes looking to Bryan for relief. “I know you’re having a hard time right now, but you have to tell me what you need. Even if it’s not in English.” They had spent the night running the gambit on punishment and discipline, things Bryan knew helped normally but didn’t seem to make a dent this time.

Quietly Claudio spoke in his native language. A request, as well as a confession, that was not meant to be understood. Sometimes it was a communication barrier, but sometimes it also helped Claudio admit things he regularly struggled to express. The larger man didn’t have to know Bryan had been working on his understanding of Swiss German. Of course his understanding wasn’t perfect but at least Claudio was talking now.

“Good boy.” Bryan reached up to put a hand on Claudio’s neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Rewarding honesty.

“You should be taking care of Mox, not--”

“Stop, Claudio.” Bryan’s voice was firm, his brows knitted together to show he wasn’t pleased with that. “If I needed to be with Mox, I would be. I need to be with you. I love you, too.”

That admission almost made Claudio flinch. Bryan started rubbing his thighs. As much as he loved and appreciated Claudio, when the other man got like this it became incredibly hard for Bryan, or anyone, to get a read on his sub’s needs. A constant was Claudio’s enjoyment of being touched, it always helped in every situation. Yuta most certainly didn’t get nearly as much out of the tactical work, and Mox almost exclusively wanted everything harder. Bryan knew he was much quicker with his other two, easier to jump into action because he knew what they needed, but Claudio was a continuing challenge for him. He had to work to distract Claudio as he formed his plan, going over everything he could recall as quickly as possible.

“You know what?” Bryan smiled up at the other man. “I need to clear my head a little while I think about how to help you.”

“Clear your head?” Claudio questioned. “You’ve run this morning already.”

“You’re right. I need something to relax me.” Bryan shifted his hands up Claudio’s thighs and around his hips to message the perky ass just barely concealed in the well worn boxers. “I love these boxers.” He mumbled as they started to rock against each other. “This soft pink looks good on you.”

“They used to be red.” Claudio mentioned, feeling slightly embarrassed that he hadn’t thrown them out yet. “I should have thrown them out a few years ago.”

“They’re your favorite pair.” Bryan shook his head. “I can tell they’re older because you’re more muscular now. You fill them out better.”

“A polite way of saying they’re too small.” Even though it was clear Claudio was joking Bryan quickly shook his head.

“I want you to accept the compliment.” Bryan hooked his fingers into the (apparently) faded red material. “And take these off.”

“Yes, Sir.” Claudio shifted up to start taking off his shorts.

“It’s daddy this morning.” Bryan distinguished. “Sir was last night.” He ran his fingers over the welts he left on Claudio’s ass.

“Daddy.”

The word stuck in Claudio’s mouth in a clumsy way that always turned Bryan on a little more than it should. Like it was something so foreign to his vocabulary that it didn’t make sense. Once the shorts were removed, Bryran stopped him from taking off the hoodie. It was cute. Bryan pushed his cotton running shorts down a little, allowing his dick to spring free. Of course he was hard. Anyone would be with 232 pounds of beautiful, sexy Swiss man in their lap.

There was always lube stashed somewhere. That was Mox’s doing. Bryan always had some in a pocket or bag, but this one time he was thankful to be able to get a bottle fished out between the cushions. A tiny smirk crossed his face when he found it. Claudio was a sensualist and cooling lube was one of those things that really got to him. The screw cap was silent, and the touch of the lube was entirely a surprise. The gel was a decent temperature, but quickly Claudio arched into Bryan as it started to leave a cool trail between his cheeks. Bryan’s fingers encouraged it to spread, and slip down to circle the tight ring of muscles.

“Daddy.” Claudio breathed in sharply as the first finger pushed into him. “Oh.”

“That’s it. Focus on the feeling.” Bryan’s soft words made the man in his lap shiver. The hand not currently engaged reached up to shield Claudio’s eyes from the rising sun. “Just feel. Don’t think. Don’t move. I’m going to take what I need, and all you have to do is let me. I’ll tell you exactly what I want. Understood?”

“Yes,” Claudio nodded against the hand shielding his eyes. “Yes, Daddy.”

“Perfect. Keep your eyes closed.”

The finger loosening up Claudio was joined by another. Slowly Bryan finger fucked his sub as his other hand untied the bandana holding his hair back. The fabric was sweaty from his run, and dirty from the trail. He pressed it into Claudio’s hands.

“Blindfold yourself.”

Claudio followed orders easily and quickly wrapped the material around his eyes. There was some tension that got released as one of Claudio’s senses was removed. On a whim, Bryan grabbed the faded-to-pink shorts off the couch and stuffed them into Claudio’s slightly open mouth. The larger man only barely pulled back before relaxing again and accepting the gag.

“Good boy.” Bryan grinned to himself because he had figured it out. Another Claudio puzzle seemingly solved. “I want to finish some of my book in peace. So, all I want is for you to rest against me.”

The answer Bryan got was just a muffled moan. He withdrew his fingers and poured some lube on his cock. Even though his hands were messy Bryan gripped Claudio’s hips and positioned him right where he wanted and slowly started to push in.

“That’s good.” Bryan moaned as he sank deeper and deeper into the other. “Still loosened up for me from last night. I did a good job on you.”

It was a little hard for Bryan to not just fuck Claudio and leave it at that. Maybe he’d even go back to sleep. But that wasn’t the plan. After a few lazy thrusts and some more lube, Bryan brought him all the way down and kept him there.

“Good boy. Very good.” Bryan’s voice had an edge of a tremble to it but then again he was balls deep in Claudio. “If you can be still for me, let me relax and read, then I’ll reward you.”

“Yes, Daddy.” The words were almost too muffled but Bryan was able to just make out the sounds.

Once he was positive Claudio was situated, he was able to take up his book again. Reading it wasn’t really the goal anymore. Right now it was about giving Claudio a purpose, a way of serving Bryan that didn’t involve pain or punishment. Warming his cock on a nice, early morning while he read before breakfast was the perfect way for them to relax together.

In ten or fifteen minutes–maybe twenty if Claudio really slipped under–Bryan would flip them over and fuck Claudio good and slow until he begged to come. After that they’d go make breakfast together, which would consist of Bryan having Claudio cook for him and make their coffee. Hopefully it’d be the restart that Claudio needed. For now, Bryan was pretty content to cuddle his Swiss giant sitting on his dick.

3: YUTA (Penance)

The cold metal cage clicked into place, the lock secured with a disapproving grunt. The key was placed on a chain and draped over Bryan’s neck. The metal swinging against his chest as Yuta stared at it. The key would stay on Bryan and the cage on Yuta until his next win.

“Christ. Would you two hurry the fuck up?” Mox groaned loudly from the bed. He had to be forcibly separated from Claudio. “Stop mind-fucking him, Bry. He knows he lost. Let’s go.”

“You’re working yourself into the same punishment if you’re not careful, Mox.” Bryan shot back without looking away from Yuta.

“Do you have any idea how hard I’ve been since Claudio busted that big bitch up?” Mox moaned dreamily as he reimagined the earlier fight.

“Patience, Jon.” Claudio smiled happily as he knelt on the bed and leaned over the brattiest of them all. “I’m going to fuck you for the rest of the night. Over and over again until you’re so exhausted you’re begging me to stop.”

“Fuck, fuck.” Mox whined as he arched up into the body above him. “Watching you beat the shit out of Josh was so hot, man. Like fuck.” His hands went up to grope Claudio’s chest. “You’re so fucking strong.”

“Claudio.” Bryan tossed a bottle of lube at the two on the bed. “Start getting Mox ready. Wheeler, since you like running your mouth so much, let’s put it to good use. Over the edge of the bed, suck Mox off while I get you ready.”

“Bein’ a little hard on the kid, aren’t ya, Bry?” Mox giggled a little as he was dragged down the bed by Claudio.

“I hate it when you get on commentary.” Bryan reached out to tug at the collar on Mox. “You get more mouthy than normal. If Wheeler makes you come before Claudio is ready to fuck you then you take Wheeler’s punishment until he wins his next match.”

“Oh, challenge accepted.” Yuta perked up at that but then Bryan shoved him face first into Mox’s crotch.

“That’s not a challenge, Wheeler. It’s a warning to Mox. Now get to work. All three of you.” Bryan threw a look at Claudio to get going.

A tiny smirk crossed Claudio’s face as he started to work Mox open. It was going to be his victory prize. While Claudio worked Mox open like it was his sole purpose to make Mox scream like he had on commentary, Bryan on the other hand took care of Yuta with clinical efficiency. At some point Bryan took Yuta’s hands and pinned them behind his back, making him grunt loudly at being off balance.

“You’re ready. Let’s go.” Bryan slapped the side of Yuta’s ass. “Claudio, take your prize.”

It was like letting a dog off the leash. Claudio practically pounced on Mox, who found it very erotic to be covered by the big man. Of course after watching that match, Mox turned Claudio’s celebration into a tussle. The pair grappled naked on the bed, laughter and gotchas sounding out. The act of physically dominating Mox was one of Claudio’s favorite forms of foreplay.

While the pair struggled and moaned against each other, Bryan sat in one of the deep hotel chairs that had a perfect view of the bed. Guiding hands moved Yuta to face the bed as well before taking hold of his hips and easing him down. The easy glide of Bryan made Yuta moan despite trying to hold it in. This was a punishment, after all. Cruel fingers reached around to wrap around the unforgiving metal cage.

“Keep my cock warm until Claudio is finished with Mox.” Bryan rattled the cage as he sank into the warm, familiar feeling of Yuta. “I want you to watch them. That could have been you.”

Yuta wasn’t sure if Bryan meant he could have been Mox or Claudio. Either way it was his loss. Losing was why he was currently caged. With a sigh he settled back into Bryan and watched as Claudio threw Mox into the side of the bed and bent him over, hips pressing into hips as Claudio fought to pin the squirming man’s hands down. Quietly he would keep Bryan warm until Claudio was done and Bryan got his victory lap with Mox. It could have been him.

+1: EDDIE (Intimate)

There are a lot of reasons why Bryan wouldn’t seek this person out for any kind of help, but he did actually have two very trusted recommendations. In fact, Mox texted him that he told Eddie that Bryan was already on his way. Unfair of Mox, but warranted. Bryan frowned as he found himself knocking on the door of Eddie Kingston’s hotel room.

“Come in!” Eddie called out loudly from inside. “Lock it, would ya?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Bryan frowned as he stepped into the room, locking the door behind him.

“I’m just finishing up.” Eddie had the bathroom door open. Steam was flowing around Eddie as he dried himself off with a towel. “Mox gave me a bit of a run down. I’m doin’ it as a favor to him,” Eddie paused, looking Bryan up and down. “And you look like you could use it.”

“Don’t be a dick.” Bryan glared.

“Stop being so sensitive.” Eddie rolled his eyes and sighed. “I meant it. Come in here.”

There was only a split second of hesitation before Bryan went into the bathroom. One of the towels was tossed onto the floor in front of the sink. Bryan eyed it and the rest of the stuff on the counter top. Eddie cleared his throat.

“On your knees, gecko boy.” Eddie was grabbing his toothbrush.

“Gecko? Gecko boy?” Bryan glared up at Eddie as he knelt down, annoyed that he didn’t get whatever insult.

“Yeah. Dragon’s are just fuckin’ lizards and you’re a small one at that.” Eddie rolled his eyes. “Get my dick in your mouth while I finish up. Keep your hands behind your back and shit.”

“Eloquent.” Bryan mumbled as he shifted around on his knees before taking Eddie into his mouth. A little moan escaped him.

“See? Not so bad, huh?” Eddie reached down to stroke Bryan’s hair. “Just try to stop fuckin’ thinkin’ about shit, alright?”

Eddie easily filled out his mouth and Bryan centered himself on his breathing. Meanwhile, Eddie brushed his teeth and cleaned up his beard. And maybe a few other tasks, but Bryan's brain was starting to get fuzzy so he stopped paying attention. He could have stayed like that for hours, his mouth tightly wrapped around Eddie’s hard length. Neither of his stable mates were lying when they said Eddie had a good dick. It was easy to find himself drifting, especially with how little Eddie seemed to care he was there. He wondered what insight Mox had given him.

“Alright, alright.” Eddie pulled away from Bryan, not even pushing the kneeling man from him but walking away. “Follow. Hands and knees, gecko.”

“Seriously?” Bryan glared, not sure if he was balking at the insulting nickname or the crawling.

“Don’t play. I know you like to crawl.” Eddie shrugged as he kept walking away.

It was simply left up to Bryan to do as he was told or not. With an annoyed sigh, he crawled after Eddie. It took a while for him to catch up. By then, Eddie was lounging in his bed with SportsCenter going. There was an absent handwave as Eddie called Bryan up onto the bed. The mattress dipped with Bryan’s weight as he got up and crawled towards Eddie.

“Lay down on your side.” Eddie motioned.

“That’s…” Bryan glanced at the spot on the bed.

“What? A little intimate? I’m about to put my dick in you. Lie the fuck down.” Eddie shook his head, but didn’t seem nearly as pressed as he should be considering how annoying he found the ‘little vegan freak.’

“Fuck. Okay, fine.” Bryan laid himself down, facing away from the other, but then Eddie stopped him.

“Nah. Changed my mind. Here,” Eddie started pulling Bryan on top of him. “Mox got you all ready for me, right?”

“Yeah.” Bryan admitted, a blush rushing up his face. At first Bryan had insisted he could handle it, but Mox convinced him otherwise. Considering the thick length Bryan got a taste of in the bathroom, he should remember to thank Mox for that.

“Good. Hop on then.” Eddie put his arms behind his head and looked off towards the TV like nothing was happening. As if Bryan was borrowing a tool from his garage.

“Thanks, I guess…” Bryan grumbled as he got himself over Eddie. “Oh, fuck.” Bryan let out a little puff of air. “I see why Mox talks your dick up so much.” Slowly Bryan eased himself down.

“Ah, Mox. All that guy needs is a big dick with a rough thrust and he’s happy.” Eddie reached over to the bedside table to grab cigarettes. “You gonna freak out?”

“Don’t have much of a say, right? After all, Mox called in a big favor.” Bryan pointed out, just holding back his glare as he found himself fully seated on Eddie’s lap.

“Good answer.” Eddie winked before thrusting sharply up to make Bryan moan. “Good answers get rewards, gecko.”

“You’re seriously sticking with gecko?” Bryan groaned as he was slowly fucked.

“Yup.” Eddie sighed, his eyes closing as he started lighting the cigarette. “Ya know,” Eddie opened his eyes to look the other up and down. “I can objectively admit you’re pretty hot. Your core…” His fingers dipped between the muscles of Bryan’s abs down to the Apollo’s belt. “You got that sexy outdoorsman thing going, too.” But his eyes fluttered back to the TV as he took another drag.

“Did Mox tell you to sweet talk me?” Bryan almost laughed, thinking Eddie was just playing with him or saying something he wanted to hear.

“Nah. Look at me,” Eddie reached up to take Bryan’s chin in his hand. “Everything else gets left at the door when I do this shit. I don’t need to fuck with you or lie to you right now when you’re vulnerable. If I’m saying somethin’ it’s fuckin’ true, got it?” Eddie waited for a nod before he continued. “When Mox asked the favor I said yes because you needed something. I may think you’re annoying, I may not like you too much, but you asked for help and that gets respect in my book. Especially shit like this.”

Bryan blinked hard at Eddie. This wasn’t what he was expecting when he got sent down this path. It wasn’t an unfair assumption that Eddie was begrudgingly doing this for Mox because he loves Mox, but as it turned out Eddie was just…a good dom. If Regal was still here…Bryan shook his head away from Eddie’s grip to rid himself of those thoughts.

“Hey, whatever the fucks going on up here--” Eddie tapped the side of Bryan’s head. “It’s my job to help ya leave it at the door, too.” Eddie pitched his barely-smoked cigarette. “So, you like fuckin’ basketball or what?”

“Basketball is good.” Bryan agreed as he felt the tug from Eddie to lay on his chest.

A blanket was pulled up around them as Bryan settled into the position. Eddie was still inside him and he actually started to relax into the embrace. It felt strange, but it started to become easier. Eddie was gentle, one of his hands resting on Bryan’s back while the other scrolled his phone a bit. Mostly Bryan felt ignored, but also cared for, which was maybe exactly what he needed. He felt connected to a very unlikely person and let himself drift off. Away from the match and the loss and…

“Like a gecko sleepin’ on a rock.” Eddie mumbled, like he could sense the thoughts forming again in Bryan’s head.

“Fine.” Bryan laughed a little as he relented. This softer side of Eddie drew him in, completely unexpected. “Don’t you dare tell Mox.”

“Oh, sweet little gecko, I’m going to be callin’ you that from now on.” Eddie smirked.

“Asshole.” Bryan shook his head then found himself burrowing into Eddie’s neck a little more.

“Yeah, yeah. I know. Now shut that yap if ya can. I’ll let you know when we’re done, alright?” Eddie waited for another nod before he surprisingly kissed Bryan’s forehead and went back to watching basketball.

#got a kink meme fill here #bryan cockwarming baby #bryan danielson #jon moxley #claudio castagnoli #wheeler yuta #eddie kingston #fanfiction #fanfic #wrestling fanfiction #wrestling fic #aew fic #aew fanfiction #bcc polycule #blackpool combat club #rangerwritten

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chrisemrysfics · 10 days

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Major change in how I work on fanfics

Note: this is the note I used in my fics, since it works well enough to explain everything!

Please read this note to know the details, but I will be moving to storytelling on my fanfic blog, and only return to AO3 if I have something I want to add. However, it will be a bonus surprise if I come add anything, not the goal, as my goal is now to just chat about my ideas on my blog!

Hello!

This is not a notice that I’m abandoning my fanfics, yes the ones that used to be WIP are now marked “completed”, but this is in relation to a change in how I will be working on fanfics, so please continue to read if you want to know what to expect now!

A month or so ago, I came to a realization of why I have been having issues finding inspiration for a while now, and I also figured out how to express why I have always affirmed that I still expected myself to eventually return to my fanfics. Following that, I was able to figure out a new way to work with my fanfics ideas that I hope will help inspiration flow a bit better~!

I want to first address why I placed this expectation on myself that I would return to my fanfics, which is something I know I tried to express before, but I finally found a decent imagery: my fanfics can be viewed as hibernating. They are not gone, if they were truly gone, I would admit it to myself and make it clear I wouldn’t work on it again. But that isn’t the case: they are still there, just… dormant. And it takes efforts to wake them up, efforts that I haven’t been able to make. Yet, because all it requires is the space to make efforts, that is why deep down I knew I just needed to be patient, and above all, to not abandon. I need to not push myself because that makes me even less willing to make efforts, I need to allow myself to work on stuff when I feel the genuine call. All of this is something I always felt deep down, but never found the proper to express until now. Unless I somehow forgot I said that before, and lost myself a little bit before finding myself again.

Either way, this is why I always told you all that I meant to come back, and why even now, I still speak of keeping the door open to come back. However, as I mentioned, I also came to a realization about why exactly I had been having issues with inspiration, why it had become so much harder, or honestly, impossible to find the space to make effort for my fanfics. I thought it had to do with other aspects of my life needing my attention, and that is a bit of the reason, yet I realized there was a larger reason: my writing style has been changing in the past few years.

And, you know, if writing style is changing, but you’re still trying to work as you used to before? It makes it more and more difficult, until you stop and ask yourself what is happening because you can tell something is wrong. Thankfully, I ended up seeing what the issue was, and it’s quite the relief, even if it comes with needing to make changes in how I work on my fanfics.

The issue? My old writing style that you have seen from me, which I summarize as “multi chaptered stories with a cohesive plot evolving chapter by chapter” (or simply, “traditional format”). It takes effort because I need to detail my ideas, and remain cohesive, and write proper chapters rather than “babble about ideas”. I always adored just day dreaming about my ideas and babbling to myself privately, but for many years, writing with the “traditional format” is what worked for me to make and share fanfics. Until it didn’t, and I realized what might work.

I know I’m not the first person to do this, there are many blogs (or even writers on AO3) who don’t necessarily write multi-chaptered fanfics, and just speak about their ideas, their plot, without actively doing “fully written out story” format. I did always notice that the easiest part for me was building my ideas (what I call “babbles”), but I did enjoy for many years the efforts of writing in that “traditional/fully written out story” format. And then, bit by bit, I lost that enjoyment. It isn’t fun anymore for me to attempt that type of format, I grew to need something different. I still love when there’s cohesive stories as a result, yet it has a become a bonus for me, not the goal. Now, my goal is to just… be a storyteller, not a writer, and hopefully the nuance makes sense to you.

What does it mean, though, in term of what I will be doing? Well, I have made mention of that just now~

What I will be doing is rework my fanfic blog (chrisemrysfics.tumblr.com) and use it to continue telling the stories of the fanfics I have already posted on AO3, and tell any new story I might get inspired about.

All my fanfics on AO3 are now marked completed because, as far as I am concerned, they are finished as they were, and will continue being told on my blog. It will be a surprise, a nice bonus, if my blog storytelling lead me to write more chapters, or write little things that I might want to post on AO3. However, as mentioned, this is a bonus, not the goal.

My goal, now, is to just have fun using my fanfic blog as the location where I share my storytelling for my fanfics. Surprise: I already started testing this format for a specific storyline I have been developing privately for a while!

The storyline in question is a crossover (MCU, DGM, MDZS, BotW/TotK, DAI), that still have lots of ideas that are fandom specific, so in theory, you can easily find stuff to read for a singular fandom if you’re not interested in the others, and you can also find stuff for the crossover aspect. As it is quite a lot of ideas to work with, I made a different blog for it, which you can find at crossoverfamily.tumblr.com.

Just know that I am still in the developmental phase, at the time of writing this note I need to remake my pages for example, but eventually I will have moved into proper storytelling rather than just preparing for said storytelling.

So you can expect me to be more active on there, at least for now, while I adjust the pages and stuff on chrisemrysfics. I honestly don’t know yet what chrisemrysfics will look like in term of content, all I know is the general idea of “this is where I will babble about the fanfics I have on AO3 and all future fanfic storylines that I get inspired to make”. I might even write drabbles and scenes and one-shots connecting to storyline. All I know is how my goal is to share when I want to share, and if it never becomes a “traditional format” story, it’s okay. I will still be telling the stories on my blog.

This doesn’t mean I won’t be on AO3 anymore, as I might have stuff I want to add to existing fanfics, or new fanfics to post. Likely, what I will do in the future on AO3 is, if I have something to add to an existing fanfic, I will make a new series where the first story is the existing fanfic and the rest of the series is one-shots&similar in relation to that story. As for new fanfics, either they are in fact fully pre-written so I can just share as such, or if not fully pre-written, I will share what I want to share on AO3 as series of one-shots&similar.

So, if you want to stick around, and/or see what else I have to share for the fanfic storyline(s) you’ve enjoyed, make sure to keep an eye on my blogs~!

The blogs have anon option on for the inbox, so even if you don’t have a blog of your own, you can still leave an ask/message, so feel free to do that whenever you want!

Thank you for the interest you’ve shown, I totally understand if you move on now or you’re less interest in how things will be now, or if you stick around but only on AO3, I just wanted to make sure my readers know what to expect and aren’t left hanging in confusion!

If you stick around one way or another, all I ask is for patience and respect, though of course, if you want to message me, encourage me, and/or generally show enthusiasm, that’s quite welcome too!

Once more: thank you for your interest, and I wish you the best!

PS: I have original writings at chriscassar.carrd.co if you are curious/interested~

#progress

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buttercupsandboys · 2 years

Text

Sunshine & Rainbows — an Alfie Solomons x original character story — Chapter 7

18+ NSFW - minors don’t interact 🙅🏻‍♀️

MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3

CHAPTER 7: gossip over salvation

Word count: 3148

TW: none really

Alfie is away and Livy crosses paths with Arthur Shelby … what could go wrong?

A/N: Sorry, this chapter doesn’t have much Alfie (which I hate because it’s SO much harder for me to write Livy without him) but I think it’s necessary to move the plot along. And I have big plans for the next few chapters, eek! So excited 😁

I’ve decided Christina Hendricks would make an excellent Livy, don’t you think? With a bit of Alexis Rose from Schitt's Creek thrown in.

Livy can’t possibly take any more of this.

She shifts her weight from side to side, trying to relive the shooting pain in her lower back. Her legs are going numb from sitting on the hard wooden chair, and she has a throbbing headache that makes it hard to focus.

It’s been the longest four hours of her life, and there’s only one person who can save her from this nightmare…

“Ollie!!”

The tall lanky man slowly opens the door, hesitation written all over his face.

“Yes, Miss Olivia?”

“Ollie, how many times have I told you? Call me Livy, darling!” She pouts and brings a hand to her chest, doing her best to look offended. “We are friends, aren’t we?”

“Um, yes … I suppose so,” Ollie replies nervously.

“Brilliant!” Livy claps her hands in delight and flashes a bright smile. “And as my friend, I’m hoping you could help me with something?”

Her elbows drop to the desk and she narrows her eyes as she leans forward. Ollie can’t help but notice the similarities between the young woman and his employer, and he backs away slowly, taking a small step towards the door.

“Well, I’ve got a lot on, but uh—”

“Oh, you’re such a sweetheart, Ollie! Thank you. I promised Alfie that I’d look over his books while he’s away, but I just can’t sit at this desk a minute longer.”

Livy continues to chat away as she stands and crosses the room, placing a small hand on Ollie’s shoulder. She gently guides (pushes) him towards the recently vacated chair.

“You know I’m a dancer, don’t you, darling? I get very stiff if I sit for too long. And Alfie always speaks so highly of your work!”

From the baffled expression on Ollie’s face, she accepts that she may have overplayed her hand with that last bit, but it’s too late to

stop now.

She practically shoves him towards the desk and the stack of ledgers. “He told me that you’re, uh, a wizard with numbers! And he wouldn’t know what to do without you. In fact, he’s never known someone—“

Ollie interrupts her with a gentle hand on her wrist.

“Livy, if you need a break, you can just say so.”

She blushes softly at being caught out and gives him a genuine smile. “You really are my hero. Thank you, Ollie,” she answers softly.

“Just don’t leave the bakery without one of the lads! Alfie’s orders, Livy.”

“Of course, darling!” She assures him, throwing a wink over her shoulder before grabbing her new coat and making a quick escape.

— • — • —

The door to the small courtyard swings open, and Livy steps out, tilting her head to worship the sun peeking from behind the clouds. She closes her eyes and enjoys the warmth on her skin before releasing a long, slow breath.

She‘s feeling unsettled today, and it bothers her because there’s no obvious reason for it—well, except for the Italians who want to kill her. But she’s not too worried about them. They’re not the first people to want her dead, and besides, she trusts Alfie.

Yes, they haven’t known each other for very long. And yes, he does seem like he’d play anyone against everyone to get what he wants. She was there during the meeting with Mr Shelby, and she’s not quite as naive as she sometimes allows people to think. But she doesn’t doubt that he’ll honour his promise to her father and, by extension, to her. She can’t explain it with words, but her intuition has always been strong, and she doesn’t waste time doubting herself.

So no, she’s not worried about the Italians, but she is restless. Spending the morning with her nose in the books certainly didn’t help, but at least it’s something to distract her while Alfie’s not around.

He’d come to her today at dawn, pulling open the curtains before finding the edge of the bed and telling her that he’d be away for a couple of days.

Business, love. Up north. Won’t be gone long.

She’d been half asleep and easily distracted, too busy imagining what was under his crumpled shirt to pay attention to what he was saying. She vaguely heard something about “taking up her offer to help” and before she fully realised what was happening, she’d agreed to look over his books.

And it’s fine because she really is good with numbers. Plus, she’d rather spend a day at the bakery than home alone. But god, it’s bloody boring.

She sighs as she walks between the long wooden tables where the men take their breaks, trailing her hand along the rough wooden surfaces. There’s something else bothering her, but she just can’t quite put her finger on it, so she takes a deep breath and decides to drop it for now.

Eyes on the horizon, she reminds herself as she settles on a bench at the far side of the courtyard. She pulls off her coat—the afternoon sun is surprisingly strong—and folds it into a pillow for her head. Then she stretches out, breathing deeply before exhaling and letting her worries float away with the clouds.

She must have dozed off for a bit because she’s suddenly startled by unfamiliar voices. Her eyes land on two strapping lads sitting at a table nearby, Blinders from the looks of them. She realises they haven’t noticed her because of her position on the bench and is about to say hello when suddenly her ears perk up.

“It good coin, mate,” declares a stout man with rosy cheeks. “If you’re looking for extra work, Arthur needs men on the door at that posh place.”

“What’s it? The Eden Club?” asks the second man, who is much smaller but sports the same familiar cap. “Fuck, I’ve heard the women are wild there. Bet Arthur’s having a right ol’ time, eh?”

“You should see for yourself,” his friend replies as he stands and gathers his things, his break finished. “The Blinders run the place now, mate.”

The other man nods, and then they both exit the courtyard, leaving Livy to process what she just heard. The Eden Club is under Blinder control now? She sits up and smiles, her mood considerably improved. Maybe she should go and say hello to this Arthur fellow …

She knows she’s not *supposed* to leave the bakery, but surely a little trip can’t hurt? So she slips out the gate and goes looking for a carriage.

— • — • —

“Peter! Hello, darling!”

The handsome man looks up from behind the bar, his surprised expression quickly replaced by delight when he recognises Livy from across the room.

“Livy! Where’ve you been, love?” He calls out as he sets down the glass he’s been polishing, casually tossing a towel over his shoulder. “It’s been a while, poppet. You know everyone’s been asking ‘bout you.”

She smiles and sets her bag down, sitting at the bar and nodding gratefully when Peter lifts a glass in silent question.

“Always the gentleman,” she teases as she accepts the drink, taking a sip and giggling when the bubbles tickle her nose. “It’s a long story, I’m afraid. Things have been… complicated.”

“It always is with you, ain’t it?” He grins as he crosses his arms and leans against the bar.

“Oh, Peter …” She scolds as she smacks him playfully. “The drama finds me, darling. I don’t go looking for it.”

“Of course, love. Of course.” He reaches for her hand, bringing it to his lips and placing a chaste kiss in apology. “So what brings you here today? The girls should be in soon if you want to say hello.”

“Oh, my babies! Yes, I’ll be sure to pop round soon,” she replies, smiling fondly. “But first, tell me all about the new management? I hear ‘Arthur’ is the man at the top now?”

“Aye, Arthur Shelby,” confirms Peter. “From Birmingham, one of the Peaky boys. He’s a wild one and he’ll love you, that’s for damn sure. You want to meet him?”

“Why not?” Livy replies innocently.

Peter laughs. “Alright, love. Enjoy your drink and I’ll hunt him down for ya. He’s around here somewhere.”

Livy nods and takes another sip of her champagne before turning in her seat to admire the opulent club. She wonders if Arthur will be much like the other Mr Shelby, who she hasn’t quite taken to. Thomas is too cold—admittedly beautiful but lifeless, like a statue. Johnny insists that he’s a good man, just hardened by the war, but she’s not convinced.

