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harrysweasleys · 3 years

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know-it-all // g.w

summary: Could you please write a fluffy fic about George and a Ravenclaw reader arguing about an answer on an exam or an assignment. And in the end it turns out George was right. And I would love it if you could include the exchange, "Don't say it!" "I told you so." "I said don't say it."

warnings: mentions of food

word count: 1.7k

a/n: i am back with my twin fics! woah! it’s been a while, sorry about that. life has been wild and i didn’t have much motivation but here we go! i hope you all enjoy!! x

[i do not give permission for my work to be reposted on any other platform!]

For what felt like the billionth time of that afternoon, you dropped your head onto the table and let your forehead smack against the solid wooden surface. You could feel different sets of eyes peering in your direction from other tables in the library, all silently questioning what was wrong with you.

The answer was simple: Potions.

Snape had set out a stupid assignment that, to be completely fair, was way out of your league. For every time you thought he was an awful professor, he sunk remarkably lower.

The topic of said assignment was one that you guys hadn’t even covered yet, and given by Snape’s tone of voice when a student had brought that very point up in class, he really couldn’t care less. It didn’t help that you were already ridiculously occupied with other end-of-year assignments — you didn’t want to get stuck teaching yourself a whole new branch of potion-making as well. You were barely sleeping nights and only showed up to dinner every second day, the library study hours becoming your very best friend.

It was just a lot.

It also didn’t help that you could see the golden rays of the sunlight pouring in through the dusty library window, signalling that it was once again the end of the day, and tomorrow, bright and early, you’d be handing in the assignment that you were nearly certain you’d botched.

Dinner was likely being prepared in the Great Hall right about now, the wonderful smell of roast potatoes and pumpkin juice running through your mind, but you honestly weren’t up to eating. You were feeling rather down in the dumps, forehead still pressed against the wooden table, and your mind reeling around the assignment.

“You look like you could use some assistance.”

You lifted your gaze, sure that there was now a bright red spot on your forehead, and glared over at George, who had just taken the seat across from you at the table. His grin was wide but his eyes were tired — you knew he was busy working on assignments of his own, as well his summer plans for opening the shop. Yet somehow he always found time to help you.

He tilted his head to the side when you gave him an exhausted stare, blinking rapidly before you processed his question.

“Do you remember doing this last year?” you asked, sliding over the assignment paper, giving a small cough to clear your dry throat. George, being in the year ahead of you, had quite the knack for Potions. He liked to say it was because it was just utterly fascinating and he was a purely, genuinely, naturally gifted student, but you knew he only did so well because he’s been brewing his own disastrous concoctions since he was a young boy. With practice comes skill, you always said.

And you prayed to Merlin that said skill would come in handy right about now.

His eyes scanned the paper and he gave a small shake of his head, “No, but I think you’ve got this wrong. You wrote Leech Juice here, but I’m pretty sure the answer is actually Acromantula Venom.”

You frowned, snatching the paper back from him — making him flinch and take a quick look at his fingers for any paper cuts — and stared down at your answer, “What? No. The obvious answer is Leech Juice. This was the only question I understood. I know the answer to this one, it’s the others that I can’t seem to figure out.”

He raised an eyebrow, “It’s Acromantula Venom, darling. That I know for sure.”

Though you were grateful for his presence and the fact that he was willing to help, you knew he was wrong about that one. Any first year could tell the answer was Leech Juice. But you didn’t feel like arguing with him any more than necessary with time running low, so you just gave your paper back and frowned.

“Can you help me with any of these? Professor Snape hasn’t said a single thing about any of these topics, and I’m sick of flipping through book after book, not even sure what I’m looking for,” you let out a sigh, “It feels like he’s purposefully setting us up for failure,” you muttered the last part under your breath, not wanting anyone other than George to hear your complaints.

His hand reached across the table and linked with yours, his soft fingers calming down the rapid, stressed-out beating of your heart, and gave you a small smile, “If he hasn’t taught you this, I’m sure that you’re not the only one having a hard time.”

You groaned, trying to pull your hand out of his, unfortunately failing as his grip was stronger than yours.

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” you said, voice low, “I don’t want to fail, even if everyone else does. That’ll always show up on my reports.”

He pursed his lips, giving you a small nod, “Alright, I get that. Why don’t you take a break? We’ll go eat, and then finish this up later, yeah? You can head over to the Common Room with me after dinner, I doubt anyone will say anything.”

A sigh left your lips as you began to place your parchment and books into a pile, George grabbing your ink bottle and quill — which had kindly left little indents in your hand due to aggressive use — and the two of you began to make your way to the Great Hall.

After leaving the library, you could feel a weight lifted off of your shoulders. As if the tense study environment that you had felt stuck in had now been leeched away from you. As if you could now think clearly. You gave George a small smile, thankful that he arrived when he did.

Merlin, why was sixth year so difficult? If it wasn’t for George’s calmness and sanity, you’d probably be a melted mess of failed papers and shining blue robes on the floor.

As you made your way into the Hall, heading towards the Ravenclaw table, George pressed a kiss to your forehead and muttered, “Acromantula Venom,” against your skin, shooting you a wink before he made off to his own house table.

You gave a small scowl, mouthing “Leech Juice” right back at him.

— —

“Oh, well, now would you look at that,” George grinned, looking down at the assignment you were shoving in his face. A bright smile donned your lips as you flashed the score, a bright red E.

Exceeds Expectations.

It wasn’t the O — Outstanding — that you were hoping for, but Merlin, did the E feel good. That meant you had done better than Snape was expecting — and better than a majority of the class, by the looks of it. They had all walked out with solemn faces and shoved their papers in their bags as quickly as possible. Even the Slytherin girl who sat behind you, the one who always bragged about perfect grades and how much Snape favoured her, had left without saying a word. That fact alone really boosted your pride.

“No thanks to your brilliant boyfriend,” George gave himself a pat on the back, giving you your now-crumpled paper.

“Oh, sod off,” you gave him a nudge in the shoulder as you sat down on the couch next to him, the Gryffindor common room rather silent for this early in the evening. Despite being a Ravenclaw, passing students didn’t mind your presence in their house. After three years of dating George and always being in the space, they barely even noticed the blue of your tie amongst the red ones anymore.

“Wait, what’s this?” George rapidly snatched the paper out of your hands — revenge for when you did it to him, most likely — and his eyes lingered on question number four, “Oh, well, would you look at that?”

You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest in preparation for his comment, “Don’t say it.”

His grin was so wide, you swore his cheeks would split, “You got Leech Juice wrong! And right here, scribbled in Snape’s hardly-legible writing, what does that say? It looks like A-Acro-,”

“Don’t,” you didn’t meet his eyes, a sour expression on your face as George rubbed it in.

“I told you so,” he leaned forwards, pressing a light kiss against your temple, arm slinging around you to bring you against his body. His warmth radiated through his sweater and it wasn’t helping the pettiness you were feeling in your chest.

“I said don’t say it,” you grumbled, snapping your head away from him and staring at the blank brick wall next to the fireplace. His laugh vibrated through your body, and it took everything in you not to turn around and laugh with him.

He placed one of his hands under your chin and turned your gaze to meet his, “Come on, I’m only playing. I’m proud of you, and I knew you’d do well. You were worried for nothing.”

“It wasn’t for nothing!” you flailed your arms, letting them fall on your lap, “He sprung this out of the blue. Of course I was worried.”

“And you did brilliantly,” he pressed another kiss to your temple, sparks fluttering across your skin as his loving touch, “You always do, my brilliant little witch.”

You cracked.

A small smile made its way onto your lips as you leaned into his touch, loving the feeling of being close to him. And it felt even sweeter knowing that you hadn’t failed — that this was a victory hug.

“Love you,” he mumbled against your hand, bringing your knuckles up to his lips and pressing a kiss on each one. You leaned your head on his shoulder, bringing your lips to his neck to mumble the same words against his skin.

A victory.

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#george weasley imagine #george weasley imagines #george weasley x reader #george weasley reader insert #george weasley one shot #george weasley one shots

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darthfrodophantom · 3 years

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Ectoberhaunt Day 5: Ouija Board

Summary: To get into the spooky season spirit, Tucker and Sam convince Danny to play a video game late at night, and Danny isn’t pleased about the subject of the video game.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/34303123

Too Close to Home

“Let me get this straight,” Danny interrupted. “I fight ghosts - real ghosts - on a nightly basis. And now that I actually have a free night you want to take up the time that I should be sleeping to fight fake ghosts?”

He shook his head as he looked at his computer screen, the only light in his entire bedroom aside from the digital clock that showed the hour: 11:45. From the first-person view of the computer game on his screen, he watched the avatars of both of his friends attempt to throw basketballs into a hoop.

“But this is way more fun,” Tucker’s voice said over Danny’s headset. “And it hurts a lot less! Ah! Dang it Sam - you messed up my throw!”

Sam cackled triumphantly. “Better pay more attention to your timing then.”

Tucker groaned as his avatar abandoned the basketball for spray paint cans, which he chucked at Sam. “Besides Danny, we’re not fighting ghosts: we’re hunting them.”

“Fine, fight, hunt, whatever. I still do both of them,” Danny argued.

“Not like this you don’t,” Tucker grinned. “God he’s gonna get creamed.”

“You know Danny, maybe we should let you go to bed. You’re gonna ruin my perfect streak,” Sam teased.

Danny rolled his eyes. “Or maybe you’ll actually do better because you have a true ghost hunting professional on the team,” he defended. He had no idea why he was bragging - he’d just been given an out and given the late hour he should take it, but now it felt like he needed to defend his pride as a ghost hunter. …That thought sounded a little too similar to something his parents would say and he quickly dismissed it. “Besides, I played the tutorial, I know what I’m doing. I’m just trying to figure out why we’re doing this.”

“Because it’s spooky season,” Tucker replied with a hint of sarcasm.

“We are only five days into October, Tucker, and if you’re gonna keep doing this all month I am going to hit you with the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick,” Sam threatened.

“I dunno, it might be worth it,” Tucker teased. “What do you think Danny?”

Danny shook his head, even though none of them could see it. “As the only person in this group who has actually been hit by the Fenton Anti-Creep Stick, I would back off,” he advised.

“Listen to Danny Tucker,” Sam chuckled as her avatar walked over to the white board to set up the hunt. “He’s actually speaking wisdom for once. Now come over here and pick out your gear.”

The playful teasing between best friends stopped as they actually got serious and picked out the gear they would need for their mission. Since Danny had no money, he couldn’t really participate in the conversation, but it seemed like Tucker and Sam had played this enough to know what they needed to bring. Sam started the mission, and their avatars found themselves inside the trailer looking at another whiteboard.

“Alright, looks like our ghost is named Thomas Clark and he responds to all of us,” Sam informed the group while Tucker’s avatar walked over to the shelves to equip supplies.

“Well that’s a dumb name for a ghost,” Danny complained as he looked at the bulletin board next to the computer. He had to squint at his screen to read them, but the articles were fairly legible and contained ghost stories he remembered hearing his parents talk about. It also had a recent article that he actually remembered running in USA Today proclaiming Amity Park as the most haunted city in the world - he didn’t know whether to feel proud or annoyed.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Sam agreed, though her voice was laced with sarcasm. “He should have gone with Thomas Phantom instead.”

Danny rolled his eyes as Tucker burst out laughing. “Oh yeah, now that sounds like a proper ghost,” Tucker added between laughs.

“I knew I was going to hate this,” Danny groaned under his breath. “Can we just get this over with?”

Sam’s avatar turned to face the new whiteboard. “Alright, fine. Objective one: find out what kind of ghost we’re dealing with - standard. Objective two: witness a ghost event.”

“I am a ghost event,” Danny smirked, causing Tucker to burst out laughing again.

“Objective three,” Sam snapped, “capture a photo of the ghost.”

Tucker’s avatar grabbed a camera and snapped a picture of Danny’s avatar. “Got one!” he proclaimed, which drove both boys into laughter.

“Objective four,” Sam said louder, “get a ghost to walk through salt.”

“What? That’s dumb. Everyone knows that’s an old wive’s tale,” Danny complained as he shook his head. Did the creators of this game actually do any real research before they made this game?

“Are you regretting this yet Sam?” Tucker asked as he finally stopped laughing.

“Let’s just get in the house,” she groaned. Danny smirked in triumph, and he could tell Tucker was sharing a similar smirk on his end.

They divided up equipment between the three of them, but not before Danny could comment on the inaccuracies of each of the pieces of equipment and how useless they’d be in an actual ghost fight. From faulty science to just being plain incorrect, Danny made sure to have pithy comments about all the equipment. He didn’t know why it bothered him so much that it had to be accurate - he was not his parents - but as a ghost and a ghost hunter, it just felt a little more personal than he wanted to admit.

Because he was the newest one, Danny got stuck with the Spirit Book (“What? Are they trying to imply all ghosts can’t write? That’s alivist!”) and the EMF Reader (“...Okay that one’s actually accurate”) because they were apparently the easiest to use. Laden down with their gear they walked up to the small house. Sam’s avatar unlocked the door and they headed inside. Danny noticed the tonal shift immediately. Outside he could hear wind and crickets chirping, but once he stepped inside the doorway, an oppressive silence covered his headphones. It reminded him of the sensation on a pressurised airplane and it unnerved and unsettled him...a lot more than he planned to admit to his friends.

“Alright, spread out,” Sam instructed. “See if you can find the ghost room.”

Ghost room, right. He remembered that from the tutorial. It had been the garage in the tutorial, so he figured he should start there. He walked back through the dark house, turning lights on as he went. It wasn’t because he was scared - absolutely not, he was a real ghost hunter! - it was just much easier to see. He pulled out the EMF reader and walked into the garage. It had an eerie quality to it, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he remembered seeing the ghost there last time (a mean looking (and inaccurate) ghost covered in blood and holding an axe) or if it was because he was alone and the room was so large, but he did not like being in here.

“You know, in the tutorial, the ghost was a bloody axe-man,” Danny remarked over the walkie talkie.

“Yeah, I think he’s standard in the tutorial,” Sam remarked offhand. He did not want to admit how good it felt to hear her voice in the oppressive silence of the house. They were clearly focused on their tasks, and that was a good thing, but it felt a lot better hearing their voices.

“Red blood,” he continued, simply to trigger more conversation. He didn’t get any EMF readings, so he gratefully left the garage. “Not ectoplasm. It’s like they didn’t even try.”

“Ugh, Danny, they’re going for a horror aesthetic, not something real,” Sam sighed.

“What? Ectoplasm-stains are horrifying,” he countered as he walked through the rest of the first story. Still no EMF readings.

“Only when it’s yours,” Sam said, and the weight of those words echoed in the silence of the house that made him stop moving for a moment. “No cold spots upstairs,” Sam informed them to break the silence.

“Yeah, no EMF downstairs,” Danny added. “I’m gonna check out the basement.” That’s where they loved to hang out in the real world, so it seemed the next best choice.

“Oh hang on, if you’re going down there I’ll go with you,” Tucker spoke up.

Danny stopped halfway down the stairs. “It’s fine, I’m pretty used to basements,” he joked weaky.

“Yeah, well the last time you went into a basement alone with untested ghost equipment you died.” Tucker said it light-heartedly as a joke, and it was one they’d said a bunch of times before, but somehow it just didn’t feel the same in this tense environment. It felt too...personal.

He waited for Tucker’s avatar to appear before they walked down the stairs together into the basement. Unlike Sam’s basement or his own, this basement had a much creepier feel to it, with the foreboding worn brick walls and discolored cement flooring. Honestly he was glad Tucker went down there with him because it just felt better having another person there.

“Sam, maybe you should get down here with the thermometer,” Tucker mentioned as they both walked through the basement. “Because we’re not--”

Danny whirled around as he heard something thud hard against the ground behind him while he jumped in his chair. The EMF reader in his hand jumped up to three dots and blared at them while he stared at a box of tools now on the ground. The ghost was clearly in the room. Danny half-expected his ghost sense to go off, but he had to remind himself it was just a video game. There wasn’t actually a ghost here.

“What happened?” Sam’s urgent voice said over the walkies.

“Ghost knocked something off the shelf down here,” Tucker said as his avatar walked over to the toolbox. “Ooh! We’ve got fingerprints!” he cheered as his avatar shined a light on a glowing handprint.

“Oh that’s so not how that works,” Danny complained, just to help lighten the mood. Honestly he felt a bit jumpy knowing that the ghost was in the room...and he couldn’t sense him. He’d dealt with invisible ghosts before, but his ghost sense always gave him a vague idea of where they were...except for now. He turned in his chair to check the room behind him. No ghosts, no ghost sense. It’s just in the computer game.

“Figures that the ghost would be in the basement,” Sam remarked as her avatar walked down the stairs and opened her journal. Right! Journal. Danny opened his and placed their one piece of evidence inside. The sooner they got all of those the sooner they could leave, and he really liked that idea.

“I’m not seeing freezing temperatures, but it is a little cooler than the rest of the house,” she continued. “So let’s start setting stuff up in here. Tucker get the DOTS up and I’ll place the camera. Danny place the spirit book.”