Either way, she knows that if the Blinders run the Eden Club then the Italians will keep away … which surely means that it’s safe for her to come back?

And oh how she wants to.

She adores Alfie and when he returns, she wants to learn everything there is to know about him. Fate or just old-fashioned luck has brought them together, and she’s not going to turn her nose at good fortune—especially not when it comes in such a handsome, well-endowed package.

But that doesn’t mean she wants to sit around the bakery all day, twiddling her thumbs like a bored housewife. She’s not dead yet, but you never know when the reaper will come knocking. Every day above ground is a day worth celebrating, and where better than the most fabulous club in London?

“Well fuck me, Peter. Where’d you find this angel?”

“That’s Livy, Mr Shelby. Our best girl until a few weeks ago, a right sweetheart she is.”

“Oh, Peter. You’re getting soft in your old age,” Livy scolds with a smile as she slips off her stool and stands to greet the tall man. He bears little resemblance to the other Mr Shelby, with a mischievous smile hiding under his thick moustache and sparkling eyes that put her immediately at ease.

“Mr Shelby pleased to meet you,” she greets warmly as she offers her hand.

“The pleasure’s all mine, love,” replies Arthur as he catches her hand, bringing it to his lips and making her laugh when his moustache tickles her soft skin. He grins at her response. “But please call me Arthur.”

“Alright then. So tell me, Arthur, what’s your relation to Mr Thomas Shelby?”

“Have you met Tommy, lass?” Arthur raises an eyebrow in surprise.

“We’ve got … friends in common.” She’s not sure about Alfie’s relationship with the Shelbys, so she decides to leave his name out for now. “My father knew the Lees, and Johnny Dogs is a friend.”

“Imagine that, eh? The Lees? So you know Esme then?”

“Oh yes!” Livy lights up when she thinks of her friend. “We’ve fallen out of touch, but we were close once.”

“Well, you should come and visit us, love! She married me brother, John. Tommy is my other brother,” Arthur confides with a proud smile. “Small fuckin’ world, eh?”

“It certainly is, darling.” She pats Arthur on the shoulder as they both take a seat at the bar. “But you know, I wanted to chat with you about the club, Arthur.”

“The club, eh? You looking for work, love?”

“Yes, Arthur. I’d like to come back, but … “ She trails off, not quite sure how to phrase her request without mentioning the Italians. “I’m very popular, you see. I need to make sure the lads are under control when I’m here. Do you understand what I’m asking?”

“Protection?” Arthur cocks an eyebrow and waits for confirmation.

“Yes, exactly!” Livy replies, feeling relieved.

“Well, look love. If you work in my club, you don’t have to worry ‘bout nothing—by orders of the Peaky fuckin’ Blinders!” Arthur slams his hand on the bar for emphasis, and Livy giggles, tossing back the rest of her drink.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then, boss.”

She hops from her seat, giving a mock curtsy and blowing a kiss, before making for the door, her heels echoing like gunshots against the empty dance floor.

— • — • —

Livy can barely hear herself think above the symphony of laughter and poorly contained whispers, and that’s exactly how she likes it.

She looks in the mirror and reapplies her cherry red lipstick, smiling warmly at the chaos behind her; fellow dancers, in various states of undress, primping and gossiping in front of brightly lit vanities. The room smells like sweet perfume and cheap champagne, and it feels safe, like a cocoon where women go to transform into butterflies.

“We missed you so much,” declares Emma, one of the younger girls, as she embraces Livy from behind. “It wasn’t the same without you looking out for us.”

“And getting the drinks!” Calls out Annie from across the room, resulting in a chorus of laughter.

“Like you ladies can’t find your way to the bar blindfolded,” Livy retorts loudly, giving Emma a tight squeeze before turning to face the others.

“So … where have you been?” Eva asks curiously as she brushes her long blonde hair. Suddenly, she stops and her eyes go wide. “Oh Livy, is it a man? It is, isn’t it? Tell us, pleeease!”

Her voice rises in excitement and the room comes alive; a hymn of high-pitched squeals and low whistles from women who pray for gossip over salvation. But Livy only smirks and adjusts her stockings, her lips sealed as she enjoys the attention. And, of course, the other women know just how to give it; they all play their parts like actors on a stage.

“C’mon, love. We all know you can’t keep anything to yourself,” Annie teases as she leans back in her chair, gracefully lighting a slim cigarette before placing her heels on the vanity, ignoring the tiny bottles that go flying as she crosses her dainty ankles. “Have some pity on the rest of us, slaving away each night while you’ve been galavanting around with Prince Charming.”

“Aye, he would be too,” moans Sarah, a slim redhead from up north. “Livy always finds the best lads.”

“The best?” Livy huffs indignantly. “Need I remind you of Richard, that bastard—“

“With the big cock?” Interrupts Annie, and the room erupts into laughter yet again.

Livy snorts and words slip out of her mouth before she can stop them. “Yes, well … it now seems quite small in comparison…”

Poor Emma is blushing like a virgin but the rest of the girls go wild at the confession. Eva stands up and crosses the room, holding her brush threateningly. “Livy, if you don’t give us more details …”

“You’ll what?” With a flip of her wrist, the small dagger Livy keeps between her breasts is poised in her soft hands.

“Oh fuck off, Livy.” Eva puts one hand on her hip and swats at her with the other, still holding the brush like a weapon. Livy dissolves into laughter and puts the blade away before grabbing the blonde’s hand and pulling her down on her lap.

“Don’t pout, Eva.” She chides playfully, pressing a kiss on her friend’s cheek before addressing the room. “Well, I’m sure you all remember Alfie—“

“Noooo—the Captain from the letters!!”

“That’s him, Annie.”

“Argh, I knew it!” Gasps Eva excitedly. “Didn’t I tell you he’d have a big one? ‘Cause I knew he would. It’s a gift, I always know.”

“Jesus, Eva. We all know about your talent. You should give readings for the posh birds instead of dancing with us,” scoffs Sarah.

“Don’t be a jealous—“

Eva is interrupted by Emma, whose soft voice somehow cuts through the noise of the room. “But do you love him, Livy?”

The older girls exchange a knowing look before Livy gently replies, “Oh, darling! It’s a bit early for love, sweet pea.”

She intends to leave it at that but Emma bites her lip and looks on expectantly, and Livy can only sigh because the girl is young and still believes in fairy tales. But there are no white knights at the Eden Club.

She looks to the other women for help but doesn’t find it, so she pats Eva off her lap and stands, taking Emma’s hands in hers. “He’s a special man, love. But women like us …” She trails off, looking for the right words. “We don’t find love that easily.”

Annie snorts, “Because men are pigs, Emma. It’ll do you good to remember that.”

“Oi! Don’t listen to her, love,” chimes in Sarah. “Annie’s just old and bitter. You’ll find a good man one day.”

“Yeah, lots of good men here,” mumbles Annie. “You know what they think of us, look what happened to Ellie—“

“Alright, enough ladies. How about I get us another round?”

Livy cuts her off before the conversation takes a turn she’d rather avoid. She crosses the room but before she can open the door, they’re interrupted by a loud knock and a muffled voice.

“Everyone decent in there?”

Annie sighs and calls out reluctantly, “Yes, Arthur. Come on in.” Most of the women are, in fact, not dressed but who can be bothered to care?

The Blinder enters the room; his smile wide and pupils blown as his booming voice rings out in a thick Birmingham accent, “Hello, ladies!” He swings his arms wide as he surveys the room before reaching out for Livy.

“Welcome back, angel. How was your first night?” He asks, clapping a hand on her scantily clad shoulder.

“Wonderful, darling! But I was just about to head to the bar for another bottle—care to join me?” Livy puts a firm hand on Arthur’s arm and guides him out the door. He might be the boss, but the girls prefer to keep men out of the sanctum of their dressing room whenever possible.

“Sure thing, love.” He moves his hand to her lower back and guides her out the door, as Livy mouths “be right back” over her shoulder.

“Bring two bottles!” Annie shouts out as the door shuts and the pair step into the crowded club.

The last dance of the night is over and the girls are off the clock, but there are still plenty of people around as Arthur and Livy make their way to the bar. Peter spots them from across the room and has their drinks waiting—whiskey for him, champagne for her.

“Cheers, love.” Arthur lifts his glass to Livy.

“Cheers, darling!” Livy replies with a sunny smile, gently tapping her glass with his. She leans against the bar and sweeps her hand towards the heaving dance floor. “Busy tonight, isn’t it?”

“I think half of London turned out to see you, love.” Arthur drapes an arm across her shoulders and pulls her closer. His voice drops and she can smell the whiskey on his breath when he whispers, “Beautiful thing, you are.”

“Yeah, she is mate.”

A booming voice rings out from behind and Livy doesn’t need to turn to know who it belongs to.

“Alfie, darling! You’re back!”

A/N: Sorry again that this is mostly an OC chapter. I miss Alfie! But I have VERY big plans for the next 3 chapters (and I really hope I can live up to my expectations!). Smut, violence and angst to come! 🙌🏻 Also, remember this is an AU and there’s technically no bad blood between Alfie and Arthur yet … but that might be about to change.

#alfie solomons #peaky blinders alfie #Alfie x original character #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fanfiction #tom hardy #tom hardy fanfiction #tom hardy fic #peaky blinders #peaky blinders fandom #peaky blinders fanfic #livy x alfie

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mssjynx · 3 years

Text

Mic: ON

dreamnap oneshot 3687 words warnings: steamy!! ao3 link

“Sapnap. Don’t send it.”

Dream’s warning voice held a lot more threat than usual coming through Nick’s headset, and he suspected it was because the two now shared a house. He was all too aware of his friend’s presence only two doors down, and had it just been the two of them, Nick probably would have already given in and saved himself an ass kicking. Dream was a noticeable few inches taller than him, and definitely stronger though Nick would never admit it outloud.

Nick was good at picking his fights.

Or he was, usually.

But with Dream in one ear, and Quackity, George and Karl in the other, he was tiptoeing the line of a very pissed off Dream. The three idiots had been egging him on for the past half hour, begging him to send the video since the moment he’d mentioned having it. And he wasn’t actually going to send it, he just really enjoyed stirring Dream up and he knew the other three found it just as funny.

“Sapnap! Sapnap! Sapnap!” Karl’s chanting overlapped the other two voices, Alex making odd monkey sounds as George laughed himself into hysterics.

“Send it, Sap! You have to show us, you have to.” George’s words were gasped out between wheezes in his comically high-pitched voice that appeared whenever he was losing his mind laughing at something.

Nick knew that if any of them laid their eyes on the video, they would never ever get over it.

He’d captured the valuable video the night prior when Dream had overslept an alarm that he’d set for a recording session with the Among Us crowd. When Nick had crept in there to wake him up, a task he dreaded after the first time he’d done it and successfully pissed Dream off for two full days, he had been met with a sight he never thought he’d see. It was too good to resist flicking out his phone and capturing the moment.

Dream had been splayed out across the bed, three pillows tucked under his back and his head tipped back off the mattress entirely. A trail of dried drool stained his cheek and his slack mouth was releasing a mix of whistling snores and little snuffling sounds as he slept. His fourth pillow was clutched to his chest in a grip that made Nick feel bad for it, white knuckles making Nick gulp as he crept back out of the room and returned to his Discord call to pass on the disappointing news.

He had intended to keep the video to himself, locked away in his phone for a later day of humiliation. He hadn’t intended that later day to be the day following but he made the mistake of mentioning the beautiful video and it had all gone downhill from there.

Karl, George and Alex were relentless when they wanted something, and to say they wanted to see this video was a huge understatement.

“We need to see it, Sapnap, it’s worth the risk! It’s worth it!” Alex pleaded.

“The risk!?” Nick snorted, offended by the lack of care. “I’m gonna get my teeth kicked in, Quackity! The risk is my impending death.”

“It’s worth it, it’s worth it!”

“Vouch!”

Karl and Alex were a terrible influence on each other.

“Guys, Dream’s scawy,” Sapnap said, hoping his baby “uwu” voice would soften Dream’s heart. He knew that whether he sent it or not, Dream was going to kill him for taking it in the first place.

“You haven’t seen ‘scary’,” Dream muttered and Nick shot a weary glance to the door of his office. There wasn’t even a lock.

George whined, adding his own baby voice to the mix, and Sapnap could practically see the stupid pout he was wearing when he begged, “Please, Sap. He won’t actually kill you!”

Dream’s scoff was dry and humourless, “Oh, I will,” and Nick could hear the exhaustion that layered his irritation. He’d been up for over twenty hours editing his upcoming video and keeping the guys company in their streams. He knew that Dream was ready to collapse into bed the second he could, but the risk of his pride held enough weight to keep him upright for the time being.

Nick almost felt bad for him, except he remembered the horrific photo that Dream had shared with their chat less than a month earlier.

This was only payback; well, it would be if Nick was actually going to send it. But he was better than that, he was the bigger man and he also valued having all of his teeth and an unbroken nose.

With a sigh, he reached to click delete on the keyboard to remove the video from the textbox. The ominous ‘Sapnap is typing…’ that sat at the bottom of all of their screens had only added to the excitement (and anger), but he knew that they’d had their fun and it was over. When he tried to snatch up his water bottle at the same time, his device unbalanced in his fingers and the thunk of it hitting the carpet was accompanied by the little “shwoop” sound of a message sending.

Every voice except Dream’s exploded in the call and Nick froze in his chair.

“Oh god,” he whispered, dropping his bottle and scrambling for his phone. “Oh, no, no, no- I didn’t- It was an accident, I dropped my-” His voice was drowned out by Karl and Alex’s cheering, hysterical laughter pouring from George’s end. Dream’s icon vanished from the call and the slam of a door opening reached Nick’s ears.

Dream’s footsteps were loud and angry.

“Guys, guys, GUYS!” His bedroom door burst open and Nick threw off his headphones, ripping the cord from his PC as he stumbled out of his chair. The look on Dream’s face made Nick genuinely fear for his life as he backed up away from Dream.

“Oh my God, he’s so cuuuute!” Karl cooed. George howled with laughter.

Nick had messed up. He had royally screwed himself, and today was the day he was going to die. “Dream, Clay. It was an accident, I was going to delete it and I dropped my phone and- I wasn’t actually going to send it, I swear. I promise. Pinky promise? What if we hug and make up?” Words tumbled off his tongue with panicked desperation but Nick knew a losing fight when he saw it. “Dream?” he tried weakly when Dream stepped forward, but the stoic glare didn’t shift.

He could hear Alex calling Dream’s name, futile attempts at rescuing Nick from certain death. But the laughter that drowned him out only sealed his fate.

He was completely and totally done.

Dream lunged for him and an embarrassingly high-pitched scream ripped from Nick’s throat. He bolted to the bed, clambering over the mattress with his eyes on the open door. But his chances were shot when a rough hand grabbed his ankle, yanking him backwards and off balance. His face slammed into the mattress, cutting off his yelp, and he barely managed to squirm over onto his back before Dream pounced.

“You’re done, Nick,” Dream snarled, and Nick knew that it was his turn to be mortified. He caught Dream by the upper arms, straining as he kept Dream’s hands just inches away from his own shoulders and face. “You’re such an asshole, I told you not to send it!”

“I told you,” Nick gasped, his arms aching as he turned his face away from Dream’s clawing fingers, “I didn’t mean to!”

Dream growled, glaring down at Nick for a second before spitting: “Liar.” and throwing his weight to the side. Nick lost his grip and within seconds Dream had hooked an arm around his back, pinning Nick’s head between his arm and his ribs. The wrestling training Sapnap did back in middle school leapt to the front of his mind as he got his arms around Dream’s middle and tried to push him back. They both grunted and yelped, jabbing fingers into sensitive spots and cursing as they wrestled and fought.

From the computer, the other three were cheering them on, placing bets back and forth. Except they were all betting on Dream and Nick couldn’t even blame them as he scrambled on top of Dream’s back for half a second before he was thrown off.

A jab to his stomach knocked all the air out of him and in seconds he was flat on his back with his arms pinned either side of his head. He gasped for air, face hot and red from exertion as he blinked his dizzy eyes up at Dream.

He made a weak attempt at getting one leg between him and Dream, hoping to plant a foot to his chest and shove him back, but Dream shoved his knee down into the muscle of Nick’s thigh and a shot of pain at the pressure cut his escape attempt off.

The grin on his face made Nick’s head spin faster, though he didn’t know whether it was fear or adrenaline that flipped his stomach like a pancake.

“Dead,” Clay declared, proud and smug as if it was at all a fair fight. He was six foot two for Heaven’s sake.

“Shut up, you’re such a dick,” Nick spat, craning his head off the mattress. The grip on his wrists tightened and Dream pressed them harder into the mattress, leaning his weight into his knee. Nick yelped in pain, wriggling in a weak attempt of dislodging his roommate.

Dream scoffed. “Shouldn’t have sent the video, should you?” His sneer was twisted with a satisfied grin and Nick would have been relieved to see that he was more smug than angry if that smile didn’t trigger every fear sensor in Nick’s body.

“Well, look- Ow- You got me now, so… you don’t have to, uh, kill me or anything! Wouldn’t want you to go to prison now,” he says, awkward chuckle leaving his lips. He hears Karl and George lose it from the computer speakers, quiet but distinct enough to heighten Nick’s irritation. They weren’t helping him at all.

“No chance.” Dream narrowed his eyes. “I want some sort of compensation. You have to let me post whatever I want from your twitter,” and the crooked grin he wore told Nick that his revenge would be far worse than the five second video of Dream snoring.

“No way,” he said, shaking his head and yanking on his arms. The taller man leaned his weight onto his wrists and Nick gave up on fighting. “Get off me, Dream.”

They both ignored the three amigos cheering in the background, this time for Nick’s demise.

Two-faced assholes...

“What’s your password, Nick,” Dream asked, cocking his head to the side with his sly grin. He was, humiliatingly, completely at Dream’s mercy and his stomach twisted at the thought.

It was definitely the first time that they’d been so close to each other; Nick had never been able to see this much detail in Dream’s face. For a moment, he got distracted by the little scar that marred the right side of Clay’s top lip, wondering when and how he’d gotten it. When his lips twitched down into a confused frown, Nick snapped back into the moment with the realisation that he’d been staring at Dream’s mouth.

He snapped his focus back up to Dream’s eyes, unable to miss the way his brows were creased with thought, and pushed a defensive snarl onto his own mouth as he glared up at Dream. “It’s not happening,” he said bluntly, hoping the embarrassed red of his cheeks could be passed off from their wrestling.

Dream’s frown deepened with annoyance. “What’s your password, Nick?” he repeated, pressing his thumb hard into the inside of Nick’s wrist. He watched Nick’s face with an intensity that definitely hadn’t been there a moment ago, murky green eyes flickering over Nick’s features as searching for something specific.

“Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!”

“George, you dick!”

“He’s from Florida, man! He’ll do it!”

The pressure on Nick’s inner wrist made him grimace and when Nick forced out a rough: “No, Clay,” he squeezed the other wrist harder, pinching the skin. The jolt of pain mixed with the tingle in his fingertips; Nick sucked in a deep breath and bit down hard on his bottom lip as he desperately tried to think of a way out of this situation.

His train of thought was slammed to a stop when Dream’s eyes snapped down to Nick’s mouth like a magnet, time screeching to a neck-breaking halt. For a moment, neither of them moved. Dream’s grip loosened on Nick’s wrist but he didn’t even consider moving away, unable to focus on anything other than Dream’s gaze locked on his mouth and his own heartbeat slamming in his chest, in his throat, in his head.

His lip slipped out from between his teeth, and out of reflex, he flicked his tongue to soothe the sting, and he could not ignore the way Dream sucked in a breath sharply through his teeth. Nick watched his pupils swell and he couldn’t say anything about Dream’s pink cheeks because he knew his own were just as warm.

And then it was like a flip was switched. Dream clenched his jaw, eyes flicking back up to Nick’s with a clarity that caught him off guard. “Fine,” Dream said, voice low and even. He stuck his tongue in his cheek for a moment of thought, and Nick tried desperately to keep up with the hidden thoughts behind Dream’s eyes. “Have it your way.”

Those words ran through Nick’s mind just once, before one wrist was released. Before he could even think to make his escape, rough fingers caught him by the jaw, tipping Nick’s head back as a grin flashed over Dream’s lips.

Then those lips were on Nick’s.

Dream kissed him and he kissed him hard, sinking his teeth into Nick’s bottom lip without waiting for a response. The jolt of pain dragged a grunt from Nick’s mouth, and he pressed it up against Dream’s, allowing the thumb on his chin to drag his lips apart. Clay kissed him hard and deep and hot and Nick gave it back just as rough and unforgiving.

His free hand jumped to the back of Dream’s head, threading fingers through loose blonde hair as he tilted his head up into the kiss. He craned his head up off the mattress, nipping at Dream’s tongue when it flicked his top lip. With a fistful of hair in his hand, he smirked into the kiss and yanked hard, dragging Clay’s mouth off him so he could gasp in a breath of air.

It was only a moment before Dream caught Nick by the wrist, shoving his hand back down into the mattress. Except this time, he slipped his fingers up, interlocking them with Nick’s as he kissed him. He pressed his tongue past Nick’s lips, growling at the sharp bites Nick delivered in return.

He’d forgotten about Clay’s knee on his thigh until the pressure vanished, Dream instead using his knee to push Nick’s leg to the side. It only felt natural to drag his knee up, dragging his ankle along the backside of Dream’s legs and pulling on the back of his thigh.

Even when they were kissing, they were fighting. Nick tried to press up against Dream, squirming and yanking on his wrists all the while trying to chase Dream’s tongue back into his own mouth. “Dream,” he growled when the Clay once again blocked Nick’s tongue, shoving his head back down against the mattress.

“Shut up,” Dream snarled, shifting his knee up the mattress between Nick’s legs. It wasn’t close enough and Nick’s underwear was too tight and too hot for him to handle. He bit back an irritated whine, and blushed at the smirk on Dream’s face.

“You’re such a dick,” Nick bit, squirming when Dream put both of his wrists together and with one hand, held them both down. His other hand caught Nick by the jaw as he scanned the Texan boy’s flushed face and kiss-worried lips, holding him still despite how Nick shifted and fought, wanting to get his hands on Dream’s shoulders, in his shirt, in his hair.

He was frustratingly intoxicating and Nick could not get enough. Dream who smelt like heat, like sweat and aftershave. Dream who dug his fingertips into Nick’s jaw and chin, grinning while he tilted Nick’s head back so he could kiss him deeper.

The tongue that pressed into Nick’s mouth was hot and greedy as it teased his own, and Nick could feel the smug glee that oozed from the man above him. “Takes one to know one,” he whispered against Nick’s cheek, before pushing Nick’s head all the way back and dropping his mouth to the curve of his throat.

Somewhere in the back of Sapnap’s head, he registered that he could still hear the other boys. Their conversation, the video, the fight; it felt so much further away with Dream’s tongue abseiling down his neck, and numbly he wondered if the boys had forgotten they were there.

The sweet trail of kisses that crept up the side of his neck were followed by a sharp bite to the skin just below Nick’s ear, and he couldn’t stop the cry from spilling from his mouth. Grinning lips and a cruel tongue smothered the stinging pain as Nick groaned; words of: “Fuck you, that hurt,” being followed by a moan he couldn’t bite back when Clay’s hand disappeared from his jaw and reappeared between his legs, pressing flat to Nick’s straining arousal. The flush of pleasure that wasn’t quite enough dragged a helpless whimper from his tongue as Nick tried to grind up into the touch only to have it vanish altogether. “Clay-” he moaned at the greedy sucking on his neck, loud and desperate and without a touch of shame. “Fuck, touch me- Please,” he gasped.

And that right there was his second screw up of the night.

“Woah, WHAT!?”

“FUCK, no, my ears!”

“Oh God, oh no, that’s- they’re not fighting anymore, that’s not fighting!”

The clamour of voices exploded from Nick’s computer, their previous quiet conversation completely forgotten as all three men’s heads were undoubtedly flooded with scenes they didn’t want to imagine, ever.

Dream vanished from on top of Nick within seconds, bolting to the computer as Nick scrambled to sit upright. His face was burning hot and he could barely catch his breath as he watched Dream smack a few buttons on the computer before rounding on him.

His own cheeks were flushed bright red and the look of alarm would have made Nick laugh had their situation not been as embarrassing as it was for the both of them. “You didn’t mute your mic!?” Dream demanded and Nick stared back at him in disbelief.

“What, was I supposed to anticipate that!?” he snapped back, squirming under Dream’s dirty look. He was still embarrassingly turned on from their… activities, and he had no idea what was even going to happen now.

They were best friends who lived together, not horny teenagers who jumped each other when they got a little bit worked up!

Dream rubbed his face with his hands, taking a deep breath and holding it. After a second of silence, he let it out with an exhausted laugh, shaking his head as he lifted it to look back over at Nick. “Well, that’s going to be an uncomfortable conversation,” he said simply, and Nick couldn’t help but laugh as well. What else was there to do?

“At least they weren’t streaming,” he offered and Dream snickered at the thought, tapping a few more buttons until the screen went black. Nick dropped back onto the mattress, hands on his face as he took a few breaths. His heart was still racing like crazy, and the pressure between his legs was starting to ache.

When he pushed back up onto his forearms, dropping a hand to readjust himself as he lifted his gaze to Dream. Sharp, green eyes were locked on him, more specifically his hand, which paused in its movements under the intense stare.

Nick watched with bated breath as a small smile twisted Dream’s lips, eyes dragging up over Nick as if considering all the things he could do to him. Wondering what was going through Clay’s head made Nick’s stomach drop and head spin. Dream slowly returned to the edge of the bed and Nick sat up further, unsure if he felt more scared of excited by the look in Clay’s eyes. He moved to drag his legs back towards him, but before he could get very far, Dream’s hands were locking onto his ankles, one hard pull dragging Nick to the edge of the mattress.

He tipped his head back to look up at Dream, biting his tongue when Dream cupped his cheek, running his thumb along his bottom lip.

“That’s an issue for another day,” Dream said, wetting his lip with his tongue as he tipped Nick’s head back further. He shifted back, arms barely holding him up as he tilted his head away from Dream’s hand.

“Oh yeah?” he asked, a nervous laugh dropping from his mouth as he scooted back further.

Dream nodded, grin unfazed as he crawled onto the mattress. A hand to Nick’s chest pushed him back onto the mattress, another hand sliding up the inside of Nick’s leg. “Yeah,” Dream said, ghosting his fingers over the front of his sweats and watching Nick bite back a whimper. “Kinda busy right now.” He dipped down, capturing Nick’s mouth in another kiss; this one sweeter and softer than any of their others. He coaxed a soft sound from Nick’s throat, sucking his bottom lip and drawing his tongue out to flick against his own.

“Busy?” Nick gasped when Dream pulled back for a breath, both hands falling to the waistband on Nick’s sweatpants.

“Yeah,” he said with a sly grin, “Really busy.”

#dreamnap #dream #sapnap #fic #fanfic #steamy fic #this is the first and closest thing ive written to smut #in literally 9 months #so #go easy on me but let me know what u think- i know its messy #but i tried my best and i like it :)

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mollymawkwrites · 3 years

Note

Geralt/Eskel/Jaskier: Geralt brings Jaskier to Kaer Morhen and Eskel/Jaskier get their shit together first (communication skills!!) and Geralt comes to a Realization - dp/spitroasting - the turn of seasons, contrast of bright/dark, warm/cold

... this took way too long and I am so sorry about that. As an apology, here’s more than 5.5k of feelings, pining and misunderstandings, with a sprinkle of smut (as an apology, and not at all because I have zero self-restraint). Thank you so much for the lovely prompt, I hope this lives up to expectations 💖

I’ll post the link to Ao3 in the replies when this is beta’ed, sorry if there are any big mistakes!

CW: post-Mountain break-up, smut, Geralt’s Canonical Self-Loathing.

Falling in love with Eskel is the easiest thing Jaskier has ever done.

It happens slowly, but with a certainty that Jaskier has rarely felt before. Like sinking into a feather mattress, silk sheets caressing your skin.

It was never that easy with Geralt. Jaskier fell in love with him fast, sure, but he also fell hard, had to pick himself up afterwards, bruised and bloody.

The first day he arrives at Kaer Morhen, two weeks after his rescue from Nilfgaardian spies, Jaskier is miserable. The trek up the mountain has been hard on him, but harder even was his underwhelming reunion with Geralt, who barely acknowledged him, grunting that he'd be safer in Kaer Morhen before leaving Jaskier to decide by himself what he wanted to do.

His heart aches with two years of missing his best friend, finding he misses him even more now that they’ve been reunited. He'd always told himself he didn't hold any hope of his relationship with Geralt ever evolving into something more, but getting his heart broken on the top of a mountain had made him realise he'd somehow managed to fool himself too.

So he's prepared to spend a winter avoiding his former friend, though Geralt would probably not even call him that, holing up in whatever drafty room he's been attributed, and then he'll find a new name and dye his hair a different colour and hope it's enough to fool the Nilfs. It's a hard choice to make, renouncing the name he's made for himself, the reputation he's built over twenty years of hard work and songs he's still proud of today. But it's all tied too tightly to Geralt, and neither him nor his heart will survive it. Maybe, if Jaskier the Witcher’s bard is forgotten by everyone, his heartbreak won't be so obvious.

That pathetical plan is countered as soon as he steps foot in Kaer Morhen, and Geralt's brothers and mentor introduce themselves to him. They are similar, yet so different to the Witcher he's known for more than half his life.

They welcome him, if not with open arms, at least with warmth and smiles and, in Lambert's case, snarky banter Jaskier takes great pleasure in reciprocating.

Eskel doesn't draw his attention much at first. The dark-haired Witcher is friendly, tugging Geralt in a bear-like embrace as soon as they've passed the gates, and shaking Jaskier's hand with a kind, genuine smile Jaskier can't help but return.

But over the next couple of weeks, Jaskier spends more and more time with the amber-eyed wolf, discussing music and poetry and history as they execute their respective chores. After only a few days, Eskel is the one who searches him out when Jaskier is helping Vesemir in the kitchen or feeding the chickens in the courtyard. He shows him around the keep, more than the customary tour Vesemir gave Jaskier on his first day here. Eskel is full of stories from his childhood in the keep, and he is not greedy with the details. Jaskier can sense the underlying grief when the Witcher talks about the boys who didn't make it in the Trials, but Eskel doesn't linger in the sadness and makes sure to tell Jaskier all about his and Geralt's most imaginative antics.

The Witcher's company is a delight, and a nice distraction from Jaskier's heartache. When he can't take Geralt's silence and avoidance anymore, he seeks Eskel and his warmth, bathing in the man's attention. After a month, he finds himself dreaming of tanned hands and dark hair as much as pale skin and silver strands.

At first, he feels guilty about it. Eskel does not deserve to be someone's second choice. What he deserves is unconditional, untainted love.

But as days pass, frost a little thicker on the blades of grass in the courtyard every morning, the mountains losing their warm autumn colours to shades of blue and grey, Jaskier and Eskel gravitate towards each other until they collide, softly and without a sound. It happens so naturally, Jaskier almost thinks he’s dreamt it when he wakes up one day at dawn, and instead of his freezing room, he opens his eyes to a broad, golden-skinned chest. His cheek rises and falls with the slow breaths where it rests on one plush pec, a pool of his own saliva glistening in a smattering of dark hair.