Okay, this wasn’t so bad with the three of them in the room. He could hear them moving around and he could see them, so it made him feel a bit better. And there was still no sign of the ghost. He put the spirit book down near the toolbox and looked away from it. Maybe the ghost wouldn’t write in it while he was watching? He didn’t know.

“Ooh!” Tucker cried excitedly.

“Did you see it in the DOTS?” Sam asked.

“No - Ouija board! Oh yeah!” Tucker cheered. “Now we’re getting somewhere.”

“Oh I love these,” Sam agreed. Danny’s brow furrowed as he looked at the screen. Why were they acting so happy - didn’t they forget there was a ghost in this room with them?

“Hang on, let Danny try the Ouija board,” Tucker suggested. “You know, because he’s never seen it before.”

“Ooh good idea,” Sam agreed. Danny walked over to where they were and saw Sam’s avatar set down a light brown board.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sus about your motives right now,” Danny said. He had a bad feeling about this...

“No Danny, it’s fine. These are actually pretty cool in this game,” Sam assured him. She quickly explained how the Ouija boards worked in the game and what questions to ask, and against his better judgment, he walked over and activated the board. The numbers and letters glowed orange against the light color of the wood.

He decided to start with something easy, so he swallowed and forced his voice to come out clear. “How old are you?” He jumped in his chair and his avatar backed up quickly as the planchette moved across the letters.

“Y - O - U - N - G,” Tucker read. “A young ghost.”

“Oh God, I hope that doesn’t mean it’s the crawling baby ghost,” Sam sighed. “I really hate that one.”

“Ask it something else,” Tucker encouraged.

“I don’t know,” Danny hedged. For some reason the Ouija board set him on edge. Something deep in his gut did not like this. Even if it wasn’t real and he kept telling himself it wasn’t real, he didn’t like it.

“No dude, it’s okay,” he assured him. “You can ask two questions before a significant sanity drop. Just ask it one more and you can go back to the truck.”

He very much wanted to go back to the truck. He just needed a chance to regroup. He was a ghost and fought ghosts for a living and he could not understand why this game unnerved him so much. But Danny Phantom wasn’t scared of ghosts, any kind of ghosts, and he wasn’t about to show it on a video game. “Fine,” he groaned as he picked up the board again. “Who died?”

This time he knew what to expect, and didn’t jump as much as the planchette started moving. First to the D, then to the A. Over to the N, then looping back to the N. It ended on a Y.

All three of them stopped moving. The silence became even more deafening around them. Danny dropped the Ouija board and backed up as far as the game would let him. He felt a cold sweat drip down his back. Danny. It spelled Danny. How did it know his name?

“...That has got to be a coincidence,” Sam finally said after the silence that seemed to stretch on forever.

“The ghost’s name must be Danny,” Tucker suggested, voice full of forced bravado.

“...No it’s Thomas,” Sam said slowly. “It must just be reading your username to scare you,” she decided.

“No my...my username is GhostBoy,” Danny reminded them, finally feeling like he could speak.

“Is this game actually haunted? Danny, what did you do?” Tucker accused, voice bordering on hysterics.

“What? I didn’t do anything!” Danny yelled back. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He put a hand up to feel his breath - still normal temperature. He looked around his room. There wasn’t a ghost here. But how did it know his name? And that he did almost die in a basement? “You’re the one that told me to use it!”

“Okay, let’s just calm down,” Sam interrupted. “It’s gotta be a coincidence. Let me try it and see if it says the same thing or gives me my name. It could be a new update that checks the name on the Steam account or something.”

Sam moved closer to the board, but before she could touch it all their flashlights flickered.

“Shit!” Tucker yelled.

“Run!” Sam cried in a panic.

Danny followed them up the stairs to the main level. The idea of running from a ghost, not fighting it, was so foreign to him, but he had no choice. He was powerless here. No ghost powers, no weapons, no thermos. He was completely helpless against this ghost.

He bolted for the garage, the one other room he knew how to get to. Sam’s avatar was running next to him. He could hear footsteps behind him and he swore as he ran towards the garage. Sam diverted into another room, but he continued into the garage. He found a locker he’d opened before and rushed into it. He barely remembered to turn off his flashlight and he waited. Seconds passed and he realized he was holding his breath. No...not holding his breath. Not breathing. He looked down at his hands and saw the glowing white gloves. When...when did he change into his ghost form?

Sam’s voice over the walkie startled him. “What the--? Oh my G--” The walkie feed cut to static and then nothing.

“I...I think it got Sam,” Tucker’s voice said over the walkie. Danny turned on his flashlight and saw that it was no longer blinking. He threw his head back in relief. The hunt was over. He climbed back out of his locker, keeping the door open again just in case.

“Dude, she was running right next to me. It must have followed her instead of me,” Danny told him. “Ugh, well what are we going to do now? She’s the only one who knew what she was doing!”

“Wait, I thought you would be a pro because you’re a ‘professional ghost hunter’ - isn’t that what you kept saying?” Tucker teased.

“Yeah, well I lied! This is nothing like ghost hunting!” he argued as he walked out of the garage. He was going back to the trailer. “Real ghost hunters would bring some kind of weapon and wouldn’t just run around helpless! We should just call it.”

“What? No! We’ve got two more pieces of evidence to collect. And we haven’t done any of the objectives! Tucker retorted.

“Fine!” he snapped as he walked down the main hallway. “if you want to keep looking for clues you can, but I’m going back to the trailer to check--”

The front door slammed shut. His flashlight blinked again.

“Shit!” Tucker cried.

Danny could hear the footsteps behind him. He could feel a heart thumping in his headset. He started running off to a room but stopped. No, he was not running again. He was going to stare this ghost down and prove that Danny Phantom was not scared of some ghost. His image struck fear in the hearts of ghosts and his name carried respect in the Ghost Zone. He was not going to let some video game ghost get the better of him and spook him with some Ouija board trick.

He turned around to face it, camera at the ready. If he was going down, he was getting a picture of it. The ghost blinked in the hallway and Danny saw the cause of his anxiety for the first time. The ghost floated down the hallway, with white hair and a black and white jumpsuit. It...it was him. The ghost was Phantom.

He completely forgot to take a picture as his own image rushed at him. He saw two gloved hands cover over the screen and then everything went dark. He heard the crash of breaking glass, saw a strange underground cavern for a second, and then he was back in a foggy blue version of the house.

The ghost of Sam’s avatar approached him, and he heard her laughing over the headset. It sounded like she’d been laughing for awhile. “Oh my god Danny, did you see the ghost?” she asked between laughs.

“It...that was...oh my God,” he groaned. It all made sense. Spelling Danny was likely an Easter egg, a cute nod to his name of Danny Phantom. The fact that it happened in the basement was just a coincidence, because it’s a creepy spot and a commonly haunted area. He hadn’t summoned anything. He wasn’t being targeted by some ghost in the computer. It was just an Easter egg paying homage to him.

Suddenly all the stress left him and he laughed. God, it felt so good to laugh after all that panic. This game had gotten him so worked up and over what? Over a ghost that looked like himself? Suddenly it all seemed so silly that it scared him that much. He had felt actual dread and fear, enough to trigger an unconscious transformation out of a need to protect himself, but there weren’t actually any real consequences. Now he just got to walk around unhindered in this ghostly version of the house, but nothing else actually happened.

Sam laughed along with Danny. “So you did see it then?”

“It was...oh my god Sam it was me! It looked just like me!”

“I know!” she exclaimed. “As soon as I saw it I forgot to keep running and stared. So of course it killed me. I did get a picture though,” she bragged.

“Oh man. I meant to, but I was just too stunned.” Now that he felt much better, he decided to wander around the house following Tucker who, for some reason, was still trying to finish the level on his own.

Sam suspiciously stopped her laughing. “Wait...Danny, your voice sounds weird. Are you...are you in your ghost form?”

Danny bit his lip as a slight blush graced his cheeks. “I don’t want to hear it.” But the telltale whoosh of the glowing rings turning him back to his human form seemed to be all the confirmation she needed. Except, he didn’t hear her laugh.

“...Danny, I wanted to apologize,” she said, and that made Danny stop moving and look quizzically at the screen.

“What? Apologize for what?” he asked.

“For goading you into playing this game,” she clarified, her voice surprisingly serious. “While I’ve been hanging out here in the spirit world, I realized why this game set you off so much.”

“What do you mean? I never said it set me off,” Danny defended. How could she possibly know that? He thought he was playing it pretty cool.

“Oh please,” she scoffed. “You’re in your ghost form and you were panicking after the Ouija board thing.”

“Hey you would panic too if--”

“Danny I’m trying to say that I get it,” she interrupted. “Being near a ghost without your powers? Without any weapons? Being powerless? It’s one of your biggest nightmares, that your powers will fail when you need them. And this game, it’s too close to home.”

Danny stopped moving and stared at the screen, because she was absolutely right. This was too close to home. How many times did he have to check to make sure his ghost sense wasn’t actually going off? How many times did he keep thinking about how similar everything felt to his own experiences? How unnerved he was about a ghost in the basement? It was too similar to his real life...except he had the tools he needed in his real life. Not a flashlight and some dumb spirit book, but actual real tools and powers and weapons, but here they were all taken away from him. Everything he relied on to fight ghosts had been stripped from him in the game and trapped him helpless in a house with his friends. Of course that bothered him. It was, as Sam said, one of his more recurring nightmares.

“...Yeah I think I’m good never playing this game again,” Danny admitted, the closest he planned to get to acknowledging everything she said was true.

“Honestly? I don’t blame you,” Sam agreed softly. “I think it’s easier for us because we’re used to this role: when there’s a ghost in the area, we help figure out what’s going on and support you. It’s not all that different from this game,” she explained. Her ghostly avatar followed Tucker out of the house and he followed after them. “But when you’re used to doing the fighting and defending and can’t...I guess it’s probably harder to separate yourself from the game.”

He reached behind him and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, she was right. It was too similar to his daily life, and as he tried to argue at the beginning, he didn’t need to hunt fake ghosts poorly when he knew how to fight real ghosts well. “You know you sound like Jazz,” he pointed out, trying to lighten the mood and change the subject.

“Wow, you’re going to insult me after I tried to help you?” Sam scoffed. “See if I ever help you again!”

Danny smiled at the screen, glad to be back to the teasing. He definitely felt more relaxed and more like himself. “Oh look, Tucker’s finally calling it quits,” Danny observed as Tucker closed the door to the trailer.

“God, I can’t wait to find out if he saw you.” He could hear her grinning through the headset and honestly he felt the same. Out of all of them, Tucker would be the most excited about this addition.

The screen changed over to the menu screen, showing all their accomplished objectives. It also meant that all three party members could talk to each other again. “I can’t believe you left me!” Tucker complained. “It’s even worse when you’re in there on your own! Do you know how much more evidence we needed to collect? Um, a ton!”

Sam laughed, and Danny had to join in. “Okay so we are sorry about that, but Tucker did you ever see the ghost?”

“No, which is probably why I’m the only one that survived!” he complained.

“Oh my god Sam, he didn’t see it,” Danny groaned.

“Oh my god.”

“No wait, didn’t see what?” Tucker asked. His voice had calmed down a bit and was colored with curiosity.

“Tucker...the ghost was Danny,” Sam told him.

“Uh no, we clarified his name was Thomas,” Tucker corrected.

Sam and Danny both groaned. “No Tucker, the ghost was Danny Phantom. It was skinned to look like Phantom,” she clarified.

Tucker’s line sat silent for a long time before he finally exploded in a shower of shock, excitement, and regret. “NO WAY! No! That is so cool! I mean I knew the developers were fans, but this is so cool! Like literally the best tribute ever. Oh my god I can’t believe I missed it! No!” he cried. He was so loud into the microphone that Danny had a hard time believing Tucker didn’t wake his parents.

“It’s why both of us died,” Danny explained. “We were just too shocked seeing it.”

“We’re going back in. I need to see this,” Tucker demanded.

Danny bit his lip. He was not going back in. He meant it when he said he was done. He almost had his explanation on his lips before Sam spoke up first. “I doubt it’ll show up two times in a row. I Googled it and the skin will be here for the whole month of Halloween as a random draw, so you’ve got time to see it. But if you want to try again tonight, I’ll keep playing if you want. Danny...he needs to get some sleep.”

“What? No, it's so much easier with three people. Come on Danny,” Tucker pleaded.

“Nah, Sam’s right, I should go to bed. Gotta be rested for those real ghosts tomorrow,” Danny chuckled. “Besides, being killed by my own image was a little weird.” And also a little too close to home, considering some of his memories of Dan.

“Yeah, this game isn’t Danny’s jam,” Sam explained simply. He had a feeling Sam would talk to Tucker more about what they discussed while their avatars were dead, and honestly he didn’t mind. He didn’t want to keep secrets from Tucker, he just really didn’t want to talk about it any more tonight.

Tucker sighed. “Alright, fine, you’re off the hook. At least you gave it a try though.”

“I did, and you’re both gonna owe me one for doing it too,” Danny reminded them.

“Dude, pretty sure you’re in the negatives when it comes to IOUs from us,” Tucker pointed out with a good-natured laugh. “Testing out inventions, excuses at school, doing your homework, remembering the thermos when you forget it, distracting your parents…”

“Okay okay, I get it,” Danny groaned as he left the screen and exited out of the game. “Well fine, then I’m less in the negative now. And on that happy subject, I’m going to bed. Good night guys.”

“Good night Danny,” Sam replied. “We’ll see you tomorrow.”

Danny almost hung up on their private Discord server when he heard Tucker speak up. “Hey Danny, wait.”

“What?” he asked curiously, his mouse still hovering over the disconnect sign.

“The type of ghost...was a Phantom.”

I’ve never cross-posted on tumblr before, so this will be a first! I hope you enjoy!

#ectober month 2021 #ectoberhaunt trick #ouija board #Danny Phantom #phasmophobia #light angst #2k21 prompt ouija board #2k21 day 5

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justanotherlifeff · 4 years

Note

If you're not comfortable with this, it's okay to skip. Aizawa has feelings for an "old soul" type of student in her last year at UA (so they're 18), but doesn't want to act on it for obvious reasons. She's had a crush on him since day 1 but respects him too much and doesn't want to get him in trouble. He shadows her on her first real mission and she gets hit with a quirk that makes her horny af, and is a poison that can only be expelled via lots of sex, so he has to "help" her or she'll die.

Urges

Hehehehe guess who's also 18 and a simp for Aizawa sensei? 😏😏😏

Warning: NSFW, Smut, age gap, Teacher-Student stuff

Guilty was one way to put how Aizawa felt when he found himself checking you out yet again in class. You were the embodiment of perfection. You were smart, matured, quiet, you liked cats as much as he did, and ofcourse, you were the mom friend to all the rowdy students in his god forsaken class. Yes, that exactly was the only thing holding him back (besides the huge age gap). You were his student. Sure, you weren’t one of the big 3 in your class like Mirio, Nejire and Tamaki because your quirk wasn’t as strong as theirs. However, you were infact the one in class to get top grades in tests. Infact, you even helped Aizawa grade papers since you somehow understood the barely legible handwriting of some of the people in this class. You were this little ball of sunshine, bringing a bento for the students who always forgot to bring any, keeping everyone out of trouble, tutoring anyone who you felt was having a hard time studying... Hell, it seemed like your schoolbag had everything that a person could need in it. Anyone forgot a pen? Ask (Y/N). Anyone forgot their umbrella? Ask (Y/N). Anyone forgot to even bring themselves to school? ASK (Y/N) CAUSE SHE'LL PERSONALLY TAKE THEIR NOTES HOME AND GIVE THEM A LECTURE ABOUT MISSING CLASS unless they are sick. In that case, she'll take a bento full of healthy food. The entire class saw (Y/N) as this motherly figure who pretty much dealt with their problems on a daily basis with a smile. Aside from your extreme maturity, you were extremely creative beyond your age. When Present Mic was struggling to make the class read basic Shakespeare, you were already quoting Jane Austen's pride and prejudice, something that was not even in the syllabus. Needless to say, you shared various intellectual conversations with Aizawa while the two of you graded papers as the grumpy man also happened to have an interest on literature. While your friends went out to do random shit together, you were the one staying back home because ofcourse, messing around in random amusement parks wasn’t your thing. You liked staying in the background like an adult, watching the kids have their fun and guiding them. Could you really blame Aizawa for falling in love with you?

Then again, you were his student. That made all the perfects imperfections because he shouldn’t be looking at you this way. Little did he know that his feelings weren’t one sided. You had a crush on your teacher ever since you stepped into UA. Did you feel guilty about it? Yes, yes you did. Did you ever think of confessing to him? No, no you didn't. You were okay with loving him from a distance because you knew that you would only create trouble for him if you were to come out about your feelings. However, you couldn’t help but show that you cared through certain gestures. You'd go out of your way to help him grade papers so that he would get a few extra hours of sleep. Every morning, you'd buy an extra cup of coffee or his favorite jello drink for him on your to school just to make his day more tolerable. You never expected him to return your feelings, however. He was your teacher after all. This was wrong after all.