He hasn’t felt that relaxed in years, and only part of it is due to the frankly fantastic post-sex bliss he’s still basking in. There is no anxiety, no second thoughts. Eskel made sure to make his intentions clear before they fell into bed together, shocking Jaskier into silence with how open with his feelings he was. The bard still can’t help but compare how completely different Geralt and Eskel are.

They agreed to take things slow, to enjoy each other for the winter and then see where things take them. Jaskier knows he’s falling in love with Eskel, but it doesn’t feel scary. He won’t be alone once the time comes to make a decision.

It takes another week for him to move into Eskel’s room completely. They don’t bother hiding their new… entanglement, to the others. No secret can be kept in a keep full of Witchers, and neither Eskel nor Jaskier cares to pretend.

Lambert gives them shit, to no one’s surprise, and Ciri squeals in delight, the gossiping princess resurfacing for a few moments. Vesemir claps Eskel on the shoulder, before reminding all of them that they have chores to do.

Geralt doesn’t say anything.

Jaskier didn’t expect him to jump in joy, he’s not sure the Witcher is even capable of such displays of emotion, but the white-haired Witcher doesn’t even look at them, only ushers Ciri outside to the training grounds.

Over the next few weeks, Jaskier only sees him at supper. He’s gotten used to avoiding Geralt, to keep out of his way, but until then they would still meet in the hall when the weather was too bad for the Witchers to train outside, or at lunch when they would accidentally come in for a bite at the same time. Eskel and Geralt spend a considerable amount of time together, and Jaskier would often find them together doing whatever repair was needed, but these days, when he manages to escape his chores long enough to seek his lover for a stolen kiss or a quick fuck, Geralt is nowhere in sight.

When Jaskier asks his amber-eyed wolf one evening after they retired to their room, Eskel confirms what he already suspected.

“I haven’t seen him in a while, no,” the Witcher rumbles softly, a hand tracing arabesques on the bare skin of Jaskier’s back. “He goes hunting alone almost every day. He does that, sometimes, when he’s upset, though I’m not sure what it’s about, this time.”

Jaskier hums, pensive. His heart clenches at the thought of Geralt avoiding his own family. Guilt creeps on him, its long, sharp claws burying themselves under his ribs. How dare he come to Geralt’s only home, his only place of peace and acceptance, and claim a place in his brother’s heart? He’s done a shit job of fulfilling Geralt’s wish of having him out of his life, hasn’t he?

A strong arm wraps around his shoulders, pulling him closer to the furnace of Eskel’s body.

“What’re you thinking of that makes you smell so sad, songbird?”

Jaskier smiles at the endearment. His wolf is generous with his affection, and Jaskier is selfish. He wants it all. But does he have any right to it, if he is taking it from Geralt?

“Do you think it’s because of us?” He asks, turning his head to rest his chin on Eskel’s sternum. “That Geralt is keeping to himself, I mean.”

Eskel frowns pensively. “I… don’t know. I suppose, in a way. But I think he’s mostly wallowing in his own self-loathing.”

“When isn’t he?” Jaskier teases.

The Witcher huffs, a sad half-smile tugging at his scars. “I was afraid he’d be jealous, or upset, hoping maybe it’d help him pull his head out of his own ass, but I’m afraid it’s buried even deeper than I thought.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t want to get between the two of you, but I know Geralt. He ain’t gonna do anything about it, and then he’ll regret it once it’s too late.”

That doesn’t make any sense. “Eskel, there’s nothing between me and Geralt.” Well, that’s not quite true. “I wanted there to be something, for a very long time, but… well, turns out I was the only one wanting it. If anything, I thought I was the one getting between the two of you.”

“Songbird, there hasn’t been anything but friendship between Geralt and I since before you were born.” Sadness clouds Eskel’s eyes for a second, and the piece Jaskier has been missing clicks into place.

“You and Geralt were together?” He asks, voice tight with emotion.

“Not sure we can even call it that,” a bitter smile twists Eskel’s scars in a painful grimace. “We found… comfort, with each other, when nothing else could give us that. But it hasn’t been like that in a very long time.”

“Why?”

Eskel shrugs with one shoulder, almost dislodging Jaskier from his position. “People change, songbird. And when you live as long as we do, well… you can’t expect things to stay the same forever. I’m glad we stayed as close as we are, despite him not wanting us to be anything other than friends anymore.”

The Witcher kisses the crown of Jaskier’s head and flicks his wrist, snuffing out the candles, a clear sign that the conversation is over. Jaskier doesn’t push, conscious this is a sensitive subject, but that doesn’t keep him from staring in the darkness for a long time after Eskel’s breaths have slowed and deepened, troubled by this new facet of the two men he loves.

Geralt’s reaction makes more sense now, why he would act so uncomfortable around Eskel and Jaskier now that the two of them are a thing. If Geralt still has feelings for his friend, then… seeing Jaskier, the man he hates and despises, whom he holds responsible for his every trouble (quite unfairly, in Jaskier’s opinion, but still), taking his place in the arms of the man he’s been in love with for longer than the bard has been alive… well, Jaskier can understand why he’d be upset.

There’s just a tiny bit of pettiness coming from the selfish, ugly part of him, that sings at the idea. Geralt broke his heart on that mountain top, isn’t it simple justice that Jaskier breaks his heart in turn?

But that line of thought is quickly smothered by guilt, and, more upsettingly, love. He’s loved Geralt for half his life now. No matter how hurt he might be, all he wants is for him to be happy. Or as happy as a self-loathing Witcher can be.

And it’s so obvious that Eskel loves him, too, now that Jaskier thinks about it. There’s a softness in his eyes and the corner of his mouth when he looks at Geralt that isn’t there when he’s around anyone else, an ease and a trust that Jaskier used to attribute to long term friendship but can only come from two bodies knowing each other intimately.

Jaskier can’t put himself between the two of them, can’t bear the idea of robbing both men of the little happiness they can find in a world that doesn’t accept them. And if he was Geralt, he would probably let Eskel down gently, taking himself out of the way and hoping the other two would get their shit together and talk, but he’s not, and if there’s a way that the three of them can find even a little satisfaction in this mess, then he’s going to try his best and make it happen.

He only hopes Geralt will listen to him.

It takes him a few days to work up the courage to approach the sullen White Wolf, and then another two to catch him alone, one night after dinner.

Unsurprisingly, he finds him in the stables, brushing down a Roach who seems more interested in nipping at Scorpion’s flanks than in the brooding Witcher in her stall. A wave of fondness overcomes Jaskier at the familiar sight, and he has to shake himself to remember what he’s come here to do.

“Geralt,” he says, softer than he intended. The Witcher doesn’t startle, but he tenses visibly, his grip on the brush turning white-knuckled. Jaskier lets out a trembling sigh, his resolve the only thing keeping him from turning away and finding shelter in Eskel’s arms to cry his heartache away. “We need to talk.”

Geralt doesn’t gratify him with an answer, like maybe if he ignores Jaskier long enough the bard will go away. How he didn’t learn that doesn’t work in the twenty years they’ve known each other, Jaskier has no idea.

“It’s about Eskel.” That, at least, has the merit to catch Geralt’s attention, the Witcher turning his head just enough to peek at Jaskier from the corner of his eye.

“He told me, about… about the two of you. What you were to each other.”

Geralt sucks in a harp breath. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago.”

And Jaskier can see this is a lie even with the Witcher turning his back to him. His heart clenches, for his best friend, despite everything that happened, and his lover, who have not allowed themselves to have what they both so visibly crave. “It does, though. It does matter. I’m not… I have no wish to keep you from each other, Geralt. I… I love him.” Jaskier chokes out, and something painful flashes in Geralt’s eyes. “And I… I…” he almost lets himself say it, bare his heart for Geralt to see, but he’s gotten too used to protecting himself, to hiding his most shameful truth. “I know you do, too.”

Geralt hangs his head between his shoulders, face hidden in the shadows, the warm, low light of the oil lamp he brought with him playing in his pale hair. “You’re making him happy. The two of you… you’re good, together. I am glad you found each other.”

“Are you really, Geralt? Because you’ve been avoiding us for weeks. It’s hurting him.” It’s hurting me, Jaskier doesn’t say, because none of this is about him. “Listen, I… I know you don’t want anything to do with me, I got that loud and clear, but if there’s a way… for us three to… to find satisfaction, then maybe…”

“Speak plainly, bard.”

Jaskier exhales, nerves making his throat tight. “You know I don’t believe in exclusive relationships,” and Geralt doesn’t, either; Yennefer and him both had lovers on the side, it was no secret between them. “If you and Eskel wanted to… start again where you left things, I see no issue with that. I want him to be happy, too. I… I want you to be happy, Geralt. You’re still important to me, even after everything.”

He’s said more than he wanted to, and Geralt doesn’t even deign to look at him. That’s so familiar it hurts. Jaskier smiles, an ugly thing full of regrets and unspoken words, and turns on his heels. He’s done his part. It’s up to Geralt to make a choice, now.

“Jaskier,” a broken voice says as a hand wraps around his wrist. He startles, and turns to find Geralt watching him with pleading eyes. It’s such an absurd sight, it leaves him speechless for a minute, and Geralt takes it as an encouragement to speak. The Witcher clears his throat. “I don’t… You’re…” the way he interrupts himself in obvious frustration, brow furrowed and lips thinned, is almost endearing. “You’re important to me, too.”

Tears swell in Jaskier’s eyes, and he tugs at his wrist to free it. Geralt lets him go without resistance.

“Please don’t lie to me, Geralt. I can take the hurt, I can take the rejection. But I won’t take the pity.” He almost spits the last sentence, and a surge of bitter satisfaction warms his painful heart at Geralt’s flinch.

“I’m not, I swear. I… I’ve missed you, Jask, I’ve missed you so much.” His voice is husky, weighed by shame and regret, and Jaskier has no doubt he is saying the truth. Geralt is a lot of things, but a good actor is not one of them. “There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about what I said to you after the dragon hunt. None of it was true, I… I was furious, but it wasn’t your fault. I’m so sorry.”

When Jaskier let himself dream of this moment, while walking down of the mountain or in the dark of the cell the Nilfargiaans kept him in, he’d imagined how he’d make Geralt grovel, how he’d tell him about every little thing Jaskier had ever done for him, to make his life easier, to show him how he could find happiness even on the Path.

As it is, Jaskier only stares at Geralt for a few seconds before tugging him into a crushing embrace. “Fuck, I’ve missed you too, you stupid Witcher.”

Geralt makes a wounded noise but lets himself be engulfed in Jaskier’s arms, tucking his nose in the hollow of his throat. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out, warm breath humid against the bard’s skin. “I wanted to come looking after you, but I had to make sure Ciri was safe…”

“I am glad you did,” Jaskier says, petting the hair at the nape of Geralt’s neck. “But why didn’t you say anything once Yennefer brought me to you? Geralt, we climbed up those damn mountains together. It’s been two months since we’ve been here. I thought you didn’t… that you didn’t want me here.”

Hands twist in the back of Jaskier’s thick woolen cape. “I didn’t know how to. While we were still on the Path I was worried about Nilfgaard catching up to us, about keeping Ciri and you fed and safe, and I thought this could wait until we were here. But then…” Geralt makes a frustrated noise so familiar it has Jaskier smiling in the crown of his head.

“Words were hard to find?”

He feels more than he sees Geralt’s nod. “And once you and Eskel became… involved, you seemed so much happier. I thought I’d only make things worse, and that you deserved to move on. To… forget about me. But I do want you here, Jaskier. If I had any right to it, I’d want you by my side always.”

A breath catches in Jaskier's throat, and tears prick at the corner of his eyes. Those are words he's dreamt of hearing for so many years, and he's finally hearing them now, in a stable smelling of horseshit and hay. It's so simple, so mundane, and yet he can barely bring himself to believe this is truly happening.

And maybe it's because he is stunned, or maybe because he's done hiding, but suddenly it feels so important that he says the truth.

"Geralt, you… you must know…" he pulls back, putting just enough distance between them that he can see Geralt's suspiciously red-rimmed eyes, that he can see how the Witcher reacts to his words. "I would have followed you anywhere, until my feet could carry me no more. You know that, right? I've never been subtle," he laughs wetly. Geralt is looking increasingly confused, like he has no idea what Jaskier is talking about, and that just doesn't make sense.

Making a frustrated sound, Jaskier twists his hands in the lapels of Geralt's thick winter coat, tugging him forward slowly so the Witcher can stop him if he wants.

But he doesn't, and their lips meet, harshly enough that Jaskier hopes it'll carry his meaning even through Geralt's thick skull.

It must work, because next thing he knows, he is being ravished quite thoroughly by an enthusiastic Witcher, a hand at the back of his head and another at the small of his back, under the hem of his cape. A thumb rubs circles at the base of his spine, and he's slowly melting into a puddle of contentment, his only thought a constant stream of this is happening, oh my fucking gods this is happening.

There's little time for the realization to set in, though, as a draft of cold wind fills the stables, and a soft "oh" pushes Jaskier and Geralt to separate.

Just outside of the circle of light cast by the oil lamp, Eskel stands watching them, eyebrows drawn up in surprise. Jaskier's guts clench in guilt and he steps away from Geralt hurriedly. "Eskel, it's not-" what you think, he doesn't finish, because that is a lie, and Eskel deserves better than lies.

But there's little else Jaskier can say to justify how Eskel just found him, kissing his best friend and former lover passionately in the middle of the night, when he should have been back in their shared bed an hour ago.

He knew he'd fuck up somehow. That's so classic.

The three of them are silent for a heartbeat, the horses shifting in their stalls the only noise in the cramped space, and Jaskier wants to cross the space between Eskel and him so badly, but he knows he doesn't have the right to, and it's killing him.

Just when his agony reaches a peak, Eskel's mouth curls at the corner, softness blooming in his eyes. "I see you've gotten your shit together," he says. " 's about time."

This is so completely out of what Jaskier expected him to say that he doesn’t manage to find a suitable answer. Surprisingly, Geralt is the one to talk next.

“I’m not going to take him from you,” he says cautiously.

“I know,” Eskel grins. “I know that if I asked you you would never even look at him again.”

Jaskier spares a glance for Geralt, and a pit opens in his gut at the acceptance he finds in his eyes.

“But that would make the three of us miserable,” Eskel adds. “And I won’t do that to Jaskier, or to you.”

“Eskel, what are you saying?” If his soft-hearted Witcher is suggesting what Jaskier thinks he is…

“I don’t see why things between us should change, songbird, if you wished to spend some nights in Geralt’s bed. Of course, if you two want to be exclusive to each other,” the first glimmer of doubt insinuates itself in Eskel’s kind voice, but he keeps speaking bravely, “then I will not impose myself.”

“No!” Jaskier says, a little too loud, his hand shooting up to grip at Eskel’s wrist. Roach nickers irritably in her stall at the disturbance.

“I… I mean, if both you and Geralt are amenable, there is space in my bed for the two of you.”

Eskel’s dark eyebrow arches. “Don’t you mean in my bed?”

But his hand closes around Jaskier’s reassuringly, warm and soft as he looks at Geralt. “What do you say, Wolf?”

And Geralt is watching them both with equal part fear and want in his eyes, like his deepest desire is just in reach but he isn’t sure if it’s not going to burn him at the first touch. Jaskier extends his free hand, and he can feel Eskel tensing infinitesimally beside him, careful to keep a relaxed posture, but as worried as Jaskier that their white-haired Witcher is going to bolt out the door to a more familiar loneliness.

Geralt surprises them both by taking Jaskier’s hand with an air of firm resolution, crossing the space between them slowly until he stands close enough to share their warmth. Eskel raises his left hand, cupping Geralt’s jaw with infinite softness. Jaskier can see in his eyes the same pride he is feeling himself, at their white wolf’s bravery.

The air leaves Jaskier’s lungs in a rush when the two men’s lips meet like they weren’t ever meant to part. The contrast of Eskel’s golden skin against Geralt’s milky one is the most beautiful work of art he’s ever been given to see, and the tight heat in his lower belly tells him he wants to see more of it, now.

The two Witchers kiss for a long minute, Jaskier watching them with naked hunger and want, but for once not in a hurry to claim the attention back on himself. He makes an involuntary noise when Eskel nips at Geralt’s lower lip playfully, and two burning golden gazes turn on him. It’s so intense, so heavy, that another breath leaves Jaskier with a wheeze. A grin is spreading on Eskel’s handsome features, and Geralt’s eyes sparkle with interest.

“What do you think, Wolf? Do you think the two of us will be enough to satisfy our little bard?”

And oh, Jaskier does so want them to try.

Jaskier often prides himself loudly and brazenly of his carnal exploits as an Oxenfurt student and travelling bard. He’s had sex with numerous people of all genders and races, sometimes several at the same time, and has been praised for being a generous and enthusiastic lover.

Never has he been so overwhelmed after only a few minutes of foreplay.

There’s a cock down his throat and fingers in his arse and he’s trembling all over. Eskel is soothing him with a palm to his side, murmuring praise as he pushes three thick, oiled fingers to Jaskier’s prostate.

Geralt is brushing a hand down his cheek, feeling his own cock through the stretched skin. Jaskier sucks and licks with single-minded focus, moaning and wiggling when Eskel executes a particularly well-aimed thrust.

“Look at him, asking for more even when he’s stuffed full,” Eskel smugly says to Geralt as he gives a sharp slap to the bard’s arse. Jaskier yelps and jumps forward, Geralt’s cock hitting the back of his throat. He chokes and gags but doesn’t relent, breathing through his nose expertly. Geralt wipes the tears from his cheeks, the tender motion in stark contrast with his curses and animalistic grunts. It’s a contradiction Jaskier is quickly becoming addicted to.

He's so focused on his worship of Geralt's glorious cock he doesn't notice Eskel's fingers slipping out of his hole before they are replaced with the fat head of his prick. He gasps, letting Geralt's hard length slip out of his mouth, resting his temple against his hip as he breathes through the intrusion. He still hasn't gotten used to Eskel's girth, the stretch leaving him drooling and dazed every time.

They're all still as Jaskier accommodates it, testing the sensation with little clenches of his arse that have Eskel grunting and squeezing the plump flesh of his cheeks.

"'m good, you can move," Jaskier mumbles in the dip of Geralt's hip, and Eskel pulls out to execute a few shallow thrusts, getting the both of them used to the new sensations.

When he picks up speed, a hand threads in Jaskier's hair, pulling him to look up and meet a painfully tender gaze. Geralt holds him with one hand, the other grasping his own cock and guiding it back into Jaskier’s begging mouth, smearing a trail of pre-come on his cheek on the way.

It's easy to lose himself into it after that. He is full, warm and content, and he wishes he could stay that way forever, pinned between his two lovers, pleasing them with his wet mouth and his tight arse. Used for their pleasure alone.

He's only human, though, and his stamina can't compare to two Witchers'. He spills almost as soon as Eskel gets a hand on his cock, his wails muffled by Geralt's.

Geralt is caring enough to let Jaskier breathe as he comes down, cradling the bard’s face in his hands, but Eskel doesn't pull out. They've talked about each other's boundaries at length, he knows Jaskier can take more.

He's brushing his thumb where Jaskier and him are connected, hole fluttering with the last spasms of his orgasm. Jaskier whimpers at the sensation.

"Damn, you always get so loose and sloppy when you've come… do you think you could take the two of us like this?"

Jaskier's chest swells with a sob at the thought, arms trembling where they struggle to keep him up. The fingers around his jaw squeeze lightly, demanding his attention, and he meets Geralt's gaze once again.

"Answer to Eskel, pretty lark," Geralt rumbles. "Is it too much? Do you want more?"

"Yes," Jaskier manages to slur. "More, please. I want… I want both of you."

Geralt's pupils expand impossibly larger, and he bends to kiss Jaskier languidly.

He's a very thorough kisser, grunting at the taste of himself on Jaskier's tongue. Tears well up in Jaskier's eyes as emotion seizes his heart. Finally, he thinks, finally, I get to have him.

He shouts in the kiss, breaking their connection, when Eskel's thumb slips along his cock in Jaskier's hole.

The stretch is intense, even with how relaxed Jaskier is from his climax, and his arms give out, his face squashing into the mattress with a moan.

Geralt chuckles above him before gathering the weak bard into his arms, shuffling them so Jaskier is propped against his chest, while Eskel keeps opening him from behind.

It’s too warm there, pinned between his two Witchers, but Jaskier doesn’t have any complaint. Geralt resumes kissing him to distract him from the almost too intense stretch, and it works. When his breath grows too ragged, Geralt frees his lips and lets him rest his head against his shoulder for a second, lungs expanding with deep gulps of breath. Geralt and Eskel talk in hushed voices, but he can’t focus on what they’re saying, his every thought gathering around the point where he is stretched wider than he’s ever been around Eskel’s cock and fingers.

He is manhandled without difficulty, until he is straddling Geralt’s lap, Eskel still buried hilt deep in him, Geralt mouthing at his neck, two pairs of large hands roaming his sides, his back, his stomach.

“You ready, songbird?” Eskel rumbles in his ear, the low timbre of his voice piercing through the thick fog in Jaskier’s fucked out brain.

The bard nods into Geralt’s shoulder, whining pitifully.

“Did you actually manage to fuck words out of him, Eskel?” Geralt says with a hint of humour, squeezing Jaskier against him affectionately. “Might have to give you a medal for that.”

“Hm. What about a kiss?”

Jaskier smiles groggily at the sounds of intense making-out next to his ear, turning his head to admire the view. Geralt and Eskel truly are gorgeous together, skins lit by the candles, sweat beading on their foreheads, a drop rolling down the crease of one of Eskel’s scars to where his lips join Geralt’s. Their kiss is all teeth and tongue, playful and nipping, fighting for a control none of them truly cares about. It’s a sight Jaskier hopes to be graced with every day of his life from now on.

But for now, impatience is making him clench and grind around Eskel, who breaks his and Geralt’s kiss to grunt. “We haven’t forgotten about you, songbird, don’t worry.”

He cups Jaskier’s cheek in his hand to meet his lips, tasting of Geralt and himself.

There’s a new pressure at Jaskier’s entrance and he gasps in Eskel’s mouth when he realizes it’s Geralt’s cock pushing inside him. The three of them moan in unison when it gets past the ring of muscles and slides besides Eskel’s prick. They stay still, panting for a few moments, until Jaskier garbles a “move” and Eskel complies, taking the lead. Geralt, carrying most of Jaskier’s weight, is slower at the beginning, but picks up speed, moving in counterpart to Eskel, never leaving Jaskier empty even for a single second. They hit his prostate with every thrust in, overwhelming him so quickly he’s only a ragdoll between the two of them after only a few minutes of the same treatment.

Eskel and Geralt lavish his throat and shoulders with soft bites and soothing licks, meeting for a kiss over him once or twice.

Jaskier comes quickly, his cock rutting against Geralt’s toned abs, the friction barely enough to have him tip over the edge, coating the rippling muscles in thick white come. Eskel follows him rapidly, his thrusts growing erratic until he spills deep into Jaskier’s ass, whispering his name reverently in the short hair at the nape of his neck. Geralt joins them after a few more thrusts, grunting his release into Jaskier’s collarbone, goosebumps breaking over the skin of his back.

The Witchers’ softening pricks slip out of his ass and Jaskier hisses at the sudden chill of emptiness. A dribble of come drips from his sensitive hole, gaping and fluttering, and Eskel takes a sharp intake of breath at the sight, fingers coming to brush the abused flesh. Jaskier whimpers in protest, too tired to move, and Geralt shushes him with a kiss to the tip of his nose.

They bring him down to the mattress, arranging his limbs comfortably. One of them - Jaskier doesn’t open his eyes to check which - gets up and brings back a rag to clean him up and a waterskin, bullying him to drink even though all he wants is to lie down and sleep.

Finally, they all snuggle up together on the bed that is slightly too small for three grown men, the room stinking of sex.

There will be a lot to talk about, tomorrow when they wake up, but for now Jaskier buries his nose in the crook of Geralt’s neck, Eskel plastered to his back, both their hands meeting on his chest, over his slowly beating heart. Content. Warm. Jaskier drifts off with a smile on his face and a new song in his mind.

#the witcher #jaskier #eskel #geralt #jaskier/eskel/geralt #geraskel #my writing #prompt fill #nsft #greyduckgreygoose

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sachigram · 3 years

Text

“With Teeth” Chapter 5

((click here to read on ao3!!))

Izaya is frowning down at his computer, his hands hovering above the keys of his keyboard, not moving. Next to him, Namie is typing away, a bemused little smirk on her face. She's enjoying this, clearly, and she's itching to say something biting.

“You're handling this better than I thought you would,” she says, her tone forcibly bored. Izaya blinks at her, lifting his hand to motion for her to continue. “Your little monster friend has a girlfriend now. He'll have less time for you, right? I assumed you'd be setting fires across the city by now.”

“You know what they say about assuming,” Izaya says breezily. “If anything, she's distracting him enough to leave me be.”

The chatroom is full of people chattering away about Shizuo and Vorona, who are spending a lot of time together, holding hands, exchanging glances, sharing beverages. It's sickening. Izaya feels vaguely nauseous just reading about it, but he thinks that's probably due to his insane schedule at the moment, and his lack of sleep. He keeps meaning to take a healing potion, but he forgets every time.

“Distracting. Right.” Namie types another response, fanning the flames of all the rumors circulating about Ikebukuro's hottest couple. Her smirk drops, and Izaya can't resist the temptation to dip into her mind, just a little, to see why she isn't enjoying this as much as she thought she would.

She's thinking of Seiji, of course, but also of Mika, and of Celty's head, and all the times she's been overlooked in favor of someone else. She thinks Shizuo dating Vorona is distasteful, because she's set on the idea that Shizuo must be fucking Izaya, and that's why he comes by so often. Izaya withholds a snort at that, and he graciously doesn't comment on the fact that Namie could probably have anyone she wanted, if she wasn't so obsessed with her own brother.

“Who cares, anyway?” Namie asks, closing her laptop. “The two of them together probably have conversations as interesting as watching paint dry. It's not worth even talking about anymore.”

“I couldn't agree more,” Izaya says, pushing away from his desk. He tilts his head at her. “Let's order out for dinner. My treat.”

“In that case, I'm craving something expensive.”

“Of course you are.”

***

Izaya is watching the sunset from a small window when he realizes he must have fallen asleep. He isn't at home anymore, and this is beginning to feel like the kind of dream he's been dreading to have lately, one where he knows Shizuo will show up at some point.

“Who are you?” A child's voice asks from behind him. Izaya turns, looking down at Shizuo, who is in a hospital bed, his arms wrapped, a brace around his neck. He's frowning up at Izaya, who sighs loudly before plopping into the vacant chair next to the bed.

“Oh, why does it even matter? You won't call me by my name anyway.” Izaya pulls his knees up to his chest and studies Shizuo closely. “You're here alone?”

“My family just left.” Shizuo looks up at the ceiling, seeming to decide that Izaya isn't a threat to him. “They used to stay with me a lot, but this happens all the time now, so they can't stick around as much.”

“I see.”

“I'll only be here one night anyway.”

“So who was it this time? Was it another fight?” Izaya asks.

“It's not like I wanted to fight.” Shizuo's eyebrow twitches. “I threw a swingset.”

“A swingset?”

“Yeah, but apparently it was bolted into the ground or something. Really fucked me up.”

Izaya can't help it. He laughs hard, curling into himself as he does so.

“Hey, fuck you, it isn't funny!” Shizuo snaps, but he seems to be trying not to laugh himself. “Well, maybe it was a little. The look on their faces was pretty funny.”

“Did you at least manage to hit them?” Izaya asks, still giggling at the mental image.

“No. Turns out all the time I spent lifting it gave them some time to escape.”

Izaya laughs harder. When was the last time he found something this genuinely funny? Lately all he does is work until he passes out, and he deserves it, he knows. Still, as he feels tears stinging the corner of his eyes, he thinks he feels good now, here with this kid version of Ikebukuro's monster. There doesn't seem to be anything else to do but talk to him, and their dreams keep connecting them no matter what Izaya does. He's tired of fighting it.

Shizuo is gazing at him with poorly concealed awe and wonder.

Pretty.

Izaya snorts at Shizuo's thought. What's so pretty about this scene right now? The sunset outside? The various machines hooked to Shizuo, beeping idly in the background? Shizuo keeps looking at him, and Izaya realizes, feels his face grow hot.

“Who are you?” Shizuo asks again.

“Your worst enemy.”

“Really? You don't seem all that bad.” Shizuo shifts a bit, winces. “You're not scared of me, are you?”

“Not now, not ever.”

Shizuo nods, and his lip wobbles. “People tell me all the time they aren't scared of me, but I know they are, deep down. How could they not be? They'd have to be crazy. But...” Shizuo chokes up, laughs a little. “I can tell you mean it. And if that makes you crazy, I think that's okay, because it feels good to not be feared, for once.”

Izaya lowers his legs, leaning closer to the bed. He idly touches the flimsy fabric of the blanket draped over Shizuo, who is watching him curiously. Izaya looks away.

“Sometimes you're so pathetically simple it makes me want to vomit. Sometimes it feels like a chore, hating you. Did you know that?” Izaya asks softly, and there's a long pause after his words, no sounds aside from their breathing. Even the machines have somehow gone quiet.

“So then why do you?” Shizuo asks at last.

“Isn't it funny that it's been so long of us hating each other that I forgot what caused it in the first place? I think you did, too.” Izaya crosses his arms over the bed, puts his head down. “People like us will always be at each other's throats. It's just the way it is.”

“You sound like a grownup,” Shizuo says, glaring now. “They always say that, when they don't know the answer to something. 'It's just the way it is.' If you don't know, then why does it matter in the first place?”

“Believe it or not, I am a grownup. I'm only a kid right now because you're one, too. We're always the same age in these dreams, even if only one of us remembers the future at a time.” Izaya lifts his head enough to grin at Shizuo, who blushes and immediately turns away. He seems to be trying to gather the courage to say something, but there's suddenly a knock at the door, and Izaya turns towards it. “Expecting someone else?”

“Huh?”

“There's knocking.”

“I don't hear anything.”

Izaya stands. “Oh. This may be in real life. I think I'm waking up.”

“Waking up? Does that mean leaving?” Shizuo's eyes look panicked. “When will you be back?”

“I never know. Why do you keep wanting to see me so badly? You're the one pulling me back here, you have to be.” The room starts to grow fuzzy as the dreamscape begins to fall apart around them.

“You're not scared of me. You laughed at me instead of running— Fuck!” Shizuo seems to be trying to get up to grab Izaya, but he can't with his arms bandaged. “Tell me your name so I can find you again!”

“You'll just call me a flea anyway, won't you? So it doesn't matter.”

***

Izaya opens his eyes to discover he passed out at his desk at some point. He sits up and frowns at the container of pasta next to him. He remembers ordering dinner for himself and Namie, and then...