Things were going fine to be honest. Both of you admired eachother from afar, knowing that confessing wouldn’t lead to anything good either way. That was until you were sent on a mission for your work studies. Your employer was busy with a different mission and your quirk was compatible against the villain you had to capture which is why, you were sent alone, much to Aizawa's displeasure. It wasn’t that he didn't believe in you because he did. He knew that you were strong but you were still a student. You didn’t have the experience that a pro hero had and they didn't even consider the fact that there may be unprecedented situations. Hence, he found himself staring at you more than often, trying to memorize every inch of you visible to him so that if something goes wrong he'd atleast... No. Nothing was going to go wrong. Not when he had something to do about it.

Hence, after class was over, Aizawa found himself following you discreetly, making sure that you didn't notice him. Aizawa was excellent at hiding his presence since that was the type of hero he was, which is why, you had no clue that he was following you. You followed the plan laid out by your employer flawlessly and almost caught the villain until a second party decided to show up. Aizawa recognized the other villain from his hiding spot. She had been wanted for quite long time however, before Aizawa got out of his hiding place to aid you, the villain had already used her quirk on you. Now that Aizawa had to choose between going after the escaping villains or checking on you, he did the latter since that's what a doting teacher who totally didn't have feelings for a certain student would do.

You were panting on the ground, your hands gripping the fabric of your hero costume near your thighs tightly as you were avoiding Aizawa's gaze. "(L/N), are you alright? How do you feel?" Aizawa asked you, worried. You tried to answer to him but you only managed to let out a patheric whimper. Only if you could stop how horny his voice was making you... Your whimper suddenly reminded the erasure hero of the certain villain's quirk. Cupping your face with one hand to make you look at him, he met with an extremely flushed expression from you along with lust blown eyes. The view before him did nothing but create a certain straining inside his pants. The villain's quirk made people horny, he recalled. Not having sex would make their body overheat and cause a complete organ failure, he remembered.

"S-sensei... I can't... I'm sorry..." you half whimpered half moaned as you hugged your teacher, desperate for any form of touch at this point. You couldn’t help it. His musky scent was way, way morr prominent to you now and your body was betraying your mind relentlessly. "Shhh (L/N)... It's gonna be alright. We need to get out of this alley first though..." Aizawa muttered, a small amount of pink dusting his cheeks. He was at loss on what he should do at this point. He knew that there was no other way out of it without you having sex at some point. Was he okay with you doing the deed with someone else all while he was aware of it? A selfish part of him told him that no, he wasn’t okay with it. Honestly, this was the perfect opportunity for him to get a taste of you. If things got out, he could tell everyone that he did it to save you. If you didn't return his feelings, this would be that one chance at ravishing you.

Shouta Aizawa was a good teacher and an honourable man at most parts. However, he didn’t hesitate in being selfish when his actions clearly wouldn’t hurt anyone. Which is why, he took you to his home. On his way, in the cab he hired, he explained the quirk of the villain to you. You tried staying normal as you constantly held hid hand, squeezing tightly as your horniness only increased drastically. By the time you reached his home, your legs were shaking and you could barely walk. Aizawa helped you walk into his apartment, avoiding picking you up since that would look awkward in public. By the time you were in his living room, your legs completely gave out as you were engulfed by his scent, the feeling of his touch messing you up.

"Sensei... I'm sorry.. Please... I can't take this anymore... Help me please...." you whimpered into his chest, hiding your embarassed face from him as the two of you sat on the ground. You knew things would never be the same between you and your beloved teacher anymore. Hell, he'll probably hate you for this. You were scared. Very scared. On the other hand, Aizawa was turned on beyond belief. Your soft whimpers, ragged breathe was just as good as he had imagined for months and more. He couldn't keep his hands off you any longer. He didn't intend to either. "I'm sorry, (L/N). I'll help you. I know you probably wouldn’t want me in normal circumstances but you don't have to talk to me again if this ends up making things awkward for you." Aizawa muttered to you soothingly before kissing you, making you lose all control as soft moans elicted from your mouth into his. Your clothes were taken off skillfully and fast as Aizawa touched your twitching groins. A rather loud moan escaped your mouth at that making Aizawa smirk. 'How cute...' he thought as he proceeded to enter a finger into your sopping pussy. However, your reaction to that was not quite expected. You flinched and held him tightly, biting your lips. He immediately took his finger out only to find blood coating it.

"You're a virgin?" Aizawa asked with a grimace. You were always popular among the class thanks to your maturity and he assumed that you had some experience. "Yeah... I've been waiting..." you gasped at the lack of his fingers. "I'm sorry, (L/N). I wish I could avoid this because this must be something very special to you and..." Aizawa was contemplating his decisions but you stopped him with a teary smile. "I was waiting for you... Please take me... I'm so happy now..." you told him, surprising him. These mere words made him feel as if his entire body was on fire as he kissed you furiously, gently easing his fingers back into you, waiting for you to adjust. His passionate kiss distracted you from the pain as he made you sit on his lap comfortably while you wrapped your hands around his neck. Just when you started bucking your hips towards his hands, he started pumping his finger in and out of you, adding an extra finger with time and stretching you out as fast as possible so that he could move to the main event.

"Let's take this to the bedroom shall we, (Y/N)?" Aizawa asked you with a lazy smirk as he looked at your disheveled self. You already had an orgasm from his fingering since he surprisingly was rather skillful in this department. You only gave him a lustful gaze as he picked you up only to place you on his bed moments later. "I need you... Please sensei..." you whispered to him, making him harder than he had ever been in his entire life. "God you're so cute..." Aizawa hissed as he unbuckled his pants only to reveal his huge length, precum dripping from the tip. Taking a box of condoms from the drawer of the bedside table and putting the condom on hurriedly, Aizawa positioned himself over your entrance as he rubbed his length on you a few times making you squirm before entering you in one go making you yelp in pleasure and pain. He tried his best to stay still, letting you adjust to his length but damn it was hard since your insides were squeezing him so deliciously, almost making him lose his sanity. However, Aizawa was a patient man and he would never hurt you. Just as you began to move around under him, trying to grind against him, he started moving. While Aizawa was a patient man, the way your pussy made him feel could break even the most patient man in the world. Hence, Aizawa just couldn’t help it but pound into you for dear life. While it hurted you slightly at the begining, in a few moments, you started to enjoy it just as much as he did. Your legs were wrapped around his hips as you marked his shoulders with your nails while you moaned loudly much to Aizawa's delight. A string of incoherent words escaped your mouth including something similar to "please sensei" and "more", which only increased Aizawa's determination on pleasuring you. His mission to make you a blabbering mess was infact successful since at the end of it all, you just went through your third orgasm for the day, you were drooling as your eyes were rolled back. You could barely speak as you moaned loudly, not aware of how loud you were being. At this point, Aizawa was chasing his own orgasm and he had to say, your state infront of him made sure that he was close, very close.

When Aizawa finally had his orgasm, he could say that this was the best sex he ever had in his entire life. Your overstimulated body laid under him, completely exhausted and panting while he laid beside you trying to catch his own breathe. That's when it all hit him like a brick. He fucked his student. Someone who probably told him that she was waiting for him only because of the effects of the quirk. What if you regretted it now? How could he show his face to you again? As if you were reading his mind, he felt you cuddle up to him with a shy smile on your face. Wrapping an arm around you, Aizawa asked with a stoic expression, hiding the insecurities inside him, "(Y/N), did you mean it when you told me that you were waiting for me?". It seemed as if the question made you even shyer than you were already as you hid your face on his chest and he didn't know what to make of it. "I had a crush on you ever since you stepped into the classroom for the first time in my first year and it only grew. I never told you because I didn't want to be a bother or get you in trouble. I understand if you don't return my feelings." you answered, your voice sounding rather sad. "(Y/N), I feel the same way. The only problem is, you're my student. Would you be okay with me taking you out after you graduate?" Aizawa asked you in a soft tone. You looked up at him, surprise and adoration lacing your face. "I... Ofcourse sensei..." you answered with a blush. "It's Shouta for you when we're alone, kitten. Except maybe in bed cause you look absolutely sinful when you're calling me 'sensei' " Aizawa smirked at you making you blush and hide your face on his chest yet again.

"Shouta? Remember when you asked me out?" you asked your husband as you looked at the album in your hand as you sat on his lap on a rainy afternoon. "Hmm... We had good sex that day..." Aizawa muttered lazily as he took a sip from the cup of coffee in his hand. "Huh? That's all you remember?" you pouted. How could he not remember the extremely romantic cuddling session afterwards? "Mhhm... Would it be weird if I said that it was kinda hot that you were my student back then?" he asked with a lazy smirk. It was both of your day off and somehow, the weather was extremely romantic at the same time. That was until your husband decided to act like a pervert and ruin the mood.

"You really are a perverted old man you know..."

"And yet you still love me, kitten"

[Author's note: Guess I kinda went overboard huh...👀. Alright, so I REALLY appreciate long asks with more description cause they are SO FUN TO WRITE cause they give me a better idea on how to write the fic. This was my most favorite ask so far tbh]

#bnha aizawa #aizawa shouta #aizawa smut #aizawa × reader #aizawa x you #shouta aizawa x reader #mha shouta #bnha shouta aizawa

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lcnelyinthesky · 3 years

Text

admiration - tsukishima kei

a/n: okay hi?? im ellie?? heres this??? i worked on it for like four? days?on and off? and its longer than any oneshot ive written but yk shes cute ig. pls be nice pls enjoy... but also my last piece got 2 notes and im really hopin in not shadowbanned here lmao

genre: fluff, angst, rivals to lovers!!

pairing: bisexual!female!reader x tsukishima kei (yes bi reader its a vibe)

warnings: a break up with a beautiful woman i made up myself, swearing

word count: 3.7k (ahhhh!!)

enjoy!! :D

Elementary second year. Your newly-assigned seat was next to a much taller, blond kid. He was smart and bright, rivaling the sun in terms of unbridled joy. Now, none of that can be seen by eight year old eyes, but looking back and comparing, it's easy to spot that he changed.

Tsukishima Kei was an excitable kid, just as everyone was, but he was still snarky; his arrogance seemed to be something that just festered within his soul, no matter the trauma that brought it out.

Childlike wonder is still alive and well at eight.

The teacher you had back then was quite rude. She was pushy and angry, and she assigned way too much homework. Everything she uttered made you huff in disappointment, crossing your arms and hoping for some sort of reaction from someone. The kid next to you was named Koji--or, at least, that's what you called him. He was your best friend, spending every moment with you like you were siblings. You'd be able to crack a joke with the smallest glance and you’d talk constantly. As soon as your handwriting was legible to people of your age group, you'd pass notes back and forth and cackle at their contents. Until, of course,

“Tsukishima, will you switch seats with Kojikata today?” Your teacher sounded exhausted, huffing her sentence out on a sigh before going back to the multiplication tables on the board. Suddenly, your little world was interrupted.

“Y/N, right?” He didn’t look at you, placing his folders down on the desk and pushing his glasses back up as he sat. His words were hushed and quiet, but the class had moved into individual work--he wasn’t interrupting anyone.

“Yeah. Can I call you Tsukki?” You were angry, gripping your pencil tighter in your little hand as you wrote numbers down on white paper. One times one is one. Two times two is four. This is easy.

“No,” he was long doing the same thing, but writing quicker than you. That’s how it is, huh?

Three times two is six. Four times five is twenty. Six times three is eighteen. Five times six is thirty. This is easy-

“Miss, I’m done.” His voice was always so dry. Uninterested.

Four times three is twelve. “Me too!” Your hand shot up with the paper in it, sending a death glare at the boy next to you.

That's how it is, huh?

This pattern continued for weeks. Tsukishima didn’t move from his seat next to you, as your teacher had made the realization that you worked far harder without friends around. Tsukishima lit a competitive fire under you; everything was now a race.

It started with handing in assignments. Who would go up to the front desk first to have their work checked over? Who would finish this quiz faster? Then it transferred into everything.

Who would get to class faster? Who finished their lunch quicker? Who could read faster? Who scored higher on spelling tests? Who could run faster in gym class?

And then it was middle school.

Middle school brought in Yamaguchi Tadashi.

It'd be an understatement to say he warmed to Yamaguchi quickly, but the basis behind that was strange. Tsukishima was never one for friends, even though everyone wanted to be friends with him. He was cool in the eyes of a handful of eleven year olds; letting everything roll off your back seemed to be an admirable trait. Yamaguchi worshipped him, and Tsukishima took him under his wing to teach him the ropes of being a cool kid.

At heart, though, Yamaguchi was kind and attentive. He could tell when things were going wrong, and supposedly it was him that changed the rest of your life.

The rivalry continued just as it had in elementary, just with higher stakes. You'd fight for answering questions first, working ahead of everyone else to just beat him. He’d never bat an eye at it, and sometimes you thought it was all over, but then

“Y/N.” Tsukishima Kei stood three steps behind you, looming over you with the height he was seemingly born with. The hallway was emptying by now, kids walking into their classrooms once again. The white floors rung with the quiet sounds of soft-bottomed shoes and a light above your head flickered calmly.

“Yeah?” You spun around to meet his gaze.

“What’d you get on that lit essay?”

“A 96. Why?”

“No reason,” he smirked and tilted his head up, looking down at you, “I got a 100.”

A huff and a stomp away gave him the answer he needed as he followed you into the classroom, sitting down behind you and next to Yamaguchi just as he did every day. The little shit.

Tsukishima was never better than you, technically speaking. On average and on paper, you were always both roughly the same. You'd fight for being top of the class, the position switching between both of you every day. You excelled in creative things while he excelled at sports, but both of you dabbled in the other. When people in your year began dating, everyone came to assume you two were. It was embarrassing, really, because Tsukishima Kei was a little shit know-it-all who will never beat me at anything ever and people need to stop thinking he will because he won’t I’m better than hi-

“Hey?” Oh right. Friends.

“Koji!” He never left, at least not yet. His nimble fingers tapping on your shoulder brought you back to reality, making you jump and turn around to face him, wrapping your arms around his body for a split second.

“You looked zoned” his face was riddled with concern that was easy to write off.

“Oh, whoops” a small blush heated your cheek as your hand migrated to rub your neck. “Did you want something?”

As you walked into the classroom a bit further, Koji sat on your right; he seemed to buckle down more when you had moved away from each other way back in the day, so there were less mid-class comedy shows. He grew up just as you had, and with the closeness of the two of you people began to think you were dating. At twelve, it was incredibly necessary to date someone--anyone. Theories bounced from everywhere and anywhere and with you it was either your best friend or your biggest rival. Your lack of attraction to either of them became the center of many late night crises.

“Not particularly,” his gaze switched from you to the board again, beginning to write something down when he turned his head. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Of course I am,” you smiled at him, the kind of smile that made your eyes crinkle at the corners, and suddenly it was high school.

“Tsukishima is really cute! And he's smart, I heard that Kageyama wasn’t too bright somewhere.”

“But Kageyama’s so much hotter! His being a little dumb sometimes is endearing.”

“Are we not going to talk about that third year setter, Sugawara?”

“No, he’d never go for a first year. Besides, that Hinata kid is more of an enigma.”

“Have you even seen them play?” A howl of angry “yes”s fell over the crowd, trying to prove something. None of them had ever seen them play.

That asshole Tsukishima getting popular felt like a stab in the soul. None of them knew him or how much he sucked, but the amount of girls fawning over him was horrific.

There's something consistently poetic about young love, no matter where it comes from. Something extra sweet about holding pinkies in school corridors when no one is looking and seeing them every day, smiling loudly as the sun broke over the horizon all bright and early. The raging hormones and dumb, fake social hierarchies of fifteen make emotions run wild, and only the deeply immature end up helplessly infatuated. Others are more cautious, but there's only so many precautions one can take at fifteen. Sometimes some of us just want to be loved, no matter the sincerity of it.

Cared for, and whatnot. No harm in that, in the long run at least.

“Y/N, right?” Her name was Mei. She was in your class; 1-4, just like Tsukishima. She was pretty. Long, black hair was preceded by two green streaks at the front. She’d always have those down, making her features look like a photo in a perfect frame. She had a collection of hair clips with small shapes on them that she’d have somewhere on her person at all times. Her more mid-sized body was paler than most, and she was covered in freckles and moles. Her eyes were an unusual shade of blue that looked deep enough to swim in. Her cheeks were always stained with a peachy blush that moved up her collarbones and into her ears, making her look like she was always smiling no matter what her face was doing. Karasuno’s school uniform did wonders for her curves, the skirt swaying up on occasion and making her look so damn perfect.

“Yeah! You’re…” a second of dumbfounded pause felt like years in your mind, coming to the conclusion that she was the most beautiful girl you had ever met. “Ojiro Mei?”

“Yep! I just wanted to tell you you looked really pretty today!” Her voice always had an upward inflection, and was higher than most. It was cute. Incredibly cute.

“Oh.” A moment of confidence fell over you like you weren’t in control of your actions, “you’re beautiful.”

“Thank you very much,” she bounced back on her toes and then rolled back to her heels, hands intertwined behind her back, “You’re too kind, Y/N.” Her sentences were always punctuated with an eye-crinkling smile.

Later that day, you found her on every social media account you could; she messaged you first.

When you don’t know you’re interested in women, it’s hard to notice that they’re flirting with you, but after a handful of supposed gay panic, you asked her on a date.