“Ugh. Of course she just left,” Izaya mutters to himself. Namie is an opportunist if nothing else. She isn't the type to stick around and see what happens next, unlike Izaya. Another knock sounds at the door. “Who is it?” Izaya calls, feeling sluggish. He checks his phone to find he's been asleep for about two hours.

“Me!” Shinra's voice replies, muffled from the door. “Let me in, would you? I've been knocking forever!”

Grumbling, Izaya makes his way across the room, opening it for Shinra, who waltzes inside like he owns the place.

“Hi! I'm working late tonight, and I didn't have time to eat dinner before I left, so I figured while I was in Shinjuku I could come see what you had—“ Shinra stops talking and tilts his head to the side, observing Izaya. “You look awful. What have you been up to?”

“Also working,” Izaya says. He reaches up to wipe crusted drool from the corner of his mouth. “So you came to raid my fridge?”

“Ah, yes!” Shinra turns and continues his march to the kitchen. “I just got done with an emergency call, and next I'll be going to visit another patient. I didn't want fast food, so here I am! Did Yagiri-san make anything?”

“Should be leftovers somewhere around here.” Izaya looks back at his own pasta, feels his stomach rumble. He can't remember the last time he really ate or slept fully.

“Why don't we eat something together?” Shinra asks. “You look ready to fall over.”

Izaya ends up tossing the pasta. It was congealed together, and not very good in the first place. Namie picked the place to order from, but he'll definitely complain enough about it later to where they don't order from there again. Shinra actually goes through the trouble of throwing together some fried rice, because Izaya doesn't have the ingredients for much else. He'll have to send Namie for groceries.

“So what are you working on so religiously, anyway?” Shinra asks as they sit down. “I haven't seen you this absorbed in work for a while.”

“It's not just one assignment, but multiple. All of them are due around the same time.” Izaya eats a bite of rice and shrugs. “It's just poor timing.”

“More than that though, right? I heard Shiki-san was pissed at you for multiple reasons. Sounds like he's keeping you overloaded on purpose.” Shinra smirks at him. “You can never leave well-enough alone, Izaya-kun.”

“'Well-enough',” Izaya scoffs. “If he had his way, I'd be locked in a cage, of use only to him and his little cronies.”

“That's what you signed up for. You'll get yourself killed if you keep meddling. I mean, come on, Akane-chan? What did you think would happen by sending her off on her own like that?”

“Who says I was behind any of that? Akane-chan has a smartphone. Kids like her are always going to be involved in things, because they want better than they're given.”

“I don't believe you, and I know Shiki-san doesn't, either. It's clear he's punishing you, but...” Shinra leans closer, lowers his voice like he thinks Shiki is in the next room. “To be honest, I thought you'd have it way worse than this. You ordered Shizuo-kun's attack too, didn't you? I thought Shiki-san would hang you upside-down.”

“Again, Shinra, you're reaching way too far. I never said I was responsible for Shizu-chan either.”

Shinra pouts, and then sits back in his chair, shoveling down more rice. “Fine. Don't tell me. Just take better care of yourself, at any rate. It's not like you can't cure the effects of fatigue with your power. You're choosing to suffer, right? But then again, you've always been like that.”

“Don't you have another appointment soon?” Izaya asks, annoyed by Shinra and his big mouth. He's often wondered if friendship is supposed to be this exhausting, but it isn't like he has anything else to compare it to. Shinra was always the only one crazy enough to stick around.

“I'm only saying. You should accept your punishments and actually learn something from them every now and then. It seems like you just bounce back, more determined to make a nuisance of yourself than before.”

“If I don't make a nuisance of myself, I'll die from boredom,” Izaya lilts. “It's really that simple.”

“More like you're worried about being forgotten.”

Izaya resists the urge to throw something at Shinra, who is wearing a strange expression, something akin to actual concern.

“You've improved on your acting ability,” Izaya says, pushing away from the table. “Don't act friendly towards me now. It doesn't suit you.”

“I am your friend,” Shinra insists. “I'm the only one you've got, so maybe you should listen to me once in a while.”

“It always goes back to Celty anyway. What, are you worried I'm going to use her for something too dangerous?”

“Celty agrees with me that it's unusual for you to allow Shizuo-kun to be in your space as you have. Are you actually feeling guilty?”

“Are you?” Izaya stands and grabs a bottle of red wine from his counter before he pads over to his desk. “I don't have the time for this, Shinra. See yourself out when you're ready to go.”

Shinra sighs loudly, finishes his dinner, and picks up his briefcase. He walks towards the door.

“Take care of yourself, Izaya-kun. If you even know how to.”

Izaya uses his magic to slam the door shut behind Shinra, and then he drinks until he passes out.

***

He wakes hours later, in bed somehow.

Groaning, he sits up, trying to remember the night before. His mouth feels like cotton, and his head feels like it's trying to split itself open. He thinks he may throw up at some point in the very near future.

“Feeling better?” Tsukumoya asks from beside him. The shades are drawn closed, and the room is still dark despite the sun being out. Izaya glares at the vampire in his space.

“Why are you here?” he croaks.

“You don't remember? You invited me. We fucked.” Tsukumoya has his laptop, and is typing ridiculously fast even as he speaks. “It was quite the evening.”

“I'm serious. You just keep popping up. It's annoying.”

“Mm. I had a feeling you were being your usual destructive self. There's water for you on your nightstand.”

Izaya reaches next to him, grabs the glass before chugging it. His stomach immediately churns dangerously in protest.

“Why not take a healing potion? I know you have plenty of them,” Tsukumoya says, still not looking at him.

“Don't need it.”

“Right, you don't. The great Orihara Izaya doesn't need anything or anyone, how could I forget?” Tsukumoya finally glances over at him. “You might need to reconsider. Tonight's the night of the full moon. You'll need to be alert when your puppy visits.”

“Fuck, is it? I forgot all about it.” Izaya groans and flops back into the bed, rolling away from the annoying vampire in his space. “You weren't supposed to come until tomorrow.”

“Stop complaining so much. Do you need more water?”

Grumbling, Izaya tries to piece together the night before. He drank too much, he remembers that. Shinra was being annoying. He definitely fell asleep at his desk, meaning Tsukumoya carried him to bed.

“We didn't really fuck, did we?” Izaya asks.

“No. Did you want to?” Tsukumoya's voice is annoyingly smug. “I wouldn't be opposed.”

Izaya snorts and closes his eyes, wills the room to stop spinning. “Don't flatter yourself. You're not my type.”

“I'm not? Here I thought you had a thing for monsters.”

Izaya considers throwing Tsukumoya across the room, but that would be rising to the stupid teasing, and it would require more effort than he currently wants to exert. He stays where he is, listening to the sound of Tsukumoya's fingers on the keys.

“You're being especially pitiful lately, Izaya,” Tsukumoya says after a while. “So you've lost control of your little game, so what? Maybe you should think of what to do next instead of working to the point of exhaustion. You know I hate it when you're predictable.”

“Why does it matter what I do? I'm trapped.”

Tsukumoya sighs. “Yes, you are. And what are you going to do about it?”

“Right now, I'm going to be miserably hungover. Next, who knows? It'll surprise us both.”

“If only I found you sooner.” Tsukumoya goes back to typing. “The things you could've done. Humans are always finding ways to control what they don't understand or fear. But now, you can only help yourself. If you believe you're going to be trapped forever, they've already won.”

“I know that.” Izaya thinks of the work assignments that aren't ever going to stop, and he thinks of Akane, of Shizuo. He knows he went too far, but he has to go even further still.

Tsukumoya seems like he wants to say more, but he pauses, and the typing stops once more.

“You really might want to take that potion now,” he says. “One of your executives is on his way here.”

***

Izaya does not take the potion, and when he answers his door, it's with a slightly green complexion. Akabayashi takes one look at him, and promptly bursts into laughter.

“Oh, wow. And I thought I drank too much. You look awful, brat.” Akabayashi invites himself inside, stepping around Izaya. “I'm doing a wellness check on behalf of the boss. You understand, right?”

“Seems like I have more people in my life than I thought,” Izaya says, closing the door before moving to his couch. “This is my third wellness check.”

“Hard to believe a roach like you has friends, but then again, this city has an infestation. You missed a deadline today.”

“I got a little carried away last night. I've been in bed all day.”

“But you answered the door fully dressed, like you've been up and about,” Akabayashi presses.

“I sensed you coming,” Izaya lies.

Akabayashi hums in thought, and he grins menacingly. “Ya know, I ran into Heiwajima the other day at Sunshine. He seemed really interested in who bit him and why.”

“You should tell him,” Izaya says. “If anything, it would get him off my back for a while.”

“Oh, don't act innocent. We all know who made the phone call that started everything.”

“Clearly what I want doesn't matter. You've made that abundantly clear.”

Akabayashi walks closer to the couch, and he leans closer to Izaya. “Watch yourself, kid. Just because you haven't been caught in the act yet doesn't mean we don't know you're guilty. That magic of yours will only get you so far with us.”

“If your power spans so far, you shouldn't be worried about what I did or didn't do. If you really knew I was guilty, you'd have killed me by now,” Izaya says.

“Assuming monsters like you actually have enough humanity left to die.”

“Why don't we both find out?”

They glare at each other, and Izaya can sense from Akabayashi that the executive would like nothing more than to tear him limb from limb, but he won't. It would be against Shiki's wishes, and as much as Akabayashi hates it, he has to follow orders, or he'll be next on the chopping block. He takes another step towards the couch, but before he can do or say anything, the door slams open with such force that it bangs against the wall and cracks it.

“Hello, Shizu-chan,” Izaya calls without breaking eye-contact with Akabayashi. “Entertain yourself for a moment, will you?”

“What the fuck is this?” Shizuo asks. He growls when he notices Akabayashi. “Oi! I still have questions for you, asshole!”

“I'm sure you do,” Akabayashi says, standing up straight again. He grins at Shizuo. “I can't answer 'em for you, though. Sorry about that.”

“I could always beat it out of you,” Shizuo says, cracking his knuckles. “I'm even stronger than I used to be, since you bastards made me into a monster.”

“You wouldn't get far. I'd relax, if I were you.” Akabayashi turns back to Izaya. “Get to work, brat. Shiki's only so forgiving.” With that, he turns on his heel, and goes towards the door. Shizuo makes to stop him, but Izaya lifts his hand and summons Shizuo backwards, towards the couch.

“What the fuck!” Shizuo shouts, fighting it. “Let me go!”

“Don't make me exert myself, Shizu-chan. I'm having a rough day,” Izaya says. Shizuo turns and glowers at him, but his features soften.

“What's wrong with you? Are you sick?”

“Yes.” The door opens and closes, and Izaya knows he's alone with Shizuo once more. “You didn't knock this time.”

“Didn't think I needed to. It's not like you weren't expecting me.” Shizuo leans down, scrutinizes Izaya. “You're hungover.”

“Don't read my mind,” Izaya huffs, curling into himself.

“I didn't. You reek of alcohol.”

Grumbling, Izaya summons a blanket and throws it over himself. He doesn't know if he prefers Tsukumoya's company to Shizuo's, but at the moment, he thinks he'd rather deal with the vampire. At least for a little bit.

What a messy flea. Shizuo thinks, and then he walks away from the couch. There's the sound of him sifting through the fridge, but there isn't anything for him to find. Namie had the day off, and Shinra cooked what little was available the night before.

“You might have to order out,” Izaya calls. “You have a couple of hours before sunset.”

Shizuo growls loudly, thinks something about Izaya being useless, and then pulls out his phone. Izaya stays where he is and doesn't move, enjoys the silence for a few moments before it's ultimately shattered by Shizuo, who is suddenly sitting on the couch near Izaya, but still far enough to where they're both comfortable.

“I ordered pizza,” Shizuo says, and he leans back against the couch cushions. “You should foot the bill.”

“If you wanted me to pay, you could've ordered something better,” Izaya replies.

“Nah, everywhere else would've taken too long. Pizza is fast and easy.”

Izaya watches sleepily as Shizuo picks up the remote and turns the TV on, flipping through a few channels before settling on a soap opera. It should feel weird, sitting here with Shizuo, watching a woman sob because she caught her husband having an affair, but it really doesn't feel weird at all. Maybe Izaya is too tired to feel one way or another about it, or maybe their strange mental link has done the majority of the work in making them civil towards one another. Either way, Izaya feels comfortable enough to let his guard down a little, and it's an instant relief, like setting down something immensely heavy.

“So, I don't get it. Why are you just sitting here feeling like shit when you can heal yourself easily enough?” Shizuo is still looking at the screen, but he's back to poking around in Izaya's head, whether he knows he's doing it or not.

“Shut up, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says without any real bite.

“Oh. You just want to feel bad. Seems like a stupid thing for someone who's supposed to be some kind of genius, but whatever.”

The woman on screen is confronting her husband's mistress, and it winds up in a fist fight on a balcony. Izaya snorts when the mistress is pushed off to her death. How predictable. Shizuo is scowling at the TV, but he's thinking about his shared dreams with Izaya, and also about some images he's been seeing through Izaya's side of the link. He's also thinking about Shinra, who apparently ran into Shizuo last night after his last appointment. Shinra seemed worried about Izaya.

He's a good actor. Izaya sends. He always has been.

I don't think he was acting. You look worse than you normally do.

I'm hungover, as you so aptly put it. You being in my head isn't helping me feel better.

“I'm not doing it on purpose!” Shizuo snaps, and the sudden loudness has Izaya flinching. “I don't get why it's happening either, okay? I'm only just now starting to believe it's not actually you doing it.”

Because you've seemed like such a mess ever since it started. Shizuo thinks, and Izaya grinds his teeth in frustration.

“I'm not a mess.”

“What did that guy want?” Shizuo asks, changing the subject abruptly.

“Akabayashi-san stops by from time to time to threaten me. It's a pastime for him.” Izaya is starting to feel nauseous again, so he closes his eyes and wills it to go away.

“Don't you work for him, though?”

“I don't work for anybody. I'm a freelance informant for hire, and I give the organization he's part of information when they pay me for it, same as anyone else.”

Shizuo frowns, thinks something biting about Izaya working for the Yakuza. “He seemed like he wanted to hurt you.”

“Oh, he does. They all do,” Izaya says. “They'd kill me if they could.”

Shizuo doesn't like that he has something in common with the Yakuza. He grimaces before he says, “So what? You're just too strong to die or some shit?”

“No,” Izaya replies. “I'm just too important for them do dispose of. I'm part of the reason they're as powerful as they are, and they know it, even if they hate it, even if they hate me. I'm the strongest tool in their arsenal. Killing me would be crippling themselves.”

Silence follows Izaya's words. Shizuo's mind is a whirlwind now, thinking so many things at once, all laced with rage. He doesn't like anything about what Izaya said, the way it was said so flippantly, the way Izaya doesn't seem to mind. Shizuo doesn't like that Izaya thinks of himself as a tool, as something other than human, even if it might be true. Shizuo doesn't want to think of himself as other than human, either.

Shizuo doesn't seem to do well with the truth.

“That isn't true,” Shizuo growls, no doubt in response to Izaya's thoughts. “You're a person. I'm a person. We're other things too, but whatever we are, we're human first. You said so yourself, right? You can die, you can be killed. You're human enough to die.”

“I'm telling you this once, and once only, beast,” Izaya murmurs, opening his eyes to glare at the TV as he speaks. “It would be the exact same as breaking a screwdriver, or losing your favorite toy. If I died, that would be it. They would just replace me. They want to, and they would if they could, but I'm one of the last of my kind, and I'm definitely the most powerful one left. I don't care about it, because I've always known I was only useful for what I knew and what I could do. If you're going to be hated, you damn well better be useful. That's the way it is.”

“Fuck that!” Shizuo yells, and he stands, his hands clenched into fists. “What the hell are you talking about? You think it's okay to sit here and feel sorry for yourself, like you didn't have a hand in being the hated little rat you are? You think it's just because of your magic? You're the one deciding to do the shitty things you do. People hate you. If they knew you were a witch, whatever, maybe some of them would hate you more, but it's only because they hate you already. Get the fuck over yourself.”

Izaya laughs, delighted at the outburst. Doing so hurts his head, and his vision swims. This is pitiful, isn't it? Feeling useless, being forced to lie back and swallow vomit just so no one else can ask anything more of him. If he's a tool, he's a damaged one, and every time he's human, he dulls himself a little more. If this is a game to be played, and his opponents have the winning hand, Izaya will make sure none of them win. He'll destroy himself if he has to. He'll destroy everything.

“Trust me, Shizu-chan,” he croaks, “I know they would've hated me either way. The difference between us is you're searching so hard for a place to belong, and I've accepted long ago that it doesn't exist. Now would you kindly shut the fuck up? My head hurts.”

Shizuo is seething, his breaths labored as he works to calm himself down. He wants to lift Izaya up and shake him until his head pops off. Then Shizuo wants to tear apart everything in the apartment, maybe go punch Akabayashi for good measure. He hates that he sees the reasoning in Izaya's words. He hates himself, and he hates Izaya more than anything else.

“Get out of my head,” Shizuo grits out.

“I'm trying,” Izaya says, and he leaves it at that.

They lapse back into silence, and when Shizuo flops back onto the couch, his brow is furrowed, his jaw set. It's clear he isn't going to let this go, but he at least doesn't want to be in a terrible mood before his transformation. The bloodlust is worse when he's angry. He has to keep reminding himself that Izaya is a liar, first and foremost. Izaya uses words to protect himself, and Shizuo doesn't have to, and won't, ever do the same.

“Well, isn't this cozy?” Tsukumoya's voice asks as he walks down the stairs. He's wearing a hood, covering himself from the weakening rays of sun that still shine through the windows.

“I thought you left,” Izaya calls as Shizuo whirls to growl at the vampire.

“I was going to, but I figured I'd stick around to make sure you didn't die,” Tsukumoya says. He smirks at the scene of Shizuo and Izaya sitting together almost peacefully, watching trash TV in silence. “I wondered how your nights with the puppy went. I suppose I can see for myself now.”

“Why the fuck are you here?!” Shizuo barks, and then he whirls to face Izaya. “Does he always just pop up like this?”

“Not always,” Izaya says. “He stayed the night.”

“What?”

“Relax, Heiwajima-san. Rest assured, I didn't touch him.” Tsukumoya flounces past the couch while Shizuo's face turns a variety of fun colors. “At least, not much.”

Shizuo stands from the couch, and Izaya sighs loudly.

“Don't you have anything better to do?” he asks Tsukumoya, who is still looking at Shizuo appraisingly.

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I trust you won't drink yourself stupid a second night in a row?” Tsukumoya says, looking at Izaya.

“I don't have the luxury tonight,” Izaya answers.

“Right, you're puppy-sitting.”

“Do you mean me, you fucking—“ Shizuo starts, and he barrels towards Tsukumoya, who easily side-steps him.

“Make sure you eat something at some point,” Tsukumoya calls to Izaya. “That pizza will help you feel better.”

“I don't want it,” Izaya grumbles, covering his head with the blanket. He hates both of the people in his space right now, and he just wants to sleep.

You must be making a conscious effort to not heal yourself if you're still this sick over a hangover. Tsukumoya's voice sounds in Izaya's head. Is this really helping anything?

Yes. Izaya can't escape either of them, can he? They're both annoyingly perceptive and persistent. He can feel fondness radiating from Tsukumoya, but it's quickly being overshadowed by the amount of fury pouring from Shizuo, who is clearly listening to their mental conversation.

“Your pizza is here,” Tsukumoya says, and the knock comes a moment later. “Make sure he eats something, please,” he says to Shizuo, and then he vanishes before anything else can be said.

***

Shizuo scarfs down the entire pizza at breakneck speed, once or twice trying to get Izaya to accept a slice before giving up. He doesn't care if Izaya eats or not, and he doesn't care if Izaya feels sick or not. Shizuo's mood increases as he eats, and by the time he's finished, he's as mellow as he ever is while sharing a space with his mortal enemy.

Izaya, for his part, is starting to feel a little better. His stomach rumbles a bit at the scent of the pizza, but his appetite wanes at the grotesquely barbaric way Shizuo eats. It seems worse than usual, more...animalistic.

In fact...something seems off about Shizuo, even for a full moon. Maybe something happened earlier, or maybe Shizuo just went too long without eating until now, but Izaya can sense the bloodlust permeating from Shizuo like a miasma.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, slowly sitting up to level his gaze at his unwanted guest. “Have you taken your potion?”

“Huh? Of course I have,” Shizuo replies. His hair is glowing from the fading rays of the sun as it descends behind the tall buildings outside.

“Have you taken it exactly as you should, the way I instructed?” Izaya asks through clenched teeth, already knowing the answer.

“Well— I drank it all a couple of days ago. I spent all day with Vorona, and I didn't want—“ Shizuo pauses at the look on Izaya's face. “What? What did I do wrong? You said to take it all before the full moon, and I did!”

“I told you to drink it every day, bit by bit, and to finish it before the full moon. The exact way you've done every month until now, because you're so pathetic in the presence of that woman that you can't follow basic fucking instructions!” Izaya snaps, and Shizuo's eyes widen.

He looks scared. Shizuo thinks, and then a beat later, Oh fuck. He's scared of me.

“Izaya, I—“ Shizuo begins, and then his hands grip his knees as his body begins to shake. The sun's rays fade at last, bathing them in twilight. “I feel...wrong.”

Izaya stands from the couch, the room spinning as he does. He's not at his full power. Even if he weren't hungover, he hasn't been eating or sleeping the way he should, buried in work as he is, and reluctant to care for himself as ever. He starts towards the stairs, in search of the healing potion he should have taken earlier, but he knows it's already far too late, as Shizuo's body is already beginning to crack and twist, and his mind is already gone, replaced by that of a true monster.

“Shizu-chan, you're such a fucking idiot,” Izaya hisses, and his sentence is barely finished before Shizuo is lunging at him, aiming for his throat.

#with teeth fic #shizaya #Izaya Orihara #Shizuo Heiwajima #witchy izaya #werewolf shizuo #shit goes down and also apparently people like Tsukumoya pestering Izaya so I added more of that

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awanderingtortoise · 3 years

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a/n: first of all, i would like to thank my genius brain for answering the ask this stemmed from privately, therefore losing all access to it and anything i typed in reply. i would also like to thank google docs for housing the backup copy of this fic, ensuring my panic lasted only half the time it could have. finally (and the only serious thing here) ty to @nabrizoya for giving this idea during my 'i cant write banter only dad jokes help' panic, i loved it and wrote far more on it than i expected.

laughter in the rain

ao3

word count: 2.1k of pure fluff and crack

blurb: in which Nikolai is much too found of puns while Zoya is the polar opposite, and a young, incredibly chaotic Squaller child wreaks absolute havoc on literally everything.

(from tumblr ask: how about nikolai interacting with zoya's students and them finding nikolai's dad jokes funnier than zoya does (though she does secretly enjoy them)

----

Zoya knew she was in for it when she agreed to teach Damyen to summon lightning. Possible consequences listed themselves in her head without regard for her anxiety: Getting half her hair burned off. An emergency fire drill, minus the drill, at the Little Palace. Possibly a few roasted pigeons falling from the sky. The ten-year old Squaller was undeniably one of her most gifted students, possessing a striking talent for both the Small Science and utter chaos. Unsurprising, really, considering the child both worshiped Nikolai and had a disposition remarkably close to the latter’s. Zoya’s rant on the young Grisha amused him to no end.

“A miniature me,” Nikolai mused, glancing thoughtfully at Zoya as he sat on the edge of their bed. “And shaping up to be quite the handful.”

“You have no idea,” she grumbled, brushing out a stubborn tangle in her hair, eyes still bleary from her slumber or lack thereof. She’d slept terribly and dreamt her kefta had been on fire. Though she was never much for fortune-tellers or prophetic hogwash, she had an inkling this particular dream would soon be reality. “You could be brothers with how much you have in common. Insubordinate. Endless chatter. Utterly chaotic.”

“Handsome?” Nikolai suggested, inspecting his boots before putting them on. “Charismatic and startlingly intelligent? Really, my dear; you don’t have to be quite so negative.”

“I’m likely about to be set on fire. I have every right to be negative.”

“Now, now,” He said soothingly. “I’m sure it will be a very- enlightening experience.”

Zoya froze mid-brush stroke, turning to give him a withering glare. “Nikolai,” she hissed.

He grinned. “Yes?”

“We have talked about this.”

“Have we?”

“No more puns,” Zoya ordered. For every joke Nikolai in his love for infuriating humor could crack, these were the worst. The only people in the palace that found them amusing were Tolya and Nikolai himself. Which meant, of course, that Tolya was the only one Nikolai didn’t subject to this banal torture.

“Why?” Nikolai whined. “I find them rather electrifying, don’t you?”

She slammed her brush onto the table and stalked towards him, seizing his wrist. “I will blow you out the window. I will tie you to a tree and let Damyen use you for target practice.”

“From the sound of him, he wouldn’t dare. He loves me.”

“He’s also remarkably similar to you and has every ounce of your taste for drama. He might, and if he doesn’t you have my word that I will do it myself.” Zoya let her eyes flash silver, static crackling in the air.

“Alright,” Nikolai sighed, unperturbed by the display. “Fine. I concede. It’s but a trifle. A storm in a teacup, if you w- ow !”

She had sent a small shock through his arm, and now scoffed at the reaction to her handiwork. “Consider this a warning,” she sniffed, before turning to leave the room. “I have a Squaller to teach.”

“Storming off, are we- ow- ”

Only once the door was safely slammed behind her did she let her frown shift, lips quirking upwards. “Damnable idiot,” she muttered, smile clear in her voice.

“You love me for it,” Nikolai called from inside the room.

Zoya scowled. She’d need to have the walls thickened.

-----------------------

To Zoya’s right, a flock of very terrified and slightly singed geese squawked and took to the skies. Their nest lay in a steaming pile of ash. She raised a single eyebrow at her pupil. “Damyen, this is-”

“Awesome!” He cackled, gathering the ash in his hands and tossing it in the air like confetti. The flakes drifted down, settling in Zoya’s hair and eyelashes.

“I was going to say dismal. I do not recall asking you to set birds on fire. Your aim is terrible.”

“But I shot lighting!” He stared at his fingertips with such utter reverence for himself that Zoya didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“If you want to shoot lighting without setting your friends alight, I’d suggest you learn to hit your mark,” She said as sternly as possible. He’d picked up on the skill remarkably quickly, in all honesty, and the currents he summoned were more than good for a start. She was impressed, but her approval would only be gained with sufficient effort. And after more than a few sharp comments. “You aim worse than a blind mole rat. Again.”

Damyen sighed but brought his hands together once more, brow knitting in concentration as lightning began to form in his palm. Strands of his bronze hair fell onto his face and he squinted through them at the target. Adjusted his hands. Squinted again.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Zoya muttered. “Perhaps you’re waiting for the Saints to come riding down on a shiny chariot?”

He snorted, apparently genuinely amused, then let the bolt fly. At the same moment, a golden-haired figure strolled into the lightning’s path.

Zoya shrieked, hurtling a gust of wind towards Nikolai and blowing him to the ground. The streak of electricity slammed perfectly into the target’s center, setting the whole thing aflame. Damyen whooped, throwing up his hands and sending wind blowing every which way; scattering leaves into the air as Nikolai groaned and swore from his spot in the grass.

“Hello,” He said weakly. “Atmosphere’s rather charged around here, don’t you think?”

She huffed and pulled him to his feet, glaring daggers.

“No shocks,” Nikolai noted.

“I may change my mind. Care to explain yourself, Lantsov? In the habit of trying to kill yourself?”

“I hardly need to try. I’m a magnet for life threatening situations. Though I’ll admit that today it was a personal decision.” He beamed, spreading his hands. “I simply wanted to help you make good on your threat.”

Zoya rolled her eyes. “Why are you here? Has something come up with the Fjerdans? Did the Kerch renegotiate the trade-”

“Zoya, Zoya, Zoya,” Nikolai sighed, tucking a wayward lock of hair behind her ear. “You worry too much.”

“I worry exactly the right amount for this fickle country. Answer the question, or I truly will have him target you.”

“Is it so hard to believe I came here only to see you?”

“Yes.”

“You wound me. But if you must know, I thought I could be of some assistance.”

“As target practice?”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ve had quite enough of that. As a mentor. As a bribe, perhaps; for your little firecracker over there.” He glanced at Damyen, still stripping trees of their hard-earned leaves and seemingly unaware that he’d nearly killed his beloved idol. “You seemed like you could use some help.”

She raised her chin disdainfully. “I am perfectly capable of wrangling the little-”

A loud crack sounded and the sky darkened rapidly, clouds swarming over their heads as rain began to pour furiously in a matter of seconds. A few meters away, a bright flash enveloped a tree, sending the trunk bursting into flames.

“Damyen!” Zoya screeched.

The boy stared at her, wide-eyed and grinning in a mix of elation and fear. “I made a storm, Your Highness!”

“Congratulations. Now do you mind stopping before you kill us all?”

“But I-” His eyes found Nikolai and realization set in as he beamed and the rain poured even harder. “Your Highness- es !”

Another boom, and a second, larger tree was wreathed in electricity and fire. It groaned, wobbling dangerously before crashing to the ground.

Nikolai’s brow furrowed, squinting against the pouring rain. “That,” he started. “Was a centuries-old sacred cypress planted by the first Lantsov kings. Now firewood. Impressive.”

Damyen’s chest puffed with pride.

“You can fawn over each other later,” Zoya snapped. “Damyen, enough with the storm. Turn it off before you start a forest fire.”

He grinned sheepishly. “How?”

She muttered obscenities, raising her hands and dispelling the clouds with a flick of her wrists. The sky cleared, small patches of pouring rain left to quell the still-burning trees as Nikolai whistled appreciatively, clapping; and Damyen gave a small bow. Saints, these two would be the death of her.

“So,” Nikolai said, soft enough that Damyen couldn’t hear. “Changed your mind?”

She sighed. “Fine. Make your attempt. You’ve always loved trying your hand at the impossible.”

“Improbable,” he corrected, then strolled over to Damyen, running a hand through the golden strands plastered to his forehead. Soaking wet and almost cooked alive, and he still looked every bit the regal prince; she thought, a grudging, now-familiar fondness rushing through her like a horrible, tooth-rotting sweet. She scowled.

“Lovely morning,” The prince greeted. Damyen bent over in a hasty bow, but Nikolai waved his hand. “No need. Are you the wonderfully gifted Squaller her Highness speaks of so highly?”

Zoya snorted, but Damyen’s eyes practically doubled in size. “She does?”

“Oh, yes,” Nikolai said seriously. “You’re quite talented, I hear.” He lowered his voice to a theatrical whisper. “Just between the two of us,” muttered Nikolai, very much loud enough for Zoya to be able to hear. “I think you remind her of herself, when she was your age.”

She opened her mouth; ‘What utter bullshit,’ already on the tip of her tongue but Nikolai raised a gloved finger, eyes twinkling. With much effort, she clamped her mouth shut.

Damyen seemed he might faint on the spot. Nikolai went on. “Really, there’s quite a lot you two have in common. Powerful. Willful. In possession of a rather strong attachment to me.”

The young Grisha was eating up his words. Zoya wanted to strangle the both of them.

Nikolai took a seat on a faintly smoking tree stump. “You seem to have quite a lot going on for you, learning to summon lighting and all. A rather current affair, don’t you think?”

The silence seemed to stretch on infinitely. Then Damyen gave a toothy grin and guffawed far, far louder than that sorry excuse for a joke deserved.

“Oh for Saints’ sake, Nikolai,” she groaned, shoving her face into her hands.

“Zoya, dear; no need to thunder about like that,” Nikolai said soothingly. Damyen bit his cheek in an attempt to control himself, but whatever smidgen of respect he had left for her kept him silent for barely a second before he burst into a fit of giggles.

Zoya threw her arms up in frustration and from the clouds a deep, deafening roar answered her-- how’s that for thundering, you nincompoop-- as the sky flashed once more, bright streaks lacing every cloud in an intricate web. Damyen’s gleeful expression faltered at the sight but Nikolai only grinned wider, patting Damyen on the shoulder before standing and holding a hand out to catch the rain.

“Don’t let her dampen your spirits,” he called sagely over the rumble, and it took a good amount of self control not to smite him on the spot. Nikolai flashed a thumbs-up at the boy before jogging over to the spot where Zoya stood, arms crossed and glaring. He clasped her hand in his, opening his mouth to speak.

“Not one word,” she warned. “Not a single pun or I will have Tolya read you every Ravkan epic in existence while dangling you off the palace roof.”

“No puns,” he promised. “For now. I only ask that perhaps you let the sun shine through-”

“I will not sugarcoat my instructions for whatever reason.”

“The storm, my dear,” he said gently. “Not your teaching methods. We’re nearly soaked through.”

She glanced towards his dripping sleeves and the damp fabric of her own kefta. “Fine,” Zoya muttered grudgingly, raising her free hand to call away the storm and let the clouds fade to fog. “But enough of this foolery. I can’t have Damyen running around being able to summon lightning and having no idea how to wrangle it. He has to learn.”

“And he will. Let me work my magic and I’ll have him perfectly eager to learn to control his.”

“Without the puns.”

“With slightly less puns?” He asked, brow knit together as if the fate of his jokes were a matter of life and death.

Zoya frowned, but Nikolai’s pleading look wore away at her and she sighed. “Slightly less puns.”

His eyes lit up and he beamed, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. “You won’t regret this,” he promised.

“Oh, I will,” she remarked drily. “But perhaps not enough to shock you again if you can manage the walking fire hazard.”

“As you wish, Your Highness.” He bowed theatrically before turning and running back to Damyen with a ridiculous grin on his face, sunlight gilding his hair and shining in his gaze; his form so full of light that she couldn’t help but smile.

“Nikolai,” she called after him.

He turned, cocking his head. “Nazyalensky? Is everything alright?”

Zoya closed her eyes, sighing deeply. She opened her palm, summoning the smallest thundercloud, letting raindrops pool in her outstretched hand. “Right as rain, Lantsov.”

He laughed, and the sound, golden and unrestrained and bright, was worth every joke she’d ever have to endure.

#zoyalai #i am an idiot #zoya nazyalensky #nikolai lantsov #horrible puns terrible puns #nikolai duology #grishaverse #tortoise tries to write #me

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letsperaltiago · 3 years

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somewhere only we know

This is my entry for the B99 Summer 2021 Fic Exchange and it's for lovely Johanna aka. @amyscascadingtabs <3 I picked the prompt: "Jake and Amy going on a babymoon and enjoying some time together before everything changes for good."

It's very simple and just pure good, happy parents to be-vibes so yeah :) I initially wanted to add smut but didn't have the time to write it :(( If you feel like it's something you'd like, then feel free to lemme know! I can always add a chapter two heh. Anyways, enjoy!!

Rating: G

Words: 2.7k

Read here or on Ao3

“Jake, this is… amazing.”

This seems to be all Amy can come up with as the hotel room presents itself before her. Better or bigger words seem to be lacking from her otherwise excellent vocabulary but she blames it on the fact that she’s been carrying a tiny human for the past 35 weeks - not that she’s complaining. It’s been hard, both physically and mentally, and there are a few more weeks to go but by the end of it all, she’ll be holding her little baby boy.

She’s tired and every inch of her body swollen and/or sore, but more importantly she’s eager and excited. Jake is too, if not even more than her, and this has resulted in the current scene: their babymoon.

“You like it?”

The way Jake asks her, eyes shining with innocent expectation and voice laced with childish excitement has her imagining just how their little boy will turn out to be. She can’t hold back her smile. This man will walk to the end of the earth to make her happy, essentially already has during this pregnancy, and the babymoon is just as much for him as it is for her.

She turns on her heels to face him, showing him the bright smile that’s plastered on her makeup-free face which has gained some freckles during her pregnancy.

“You could’ve planned a trip to a dumpster and I would still love it.”

Hands cupping his scruffy cheeks she pulls him in for a short but tender kiss that even so many years later, after thousands of kisses, has his toes curl in excitement. She truly would’ve stayed anywhere as long as Jake was with her. Although she does appreciate the fact that she’s standing in a beautiful lakeview suite at the LakeHouse Inn.

“Should we reassess how much we refer to dumpsters and other gross locations when we declare our love for each other?”

She chuckles at his comment, lips resonating against the corner of his grin.

“Should we?” She slowly slides her hands to the back of her neck, entangling her fingers to keep her latched onto him even as she pulls away to flash him a pretend contemplative expression.

Eyebrows cocked in playfulness, they share an indicative look in silence, only for them to break it in unison. “Nahh.”

“Right? It’s what makes us us.” Jake pulls her in by the hips which are carrying their son.

Everything about Amy reminds him of their little miracle and makes him feel all tingly and excited. One look at her, one touch, and he forgets about the rest of the world and its crappiness. He has Amy and together with the tiny human in her belly, she is his entire universe.

“Exactly.”

She closes the gap between them (as much as she can with the full-blown balloon shape of her stomach).

“So,” she mumbles against his lips, “what are your plans for us?”

Sadly, the 3-hour drive from home didn’t do wonders for her heavily pregnant body and even though she won’t admit it out loud, she hopes her husband’s plans for tonight will demand the bare minimum of her. She feels his lips and body withdraw, prompting her eyes open however the mischievous smile that meets her has a dimmed anxious feeling creeping over her - he does remember she’s 35 weeks pregnant, right?

“I know that look, Peralta.” Her voice is distrustful, and after 7 years together she should know better than giving in to his teasing, but her suspicious air only fuels his fire and desire to mess with her.

“In honor of my incredible and always so organized wife, there’s a tightknit schedule waiting for us.”

Tightknit schedule? Amy would usually be beaming at these words but right then and there, swollen legs, hungry and feeling everything but hot and fit after the drive, she aches to fall back onto the bed and sleep for days. It’s huge, king-sized, with crispy white sheets and the fluffy pillows are definitely calling her name. Although, the fact that Jake has everything planned out for their last vacation together, just the two of them, does pull on some heartstrings. He loves her so much and she loves him so much too. So much that she (almost) doesn’t turn a hair when he proudly starts listing their schedule for the evening and following day.

“So right now it’s 4 PM which means unpacking-time. At 6 we have a dinner reservation at this cute little restaurant in a little town nearby so we’ll need to leave at approximately 5.45. At 8 there’s a showing of Die Hard at the local movie theater, which I thought we could attend?”

Okay, maybe her left eye flinches at this but very discreetly (or so she chooses to believe).

“Then tomorrow there’s breakfast at 7, which is perfect because we have canoeing on the lake at 8.30...”

She zones out after this. Hormones, tiredness, the fact that she can’t feel her feet- there are a thousand reasons but Amy can feel the most is tears prickling, threatening to spill. Not because she doesn’t appreciate her husband’s efforts and grand gestures, all for her, but because she can’t stand the thought of doing any of these sweet things he’s planned for them. She can’t cry though. He’s going to think something is actually wrong.

“Babe?”

However far gone she was, the sound of Jake’s voice pulls her back in and there’s a confusing mixture of mischief and pure adoration shining from these famous deep brown eyes. Why is he almost smiling when she’s having a tiny meltdown?

“Are you crying?”

“No?” she scoffs although she’s proven wrong upon touching her cheek where her fingers are met by a thin wet streak. “I’m just,” she clears her throat in hopes of avoiding a strained voice, “so overwhelmed by happiness and everything you’ve planned for us. It all sounds… great.”

Silence dawns upon them as Amy’s fake smile tries to convince him. On his part, Jake is biting his lip in an attempt to hold back a laugh, but his wife’s panicked look and teary eyes have him failing to last and after a couple of seconds he breaks the quietness.

“Honey, I’m messing with you,” he chuckles and quickly pulls her back in for a tight hug, as tight as the belly allows, pecking the top of her head. “I know you love a good schedule but the only plans I have for us are: staying in bed, ordering room service, and watching tv.”

“Oh, thank God.”

The moan of relief flies out of her before she can even consider how it must sound to Jake, a great deal of embarrassment hitting her upon realization. She just made it sound like she wouldn’t appreciate her husband’s effort to make this weekend of theirs the best.

“Jake, I’m so sorry! I didn’t-”

She pulls back to look him in the eyes, ready to offer a sincere apology for her blunt exclamation. She never gets to. Instead, she’s met with a huge grin and her husband looking everything but mad or hurt. Almost as if he knew. He knew how she’d react. He wanted her to react.

“You sly sneak! You knew you’d freak me out!”

Only her husband can trick her like this, and, on one hand, it’s very endearing... Jake Peralta is more than just a good cop; he’s excellent. Brilliant and bold, maybe even too much sometimes, although he usually gets away with it. Usually, she’s always on his heels and she hates to admit it, but her mommy brain and restless hormones are making it much harder, if not impossible, to keep up with his always upbeat pace.

“Of course I knew, babe.”

No matter how hard she tries, she can’t even find it within herself to be genuinely annoyed with him. He’s pulled her back into his arms and is looking at her with that mischievous smile that can both infuriate and enchant her. Tonight it’s a little bit of both although mostly the latter, she has to admit and the last bit of annoyance melts away the second he leans in, offering her a soft kiss that lets reminds her of the fact that he’s the best thing in the whole damn world.

“I love you,” she manages to mumble against his lips before he can pull too far back, her swollen fingers cradling his jaw to emphasize her words. It tampers with any kind of reasoning and her ability to remain miffed.

“I love you too...” her husband mumbles back against her lips.

Pulling away isn’t an option, he’s too addicted and he enjoys feeling the air coming from her nose when she chuckles. “How much?”

“At the very least enough to not make my heavily pregnant wife canoe around a lake.”

“Peanut and I appreciate that very much.”

Although after all these months there’s a comfort and familiarity in being able to rub her belly and know her son is in there, safe and sound, knowing he soon enough will be out here in the real world with them has butterflies fluttering in her chest. Jake’s hand joining hers in stroking her belly only causes the number of butterflies to multiply, explode all over again, and her hormones are making her question whether she wants to cry or laugh - or perhaps do both. After such a long wait, from the second they decided to start trying, there’s no blaming her impatience. There’s so much to expect and patience has never been her strongest asset. Only when it comes to Jake and their son. She’s impatient to see, hear and feel it all. The life and adventure she’s created with the man she loves the most seems scarily close yet torturously far away.

With no reason to leave in sight, Amy finds herself bundled up in a hotel bed sent from heaven, wearing nothing but panties and her favorite nursing bra. Jake is on an errand run to grab her the creme cheese-filled pierogis and Arroz con Leche their son and she are very much craving. Although she does prefer her abuela’s homemade version of the latter, even a pregnant Amy can come to terms with the fact that there are limits to Jake’s super husband-powers. He can and will get her almost anything as long as physically possible - or within a radius of 20 miles which Abuela Dolores at this given time for good reasons isn’t.

Amy had insisted on the hotel’s room service menu being more than fine, but her husband knows her all too well and could tell she wasn’t content with the ravioli and créme brulée she’d originally settled for. Before she could even begin to protest his offer to run out and get it for her, her husband had pulled on a pair of jogging pants and a hoodie, grabbed his keys, and left her behind with a peck to the top of her head and a promise to be back in not too long.

In all honesty, the ravioli and creme brulée would’ve been fine, and she would’ve preferred Jake to be here to cuddle her. Nonetheless, there’s no denying how loved and important Jake makes her feel. Especially when he suddenly walks in the door, multiple plastic bags hanging on his arms and car keys dangling from his mouth. The view is hilarious, to say the very least, and she wonders: how did she ever get so very lucky?

Perhaps she will never know the answer to this. Luckily when you’re cuddled up in a soft hotel bed eating pierogis, fries, grapes, and Arroz con Leche with the love of your life, it doesn’t really matter how you got there. Being too busy talking, eating, and making out, the documentary about the history of paper Amy’s been dying to watch is mostly just background noise.

“Can you believe we’re having a baby?”

Her husband’s mouth is filled with fries and before she can even think of answering his question, she has to reach over to wipe ketchup from the corner of his mouth.

“Yes… but also no. In a good way.”

It’s true. She always knew she wanted kids but wanting is one thing; actually outliving it still seems surreal to her, even as she runs her hands around the curve of the skin encapsulating their very own little human being. What makes it so much more surreal is the fact that Jake Peralta is the father. Jake Peralta, the guy who she 6 years ago could only pine for. Now she’s lying in bed with him, watching him smile at her with those soft, brown eyes and warm rosy lips that she not so secretly hopes their son will inherit. He swiftly wipes oil and salt off his fingers before reaching over to place his hands on top of her belly. Placing hers on top of his happens like a newfound reflex of hers. His hand is warm and feels like home.

“This is probably the last getaway we’ll have, yanno, just the two of us.”

His soft voice has her looking up from their joined hands on her belly to see him looking directly at her with glistening eyes, the blue light from the television casting a blue hue on the side of his head. He looks so handsome, pensive, so perfect and she can’t come to terms with the fact that he’s her’s and she his, and together they’ve created new life.

“Yeah. More likely than not.”

“How do you feel about that? Are you scared? You know- of giving birth and how life will be after that?”

A few beats of silence go by, only the dull sound of the tv filling the otherwise silent room. His hand never slips out of from beneath hers. Does this question maybe reflect some worries of his?

“Not scared, per se...”

She quickly makes sure that there’s no food in-between them before scooting in closer to him. Her hand slips off of his only to slide up his arm, all the way up to cup his face. There’s close to no room between them. Her thumb dances across his cheekbone.

“... Excited, maybe a bit anxious, but I know it’ll be alright and so very worth it in the end. And yeah, our life nd dynamic might have to change a bit but it’ll always be us. But I’m not scared,” This seems to put a damper on his running mind. “And you know why?”

“Hm?”

“Because I have the world’s best baby daddy.”

As hoped a wide smile lights up his face, pure unadulterated joy so obviously present in this little moment of theirs. Worries seem irrelevant and non-existing.

“Are you worried, babe?”

She sees his smile fade a bit but not enough to genuinely worry her. Just like everyone, he has his thoughts and worries. With care comes worries. He wants to do his best, she knows.

“Maybe a bit, you know? Like not genuinely worried like I would’ve been a few years ago, but just… averagely worried.”

“That’s okay,” she comforts, her thumb still tracing smooth lines on his cheek. “It’s normal. It just means you care and want to do good, which is all I can really ask of you.”

“I do care. A lot. So so much,” he chuckles shyly.

“Which is also why you’re going to be fine, I will be fine and everything will be fine.”

She doesn’t give him the time to agree nor protest but instead leans in to place a long, tender kiss on his lips, inviting him to join in on the moment. It’s just a simple kiss, soft, like the one they had a Shaw’s after agreeing to stop trying (which eventually lead to more trying, but that’s beside the point). With every breath, they take the kiss grows deeper, longer. It’s as if their bodies are aware of the fact that this will be the last time they get to do this without a child to get home to; without the responsibility of being a parent. All at once, it’s frightening but also, more than anything, exciting. Their lives might be on the verge of changing forever. Although lying there in bed together, feeling the soft touch of their spouse, it feels like they’ve never changed and never will. They’re always going to be Jake and Amy.

#B99 Summer 2021 Fic Exchange #b99 #brooklyn nine nine #jake x amy #peraltiago #fluff #brooklyn nine-nine #jake and amy #mac peralta #baby peraltiago #oneshot

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fromthedeskofelizabeththird · 3 years

Text

Habanero

You're a good girl, well behaved.

Absolutely not the type to rail random guys in nightclubs.

Until you are.

Fandom: BNHA

Pairing: Aizawa x Reader, eventual polyamorous Erasermic x Reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors BE GONE

Trigger Warnings: None in this chapter.

AO3: Here | Want to support me? I have a Kofi

Chapter: 1/16 (all chapters)

“Oh my g-“ You whined, tightening your grip on the sink. “Harder, I’m gonna…”

You caught your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you came undone; took in your smudged makeup and disheveled hair.

Pleasure rippled through you and you moaned into it, pushing yourself back onto the stranger’s dick and taking as much of him in as humanly possible. You could feel every inch of him and he groaned at the feel of you tightening around him.

“Oh f-“ You murmured, holding onto the sink and grinding yourself against your lover in time to the spasms of your body.

You were so overwhelmed by the sensation that you lost all coherency, body acting of its own accord. Your lover sucked in a single breath as he continued to fuck you and you could do little else but stare at your shoes.

You were doing this.

You were doing him . In a bathroom, no less.

How on earth had you gotten yourself into this situation?

━

Whenever you looked back over the course of your life, one detail stood out far more prominently than the others.

You were a good girl.

You had never broken the law, had always adhered to the proper dress code, had never had a filling or broken a bone. You could, and very often did, define yourself by the roads you had never dreamed of taking and the decisions you had never made.

Never was it more obvious than the day you suffered your first real heartbreak.

You had followed the rules carefully; had dressed respectably for every date; had taken care to listen to your boyfriend’s every problem. You’d learned to cook his favorite meal; had faked more orgasms than you could count to feed his ego.

You were sure you would marry that man and had mentally mapped out your next five years. You would have a simple ceremony and a child one year later, then another two years after the first. You’d named them in your imagination and frequently lapsed into daydreams about your future perfect life.

On your fifth anniversary he took you to dinner and you could barely hide your excitement. You knew he had been keeping something from you and you were so sure he was going to propose. You put on your best dress and favourite heels and spent an hour on your makeup and hair. This night was going to be perfect and your stomach fluttered as he reached for your hands across the table.

“(Name),” he said, squeezing your hands in his, “I’ve been thinking about our future.”

“Me too,” you said, squeezing back, willing yourself to hold it together. You wanted this moment to be so perfect and romantic that you would repeat it over and over to your future children and grandchildren. “I’m so happy we’re on the same page.”

“It’s been on my mind for a long time,” he said, smiling softly. “I’ve enjoyed all of our time together, but I think we need to move forwards.”

All you could think about was your future children; the length of their eyelashes and warmth of their hugs. You could almost smell the flowers in your wedding bouquet.

“I just...I think we’ve had a lot of fun together,” he said, “but I’m scared that if we stay like this we’ll fall into a rut. I don’t want to be married with a bunch of kids before I’m forty.”

And just like that, your stomach fell through the floor.

“Wait, w-what are you talking about?”

You snatched your hands from his, heart racing. Was this some sort of joke? You had shopped together for a new mattress only two days before. You glanced around the restaurant, looking for cameras or any sign that this was staged. If it was a prank, it was cruel.

“(Name), it’s not that I don’t love you, it’s just that, well… you’re like...how do I put this…”

He scratched his chin, searching for the right thing to say, even as your eyes filled with tears.

“You’re vanilla,” he said, “you’re safe, and sweet… but we’re still young and I keep thinking that I might want to try habanero or cayenne.”

“You think I’m...boring?” the words left your lips as a whisper and, while his reaction was to instantly reach out to you and apologise, the damage was already done.

“I can be habanero,” you said before you realised it. “I can be whatever you want me to be.”

“I know,” he said, “and that’s the problem.”

━

That night you stood in your shower for almost three quarters of an hour, staring into space as the water soaked you through.

His words circled your brain like vultures.

Vanilla.

He thought you were vanilla. Perhaps the worst part was that you could not disagree.

It haunted your every action for the following week. All you saw when you got ready for work was your simple wardrobe and comfortable shoes.

You were a good girl, mild mannered and meek, and everyone seemed to have noticed before you.

Shock made way for despair. Despair turned to denial and denial quickly turned to anger. You hated your ex boyfriend almost as much as you hated yourself, scouring your apartment for everything he had ever touched.

It didn’t take long for your friends to get worried about you. Normally you were all too busy to constantly check in on the group chat you shared, but since the breakup everyone had something to say.

However kind they might have been to spare your feelings, they genuinely did seem surprised that you had broken up. You had been a couple since your college graduation and one of the only constants in the past few years as everyone’s lives took different directions.

As was to be expected, your friends had multiple different opinions on suitable coping mechanisms. Yuiko came over with food; Hana brought wine. Sayaka called you every evening to trash talk your ex.

Then there was Rei.

Rei was the most boisterous member of your friend group, full to the brim with the kind of self confidence that was obnoxious on other people, yet suited her perfectly. Her reaction to the breakup was not to hand you tissues. She posted exactly one message to the group chat and it had haunted you ever since.

To get over one dude… you gotta get under another ;)

You had known Rei for years and never once taken her advice, but something about that statement stuck with you. You would never have come up with such an idea on your own and it left you blushing a bright scarlet. Rebound sex was not something girls like you did, which was exactly why you had to do it.

“I’ll show you vanilla,” you muttered as you put on another layer of red lipstick and pulled your dress just a little lower to tease the lace of your bra.

━

You met up with your friends at Ego , a nightclub you had heard a great deal about, though never actually gone to. You had never had any reason to; you already had a long term partner and didn’t enjoy the idea of dancing in full view of strange men.

You wondered if you’d made a mistake even as you took a seat at one of the tables.

“Any lookers?”

You glanced around the room, trying to make out faces in the darkness.

“I…” you said. “I…”

You swallowed hard, feeling more than a little overwhelmed.

“I’ll get the next round!”

You thought that by going to fetch another round of drinks, you would be able to catch your breath and avoid drawing copious amounts of attention to yourself. You’d never spent much time at nightclubs, though, and realised your mistake once you got within twenty feet of the bar.

Dozens of people in various states of intoxication crowded it, packed like sardines and all trying to get the attention of the bartender. You took a deep breath and took a step into the crowd, only for someone closer to the front to move and send a wave of movement through everyone else. Someone’s shoulder caught you in the chest, leaving you even further back than you had been before.

Normally you were too polite to even contemplate shoving your way through a crowd, but tonight you weren’t yourself. You took a deep breath and put your weight into your shoulders, pushing against the others as forcefully as you could without actually hurting anyone.

At first you seemed to be making progress, though you soon regretted your decisions. As you got within a few paces of the bar, a guy in front of you slipped, the numerous drinks in his hands heading for your face.

Before they could make contact, however, someone reached for your wrist and yanked you towards the bar, out of the line of fire. The drinks hit other partygoers and they cried out in shock; the glasses shattered as they hit the floor. You, however, remained untouched.

“Th-thank you,” you stammered, turning to your saviour.

He was tall and lanky, with black hair tied back from his face in a ponytail. He wore a black shirt, black pants, black shoes- a complete contrast to the Blue Hawaiian in his hand.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, looking away from you and taking an indifferent sip of his drink.

The bartender was in the middle of clearing the shattered glass from the floor and so you waited in an awkward sort of silence, finally turning back to the man who had saved you.

“You look as happy to be here as I am,” you said. He looked the type to sit in shady bars with three fingers of whisky, not dance with inebriated strangers, which Ego was better known for.

“Wasn’t my decision,” he said. “Someone’s gotta babysit.”

He pointed towards the dancefloor, where a small group of people danced along to the beat. You couldn’t make out most of their faces, except for one, and you were sure your eyes were deceiving you.

“Is that...Present Mic?”

The stranger followed your gaze, to the man with more than a passing resemblance, who was currently wiggling his hips in time to the beat.

“Him? Nah. I don’t know him.”

“But he’s waving to you,” you said, as the man who looked like Present Mic waved his arms over his head and shouted something in your general direction. You couldn’t hear him over the music and the stranger next to you pointedly turned in the opposite direction, taking a long sip of his drink.

You had been so nervous about approaching strangers. Rei had made it seem so easy- merging into a group and catching someone’s eye. You had always had a boyfriend and never possessed the easy confidence of your friends. It was strangely reassuring that speaking to this man came almost naturally.

“My name’s (Name),” you said. “Listen, you really saved me there...this dress is hand wash only.”

“Shouta,” said the stranger. “My name is Shouta.”

“C-can I get you a drink or something? I really owe you one.”

You realised after saying it that he wasn’t even halfway through the drink in his hand.

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “It wasn’t anything special.”

He picked the pineapple from his drink and chewed at it thoughtfully.

“Listen,” he said, “I don’t like playing games. What is it you want?”

You were tongue tied, mortified at being caught out so quickly. You fought to keep your composure.

Under ordinary circumstances, you would have stammered some sort of apology or explanation, but tonight you weren’t you and there was no point in denying that you had an ulterior motive.

“Fine,” you said, gathering your nerves. “Do you want to go somewhere more...private?”

You cringed the moment it left your lips, suddenly all too aware of how forward you were being. You couldn’t believe you’d all but thrown yourself at the first guy you saw. What was wrong with you?

He climbed down off the stool he had been sitting on, taking one final sip of his drink.

“Let’s go.”

━

And so it was that you wound up in the nightclub washroom, back against the door and Shouta’s lips on yours.

You had half-heartedly discussed with your friends what to do on the off chance you found someone. You were to post to the group chat with a photograph of you and whoever you left with. You hadn’t expected to leave with anyone, much less decided on where you would go if you did.

You would never have guessed that you would wind up in a washroom, with the door sealed shut behind you. Shouta crushed his lips against yours, one hand pressed against the door, the other on your waist.

Your heart raced, heat rushing through you and pooling in your core.

“Say,” said Shouta, lowering his hand and running a thumb over your lips, “you sure you want this? Right here, right now?”

You moved before you realised what you were doing, opening your mouth and running your tongue over his thumb, looking him dead in the eyes as you wrapped your lips around it.

He hadn’t expected it, but seemed to approve, for he smiled, pulling away and dragging you into another crushing kiss. One hand he positioned above your head; the other grabbed at your clothes, pulling down your dress to expose your bra before heading south.

He lifted your skirt, slipping his fingers into your underwear. You gasped as you felt his hand against your folds, planting your own hand against the door to brace yourself. He caught your eye, tracing a finger around your clit before slowly sinking it deep into you. You reached for his shoulders, hooking one leg around his waist and pushing your lips against his. You pulled him tighter and tighter as he pushed his finger in and out of you, dragging at his shirt and belt.

He squeezed in a second finger and you bucked your hips into his touches.

As if in response, he pulled his fingers out of you and ran them over your clit- the warmth and wetness sending pleasurable shivers down your spine. You had never felt this way before; this man was as good as a stranger, yet you wanted him so very badly. You had never felt this kind of desire before, never known how it felt to have such a growing pressure inside of you.

“Please,” you moaned into his mouth, not knowing exactly what you were begging him for. “Please—-"

“Come here,” Shouta growled, pulling you towards him and then across to the sink. You caught a glimpse of your reflection in the mirror, unkempt and wide eyed- a complete transformation from when you stepped out of the house.

You watched through the mirror as Shouta unfastened his belt and fly, lowering his pants low enough to give you a clear view of his hardened dick. He was far more muscular than his skinny physique let on, with a deep scar beneath his belly button.

You were trembling from need, squeezing your legs together to try and fill the void his fingers had left. He smirked and walked towards you, taking hold of your hips and slowly, almost torturously slowly, pushing himself into you.

He was bigger than you expected and you gasped at the feel of yourself stretching to accommodate him. He stopped in place, waiting for you to push back against him before pushing in further. At first his pace was slow, inching in only a little at a time, teasing an increasingly sensitive spot deep inside of you.

“Faster,” you whined, digging your nails into your palms at the pressure inside of you. It was overwhelming your every sense, a coil winding tighter and tighter with every touch. “Please...please…”

He slapped your ass and drove in deeper.

This new pace was faster, his hips slamming into yours with such force that it sent you barreling forwards across the sink. You clung on for dear life, taking in the wet sounds as your bodies clashed; Shouta’s groans of pleasure and exertion.

“Oh my g-“ You whined, tightening your grip on the sink. “Harder, I’m gonna…”

You caught your reflection in the bathroom mirror as you came undone; took in your smudged makeup and disheveled hair.

Pleasure rippled through you and you moaned into it, pushing yourself back onto Shouta’s dick and taking as much of him in as humanly possible. You could feel every inch of him and he groaned at the feel of you tightening around him.

“Oh f-“ You murmured, holding onto the sink and grinding yourself against him in time to the spasms of your body.

You were so overwhelmed by the sensation that you lost all coherency, body acting of its own accord. He sucked in a single breath as he continued to fuck you and you could do little else but stare at your shoes.

You were doing this.

You were doing him . In a bathroom, no less.

He gathered your hair with one hand and pulled backwards, arching your back as he fucked you even harder. He was getting close and you could tell; his thrusts were getting erratic and the hand that squeezed your hip was so tight that it left bruises later.

“(Name),” he said, raspiness of his voice betraying his desperation, “where would you like me to...cum”

He groaned and you blushed a bright red.

“In...inside me,” you murmured, the depravity of it all too clear. This was a man you didn’t know; you were risking pregnancy and worse.

In that moment, though, it only added to the appeal.

Shouta pulled you even closer, slowing right down to an almost painfully slow rhythm. He held you in place as he came and gasped for air; the heat of his breath leaving goosebumps against your skin.

You could feel him twitching inside of you, his warmth dripping from you as he pulled out.

You took a deep breath and stood up straight, Shouta letting go of you to pull up his pants. He rinsed his hands under the tap and splashed cold water on his face before grabbing a pile of paper towels.

“I’ll guard the door,” he said, motioning towards the same door he had pinned you against only a short time ago. “Knock when you’re ready.”

“Oh,” you said, watching him leave, “okay.”

For the first time all night, you were alone, the nightclub music in the background your only clue to your surroundings.

You walked towards the sink and took in your bedraggled appearance-bra on full display and cum on your thighs.

You couldn’t believe you were thinking it, but Rei was right. For the first time in weeks you weren’t thinking about the ex. For the first time in years you weren’t thinking about anything.

Habanero, you thought as you switched on the tap.

This was how it felt to be habanero.

━

6 Months Later

You were still a good girl.

That said, you no longer followed the safe roads. Not so long ago, you believed that your breakup was the end of everything, but it had actually been a new beginning.

Two months after the night at Ego , you cut your hair and quit your job. You had been there since graduation and your colleagues were more than a little desperate for you to stay. You had taken on the workload of about seven of eight people while earning only a pittance for a salary.

You had a new job now; something fresh and exciting and challenging to boot. It made you nervous, but that feeling only spurred you on.

You’d never been to UA before and it was much bigger in person. You could already tell you were going to get lost and found yourself grateful that the Principal had taken it upon himself to show you around.