She was two inches shorter than you, and somehow that persisted no matter what shoes she was wearing. Every small outing with her felt like cloud nine--watching the sunset, small conversation over tea at a nearby cafe, cuddling in your bedroom with only a string of Christmas lights on. She always looked so wonderful in soft lighting, the potential cold of winter disappeared with pale beiges that made her freckles look like stars. Every action Mei ever did was soft and full of care. She could send every single emotion through her fingertips on your jaw, deepening a kiss you started moments before. She was like magic, until she wasn't anymore.

You supposed, when thinking back, that things fell out around month thirteen. The rose colored lenses everything was viewed through faded a bit, and it's easy to notice her pulling away. There were less late night phone calls and less recommended music and less hands running through your hair. Everything has a natural progression to the end, right?

“Do you still feel it?” It was raining. Large drops of water fell down to the floor, smacking the pavement at speeds you couldn’t even try to measure. She was wearing a bright yellow raincoat that looked almost dull in the four pm light.

“Feel what?”

“Anything, baby.” All of her words ended with a huffed out sigh, like she was tired of something. Lying, maybe.

You pondered the question, and it seemed like your hesitation gave her all the answer she needed.

“Ya know, Y/N.” She looked down and grabbed your hands with hers, rubbing her thumbs on your palms as you grabbed around them. “This was fun. We had a good run.”

A solemn tear fell down your cheek at the ending, but there was no use in self pity or anger now. She was so sweet and kind, and it's truly unthinkable how she continued that kindness in the end.

“Yeah. A good run.” The pink in your cheeks grew as you choked out a laugh, pulling her in for one final hug under the dim fluorescent lights on the front door overhang of the school.

Fifteen came and went with love, and when sixteen rolled around you wondered if you’d ever be loved like that again.

A spirit can't be broken overnight, and if you’ve spent the last eight years of your life having a strong, consistent rivalry with someone, it won’t leave any time soon. Tsukishima and you were on similar playing fields for most of your life, but you had one thing he didn’t: relationship experience. In that way, you always counted yourself one point higher, like a boy scout badge.

For a spell, however, your intensity changed. There was nothing more driving you than spite, and there was nothing you wanted more than to beat him. You were well into your second year of high school at this point, and--volleyball notwithstanding--you had wins over Tsukishima. You had seen him play volleyball, every match in his second year, and you deemed he was simply okay. You refused to count his success onto the list of wins for both of you.

June fifteenth. Tournaments were coming up around the corner when it happened, which explained every reason why he was there. You weren’t exactly prepared for the rain, so the best bet seemed to be sitting at the front entrance of Karasuno High School and wallowing in a little bit more self pity before you went home. You were just dumped after all, the tears weren’t done falling.

The feeling between sadness and shame overflowed you, shades of yellowish green painting the world around you and churning your gut into oblivion. And the tears fell. It felt like a scene in a movie; in a few seconds, a strong, capable man would show up to your rescue.

“Y/N?” what the fuck?

He was sweaty. His face was matte from a light film of saltwater. He had a grey umbrella over his head, keeping himself dry from the still-pelting rain. His six-foot-two frame was covered with a black tracksuit, and he still had his sports goggles on.

Those fucking sports goggles.

“Tsukishima.” you deadpanned, trying to get him away as fast as possible. His words were snarky, as always, but this time laced with concern. Like he actually cared.

“What are you still doing here? It’s almost six,” he stood under the overhang with you, crouching to take a few feet off of his incredible height.

“Sulking?”

“Ah,” he huffed and sat down next to you, “it’s not great for your posture, ya know.”

“Oh shut up, Tsukishima.”

“Remember when we were eight,” he looked up, studying the moths as they flew around the lights on the ceiling, “and you asked if you could call me Tsukki?”

“Vaguely, but we were eight.”

“Yeah, true” his head dramatically fell to his lap, staring at his knees as he chuckled, “but you can. Call me Tsukki, that is.”

An uncomfortable laugh fell from your lips, and he spoke for you, “this one kid, Koganegawa, the setter on Date Tech, calls me that too. It's not a Tadashi-only nickname anymore.”

“You say Tadashi-only like I wasn’t there first.”

“He never asked.”

“Would you have said no?”

“Probably” he hasn’t actually looked at you yet.

“Should I not have asked?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Okay, Tsukki” you drew out the last letter, giggling at the situation before you had time to think about your emotions.

He noticed that you weren’t crying anymore and helped you stand, grabbing your hand and pulling you up. Tsukishima and you lived closer than you thought, walking the same direction and only splitting up seconds away from your home.

You walked in silence the whole time, but it was comfortable. While he was your rival, he was always a friend. There was nothing scary or intimidating about him, as is with most people when you’ve known them forever; it was almost like his facade just didn’t work on you. You were huddled close to him to stay out of the rain.

The second you parted ways, you ran home. The rain was more of a drizzle now, but the temperature began a free fall--getting out of the cold as fast as possible was your first priority. Upon entering the front door and taking off your shoes and jacket, leaving everything to sit in the entryway, you took a shower. The rain didn’t do enough to wash away the pain of the day, and warm steam would let the rest evaporate. The expected unrelenting sadness wasn’t really present as much as was expected, though. Everything felt fine. Content. Okay.

And it continued that way. He sent you a snapchat asking if you had gotten home safely, which prompted a memory of you never giving each other your phone numbers. After a quick yes, tsukki. no need to worry ;), you sent him your number asking to play some game.

Whatever is meant to happen does, right? Any excuse for falling for him. You didn’t want to, of course, but things happen. Time changes. Thus, the excuses. Thus, the ignorance. Thus, the five stages of grief.

It started with the denial, because no Y/N you can’t like Tsukishima Kei. He’s so competitive and mean and snarky and horrible and you hate him! Then, the anger, because Tsukishima sucks and he’s horrible and you’re going to punch him in his stupid cute face. Next, the bargaining, because please don’t let this be happening you’ll do anything to lose these feelings, even if it means letting him win at something. Going into the depression, because all you’ve ever wanted was to be free of this assclown and now you’re stuck thinking about him at three in the morning when you’re supposed to be dreaming about anything other than him. And finally, acceptance, when you scowl at him in the hallway because fuck, you like Tsukishima Kei.

The worst bit of acceptance is getting over it. Now you had to confront your feelings. Now you needed to tell him.

It was roughly five months since he found you sulking on school grounds, and you regretted most days the way you let him text you every morning. It’d always be something stupid, like a joke about the novel you were reading in lit or sometimes he’d tell you, off hand, something dumb Hinata and Kageyama did at practice. Sometimes he’d text you, within the first twenty minutes of the school day, pointing out something little you did with your hair. They were never really compliments as much as comments; he’d say “your socks have a pink ring at the top” and give you nothing to work with from there. A simple yes would suffice, you always supposed, because “yes, tsukki. they do.”

He’d linger at his desk during the break between classes and would stay there if you didn’t leave, but would leave a few steps behind you if you did. He wouldn’t follow you, but he’d watch to know where you were going. Everything he did was concealed though--you'd only notice if you really wanted to know.

Yamaguchi was the only one to notice, even after a while of it. You’ll never know what he said to his friend, but the conversation you had with the aforementioned friend a day later gives some guesses.

“Y/N?” Tsukishima was never the shy type, and you knew him in the days where everyone was shy. He wasn’t loud, but he was bold. His words were always pointed and important. Everything he did always had purpose and intensity behind it.

“Tsukki?” You were sitting under a tree, enjoying the late spring weather of the beginning of your third year. Nothing became intense yet classwork wise, so there was ample time to chill on the school grounds. Overlooking the soccer field was a large oak tree. It was big enough to comfortably have multiple groups of people under its shade, but it was empty at the moment; save for you and the book you were reading.

“I was just wondering if you’d like to maybe go out sometime?” He somehow didn’t pause while talking, but his words came out more something akin to word vomit. You we’re more shocked than you should have been, if you had picked up on the signs. But you were feeling the same as he was, as far as you could tell.

“Sure, when?” You looked back down at your book for a second, placing the bookmark in it and folding the pages shut.

Tsukishima looked dumbfounded, standing there with his eyes bugged out and his mouth slightly agape. He started making unintelligible babbling noises, hoping to get something out that had any meaning at all. You took the reins instead, gaining confidence in his lack thereof.

“I was planning on getting coffee or something today after school. It gets really cold at night now, huh?”

“Yeah, I suppose.”

“Would you like to join me?”

“There's a break before practice today so” he hesitated, letting the pink in his cheeks finally catch up to the beating in his chest. “Sure.”

You wouldn’t have ever pegged Tsukishima Kei as the flustered type.