“These are the first year homerooms,” he said, pointing out the doors on your left and right. “1-A and 1-B. I hope you pardon my presumptuousness, but I thought it might be useful to have you shadow one of our homeroom teachers for a couple of hours...get a feel for our curriculum and the kinds of students you’ll be working with.”

“That would be wonderful,” you said, eager to take notes.

“Wait here,” said Principal Nezu, “I’ll be right back.”

He knocked on one of the doors and stepped inside, presumably to fetch the teacher.

When he returned, it took everything in your power to stop your jaw from hitting the floor.

It was him, and he was just as shocked to see you.

“Professor Aizawa,” said Principal Nezu, “this is (Name), our new guidance counsellor.”

He glanced from you to Shouta, taking in your identical expressions.

“Oh… do you know one another?”

#aizawa x reader #eraserhead x reader #aizawa shouta #shouta aizawa #boku no hero academia #habanero

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thewritewolf · 3 years

Text

No, Really

Summary: Adrien can no longer deny it - he is in love with Marinette! The only problem is, she has made it absolutely clear that she is definitely not interested in him. But when he discovers that Marinette might be harboring feelings for Chat Noir, Adrien decides that there is only one way to get together with her: Reveal his identity.

Trouble is? She doesn't believe him.

Hello and welcome! This fic was written for the @totographszine, which was publish for free here. Go check it out, the wonderful @anna-scribbles even did some excellent art of this fic in there.

Read on Ao3

Without any further ado... Enjoy!

Adrien was in love with Marinette. There was no getting around that any more. But, unfortunately, it didn’t seem that she felt the same way.

Ever since he had come to terms with his feelings, he’d been trying to flirt with her. A few cheesy lines here. Some lingering touches and eye contact there. Compliments scattered throughout the day. Although, as he had realized now, it was harder to compliment her more than he already had been. How had it taken him so long to figure out his feelings?

The worst part of it was that she even flirted back! Which may sound great, but his experiences with Ladybug had taught him that flirting back could also mean friendly banter. It was a frustratingly similar experience, which he chose not to dwell on too hard.

And just like with Ladybug, he was at least appreciating the friendship that he could share with Marinette. Now that she had begun to open up to him, he was learning all sorts of things about her. Her favorite foods, what exactly tickled her most, her little mannerisms.

One day he learned the most important little fact about Marinette of them all.

“What is it with you and crushin’ on celebs, girl?”

Adrien recognized Alya’s voice at once and his eyes widened when he realized who she was likely talking to on the other side of the locker.

Sure enough, Marinette let out an irritated groan. There was a sound of a locker opening.

“What makes you think I have a crush on him? Just because I drew him in my notebook—”

“Oh sure, if you were just drawing him, that’d be one thing. But the hearts and kissy faces tell a whole different story.”

Adrien stood stock-still, listening as intently as he could. It felt as if his heart had

stopped beating. Had he failed to win the hearts of both his crushes? Would he ever get a lucky break just for once?

“They weren’t—that’s—no! Those were …” Marinette sputtered and eventually mumbled something that sounded a lot like “spades.”

“Spades.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just saying, girl, if you want I could probably mention your name the next time I see him. Sure it’d be harder to pull off than with blondie, but I’m down.”

“Drop it, Alya,” Marinette said half-heartedly. The locker door was shut and they walked toward the entrance. For a moment, he was scared they would turn around and see him eavesdropping. “I’m sure Chat Noir doesn’t want to have my number pushed into his hand.”

Adrien’s eyes widened as he suddenly jolted to life. Chat Noir?

“Maybe. We’ll only find out if we give it a shot.” Their voices got more distant as they walked away. “At least we know you’ve got a type now.”

“Alya!”

In his heart of hearts, Adrien hoped that type included boys with green eyes and blond hair. Would it be too much to ask that she fall for him a second time? Not just as Chat Noir but as Adrien?

It was there, standing alone in the locker room, heart pounding in his throat and feeling light headed, that Adrien was suddenly struck by a plan. And while he was no Ladybug, he was pretty confident about this one.

After all, he didn’t need to make her fall for him twice. She just needed to find out who Chat Noir was.

--------------

His first opportunity took way too long to arrive. The need to confess his secret identity to her had been weighed against his duty not only to Paris but to Ladybug. He was as certain of Marinette’s trustworthiness as he could be, but he needed to be sure that she and only she heard him.

Besides, it made confessing his feelings a little easier too, which was honestly weighing just as heavily on his mind. Sure, safety of Paris and fighting Hawkmoth and all that, but there was also his poor battered heart to take into consideration. Ladybug had been gentle with her rejections, but they still stung as much as being tossed into a wall by a dozen akumas.

It took over a month for a golden opportunity. The four of them had been studying in Marinette’s room when Alya had left to go babysit her sisters, taking Nino along with her. Adrien watched them slowly pack up and amble over to the trap door, silently screaming every time they stopped for another little chat. But eventually, they did leave. Nino’s cap disappeared below the floor and the trapdoor shut behind them. It was late enough that Sabine and Tom had gone to bed already, but not so late that Adrien would have to leave yet, at least not for a couple hours.

Swallowing against the suddenly dryness in his throat, Adrien looked at Marinette. All thoughts of the physics homework in front of them banished the moment he saw her tongue poking out the side of her mouth, her brow furrowed in concentration.

How could one person be so cute?

Her bright blue eyes flickered up at him. “Something wrong, Adrien?”

There wasn’t going to be a better time. It was now or never.

“Marinette … I’m Chat Noir.”

The sound of her pencil scratching along the paper stopped as she stared at her homework. There was a long moment of silence wherein Adrien silently panicked. After a few seconds that stretched into infinity, which Adrien spent praying that she would say something, anything, she finally spoke.

“Yeah, okay.”

She said it with a snort and a chuckle. It was like when he was experimenting with different jokes for her and he found one that didn’t quite land but didn’t completely fall flat.

She returned back to her homework, and the sound of the pencil resumed.

“Okay? That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“Um … I suppose I can add a ‘haha’ in there too? If it makes you feel better?”

“You’re not supposed to laugh!”

“Then it’s not a very good joke.”

“It isn’t a joke,” Adrien said, crossing his arms haughtily. This was not going how he had planned in the slightest.

Marinette raised an eyebrow as she sat up. “There is no way you are Chat Noir.”

“Why not? I’m cool!”

“Exactly, and Chat Noir is a massive dweeb.”

Adrien gasped, scandalized. “Take that back!”

“I will not. Besides,” she continued, raising her hand, “there are plenty of things Chat Noir is that you aren’t and vice versa.” She raised a finger for each point. “Chat Noir is loud, outgoing, with a sharp tongue, and he’s a flirt to boot. Plus the whole massive dweeb thing.”

“And what about me?” Adrien pouted, almost dreading the answer. “Adrien Agreste me, I should say.”

“You’re quieter, to start with.” There was a faint blush on her cheeks. Maybe it was easier for her to describe someone who she thought wasn’t present. “You’re considerate and kind and a perfect gentleman.” She smirked and chuckled. “At least, you usually are.”

Adrien put his hands together and brought them next to his lips as he took a deep breath. He was suddenly reminded of all the times he’d made reservations or tried to set up an account on some website under his own name, only to have it deleted because it “couldn’t possibly be actually Adrien Agreste.” By this point in his initial planning stages of confessing to Marinette, they were already organizing their first date between passionate spells of making out, not trying to determine if he really was himself.

But Adrien was nothing if not adaptable.

With a wide, toothy grin worthy of his alter ego, he leaned forward, putting himself dangerously close to her face. The faint blush she’d been sporting flared to life and spread across her entire face. Her eyes went large as he purred out a reply.

“What an unfortunate alley cat I am, baring my soul to a beautiful princess and she doesn’t even believe me. Whatever shall I do?”

“W-wow, you’ve … you’ve really practiced this, h-haven’t you?” She put on a brave face and scooted backwards.

“You could say that. You could also say I’ve got a lot of experience with the whole Chat Noir flare.” The smile became more genuine as he added teasingly, “And it looks like you think Chat Noir might be more than just a massive dweeb, hmm?”

“Y-yeah?” She got back some of her composure—not much, but enough to start bantering back at him. “And what else is he then?”

“A cool cat, maybe,” he said, tossing his hair and running a hand through it. “Or, even better, a fine feline.” He grinned and finger gunned at her.

Marinette snorted. “You’ve definitely nailed down some of that Chat Noir full-of-yourself stuff. Congrats on getting your research done at least.”

“Not research. Just living the life, Pigtails.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Very creative nickname.” She smirked and crossed her arms. “Then again, it’s better than princess or my lady, so I’ll take it.”

“Hey now, Ladybug likes me calling her that, even if she tries to hide it.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Somehow I doubt that. But seriously, whose idea was this? It feels like Alya had a hand in this. I just know it.”

“Why would Alya get me to try to tell you I’m Chat Noir?”

“She never gives up on her ships is all.” Marinette’s eyes went wide and she threw her hands over her mouth. “Forget I said that!”

“But I—”

Her hands went straight for his mouth. “Forget!”

He held his hands up in surrender and she backed off.

“Come on, though. What’s so hard to believe about me being Chat Noir?”

“I just can’t see you and Chat Noir being the same person. You’re both so different!”

“Okay, first off—yeah, I can be quiet sometimes,” Adrien admitted. “But you’ve seen how I am with my friends, when I’m comfortable. I can be just as outgoing as I am in the mask!”

Marinette massaged her temples. “So what, you’re saying you have to be with close friends to be as confident as you are making terrible puns in front of all of Paris?”

“Well, the mask helps a little,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “After all, then I don’t have to think about how what I say will impact the company or get yelled at by my father. I get to just … be wild.” He gave her a timid smile. “I suppose sometimes I go a little overboard, huh?”

Her blush deepened. “Y-yeah. I guess you do sometimes.” She cleared her throat and schooled her expression back into a skeptical one. “Assuming you are Chat Noir, of course.”

“Of course.” Quietly, he added, “You know, Adrien me isn’t the only one who is ... kind. I’ve done it plenty of times in the mask.”

“I mean, yeah, you do the heroics and everything, but I was talking about something—”

“Gentler?” he said with his best Chat Noir grin, which made her eyes widen like saucers. His voice was still barely above a whisper. “Like when I comfort akuma victims or sponsor animal shelters?”

“I—yes, like that,” she admitted in the same soft tone. A little stronger, she poked his chest and gave a small smirk. “But don’t you think Ladybug will be mad that you revealed your identity? You promised not to do that, you know. Assuming you really are Chat Noir.”

“Maybe I should have asked her about it first,” he admitted, even as something tickled at the back of his mind. How did she know about the promises between them? “But I’m sure she’d understand if she knew. The value of love is something we both agree on.”

“I mean, I guess, but—wait, what?”

“And I suppose you’ve noticed how, no matter what side of the mask I’m on, I love to flirt with the person I love?” She gasped, but he just shook his head and laughed. “Finally get there? I mean, I’ve been flirting with you nonstop for like a month.” He smiled. “Maybe you and Ladybug should hang out. The everyday Ladybug and the real-life Ladybug. Both of you can be really dense when it … comes to … realizing … oh my god.”

Adrien saw the exact moment that she realized that he had figured her out. One moment she was watching him attentively. The next, her eyes had widened in panic, her pupils shrinking down to tiny pinpoints. He knew that if he did nothing, she’d start flailing her arms around and denying it.

The distance between them turned to nothing as he leapt toward her, laughing. She grumbled as he pulled her close, squeezing her tight against his chest, but she didn’t try to break free.

“Don’t be so proud of yourself. You only got lucky,” she said as she returned the hug.

“Luck or not, I finally found you … my lady.”

He looked down at her face at the same moment that she looked up into his. A moment laden with meaning passed between them before they both broke down laughing again. At long last, they had finally found each other.

#Miraculous Ladybug #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrienette #ml fanfiction #my writing #Totographs Zine

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stargaze-sunflower · 3 years

Text

More Dewey and Louie bonding!!! Hope you like it!!! :]

Summary: After the events of Emma Glamour's party, Dewey and Louie have a lot to talk about.

Ao3 Link Word Count: 4138

Louie really should’ve known that things wouldn’t go according to plan, but despite everything that had happened to him and his family, he had still managed to hang on to some hope. He was sure that he’d collapse into a puddle of despair and shame if he ever let go of hope entirely, and that wasn’t the type of life that he wanted to live. It was hard sometimes, because hope was fragile, and Louie himself felt easily breakable, most days.

He hadn’t wanted his scheme to be as vulnerable as he was. Seeing the angles was supposed to be the thing that he was good at, the one thing that was his. In a family full of adventurers, he’d thought that he had finally found his place as the strategy guy, as someone the others could trust to be on top of things. Someone that they could rely on, rather than someone they merely tolerated.

Emma Glamour’s party had been a chance to prove himself. A chance to finally show that his schemes weren’t all dangerous and harmful and worthy of getting him kicked out of the family selfish. He had wanted so badly for it to be a success. He’d thought that if he just tried hard enough – Scrooge was always telling him to just try – then it would all work out fine, and he’d finally stop feeling like there was something wrong with him. He’d stop feeling like everyone was always trying to fix the parts of him that they didn’t like.

It was a failure. But then, his schemes usually were, weren’t they? They brought nothing but bad things – caused nothing but trouble. At least The Caballeros got to play at the party, even though they hadn’t made the It List. Even though Louie had done nothing right.

Dewey had been the one to save the day, in the end – ever the hero – and Louie was proud of him, he was, but there was still a pit in his stomach growing bigger and heavier and harder to ignore.

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original.

There is nothing ‘It’ about you.

So tell me, why would I ever listen to you?”)

Louie sighed deeply, just the memory of the words enough to send sharp, aching pains bursting in his chest. He gripped the glass of water in his hand a little tighter, trying desperately to ground himself. But just like the rest of the ideas he’d had that night, it didn’t quite work out.

Currently he was standing behind the desert table, leaning against the wall and trying to pretend that he wasn’t hiding. Quite a few of the party guests had left already, but some had stayed to listen to the music that José and Panchito were playing – Uncle Donald had gone to sit at a table to talk with Daisy – and to enjoy the free food. Multiple people had even gone up to Dewey to congratulate him for winning the approval of Ms. Glamour. Something that Louie had not been able to do, at all, in any capacity. But he was fine. It was all fine.

He took a deceptively calm drink of water, trying to stop the rising wave of emotion that threatened to clog his throat and spill out of his eyes. He supposed he could only lie to himself for as long as he could ignore his feelings, and he was admittedly having trouble with that, at the moment.

“Thirsty?” a voice asked brightly, way too close to his right ear, and Louie almost choked on the water he hadn’t been able to swallow yet.

Dewey was standing next to him, smiling widely and rocking slightly on his feet, probably still absolutely ecstatic about the attention he’d received for his yo-yo ‘tricks’.

“Did you sneak up on me on purpose?” Louie asked, half accusing and half resigned.

“No,” Dewey said, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite out of it. “I called your name, like, twice before I got here.”

“Oh,” Louie said, any other possible response having fled his brain.

Louie set his glass of water down on the table in front of him as Dewey popped the rest of his cookie into his mouth, finishing it in record time.

“Still aren’t listening to me, huh?” Dewey teased, although there was something genuinely questioning in his tone.

The knot in Louie’s stomach twisted sharply at the reminder of how he’d treated his brother that night. Dewey hated feeling like he wasn’t being listened to, or acknowledged, or seen as useful. Louie knew that, and still he’d spent most of the night ignoring everything Dewey had tried to suggest.

“I guess not,” Louie replied, guilt tangling in his stomach and crawling up his throat. “I’m really— I just—”

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his suit, but it didn’t bring the same comfort as his hoodie might have.

“I…I’m sorry,” Louie finally managed, and he felt like it wasn’t enough, like he it would never be enough. “I didn’t mean to— Well, I did, but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dewey said, waving him off, and Louie glanced at him in nervous surprise. “I mean, I’m not gonna say that it didn’t hurt, because it did. You know how I am with, uh, that sort of thing.”

Dewey rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, and the guilt in his stomach turned into sharp stabs.

(“Look, your plans, your schemes, they only lead to bad things for your family.”)

“But you’re not normally like this, all high-strung and whatever, which— which makes me think that maybe something else is bothering you,” Dewey continued, and Louie gaped at him in shock, his hands falling out of his pockets to hang still at his sides. Dewey’s brow was furrowed, and he was staring at the table in front of them intensely, obviously in deep thought. “And that doesn’t make it okay, but like, it makes it understandable? I don’t know.”

Dewey shrugged, shaking himself a bit before turning towards Louie with a little smile.

“I forgive you, you know, in case you need to hear it,” Dewey told him, and there was no trace of a lie in his eyes or deception in his voice.

Louie had to blink back tears at that, at the pure, sincere way that Dewey had just spoken to him, at the way he just understood Louie and his emotions, and how he was willing to forgive the mistake he’d made, especially when he already felt terrible about it. Dewey was his brother, who could apparently tell when something was bothering him, and Louie was both intimidated by that and thankful for it.

(“If you want to be a part of this family, you’ve gotta stop.”)

“Thanks, Dew,” Louie said, his voice softer and calmer than it had been in hours.

“No problem,” Dewey said happily, and he reached up to ruffle Louie’s hair before he could protest.

Louie glared sideways as he fixed his hair, not actually all that mad. Dewey just grinned at him, but a few seconds later it softened around the edges, and something concerned crept into his expression. Louie winced.

“You wanna talk about what was going on with you tonight?” Dewey prompted, nudging his shoulder lightheartedly, and Louie huffed.

“Not really, no,” Louie said.

“You sure?”

He turned to Dewey with his beak open, fully intending to repeat himself with confidence and grace, but the words died in his throat. Dewey was looking at him too honestly, too concerned, too ready to listen to him when Louie had done nothing but ignore him for the whole night, and it was enough to change his mind. Dewey deserved an explanation, and Louie was tired of lying, anyway. Because apparently - according to Emma Glamour - he wasn’t very good at it.

“No,” Louie admitted, voice strained as he practically forced the words out. “This is just… I really wanted things to be perfect, and I guess it kind of got out of hand.”

Him and Dewey took a moment to take in the messy room and remember the hostage situation. None of that had been Louie’s fault, really; sometimes it felt like chaos just followed their family around wherever it went.

“Why was it so important to you?” Dewey asked eventually. “Like why tonight, you know?”

Louie frowned deeply, brow furrowing as he tried to think of how best to explain how he felt.

“You know how Huey is super into being a Junior Woodchuck?” Louie asked, deciding to just wing it, and Dewey gave him a strange look, but nodded. “Okay, so, that’s his thing. He wouldn’t mind if we did it with him – he even wants us to, sometimes – but if we were better at it than he was, I think he’d lose his mind.”

Dewey chuckled a little, and that was enough to tell Louie that he was still listening, so he barreled onward.

“And then there’s— You’ve got that talk show thing, Dewey Dew-night, and that’s something that’s yours. But if I made my own talk show, like, uh— like Lunar Louie or something—” Dewey snorted, and Louie couldn’t help but smile a bit, even as he kept going almost frantically. “If I did that, and my show was more popular, then you’d feel like you weren’t— you’d feel bad.”

Louie trailed off into silence, and Dewey didn’t try to fill it, possibly sensing that he wasn’t quite done, but needed some time to think.

“I… I do schemes. That’s my thing. It’s basically the only thing I can do—”

(”This is the one thing I’m good at. Why can’t you see?”)

“—and then you kept telling me that you could do more to help, but I was scared that if I let you, then you’d be better at it than me, and if you’re better at scheming then me then what even— What else can I do? I’m not—"

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original—“)

“I don’t know,” Louie finished. “I just— I wanted to prove myself I guess.”

“To who?” Dewey sounded like he’d been punched in the stomach. Louie avoided looking at him.

“Everyone, I guess. Mom, Uncle Donald, you.” Louie put his hands back in his pockets, attempting to conceal their trembling. “Myself, most of all.”

“Louie, you— you don’t have to prove anything—”

“But I do!” Louie whipped around to face him, suddenly irrationally angry. He was surprised to find that the tears in his own eyes were reflected in Dewey’s. “Our family are a bunch of adventurers, Dewey. That’s what they do. And I can’t— I—”

Dewey reached out for him, but Louie backed up a step, not ready to be comforted.

“Uncle Scrooge thinks I’m lazy, and Mom thinks that I— that all I do is cause bad things to happen, and I just— I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Louie said, his voice ending in a broken whisper, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket for the sole purpose of wiping at his overflowing eyes. “I can’t do anything right. Or—or good.”

Dewey stared at him for a few long, agonizing seconds, and then his trademark expression of determination took over his face, stronger and more serious than Louie had seen it in a while.

Oh, boy.

“C’mon,” Dewey said, leaving no room for argument, and he grabbed Louie’s sleeve on his way by, dragging him along behind him.

Louie glanced nervously around them as he was tugged along, taking note of Uncle Donald, who was still sitting at a table with Daisy on the other side of the room. And speaking of tables—

Dewey stopped next to an empty one. Just like the others it was covered in a long white tablecloth that touched the floor, and Dewey gestured downwards pointedly. Louie raised an eyebrow, which was probably a strange expression on someone who had just been crying, but whatever. Dewey just gestured again, a bit more forceful, and Louie sighed before dropping to his hands and knees. He crawled under the tablecloth and Dewey followed, letting it fall back into place behind him when they were both in.

They were left sitting in soft lighting, on a squeaky-clean floor – Daisy probably wouldn’t have settled for anything less – and Louie had to admit that it was less overwhelming than standing at the edges of a large room feeling sorry for himself; feeling sorry for everything.

“Okay, look,” Dewey said, sitting there in his DJ Daft Duck suit and still managing to sound like he meant business. “You remember when Uncle Donald was racing against Uncle Gladstone ‘cause of that weird luck vampire thing?”

Louie could only nod.

“And he was gonna give up, but you stopped him. You kept him going. You inspired him,” Dewey said, every word said clearly and sincerely. “You’re good at that.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And what about that time with Mom,” Dewey continued, “when you were able to convince her to go back to help Uncle Scrooge and the others stop the moon invading? We may never have left that island – or gotten home in time to help – if it weren’t for you giving her a pep talk.”

Louie exhaled shakily, remembering how stressful that whole situation had been. Dewey grabbed his hand and held it gently between them, even as he kept talking, looking at him with warm eyes.

“You helped Webby when she lost her optimism, and you were able to make her start believing in people again. You were able to help her remember that there are good people,” Dewey said, and he squeezed his hand, smiling gently as Louie blinked against the moisture in his eyes. “There are good people, Lou, and you’re one of them.”

Louie sniffled, wiping at his face with his free hand as he avoided eye contact.

“It doesn’t always feel that way,” Louie said.

“I’ll believe it when you can’t,” Dewey said simply, and Louie finally looked at him.

Dewey was staring back at him with a slightly nervous expression, like he wasn’t sure if he was saying the right things or not, like he was worried that he wasn’t being helpful. The knot in Louie’s stomach and the pain in his chest finally abated, and he tried out a small smile.

“Thanks, Dew,” Louie said softly, and he wasn’t feeling up to a full-on hug just yet, so he leaned his side against Dewey’s and squeezed the hand he was still holding.

Dewey exhaled quietly, his shoulders dropping as he relaxed.

“Anytime,” Dewey told him, and he sounded like he meant it.

They sat in silence for a few seconds, the sounds of the party muffled through the expensive tablecloth. There they were in fancy clothes, at a fancy – wrecked – party, and they were hiding under the table like they used to hide in clothes racks at the store as little kids. Louie suddenly couldn’t help but chuckle a bit.

Dewey turned to look at him, possibly a little confused, but as soon as their eyes met, they both lost it. They sat there giggling on and off for at least two minutes, and every time they’d almost calmed down, they’d make eye contact and burst out laughing again.

“This isn’t funny,” Louie said helplessly, wiping away tears of mirth. “We shouldn’t be— Why are we laughing?”

“Would you rather cry?” Dewey asked, grinning like a loon.

“I am crying, Dewey.”

“That’s good crying, though,” Dewey pointed out. “You’re smiling at the same time.”

Louie shoved at him playfully, and Dewey started giggling again, swaying with the force of Louie’s push before popping back upright.

“I could comment on how weak of a shove that was, but I’m not going to,” Dewey said, with a teasing lilt to his voice, and Louie rolled his eyes.

“How gracious of you,” Louie said, words dripping with sarcasm. “I’ve been insulted enough for one night, anyways.”

Louie leaned back on his hands, finally feeling relaxed and mostly at ease. It was amazing what Dewey could do, really, when he put his mind to it.

And speaking of his brother, Dewey was suddenly being creepily silent. Louie turned to check on him with a raised brow, and Dewey was looking back at him with confusion and a sort of vague concern.

“What do you mean?” Dewey asked, dead serious, and Louie blinked.

“Uh, what do you mean what do I mean?”

“The insult thing you just mentioned,” Dewey clarified. “What did you mean by that?”

“Oh,” Louie said simply, trying to buy himself time to think of how to distract Dewey from the subject, which his brother was picking up on, if the narrowed eyes were anything to go by.

“Don’t lie to me,” Dewey said, somewhere between a plea and a warning.

“Look, it’s nothing—”

(“You’re nothing new—")

Louie cleared his throat and tried again. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said. “It’s not even worth mentioning.”

“Your hands are shaking, Louie,” Dewey said pointedly, and he grabbed the one nearest to him to hold it once again. Louie huffed in frustration and glared at his traitorous appendages.

“I’m doing jazz hands,” Louie deadpanned, and Dewey snorted.

“No, you’re not.”

Louie sighed resignedly, and Dewey squeezed his hand.

“Tell me?” Dewey asked, and Louie forced himself to meet his wide, pleading eyes. “Please?”

Louie groaned, tilting his head back to stare at the bottom of the table, because now he absolutely had to explain himself, or Dewey would go around looking like a kicked puppy for days. Louie couldn’t have that on his conscience; it already had enough to worry about.

“You remember when I went to talk to Glamour, right?” Louie began, sitting up, and Dewey nodded. “Well, she definitely had some interesting things to say about what she thought of me.”

Dewey’s hand tensed in his. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“…Like what?”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Louie rushed to say. Emma Glamour was one of the people that Dewey looked up to, and he was reluctant to crush his dreams, and maybe even a little afraid that he would agree with her. “It— It wasn’t anything that isn’t true.”

“What did she say?” Dewey reiterated, and Louie figured that he couldn’t put it off for any longer.

“Just— Just that I was, uh—"

(“You’re nothing new.

You’re not original.

There is nothing ‘It’ about you.

So tell me, why would I ever listen to you?”)

“—that I was nothing special. And not worth her time, or— or even worth listening to,” Louie said haltingly, doing his best to pretend that he wasn’t bothered. “She had me all figured out, and she— she didn’t think that what she saw was very impressive. Or ‘It’, as she put it.”

There was complete and total silence after he finished talking, Dewey unnaturally still next to him. Louie breathed slowly and deliberately, trying to calm his nerves.

Without warning, and certainly without grace, Dewey suddenly stood ramrod straight next to him, shooting up so quickly that Louie dropped his hand and leaned back in surprise. Being under a table, of course, Dewey didn’t make it very far before bumping into the bottom of it, hitting it with such force that the whole thing rattled; Louie very faintly heard a fork fall to the ground a few feet away. Dewey dropped back down onto his knees with a grunt of pain, rubbing the top of his head.

“Dewey, what the—”

“She can’t talk to you like that!” Dewey exclaimed angrily, already changing course to crawl out from under the table. “She just— I can’t believe—"

Dewey continued his nonsensical furious rambling as he made it out from under the table, Louie following behind him frantically, getting the vibe that his brother was on his way to do something stupid.

“Dewey, wait—” Louie grabbed him by the wrist, keeping him from storming off. “She was well within her rights to call me out on trying to con her—”

“There’s calling you out, and then there’s straight up mean—"

“She was right, though, okay?” Louie said desperately, his arm shaking with the effort it was taking to hold Dewey back. “I needed to be taken down a notch.”

“You’re eleven, Louie! None of what she said was helpful, she just— She’s an adult and she said that to a kid!”

Dewey was still attempting to barrel onwards, and he was very slowly making progress. Louie groaned in frustration and leaned even farther backwards to try and slow him down.

“Okay, but— Dewey, what are you even gonna do?” Louie asked. “You can’t just flat-out attack her at her own party, and Uncle Donald already yelled at her ‘cause of Daisy—”

“She’s about to see my yo-yo skills way up close and personal,” Dewey said, almost muttering, and he stumbled a bit from the persistence of Louie’s grip on his arm.

“Dewey, stop,” Louie said sternly, although there was an element of begging in there, too. “Dewey, please.”

His brother finally came to a halt, and though it felt like they’d been going for hours, they’d only made it about five feet from the table they’d been hiding under. Dewey turned to look at him, his gaze fiercely protective and maybe a little lost, and Louie kept his grip on his sleeve, just in case.

“It’s not worth it,” Louie said quietly but clearly.

“Yes, it—”

“It wouldn’t change anything,” Louie amended, and then he tried for a smile, although he was sure it looked awkward. “And Huey would be disappointed in us if you got arrested.”

“Huey would already be throwing punches,” Dewey said, but some of the tension in his shoulders was gone.

“Please,” Louie said lightly, “he’d give a stern lecture at worst.”

“Agree to disagree,” Dewey shot back, shrugging a little, a small smile forming on his face, reluctant but persistent.

Louie huffed a laugh, looking around nervously to see if anyone was staring at them. He ended up making eye contact with Uncle Donald, who was staring at them with his brow furrowed in concern, already halfway out of his seat. Louie grinned, infusing as much reassurance as he could into it, and gave a thumbs up with the hand that wasn’t latched onto Dewey’s wrist like an octopus.

Their Uncle hesitated for a moment, obviously conflicted, but then he sunk back into his chair, shooting them a look that clearly said ‘Be Good’. Louie sighed in relief and turned his attention back to Dewey.

“You sure you don’t want me to avenge you?” Dewey asked, a bit teasing but with an undercurrent of truth. If Louie wanted him to, he really would give Emma Glamour a piece of his mind.

But Louie had had enough drama for the day – maybe even for the rest of the week – and just knowing that Dewey was ready and willing to defend him made him feel lighter and happier than he had been in a while.

“Nah,” Louie said, finally releasing his hold on his brother. “I think we’ve caused enough chaos for one night.”

“Barely,” Dewey said jokingly, and Louie rolled his eyes.

After a moment of comfortable silence, just enjoying each other’s presence, Louie couldn’t help but yawn. Dewey glanced at him in amusement.

“Tired?” Dewey asked, and Louie just shrugged. “D’you wanna leave now? I think Launchpad would come get us if we called him.”

“What about Uncle Donald?”

“I don’t think he’d mind if we left without him,” Dewey replied, jerking his head to indicate where their Uncle was sitting with Daisy, listening to her talk with rapt attention. “He seems pretty busy.”

“He’d freak if we left without telling him, though.”

“Yeah.”

“…So who’s gonna tell him?” Louie asked, and Dewey huffed.

“Why can’t we do it together?”

“Because one of us has to call Launchpad.”

“We can do that together, too,” Dewey said, beginning to grin.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Efficiency, Dewford,” Louie shot back, already pulling his phone out of his pocket.

“Ugh, you sound like Huey,” Dewey complained, but his tone was light.

“One of us has to,” Louie said, dialing Launchpad’s number.

Dewey stared at him as the phone rang, and Louie raised a single eyebrow as he stood with it held up to his ear. Dewey groaned.

“Fine.” Dewey threw his arms in the air, turning away to hide his smile. “I’ll go tell Uncle Donald we’re leaving.”

Dewey walked off, and Louie finally allowed himself to grin fully. Nothing could quite cheer him up like lighthearted bickering with one of his siblings, and no one could pointlessly argue for as long as Dewey and Louie could. It was something that Louie felt was special; something that was theirs. Maybe it was nothing new, but it mattered.

And that was enough.

#ducktales #ducktales fanfiction #ducktales fanfic #dewey duck #louie duck #my fic #louie's eleven #aaaaaaaa #the words didn't want to come to me for this one #i had to fight for every sentence in this fic #but here it is sjaksdjf #i hope you like it #once again it is after midnight #i guess i only write about dewey and louie now asdkjfsj #but i love them so i am not complaining #feel free to let me know what you thought of this :]#thanks for reading!!

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heloflor · 3 years

Text

Dance lesson

AO3 link

When Milo has to learn the waltz for a school dance, he ends up turning towards his honorary uncles for help.

Note : Another random thing that’s been on my mind for a while and that I finally decided to write down (I SWEAR I’m working on a longer fic). And it’s a fic with no angst and only fluff for once ! And it contains the ACTUAL main character of the show !

But yeah, joke aside, it’s just some random fluff that turned out three times longer than planned (as usual). Like always, Cavendish and Dakota are married. Also Dakota is a dad with Milo because I love this side of him.

There’s also one line that implies Dakota being too dependent of Cav and I really hope that it doesn’t count as romanticizing it because that’s not AT ALL my intent. I just wanted it to be pointed out but using Milo’s POV definitely makes it seem a bit clumsy, even if it’s just one random throwaway sentence. Which is why I’m talking about it now, to make you know that I’m aware that Dakota has issues and it’s not “cute”. And frankly, if I make more fics that take place after the show, I DEFINITELY would take the occasion to point out that Dakota is seeing a therapist and tries to work out how to let go of Cav and trust him to take care of himself.

On that same note, there’s also one sentence that mentions how Cavendish and Dakota hide their relationship out of fear due to homophobia.

There are also a few sentences that are mostly there to give some random headcanons about Cavendish and Dakota, because why not.

Oh yeah and one important thing : I’m no dance teacher, I don’t know how to dance, and finding info about the waltz without ending with a video is harder than I thought. So be aware that the description of the dance is VERY, VERY far from perfect.

I also don’t know shit about American proms and use it more as a set up than anything, so bear with me on that one. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyways. Enjoy !

Milo opened the front door of his house, trying not to feel anxious. The day of the annual spring prom was fast approaching. The theme chosen by the teachers for the main dance was slow and formal, to the surprise of most students. While Milo knew that not everyone was going to be perfect when it comes to dancing a waltz, at least among those who would choose to dance it, he really hoped to have a dance with Amanda, who he knew would strive for perfection. And with the almost certainty of Murphy’s Law making the evening more difficult, the least he could do for her was to learn to dance, to be able to keep up against all eventualities.

But learning the waltz was easier said than done. His parents didn’t remember much aside from what it was supposed to look like. As for Sara, she didn’t know how to dance it. Same for his friends. Besides, Melissa had decided she wouldn’t dance if it had to be something like a waltz, much to Zack’s chagrin. So asking them wouldn’t help. Finally, looking it up on the Internet was a no go, as he wanted to learn from a more authentic experience.

So all that was left were dance lessons. But those had a cost. And while Milo considered himself willing to do anything for Amanda, there still was the risk of paying for a lesson only to get the place destroyed over and over again and be banned before learning anything.

Milo didn’t know what to do. Amanda deserved the best, and he truly wanted to be the one to give it to her.

It was with these thoughts in mind that he noticed the three men in his backyard. Doctor D. was working on some machine, helped by Dakota, while Cavendish was standing nearby, chatting with them. While Milo had asked the professor and knew he couldn’t be of any help, he hadn’t told Dakota and Cavendish about it yet.

“Hey guys !”, Milo called as he went to join them.

“Hi Milo !” “Hello Murphy.”, the former time-travelers greeted.

“Found someone to teach you to dance yet ?”, Doofenshmirtz asked as a greeting.

“No. Not yet.”, the teen replied, his smile faltering.

“Something’s wrong ?”, Dakota immediately asked.

“No, no ! I’m fine !”, the short man raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s not something bad or dangerous. It’s just…”, Milo looked away, suddenly feeling embarrassed to make them think that he had a big problem over something they probably saw as insignificant. “There’s the annual spring prom this Saturday, and I’d love to go with my friend Amanda. But I don’t know the dance and Amanda- she likes when everything that could go wrong doesn’t.”

“Trying to impress a girl for a dance, huh ?~”, Dakota asked in a teasing tone that made the teen blush. “Yeah I’ve been there.”, he shrugged.

“I suppose there isn’t a way we could help you ?”, Cavendish asked.

“Well, I need to find someone who can teach me to waltz. So if you know someone who can…”

Dakota looked at him for a beat, before his face brightened. “Well, I think you just found your teacher.”, the short man cheerfully said, turning towards his partner. The tall man looked between the two before closing his eyes and beaming with pride.

“I have to admit, I’m quite the dancer.”, he boasted.

“Cavendish can dance the waltz ?”, Doctor D. asked. Dakota nodded. “Somehow, I’m not even surprised.”, the scientist deadpanned, earning a glare from the British man.

“I’ll have you know I was taught a variety of dances at a young age.”, Cavendish defended. “I still master most of them.”

“Yeah. He can do anything that’s old-fashioned.”, his partner confirmed. He then leaned towards Milo. “But you don’t want to see him try a modern freestyle. Trust me.”, he jokingly half-whispered, making the teen laugh.

Cavendish cleared his throat in annoyance. He then turned his attention to Milo. “So, shall we start this lesson ?”

“Oh, you mean right now ?”

“Why of course ! Unless you don’t have the time, obviously.”

“no, no ! I have time. I just thought you guys were busy.”, Milo replied, glancing at Doctor D.’s machine.

“Oh that ?”, the scientist said. “Don’t worry about it. They already told me everything I needed to know to make my synthetic-time-juiceinator work.”, he assured. “Or at least I hope it’ll work. We’ll just have to see when I’m done building it !”

And with that, the trio scooted away, letting the scientist do his work.

“So,”, Cavendish started. “as you may already know, the waltz is a European dance with several variations, with a few danced amongst the highest courts. Given your time period, I assume what you need to learn is the slow waltz, the most universal one. There are two roles in this dance. One partner is the leader while the other is the follower. Since you’re a beginner, I would advise you to be the follower. N-”

“Um…Actually, I have to be the lead.”, Milo interrupted.

“Really ? Why is that, if you have no experience ?”, the taller man seemed genuinely confused.

“Well, the man is the one leading, while the woman follows his steps.”, he explained, wondering why he needed to explain something so basic.

The two former time-travelers shared a look. “They still do that gendered music thing in this time-period ?”, Dakota asked with a frown.

“…Yes ?”, Milo replied. The short man rolled his eyes. “I guess it changed in the future ?”

“It did.”, Cavendish confirmed, not without looking displeased himself. “The one who leads is the most experienced dancer, regardless of gender.”

“Yeah.”, Dakota continued. “That’s why Cav tends to lead. Between the two of us, he’s the one who knows what he’s doing.”, Cavendish raised an eyebrow at that.

“Anyways.”, the tall man coughed. “If you need to learn to lead, I can teach you to lead. Now…”, Cavendish walked to the center of the backyard. “the waltz has a certain amount of moves that you can do depending of your level and comfort. You said your party was Saturday, which means we have four days to teach you as much as possible. For today, we’re going to concentrate on the three most basic moves. The first one is the box step, the essence of the waltz itself. Dakota, if you please.”, Cavendish extended a hand towards the man.

“I-uh-what ?”

“I need a dance partner.”, the tall man deadpanned.

“I don’t know how to dance that, Cavendish ! I’m not a dancer ! I’m more of a singer. And a musician.”, he glanced at Milo at that last sentence, likely trying to amuse the teen.

“I’ve seen you dance the waltz before.”, Cavendish commented.

“Yeah, once. For our first dance. And I had to take lessons before the wedding. Annnd if memory serves, I tripped and fell only a few minutes in.”

“You tripped during your wedding ?”, Milo couldn’t help but ask.

“Yeah.”, the short man shrugged. “But it was fine.”, he let out a chuckle. “I didn’t break anything. Besides, I had been giddy all day. It was one of the best days of my life after all ! One stupid fall wasn’t going to ruin it ! I never did that dance again though.”

“But surely you remember some of it ?”, Cavendish interrupted. Despite his tone, Milo could see a small smile on the tall man’s face. It seemed like Dakota wasn’t the only one thinking about the day they had years ago.

“eeeesh…”, Dakota punctuated his noise with a shake of his wrist.

“Come now.”, his partner grumbled. “I’m sure you’ll get it back soon enough.”, Cavendish grabbed the shorter man’s hand and led his partner to where he had been standing moments ago. He then put one hand on Dakota’s waist and took Dakota’s other hand in his. Despite his grimace, the shorter man didn’t offer any resistance and also took position, a hand on Cavendish’s shoulder.

“Now. The box is a series of steps that the leader takes, mirrored by their partner. The leader starts by moving forwards, then slide, join your feet, change the foot you put your weight on, and repeat the opposite of what they just did, all in the tempo. For the tempo, you have to count from one to three on rhythm. Now watch.”

After his explanation, Cavendish started slowly making the movements he described, one after the other, taking for each one the time to let Dakota follow. Milo looked at their feet and how they moved. Looking up, he could see the taller man glancing at him from time to time, surely to make sure the teen was still listening. His partner, however, kept his eyes down, looking at what he was doing. At some point, Cavendish pointed out the weight he was putting on each foot and how to change it.

Once Milo confirmed that he understood the moves, Cavendish asked him to put on some music with his phone. Then, the former time-travelers started making the steps again, this time moving to the right rhythm, not without guidance from the taller man. Dakota was clumsy and awkward, never looking away from his feet. But with Cavendish’s assurance, and with the shorter man’s ability to just go with the flow, Dakota managed. This made Milo smile a little. Seemed like he wasn’t the only one getting taught how to waltz.

After explaining everything about the box step, the man introduced the progressive step, followed by the reverse step. Both were rather similar to the box and served to move around the ballroom. The tall man described them as essential to master the more complex moves. Just like for the first step, Cavendish went slow at first to let the teen see how it looked and get Dakota to learn as well, before then following the rhythm of the music.

“Milo,”, the tall man started as Milo cut the music after a few minutes of dancing. “are you sure you understood everything ?”

“I sure did !”, the teen assured.

“Good. Now, we’re going to show you how to combine all three steps together.”

“Say what now ?”, Dakota asked.

“Before we start,”, Cavendish continued, ignoring his partner’s interjection. “there’s one important thing for you to understand. As the leader of the dance, the choice of where and when to move is in your hands. Your partner is meant to simply follow and mirror your steps so, unless they tell you where other people are, you can’t rely on them to guide you. This is why being the leader is harder than the follower.”

“I understand.”, Milo replied.

“Good. Now the music, if you please.”, the tall man asked in a jokingly polite manner. Milo turned the music back on and watched as the two men started dancing again.

As the minutes passed and they kept dancing, their moves started to get smoother with Dakota growing in confidence. Eventually, Cavendish let go of Dakota’s hand for a beat in order to lift the shorter man’s chin, making the duo hold eye contact for the first time since they started. The two smiled as they continued. Milo soon realized that Cavendish had stopped glancing at him. The former time-travelers were completely enraptured with each-other as they moved in harmony to the slow pace of the music.

Milo felt a strange fascination in looking at the two men. Never had he seen Cavendish look so…peaceful, before. Of course, Milo had seen him be happy or excited in the past, more than once. But when he and Dakota were talking, Cavendish had a tendency to be annoyed at his partner. Here, there was none of that. Cavendish’s eyes were filled with love and affection for the shorter man, making Milo understand better why the taller man stayed in their relationship despite his numerous complains.

As for Dakota, it was the same. While Milo frequently saw the shorter man in a good mood, it had never been to this extent. Dakota looked at his partner with pure adoration, as if Cavendish was the most important thing in his entire life.

Milo knew that the two were married. While talking relationships with him, Dakota mentioned how long-lasting relationships weren’t all romantic and cotton-candy like how TV portrayed it but instead were mostly about arguing over the dumbest things. Cavendish’s reaction to the statement accidentally gave them away. Since then, the teen promised to keep the secret, if only to keep them safe from what some people might think.

But while Milo had known of their relationship, he never saw a display of their affections. The teen wondered if their first dance had been like this. For a moment, it made him envious. He hoped that, someday, he and Amanda could be like this. That they could look at each other this way, with the same love, the same passion. Maybe this would be possible this Saturday…At the thought, a new wave of determination coursed through the teen.

“w-woah !”, the moment ended as quickly as it started when Dakota suddenly tripped, letting go of his surprised partner in his fall.

thump

“…ouch”

“Dakota, are you alright ?”, Cavendish asked. The softness from before hadn’t left the man yet and his voice was full of worry. However, it was cut short as Dakota started laughing.

“And that,”, he said while looking at Milo. “is what happened fifteen years ago !”

“…It did.”, Cavendish admitted with a sigh before helping his partner up. Milo walked up to them.

“I’m getting too old for this.”, Dakota grumbled after cracking his back.

“You’re only 45.”, Cavendish commented.

“So ? It’s already pretty old for this time-period.”

“How old can people get in the future ?”, Milo found himself ask.

“A few people have managed to reach 150 years old.”, Cavendish explained. “This means that a few of the people born today might live long enough for us to have met them in our youths.”

“But even if they live that long, they look like a living corpse by the time they’re 120.”, Dakota interjected.

“Still. With the evolution of science and healthcare, people our generation might live even longer. After all, we already are able to stay in good shape until we get near our 100th anniversary.”

“Yeah. Just look at this guy !”, Dakota pointed at his partner. “In his fifties and still able to run ten miles without stopping !”

“I’m 52.”, Cavendish replied. “And you could be in better shape if you worked out with me.”

“Yeah yeah, I know.”, the shorter man rolled his eyes.

“Anyways. Milo ?”, the teen quickly turned his head as the attention went back to him. Cavendish offered him a hand. “Now that you saw how a waltz looks like, I believe it is time to practice ?”

“Uh ? Oh ! Right !”

“I’m not dancing again.”, Dakota warned.

“I don’t expect you to.”, his partner replied.

Dakota took a few steps back, letting the other two take position.

“Are you sure this is going to work ?”, Milo asked, immediately noticing the large height difference. “I mean, Amanda’s more my height…”

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be fine.”, Cavendish reassured. “Besides, this isn’t about how you hold your partner, it’s about the moves that you make. Now, let’s start with the box step. Do you remember it ?”

“I think so.”

“Alright. We don’t have to use the music for now, just take it slow.”

“Right.”

Milo started moving slowly, following the steps he remembered. Like Cavendish said, the height difference wasn’t that much of a problem, especially with the taller man knowing exactly what he was doing.

With the minutes going by, Milo got more into it, though not without a few corrections from Cavendish. The teen managed to move smoothly, making the correct steps. And when music was added, it didn’t take him long to manage to follow it. Being in the backyard also helped a lot as Murphy’s Law couldn’t turn as chaotic as it could be in town. The watering system turned on at some point, both his and Dakota’s phone ran out of batteries, and a few birds ended up causing some damage to the place, but it wasn’t anything that could prevent them from continuing. And after half an hour of practice, Milo was happy to see how good he got at the basics.

Seemed like he had a shot to dance with Amanda after all.

---------------

During the following days, Cavendish and Dakota would show up at the Murphys’ house to teach the teen more. Once the basics were mastered, Cavendish taught him some more moves like how to twirl or dip your partner. Due to Cavendish’s height, Milo had had to train those moves with Dakota. These lessons had been more fall-inducing than the others, especially on the shorter man’s end, but at least Milo had been able to learn. And while it took more time to get it right, training with Dakota was really fun. The man was as lost as the teen, so the practice always ended with a laugh. And when they were about to fall, the shorter man always made sure to fall first to prevent the teen from getting hurt. Of course, Cavendish had shown annoyance at the duo’s antics but, as long as Milo was learning, he couldn’t really say anything to them.

Milo had to admit, Cavendish was a far better teacher than he first thought. The man knew how to take it slow, making sure everything was understood before moving to the next level. At the same time, he could be sharp, reminding Milo that he didn’t have all the time in the world and couldn’t just spend the entire time messing around. The man knew how to be involved without suffocating the teen, how to get to the point while still giving enough details.

From the way the man would look during some of his explanations, Milo guessed that Cavendish was repeating things he had been told when he had had to learn to dance. This made the teen sometimes wonder about what kind of childhood Cavendish had, though he never dared asking the man directly. Besides, Cavendish wasn’t there to talk about his past. Milo did once ask Dakota about one of the ways Cavendish would speak. But, as it turned out, Dakota didn’t know anything about Cavendish prior to his time living in the States. When Dakota first asked him about it, the tall man simply told him that anything from his past didn’t matter anymore. The only thing Milo learned was something that Dakota jokingly told him : given his personality, there was no way Cavendish used to be a serial killer or a runaway prisoner or anything like that. So there was no point in wondering about Cavendish’s past, especially if it made the man uncomfortable.

---------------

By Saturday evening, Milo knew most of the different moves possible in a slow waltz, along with a few steps from what Cavendish called an “American waltz”, which sometimes had moments in which the two partners separated.

The teen was extremely grateful for what the former time-traveler did to help him, and made sure to thank him more than once. Cavendish had received the praise with a proud smile. It seemed that the knowledge of helping Milo was enough compensation for him. As for Dakota, he had spent the end of the last lesson teasing the teen, trying to find him ways to approach Amanda, making Milo way more embarrassed than he thought he would be. Though, the shorter man ended his teasing with an encouragement, ruffling Milo’s hair while telling him to just be himself and that, with his talent to turn every situation around, there was no way the evening would be ruined.

Milo had thanked the duo one last time before going to prepare himself for the evening.

And now here he was in his best clothes, in front of the school gym, along with Zack and Melissa. Since they had no intention to do the main dance, the duo had agreed to help Milo by dealing with Murphy’s Law themselves. Zack had even brought his own backpack for the occasion.

“Here we are.”, Milo declared.

“Nervous ?”, Zack asked him with a smile.

“A little.”, the teen admitted.

“What are you scared of ?”, Melissa interjected. “The waltz doesn’t start before a good hour. And you trained for this. You got this !”, she encouraged.

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I got this !”, and with that the trio entered the gym.

Just like for last prom, the place was greatly decorated. There was already music, played by one of the school bands. As Melissa predicted, the main dance wasn’t before a while. For now, Milo could just relax and have fun, at least as much fun as Murphy’s Law could permit without ruining the evening.

“Hi Milo !”, Milo immediately turned at the familiar voice that made his heart flutter.

“Hi Amanda !”, he greeted. Amanda was wearing a pink dress that reminded him of the one from last prom. The Hispanic girl also had a check-list with her, making Milo quickly understand that she planned the event. “Nice party !”, he complimented.

“Thanks !”

“I guess you’re in charge of every committee again ?”, Melissa asked with a smirk.

“Not this time. I wanted to have more time for myself.”, Amanda replied. “Though I did choose the people in charge. And made sure they all had backup if needed. And gave them all my number in case they need anything.”, the teen smiled awkwardly.

“But now you can have fun !”, Milo enthusiastically pointed out.

“Well, as long as nothing goes wrong.”, Amanda replied, looking in Milo’s direction.

“Oh don’t worry about that.”, Melissa said. “We’re here to make sure everything runs smoothly.”

“Yeah.”, Zack continued, pointing at his backpack. “The committee against Murphy’s Law and its backup are here !”

“Well, we’ll see how it goes.”, Amanda shrugged, though Milo could still see how nervous she was.

“Come on !”, he tried to encourage. “Let’s go see what they got for the buffet !”

“You spend way too much time with Dakota.”, Zack commented as the group started moving.

---------------

The evening had started in a great note. Of course, not everything went perfectly with Murphy’s Law. But, as long as Milo kept an eye open for trouble, the party could go on.

After several songs and about half an hour into the party, the lights toned down and the music changed for something more classical. Milo felt his heart start to beat faster.

It was time.

Turning towards his friends, Melissa gave him a gentle punch on his shoulder while Zack gave him a thumbs up, before the duo walked away, ready to deal with any eventuality.

Milo gulped, tried to calm himself with a deep breath, and turned his attention towards Amanda. The Hispanic teen was looking at the dance floor where a few couples were already starting to waltz, while others opted for a slow dance instead.

Milo offered her a hand, getting her attention.

“May I have this dance ?”, he asked, not without a blush.

Amanda looked between him and his hand before finally smiling. “Sure.”

Milo tried not to let his excitement show too much as he led her to the dancefloor. Remembering all of Cavendish’s lessons, he took position and they started to move.

As he expected, Amanda seemed to know exactly what she was doing and danced around with grace. Milo was doing pretty good too. He was especially satisfied about how easy it was to be with someone his size after spending four days dancing with taller people.

“You’re doing amazing !”, Milo flattered after a twirl.

“Thank you, Milo. You’re doing great yourself.”

“I’m glad you think that !”, the teen felt his face flush again. “I…I really trained hard to have a chance to dance with you.”, he admitted.

Amanda looked away with a blush of her own. “I’m…very glad that you did. And-“

She suddenly stopped as both of them heard the sound of glass shattering. They stopped in their tracks and turned at the same time, looking for the source of the problem. But as soon as they noticed the broken window, Zack was on it, already sweeping the shards away.

Milo was relieved to see that nobody had been hurt. He and Amanda shared a look before smiling and starting to dance again.

As they went through the room together, Milo started thinking of Dakota and Cavendish and the way the two of them would look at each-other while dancing. His envy from a few days ago came back as he thought of the possibility of him and Amanda being like that. Maybe that was it, maybe they could-

His thoughts were interrupted by a scream, and the pair stopped again, ready to act. But just like a few minutes earlier, the problem had already been half-resolved by Melissa who winked at the duo. Milo and Amanda went back to dancing.

“Melissa and Zack sure are doing a lot of work.”, Milo commented.

“I have to say, I’m impressed.”, Amanda replied. “I know they said that they got this, but I didn’t expect them to be so effective.”

“Well, they do have a lot of experience helping me deal with Mur-“, Amanda shushed him before he could finish.

“I think we’re unlucky enough without you mentioning it.”, she commented.

“Sorry.”, he replied.

“It’s alright.”, she reassured.

For a few instants, she smiled at him and he smiled back, growing in confidence. But before he could say anything else, another anormal noise was heard. And yet again, they stopped in their tracks, only to realize that the situation quickly got solved without their intervention.

“They really seem to have got this.”, Milo murmured, looking at his friends smiling at him and smiling back.

“You know, I’m surprised to see them willing to take this time to help instead of dancing.”

“Well, Melissa didn’t want to do this kind of dance.”, Milo explained. “And…weeelll, they kind of agreed to look out for me during this dance, so that we can have fun.”, the teen looked away, embarrassed.

“Oh.”, Amanda stayed silent for a beat, both teens looking away. “Well I’m…I’m glad they did. And perhaps…maybe they’re right.”

“What do you mean ?”, Milo looked back at her.

“Well-“

Another noise. But this time, as Milo looked away, he felt Amanda’s hand grab his cheek, pulling his attention back on her. The teen went back to dancing, leading Milo with her.

“I know it may sound crazy coming from me,”, she started. “but I think we should…ignore the mess.”, she looked horrified as she finished her sentence but shook her head to keep her composure. “Your friends got it. Let’s just…let’s just enjoy the dance.”

Milo looked at her for a second before feeling a smile spread across his face.

“You’re right. Let’s just keep going. And whatever goes wrong will get fixed without us !”

Amanda smiled back and the two started focusing back on their steps. Milo took back the lead and the two locked eyes, their smiles never faltering.

Slowly, as they kept dancing, Milo felt like the music was growing louder, making everything around them disappear, until all that was left was the two of them, gazing at each other while the soft music was leading their paired movements. Milo felt his heart pulse faster than ever, and yet, he never felt more at peace. He wanted to smile and laugh like never before, but all he did was continue dancing, admiring Amanda’s elegant steps. After a twirl, once they looked back at each other, the way Amanda looked at him made him feel like his heart was about to burst out. For a moment, he felt peace and happiness, pure happiness, and he wished for this instant to never stop.

He didn’t know how long they kept dancing, how long they stayed like this. All he knew was that, after a dip, it was all over.

The music ended, most of the couples started to pull away, and the band went back on stage. A few feet away, Melissa and Zack were trying to get a student out of a hole in the wall.

Milo and Amanda kept smiling at each other as Milo pulled Amanda back up. The teens then pulled away and avoided each other’s eyes, both blushing but unable to stop smiling.

“Amanda !”, Lydia suddenly interrupted. This snapped the Hispanic girl right out of her reverie.

Milo could only stand there, trying to blink his dream state away, as the two girls talked, until Amanda spoke to him.

“I’m sorry Milo, but I have to go.”, she apologized.

“Don’t worry.”, Milo tried to get his usual cheerful tone back. “A committee needs you, I understand.”, Amanda nodded.

“See you later, Milo !”

“See you later !”, Milo waved as the girls went away.

“Soooo.~”, Milo was taken by surprise as he suddenly noticed Melissa standing next to him with a smirk. “How did it go ? ~”

“Did you two have fun ?”, Zack continued, not without his own smile.

“It was…magical.”, Milo replied. He was still on cloud nine, Amanda’s smile forever graved on his memory. “Yeah. Truly magical.”

He really needed to thank Cavendish again.

---------------

The school prom was loud, loud enough to be heard a few streets away from the school. Though, the school had quieted for a while. And now, the music started again.

Vinnie smiled. Seemed like Milo’s time to shine was over. He hoped the kid had gotten the dance he wanted with his girlfriend.

With a nostalgic sigh, the man entered his ‘apartment’.

Balthazar was crouching near the couch, fumbling to get the bed open.

“The kid’s done.”, Vinnie said.

“What ?”, Balth stopped, looking at his husband in confusion.

“Milo. I’m pretty sure the waltz over.”

“Oh.”

“How do you think he did ?”, Vinnie smirked. “How much you wanna bet he fell ?”, he joked.

“Please.”, Balth smiled as he stood up. “Milo became quite the dancer. I’m sure he did wonderfully.”

“He did have a great teacher.”, the shorter man flirted.

“And he’s not the only one who learned a lot.”, Balthazar replied. The tall man took out his phone, and quickly put some music. Vinnie just looked curiously as his husband put the phone on the small table and offered him a hand. “May I have this dance ?”

“You’re not serious.”, Vinnie grimaced.

“Come on.”, Balthazar smiled in a way that made the shorter man silently curse the effect his partner had on him. “You did a lot of progress over the last few days.”

“Alright, alright.”, Vinnie sighed, though his smile betrayed his emotions. He took Balthazar’s hand, letting himself be led by the taller man. The two couldn’t move much as the space was small and cramped, but it didn’t stop Balth from doing a variety of steps.

Though, less than a minute into this, Vinnie tripped over the table’s feet and fell, barely giving Balthazar the time to react and push his partner towards the couch. Vinnie half-slumped half-fell into it.

“…Ouch…”, the shorter man complained

“Are you alright ?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank goodness.”, Balth mumbled, helping him up.

“You know what ?”, Vinnie declared. “We should let the kids do the whole dancing thing. I think I’m going to take a break from formal dances.”

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bnhayyy · 3 years

Text

Burning In Carolina

Wordcount: 3.9k

Ao3 Link: Click

Notes: I wrote this fic for @bnhatraumazine ! Leftover sales are currently open, so go check them out! And if you enjoyed the fic, maybe consider buying me a Ko-Fi? I do all my best writing when properly caffinated!

Summary: Despite the success of the initial interrogation, further attempts to pry information or recognition out of the villain known as Kurogiri prove fruitless. Aizawa keeps trying anyway.

It was possible to miss someone to the point of physical pain. This was a truth that Aizawa had learned long ago.

The pain never left him—not completely. It threatened to consume him. But he did not curl up and cease to function, no matter how tempting it was at first. Instead, he forced himself forward, even as that pain followed his every step, echoing in his actions, his appearance, his demeanor. It molded who he was. And, eventually, it became a part of him. Eventually, he reached a point where he could sometimes forget that the ache in his chest, the bleakness that coated the world, the empty space in the fabric of his life was something born of loss and not just the way things were. He didn't remember it unless he was actively thinking about it. For the most part, he tried not to think about it.

Then everything changed. There was a call from Tartarus, a horrible revelation, and suddenly he had no choice but to think about the things that made him who he was. The person who made him who he was. The one who would have been ten times the hero he could ever be.

It was one thing to be haunted by the past. It was another entirely to try and bring it back to life.

Aizawa slid into the cold metal chair. He was familiar with the ache it sent up his spine by now. In a different situation, he would slump forward to provide it with some relief, but his muscles were too tense for him to slouch even if he wanted to. In contrast, the figure on the other side of the glass didn't show any tension at all. He seemed to rest easily in his restraints, eerie yellow eyes staring unwaveringly at Aizawa.

His mouth felt dry. Only seconds in the room and he already felt as if a lump had formed in his throat. Yet when he pushed himself to speak, he took care to ensure that his voice would be calm and steady. Ideally, he would be able to keep it that way this time.

"Kurogiri," he said. The name was a lie. Even so, he did not let himself say the one that he wanted to—not yet.

"Eraserhead," the prisoner returned. There was a slight shift in the black mist around his head. With it came a hitch in Aizawa's heart, but no, it must have just been an indication of movement. Unsurprising. The miasma of darkness that composed Kurogiri had not once parted since that first fateful meeting.

There was a moment in which neither of them spoke. Then, before Aizawa could muster himself to continue the conversation, Kurogiri asked, "Do you have any news regarding Shigaraki Tomura?"

This question again. It was always one of the first things he asked. Distantly, he supposed he could understand, but that didn't erase the wrongness of it. He never should have even known Shigaraki, let alone been programmed to care for him. Maybe even come to genuinely care about him. But he did. And that meant Aizawa had to answer the question, over and over again. He could say something that might stop him from asking again. He could tell him the truth: there hasn't been any news on him in months.

He wouldn't say that. Partially because he wasn't supposed to. Partially because...

He wouldn't say that.

The villain patiently waited for his response. Aizawa sighed. "No," he said.

There was another minute shift in his mist. Another moment that gave Aizawa pause even though he shouldn't. A soft 'hm' reached his ears, only just managing to penetrate the glass even with the speakers installed on either side of the interrogation room.

"Why are you here, then?" the villain asked. "You must know by now that I won't give you any information."

Aizawa's hand twitched, a small, unintentional spasm that came in time with the phantom compression of his chest. You already did, he didn't say. We're investigating the hospital. Similarly, he didn't give in to the burning behind his eyes that urged him to point out, I came anyway. You would have. Instead, his lips thinned as he tried to find the right words. Again, the captive waited patiently. So silent in his patience, so unlike the energetic chatter that once filled the air, ready to offer a push when it was needed and content to just be there when it wasn't.

"What do you think?" Aizawa slowly asked.

The man behind the glass gave a tired sigh. "Aren't my insights trivial in this situation? The most the musings of a prisoner can offer is more ammo for their captors, and we have established that you will not be getting that." He said one thing, but after a few heartbeats with no response, he sighed and added, "Perhaps it is some misguided sense of heroic perseverance."

There was no pain like losing someone you held dear. Except, perhaps, mourning them when they were right across from you.

Aizawa felt something sinking in his chest, like blood from an internal injury. Except blood was never so cold. "Oboro..." he murmured.

"I do not know who that is," the prisoner responded. "I am Kurogiri, the caretaker of—"

"Shigaraki Tomura," Aizawa muttered in time with the other speaker. He knew this song and dance. But he also knew, he knew, that there were more steps than this. He dropped his gaze down to his hands for a moment. When he raised it back up, something was burning behind his eyes. Maybe passion, maybe desperation, he didn't know. Whatever it was, it gave him the power to force out words that, while true (always true), threatened to get lodged in his throat. "I'm here because I am your friend."

They had all been friends once, him and Oboro and Hizashi and Kayama. And now…

Black mist writhed and twisted, agitated, but didn't dissipate. "I am a villain."

"No," Aizawa asserted, "you aren't." You are a victim.

"You appear confused. I am Kurogiri of the League of Villains. I—"

And so it continued. Perhaps he should have been more forceful, broken down like he had the first time. However, even if he got through to him for a moment, it was impossible to have a conversation when the other party was unconscious. And if it caused any permanent damage... no. There was merit in trying a gradual approach.

When he made his departure after ten more minutes of fruitless attempts at conversation, his thoughts drifted back toward what the prisoner had said. Heroic perseverance, huh? In different circumstances, he might have chuckled at the irony of it. If he had any heroic sense of perseverance, it was only because he had learned it from Oboro.

And look at how that had worked out for him.

The fruitless visit echoed in his dreams for the next several nights.

Aizawa followed Hizashi toward the interrogation room at a slower pace than the Voice Hero. He was meant to be moving slowly because he was calm and steady. However, the way Hizashi's eyes flickered toward him as they came upon the interrogation room told him that he had noticed the extra drag to his feet, as if metal chains had been wrapped around his ankles to make every step that much harder.

With the door to the interrogation room only a few steps away, Hizashi came to a sudden halt and swung around to face him. Aizawa withheld a sigh. It wasn't hard to tell what was going through his mind and he had hoped to avoid something like this. No such luck.

"Hey, man," Hizashi began, "you don't have to do this if you don't want to."

Aizawa pursed his lips in an attempt to stop a more active frown. "I know," he said.

Hizashi shook his head. "No, really." His voice was low, by his standards, but it grew a little higher with every syllable that left his lips. "This might not go well, and—"

"Hizashi," Aizawa cut in. "I'm fine." It was a blatant lie. As much as he might want to think that this situation hadn't emotionally compromised him, they both remembered their last visit. He'd had more time to process it, but that didn't mean that a fresh reminder wouldn't hurt. Hell, Hizashi probably didn't even need it as a frame of reference. He knew how close Oboro and Shouta had been. He knew how much he meant to him. There was no way he could see him without it feeling like a knife being driven into a wound that hadn't had the chance to heal. It simply wasn't possible.

At the end of the day, it didn't matter that it hurt to see what was left of Oboro. He wasn't going to abandon him again.

When Hizashi began to open his mouth, Aizawa shot a glance at the guard standing uneasily a few feet behind them. Hizashi followed his gaze and tightened his jaw. His gaze bounced between the two for a moment before settling back on Aizawa. He took advantage of the temporary silence to remind him, "I saw him alone last time and was fine."

Hizashi snorted, sharp and abrupt, before lowering his voice to a much lower tone. "You shouldn't have done that in the first place."

"I can make my own decisions." Even as he spoke, he was aware of the almost defensive edge that had entered his tone and he hated it. There was no reason for him to be defending his choices. It wasn't something that needed to be defended, nor would his words do anything to put his overly worried friend at ease.

"I know," Hizashi said. "Believe me, Shouta, I know. But..." His fist clenched as he floundered for words, a mix of desperation and dismay etched upon his face. "You shouldn't need to go through that alone!" he exploded. It sounded like trying to keep his voice from escalating into a shout was causing him physical pain. His voice fell lowered further and the pained air grew even worse, although Aizawa got the distinct impression that it wasn't from trying to control his volume this time. "You don't need to go through it alone."

Once again, Aizawa simply said, "I know." Oboro's presumed death had not affected him alone. Hizashi and Kayama had been Oboro's friends as well; he was not alone in this. Yet taking the time to visit Tartarus on his own was... something he had to do.

Just because Hizashi had done a better job of holding himself together didn't mean that Aizawa couldn't tell just how much the situation was hurting him. The thought made him examine his friend a little closer. He took in the frayed edges of the spikes of his hair, how unnaturally tight his jaw was even when held loosely, the bluish-black marks of bags forming under his eyes and the strain around their edges.

A pang of guilt echoed in his chest. He wouldn't cut off the arms of his friends just so he could hold their hands whenever it was time to confront the brutal truth. Voice low enough that it hardly carried at all, he said, "You don't have to do this either." He knew just how useless the offer would be, but he had to say it anyway. Aizawa hadn't spent the last fifteen years making his friends carry his weight. He wasn't about to start now.

Hizashi laughed, the sound utterly humorless for all that it was bright. "Don't act like you're okay and then start fretting over me," he chided. He managed to infuse a degree of lightness back into his voice despite the weight of the strain that could be heard lurking just below the surface. He really was an incredible actor.

They fell back into their previous actions as if time had merely stalled for a bit. The guard hurried forward to unlock the door as Hizashi closed the distance between himself and it, his eagerness to escape that moment the only real sign that their conversation had even happened.

"Hey, bud," Hizashi called as he swung the door open. He entered the room with all of his usual swagger and dramatic flare, Aizawa slinking in behind him.

The villain behind the glass wall didn't so much as blink. "We are not friends," he pointed out, his voice as impassive as usual. "Nonetheless, I must ask: do you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura?"

And so, the tone of their meeting was set.

Despite how much it must have worn at him, Hizashi spent the entire time trying to remain bright and energetic. It made Aizawa wonder if he was acting that way in an attempt to remind him of old times, of the hyperactive teenager Oboro used to be friends with. If he was, he wasn't having any success. The overt reminders he tried to sprinkle in didn't have any effect either. No wavering, no hesitance, no sign of Oboro —only confusion and dismissal.

With every passing second, the barely visible weight pressing down on Hizashi grew worse.

With every instant where something could have happened and nothing did, Aizawa felt his heart sink lower and lower.

And he found himself wondering if they were only moving backwards.

The next week saw Aizawa visit with Kayama. They spent an hour in that interrogation room, spoke new words, but ultimately found themselves repeating the steps to the same painful dance. Even when Kayama pulled out a reminder that she'd hoped would be a trump card - the cat that had helped solidify their friendship - they found themselves unable to change the routine.

Aizawa had made a point of maintaining his composure during the fruitless meeting. He liked to think that he was getting better at it. However, upon stepping outside the room, he couldn't keep his shoulders from drooping. A soft thud made him glance to the side, where Kayama leaned heavily against the wall. She cradled Sushi's cat carrier close to her chest, causing its occupant to let out a surprised mew. He noticed the way her fingers slotted through the mesh in the front. It was a small detail, but one that made the motion resemble a hug more than an attempt to use the feline as a shield.

If he were a better friend, perhaps Aizawa would have hugged her himself. As it was, he just watched with an uncomfortable lump in his throat. His concern was marred by the cruel gratitude that he wasn't the only one who couldn't completely hide his fractures.

Haunting silence floated between them for well over a moment. Some errant thought eventually drove Kayama to hunch her shoulders in on herself. It made her look so much smaller than she was, so unlike herself. (Like she had on that day.)

Aizawa cleared his throat.

Kayama looked up, a smile as delicate and deceiving as spider-silk weaving across her lips. She stayed slumped against the wall as she said, "It's... a lot."

"I know," Aizawa said. Even if he wished he didn't.

Kayama let out a gusty sigh. "Do you think he'll...?"

Aizawa's gaze dropped to the floor. Something in his chest clenched, froze, and began to crumble, flecks of stone breaking away from an already-tarnished whole. The flecks morphed into a tingling numbness that ran down his arms and legs, settling into his fingers and toes.

If she had asked him after that first meeting, he would have said 'yes', that they would make him remember, cling to those lingering shards of Oboro and put him back together. Now...

"I don't know," he croaked.

He missed his best friend. He missed his best friend and had gotten used to it. But the discovery of the warp gate's identity had made him see echoes in the care he showed for Shigaraki. He was seemingly indifferent to everything else, and the contrast brought the old hurt back into searing definition. The echoes, that glimpse he had actually managed to catch of Oboro, it had ignited a damning spark of hope, and maybe that hope was still rattling around in the back of his mind. But...

The quiet that had begun to envelop them once more was broken by Kayama saying, "We need to keep trying."

Aizawa thought about the continued questions as to Shigaraki's well-being. Of the subtle wisps of annoyance that sometimes leaked into Kurogiri's voice at his questions. His confusion over his continued visits.

"Yeah," Aizawa murmured.

Truly, the worst thing about hope was feeling yourself start to lose it.

The end of the school day had brought with it another solo visit to Tartarus.

Another pointless visit.

Aizawa held back a heavy sigh as he stepped into his apartment. The television could be heard faintly echoing down the hall. He allowed himself to close his eyes for half a second before strapping his usual neutral expression into place and striding into the living area, where he could see a head of blonde hair peeking up over the top of the couch. Hearing his approach, Mirio turned to look at him. There was the gentle rustling of blankets and squeaking of couch springs, then Eri's head peeked up beside him, her hands braced on the back of the couch as she leaned against it.

"You're back!" she cried.

"I am," Aizawa confirmed. To Mirio, he asked, "Did everything go well?"

"Of course!" Mirio said. He stood up and made his way to Aizawa, only to, as always, decline the offer of payment.

"You don't need to pay me to babysit, sir! Spending time with Eri is hardly a chore."

Aizawa tried not to let himself think of who Mirio reminded him of. (After all, Aizawa had seen Kurogiri only moments ago and he hadn't reminded him of the boy he once knew much at all.)

"If you're certain," Aizawa relented.

From there, it was a simple matter of Mirio saying goodbye to Eri and heading home. He was a kind boy who had sacrificed and suffered much, one whose presence Eri enjoyed. Nonetheless, he found the tenseness of his shoulders lessening once the boy closed the door. He allowed himself to sigh, too softly to be heard, and turned around.

He was greeted by the sight of Eri standing in front of the doorway, eyes wide and face creased in concern. His heart dropped into his stomach at the sight. However, before he could say anything, the little girl blurted out, "What's wrong?"

Aizawa felt his brows furrow. "I'm not sure what you mean," he said, slowly crouching down to her level as he spoke.

"You keep coming home sad," Eri said. She took a few cautious steps forward, paused for a second, then walked the rest of the way. Aizawa remained still as she reached out to place a gentle hand on his cheek. "It's not every day, but sometimes you come home really tired and sad. You don't say anything, but... I notice it. It's like..." Eri glanced down and nibbled on her lower lip. "It's like you forget how to smile," she finished, the words barely more than a whisper.

Somehow, Aizawa's heart managed to sink further. It was accompanied by cold tendrils of guilt squeezing at his chest. He had thought he was doing a decent job of hiding his emotional distress from Eri. A foolish assumption to make. Children, for all of their naivety, were not stupid, and Eri in particular was a very empathetic girl—especially when it came to loss. He should have known that he would have to try a lot harder if he truly wished to hide the situation from a child so familiar with things such as this.

"I'm sorry," Aizawa said. "I didn't mean to worry you." He lifted his arms up and, after a moment of hesitation, Eri dove in for a hug.

"Where have you been going?" she mumbled into his chest.

Aizawa shuttered his eyes for a second. There would be no escaping this conversation, it seemed. "Let's talk in the living room."

"I've been visiting... a friend."

Once again, Aizawa walked into the interrogation room alone. He sat down in the uncomfortable chair and looked directly into the luminescent yellow eyes on the other side of the glass.

"And it made you sad?"

“Eraserhead,” Kurogiri greeted. “I don’t suppose you bring news of Shigaraki Tomura this time ?”

"Yeah. You see, he was a hero. But a mission went wrong and he was... hurt. Really badly."

“I don’t,” Aizawa confirmed. “And I’m not looking for information, either.”

"Like Mirio?"

The captive made a noise that came surprisingly close to a scoff. “In that case, you have a peculiar way of spending your time.”

"...Sort of. But in a different way. And... he doesn't seem like he's been getting better. We don't know if he will."

A corner of Aizawa’s lips twitched up into the faintest of smiles. “Perhaps,” he acquiesced. “How have you been?”

"Oh. ...Mr. Aizawa, have... have I been getting better?"

Aizawa would not claim to be an expert at reading his friend’s altered features, but he could have sworn he caught a hint of surprise at the question. “I am a captive,” Kurogiri said.

"Eri. It is truly incredible how much you've healed since I met you, and I could not be more proud of you."

“I know, but you must do something to pass the time,” Aizawa pressed.

"But it's taking so long."

In some ways, the visit played out the same way as the others. In other ways, it didn’t. Kurogiri didn’t spontaneously profess to remember his life as Shirakumo Oboro or give new information about the League of Villains. At the same time, Aizawa didn’t press him to. They simply… talked. And once an hour had passed, Aizawa sighed, “It’s time for me to go.”

"You can't force recovery, Eri. You went through a lot and need to get better at a pace that's right for you."

Kurogiri nodded placidly. “Of course.” He hesitated for a moment, or at least, the way his mist momentarily stilled made it seem as if he were hesitating. “I suppose I will be seeing you again soon?” he eventually asked. The first time he had said anything of the sort.

"But what if it takes too long?"

Something in Aizawa’s chest flickered and then flared. Hope, its flame reignited by a passing breeze. “You will,” he confirmed, swallowing down every other word threatening to fight its way past his lips. There would be time.

“It won’t.”

Maybe it was foolish to hope. Maybe it wasn’t. What mattered was that Aizawa was willing to take that risk, just like Oboro would have for him.

“How do you know?”

Kurogiri nodded again, probably in dismissal. Aizawa stood up to leave. However, before approaching the door, he looked the warp gate in the eyes once more. And, just for a second, he could have sworn he caught a flicker of blue. “I’m not giving up on you, Oboro.”

"Because no matter how long it takes, I'll wait for you."

Kurogiri watched the pro hero depart with a placid gaze. Yet, spurred on by an undefined haze pulsating through his heart and head, as ShoutaEraserhead walked through the door, he whispered, “I know.”

#bnha #my hero academia #bnha manga spoilers #aizawa shouta #eraserhead #shirakumo oboro #kurogiri #erasercloud #(if you squint)#bnha fanfiction #bnha fic #my fic #my writing #Bnha spoilers

26 notes · View notes

manikas-whims · 3 years

Text

Morning Chat

Part 3 of my Kanej Neighbours AU

[Read on AO3]

Ship: Kaz Brekker X Inej Ghafa

Summary:

Modern AU

Inej and her neighbour Kaz have an early morning chat on their balconies..

Note:

It's in Inej's PoV :3

Hope you guys enjoy ♥

Inej spreads out a crimson mat on the floor of her balcony and stands on it facing the east. She relaxes herself, adjoines her feet and inhales slowly, bringing out her arms together from their sides. Then, with a soft exhale, joins her palms together in front of her chest in the praying position.

“Om Mitraaya Namaha”, She chants as she takes another inhale of breath.

Surya Namaskar, an integral part of yoga is what she has incorporated into her daily lifestyle since its good for health and well, makes her feel connected to her roots.

She breathes in again, lifting up her arms whilst making sure her biceps are touching her ears and pushes out her pelvis slightly. She focuses on properly stretching her body into an arc. After moments she exhales back to normal standing position.

“Om Ravaye Namaha”, She says, inhaling again.

As she lets out her breath and bends forward from her waist, a clicking noise catches her ears, followed by the heavy shuffling of feet.

“Tell Anika to be on guard. I saw that sicko Oomen around the block last night.”

Inej immediately recognizes the rough burn of the voice, like stone grating against stone. It’s Kaz Brekker, the intriguing guy next door. She cranes her head to see him standing in his sleep wear just like her. His right palm is cradling a cellphone to his ear whilst the other is lazily nestled in his pocket. She hadn't expected anyone else to be up at 6 am. Most definitely not him. He seems like a "late to bed and late to rise" sort of person.

She shakes her head and returns her attention back to her routine. Performing the full twelve steps isn't mandatory but it won't be as effective if she stops midway to converse with her neighbour. Besides, he's busy on his phone and based on her two meetings with him last week, she has got the impression that he doesn't really enjoy socialising.

Her fingers are now touching the matted floor before her feet and she whispers with another breath in, “Om Suryaya Namaha”

“Also Rotty, go to the hospital and check up on Nina.”

Her neighbour goes completely silent after that and Inej realises his call must've ended. Was that a coworker he was dispensing orders to? Do private investigators even have coworkers? Her train of thoughts come to a halt when she stretches her right leg back, resting its knee to the floor. The left one stays in a crouching position and she arches her face up, her pupils instantly dilating in shock. Kaz is staring right at her with that familiar look of curiosity. She has seen plenty of that due to her apparently being from an “exotic” land. Yet for some reason, his gaze doesn't feel creepily intrusive or judgmental. Its more laced with mild interest.

He doesn't say anything and she knows its mostly because he isn't the type to greet people first. But a part of her believes its also because he doesn't want to disturb her regimen. She smiles and continues. After all, eight steps are still left to be performed.

Throughout her sequence, he watches her silently and when she is finally done, he asks, “Does everyone in your family do this?”

She can't help herself from giggling. “Good Morning to you too, Mr. Brekker.”

He frowns. “Stop calling me that.”

“Calling you what?” She teases. She knows exactly what he means.

“Mr. Brekker,” He emphasizes every syllable in annoyance. “Makes me feel old.”

She wants to tease him a little longer but she isn't sure if he'll tolerate anymore of it so she concedes. “Okay, Kaz.”

He blinks, as if assessing the utterance of his name from the lips of a neighbour he barely knows. However, his reaction returns to its usual collected one and he repeats his question. “Does everyone in your family do this?”

“Just me, every morning.”

“Every morning?”

“Yes, it reduces muscle tension, improves blood circulation and its–”

“Yeah yeah, I get it.”

“No seriously all gymnasts do it!”

He scoffs at that.

“Okay, you win. I'm actually working on improving my flexibility since you see,” She inches her face out towards him from her balcony and smiles conspiratorially, “I'm planning to break into your apartment.”

There's a momentary pause and Inej watches his expression switch from that of brief shock to genuine challenging. He smirks, now resting his arms on the railing and himself leans closer. “You won't succeed.”

Inej's eyes widen briefly. His dubious face was adorable when she had fed him an Indian sweet. His scowls and apathetic gazes had been equally fun to witness. But she finds that she likes this smirk more. Maybe if she tries harder she can even pry a smile out of this strange guy. She doesn't know why but she wants to.

Her smiling lips curve further into a full-fledged grin and she declares, “I can jump to your balcony right now.”

“Why don't you try?” He suggests, quirking a brow confidently.

Her palms clamp around the railing and she steps back. But seconds before she braces herself for the leap, a buzzing noise disturbs her. The moment shatters and Kaz's cellphone is the one to blame. He pulls it out and answers the call, going to the other side of his balcony.

She can still hear a loud incoherent shouting from his phone. Whoever it is, must have something important to tell. Kaz listens quietly for several minutes and then sighs wearily. “I’m coming. And Jes, call the cop. You know which one.”

He disconnects the call and turns back to her. His eyes seem conflicted so Inej makes it easier for him.

“Its alright,” She speaks, “Go.” And she means it. Its not like they're friends and he's obligated to explain himself.

He nods and turns to his door.

“Bye!” She waves a palm.

“Right. Bye..Inej.”

He's gone yet Inej stares blankly at the spot he had been just seconds ago. Hearing her own name in his gravelly tone has certainly done something to her heart. She shakes her head and tries to distract herself by resuming her exercises. She's being silly. It must be because she hasn't talked to many guys in her life. Yes! That must be all there is to it.

Surya Namaskar: Also known as "Sun Salutation", is a sequence of 12 powerful yoga poses.

Om Mitraaya Namaha, Om Ravaye Namaha, Om Suryaya Namaha: 3 of the 12 chants spoken during each step of the sun salutation. These are optional.

Hope you enjoyed reading this..:3

Read more Soc Fanfics, Headcanons & AUs here

(divider by @firefly-graphics)

#kanej #kanej fanfic #kaz brekker #inej ghafa #six of crows #kaz x inej #inej x kaz #these are really fun to write #grishaverse #dirtyhands #the wraith #kanej fanfiction

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icollectyoursins · 4 years

Text

Yoshikage Kira SFW + NSFW Headcanons

vierran96 on AO3 asked for this and who am I to deny them? I personally don’t get the thirst for hand David Bowie, but to each their own!

Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!

Looking for more? Master post here!

WARNINGS: hand fetish, sucking on fingers, long nails, pet play (kitten), riding, spanking, lots of spanking, pegging, cock warming.

Word Count: 2116

SFW

Kira is very gentlemanly when you two first started dating. Taking you out to lavish restaurants and fancy plays, stuff like that. He’ll help you out of the car, allowing you to hook your arm into his while he walks you back to your house.

He buys you expensive rings and bracelets or watches, insisting on putting them on you himself, admiring the way the metal glistens in the light compared to your skin. To you, it’s an innocent, sweet gesture so you don’t pay too much attention to it, much to his relief. After all, you were just a cover for him; an alibi to keep people off his back. Right?

Wrong. After a few month together, he’s at work when he gets a text from you. It’s a little thing, just a text saying hello, but it makes him... excited. You were thinking about him? Completely blind to his true nature. That makes him like you more. He finds himself thinking of how you would do being home with him, what kind of food you would make, what books you like. Now he’s decided. He needs you.

From that moment on, Kira makes a point to send you good morning texts, possibly inviting you on more dates, trying to get you more involved in his life which you’re more than happy to do. It doesn’t take him long to invite you to his house, gradually letting you in on some of the mystery that was Yoshikage Kira.

Killer Queen is... very confused. In the beginning, it just kind of stares at you until you approach it, cupping it's face. Killer Queens' eyes widen. What the fuck is this thing and why is it touching me?! But slowly melts into it (sort of like those cheetah pictures). It curiously plays with your hair, pulling out tangles or just petting it. Still unsure how to feel about you, but it's user seems to like you well enough, so you should be fine. One rare days, when Kira allows it, it’ll slowly curl itself around you while you were watching a movie or reading a book, nuzzling into your cheek softly. Of course, this is well into the relationship.

He doesn’t acknowledge this to your face, but deep down, he’s a little jealous. He wishes that it were him there and not his stand. He feels every bit of what you do to Killer Queen ten fold. It does something to him, watching the stand show his soft side to you, he can’t explain it but he knows at that moment he can’t let you go.

Kira will buy you fancy moisturizer but doesn't typically help you apply it unless you ask. When you do ask, he's gentle about it, but you can see the wild look in his eyes. When you try to pull away, his grip stops you, quick and firm. He looks up at you dangerously, then softens, letting you go much to his disappointment.

He loves when you cup his face, soft palms cradling him, rubbing gently. One of the few times he lets himself go, in a sort of sense. Sure fire way to get him to fall asleep where he’s not really supposed to. He’ll lazily kiss your palms, knuckles and fingers, anywhere he can.

His life is very regimented, he makes a schedule and sticks to it, this shows in the way he interacts with you. In the mornings at the same time, with out fail, he’ll tangle his fingers in yours, soft and sweet. Then, he brings your hand to his lips, tenderly kissing your knuckles, lost in the feeling of your hand in his for just a minute before telling you to have a good day and leaving. Then, when he gets home he find you sitting in your chair at the table (you’ve grown used to his routine by now and know he expects you there unless you’ve given him a reason to expect other) and does the same thing, but more desperate this time. He’s been working all day and needs some release which even more evident in the way his lips brush against yours.

Touch starved, but doesn't need your touch, you know? Like, he loves feeling your hands all over him, but only at certain times, usually when he's trying to relax after work. But, he’s usually fine on his own. Don't touch his hair. He has perfected his style, does not want anyone to mess it up. Don't touch his hair.

When you two are home together on the weekends, you usually relax by reading a book or watching his soap operas.

Prefers if you are a stay-at-home spouse, wanting to do most of the working and bill-paying himself, but will begrudgingly comply if you have one before moving in with him. He likes having someone at home preparing things for him like food, or doing the laundry, cleaning.

Doesn't expect you to cook and do everything for him, but he's gracious when you treat him to a lovely pasta dinner with a glass of red wine.

He calls you regularly when at work, always on his lunch break. Occasionally, you'll meet him at his favourite food place and have lunch with him which he is more than pleased about, if a little worried. If people start to suspect him and you're seen with him, you'll be the first to go whether you move out or have an... accident, he knows you'll be dangerous to his safety. As much as he would love for you to stay with him, he knows you'd just run away if you knew who he really was.

Wake him up with a massage and he will be in the happiest mood ever. Gentle fingers rubbing along his shoulders and collarbones, soft kisses on his cheeks and lips. Best way for him to wake up. Loves it. One of the few times you will see him officially soft towards you. Not that he’s cold any other time, just a little reserved with his affections.

Down for baths together. Lots of bubbles and soothing lotions, cups of warm milk with honey for both of you (seeing as these usually happen before bed). Another moment when he's soft and genuinely caring, not obsessed. Pours the water over your shoulders, kissing them and rubbing circles into your muscles.

NSFW

Alright, the hand fetish is a given, but consider this: choking Kira with long nails? Eh? Eeeh? I'm sorry, but I love bottom!Kira. Like, lightly dragging your claws down his neck, before wrapping around it and squeezing until his eyes roll back into his head. *chefs kiss*

Loves to suck on your fingers while you ride him or jerk him off with the other hand. Or even just feeling your hands running over his body. It sets his skin on fire.

You pushed Kira down onto the bed, legs on either side of his torso. He could feel everything. Every breath you took, every light drag of your nails on him, every movement of your hips, everything and it drove him wild. One particular harsh scratch down his chest had his eyes rolling back into his head and hips bucking instinctively.

A light chuckle escapes you and you tut your tongue. He sighs through his nose, avoiding eye contact. You hum as you bring your hand up to his face gently cupping it, making him look back at you. You smile coyly, then push your hand down on his neck, choking him. Kira groans, shifting his legs to try and alleviate some of the pressure in his pants.

You just laugh again, whispering something about him not getting off that easy and he whines again as you roll your hips into the prominent bulge in his pants.

Prefers riding to missionary, or just hands-free orgasms with vibrators and the like. Has a soft spot seeing you doubled over, ass in the air and filled to the brim with a vibrating dildo in your ass, barely conscious enough to lick the precum off his dick, or attempt to get yourself off.

Orgasm denial is his middle name. Loves to see you struggle to form sentences when he stands above you, perfectly bothered by it.

Pet play. Another given. There's something about you on your knees next to him while he's eating or reading, patiently waiting for him to lift you up and bend you over the nearest counter or the couch or something. It gets him riled up and he has to struggle to control himself. He doesn't even consider touching you until he's finished his book or cleaned his plate completely. Then, he'll give you some relief.

Spanking? Yes. An absolute yes. He'll flip you over his knee whether you've been good or not and just smack your ass over and over again. He'd keep you there until he came home the next day, if he could and believe me, he would. Coming home to dinner on the table and then into your shared bedroom where you lay spread, ready and waiting for him. His feral side comes out more than he would like.

Kira pulls you over his lap, running his hands down your back soothingly. Your hands were tied in front of you and your mouth was gagged. He pets your hair with one hand while the other pulls down your bottoms, kneading your ass. He tuts his tongue.

“You were waiting for this, weren’t you?” He smacks your bare cheek, humming when you let out a muffled sound of shock. “Of course, what else would you be waiting for?” Another smack echoes through out the room along with your mewls, and then another. And another. Each just as hard as the last or harder.

“Mmm~” You cry out, a tear falls freely from your eye. He wipes it away, letting his other free hand travel down to your genitals, remarking on how turned on you are.

“You enjoy this, don’t you? Would you like more?” Kira sounds almost sweet when he asks, petting your hair gently again. “Is this how you would like to cum?” Desperately, you nod your head. Yes, yes you need more! Please more. He smiles and kisses you wherever he can, more than happy to comply.

Loves hand jobs. So much. It's quick, it leans into his hand thing and the sight of your hands wrapped around his cock. Oh, yeah. Loves it. Oh, and those lips on the tip? Mmmmm.

Doesn't usually get feral when it comes to sex, he's in control most of the time but on days when he's seen someone that he just had to have, but knew he couldn't, be prepared to be fucked against the wall. His thrusts are bruising and harsh, every time you try to catch your breath, he thrusts into you again, making you hiccup. It's a wild ride, so be prepared.

Now. Killer Queen. Not the most sexual stand but... I'd ride it. He'll use KQ as a punishment for when you've been bratty in the bedroom. It'll thrust into you harshly and just stay there while you squirm. Kira, of course, will be watching from the armchair the entire time, calling you all sorts of degrading names and telling you that his stand will only move if you agree to whatever absurd request that he gives you.

Now, back onto bottom!Kira. Men get pegged? Is that still a thing? Because he sure as hell does. Push him down into the bed and just ruin his ass, then cling to him afterwards. He’ll be obsessed with you from then on. Bonus points if you shove your fingers into his mouth while doing so. He cums almost instantly and a lot.

You could try pulling his hair when taking him from behind, but it depends on his mood. On the days he needs an outlet to get out his frustration or to let go of tension, he’ll let you, but other than that, follow the rule of don’t touch his hair.

Now, cock warming? Oh yeah. Anytime, any place, he would just love to keep you on him 24/7. Or warming your cock/strap on him? Hell yeah. Have him sit on you while he tries to read a book or something and occasionally move your hips, the tip just rubbing against his prostate, just slowly watching him lose his patience before putting whatever he had down and fucking himself on your cock, real or otherwise.

I find that some of the most reserved people I know are the kinkiest and this 100% shines true wit Kira. He’d never admit it, but he’s open for almost everything, I think

#yoshikage kira #kira yoshikage #kira yoshikage x reader #yoshikage kira x reader #kira yoshikage not sfw #yoshikage kira not sfw #kira yoshikage n/s/f/w #yoshikage kira n/s/f/w #I've got more for this but this is a lot right now so i'll leave it at this #kira prompts #not sfw

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