There was never a drop in conversation, as there never really was between you two. A whole life together and you still had things to talk about, mentioning everything from your individual childhoods to recent developments. Turns out he never knew what genre of books were your favorite. Or what kind of music you listened to. Or what any of your hobbies were.

Turns out you both had more in common than you thought, competitive spirits notwithstanding. Tsukishima Kei was a strange man in every sense of the word. He was arrogant and snarky and disinterested and bright and passionate and smart. He was your rival, smug look plastered on his smug face making your chest bubble in anger just as it had a million times before--or was that admiration this time? The world may never know.

All that was real right now was the deck of cards on the table, being separated out into a card game both of you learned as kids. The small, round, cafe table shook with every slap of your hands, but the basis of your relationship would always be competition. It's just that now the anger behind that competition was gone. All that was left was admiration.

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hyucks-archive · 4 years

Text

september 19.

word count: 7,342

genre: fluff

member(s): the one and only lee donghyuck

warning(s): it’s a sort of feel good fic, so unrealism™

author’s note: @haeloce has spoken - ask & you shall be given! this post is dedicated to you my love, thank you for always supporting my works

September 19, 2017.

You look up at the azure sky, the gentle autumn breeze causing your baby hairs to tickle at your face. You close your eyes, breathing in the fresh scent of what you imagine to be of wilting leaves and fresh pumpkins. You shove your hands into the pockets of your block-coloured cardigan; while most prefer to stick to the monochromatic nude colour scheme in the autumn, you like to do the exact opposite. Summer is your season for monochromes, while autumn is your season for colour. There’s just something about contrasting the seasons that you’ve always loved to do.

Pulling out the ticket from your jean pocket, you hold it up against the backdrop – you smile, tilting your head to the side, eyes going back and forth between the photograph printed on the ticket, and the actual, three-dimensional scene in front of you.

“Looks even better than in the picture,” you murmur to yourself, shoulders dropping in satisfaction. You bring your hand down, allowing yourself to really take in the entirety of the one place you’ve hoped to visit for more than half of your life – the Nami Island. It first became popular because it was the filming site for Winter Sonata, but that’s not the reason you’ve always wanted to come. It’s the actual view that you’ve always been drawn to; the tree-lined roads, and the maple and gingko trees that would turn golden red and bright yellow in the fall. Autumn has always been your favourite season, but you’ve never really been able to really drown yourself in the things that are said to define autumn as a season.

You’ve always wanted to visit. But you’ve always only wanted to visit on a September 19th.

Why?

Because you first discovered the existence of Nami Island back in 2008, on September 19. You’re usually not one to care for such things, but when you have close to nothing to really look forward to in life, visiting Nami Island on a future September 19 became the only thing you looked forward to. Yet, it took you a good nine years to get here, because every September 19, you were never able to take an off day from your job at the café.

This year, however, you finally managed to. Granted, you only managed to, because you decided to stop being a beta, and start being an alpha. In other words, you submitted your application for an off day back in January, at the start of the year. It’s only because autumn is the busiest season for the café though. Autumn is the time where everyone rushes in for the pumpkin-flavoured drinks and treats. Autumn is also somehow the season that’s the most associated with coffee.

Placing the ticket in your wallet, you slide your wallet back into your bag, finally ready to begin your exploration of the beautiful island.

As you walk, you’re warmed by the site of numerous families and lovers, who scramble about, trying to get the most scenic shots of the island. There are two toddlers who are fascinated by the squirrel that dashed across the pathway, and another three toddlers who are busy picking at the fallen, dead leaves, while their parents attempt to buy steamed buns as a treat. Further in, there’s a waft of coffee, a scent that is all too familiar to you. You look towards the somewhat populated, hanok-looking café.

The atmosphere is so different from the café you work at. Here, it’s tranquil, there’s beautiful scenery to motivate you, and there’s zero signs of the hustle and bustle of city life (which is something you seriously detest). There aren’t business people who rush in for an americano before zooming out of the door, and there aren’t students who hog the seats to mug for their exams (although, you’ve been guilty of that at some point in your life). It’s just people who are here to really take in the flavour of the coffee, and to appreciate everything about the island.

You decide to buy a cup of tea to-go, just to support the business.

With the warm beverage in hand, you continue to venture further into the island, eventually arriving at a water body at the end of the trail. You look around, scanning the area. It’s even more peaceful here than it was back at the heart of the island; there’s barely anyone here.

You spot a boulder under the tree, so you decide that it’s a sign for you to take a seat, to enjoy your off day, sipping on your cup of tea, while listening to the soft, gentle sounds from the water. You really like this. For more than half of your life, you’ve spent it being overwhelmed by crowds, working ‘till your arms and legs go sore, trying to “get ahead” of everyone else. You’ve always quite liked the feeling of sinking in work, especially labour work, because it takes your mind off of every other thing that went on in your life.

Now that you’re older, and your body isn’t as lively and healthy as it used to be, you’re beginning to learn the importance of taking breaks. Sadly, it’s a little too late. The reputation that you’ve established in the café that you’ve been working at all along, is one of the ‘perfect-worker-who-never-ever-takes-a-day-off-even-when-sick”. You have this whole thing about not disappointing people that’s going on as well.

Sometimes you really hate yourself for it. You scoff – who are you kidding? You always hate yourself for it.

Even the thought of it makes your nose sting and your lips quiver. You blink fast; it’s a technique you’ve come to master, and it works absolutely amazingly when you’re trying to hold back your tears. Not everybody can do this, so you consider it a pretty big talent.

You hear the sound of dead leaves cracking, so you turn your head to the side, where the sound had come from, only to be greeted by a gigantic brown bear, that’s holding a tray of tiny cups, that you assume to be samples from whatever store this bear’s a mascot of. You notice the sunflower that’s pinned to the bear’s chest, reading the text out loud, “Smile! It’s a beary sunny day!”

You break out into a smile, murmuring, “Not the first time I’ve heard that one.”

The bear holds out a tiny cup, allowing you to take a peek at the brown liquid that fills it. “Is this coffee?” you ask, looking up at the face of the bear. It shakes its head, pulling out a card that he had hidden beneath the tray. He passes it to you.

“Try our brand new bear liquid! Contains everything bear-friendly.” You raise a brow, looking back up at the bear, “You know that doesn’t sound very appetising, right? No one’s going to want to drink,” you hold up both hands, gesturing inverted commas as you say, “bear liquid.”

There’s a hint of a shrug from the bear, before it reaches behind itself, bringing out a mini sunflower badge. It holds the sunflower badge out in front of you, gesturing for you to take it. “You guys give sunflower badges for free?” you ask, bringing the badge up close to inspect it. “That’s kind of a good marketing idea, actually,” you say, spotting the name of the café printed at the bottom of the badge. “But it doesn’t seem very cost-efficient,” you continue, poking the needle of the pin through your cardigan, hooking it back in, securing the pin on your left chest.

“Thank you,” you say, patting the bear on its shoulder, “You’re doing a beary good job.”

The bear holds out a thumbs up, turning around to take its leave.

You watch the retreating figure of the bear, wondering how tiring it must be for the person that’s inside the gigantic bear suit. Luckily, it’s autumn, which means cool weather, but it also makes you think about how tiring it must be for the bear in the summer. Getting up onto your two feet, you smile to yourself, “Well, I have nothing to do,” you whisper, allowing the curiosity to take over you as you leap forward, taking hurried footsteps until you spot the bear a short distance ahead of you. “I guess you’ll be my entertainment for the day,” you conclude, grinning widely.

You continue to follow behind the bear, taking cover behind trees whenever it gets stopped by a bunch of kids and their parents who wants a photo with it. It continues to give out the bear liquid, but you also notice that even though it has interacted with more than 50 different people, it hasn’t given out another sunflower badge. You wonder if it’s because it isn’t allowed to give out too many of those, which, obviously, would make sense. Then again, what makes you legible for the sunflower badge, and not the rest?

The thought swims around in your head as you continue to trail behind the brown mascot, the tiny cups of bear liquid slowly reducing in quantity.

You stare at the teddy bear sunflowers that decorate the exterior of the café. “Oh, that makes sense,” you think aloud, finally understanding why the mascot of the café is a big brown bear, along with the sunflower. You take a seat on a wooden bench, crossing a leg over the other, sipping on the tea that’s now cold.

Finally, the bear finishes giving out the samples of bear liquid. You watch as it poses with different children who are so amazed by the big, live-sized, animate bear. You take another big gulp of tea; it must be tiring, not only does it have to wear that heavy, stuffy bear suit, it also has to continuously entertain the tourists that come by every day. Because you’re so engrossed in your own thoughts, you fail to notice that the bear has spotted you. It wonders why you’re here.

“Oh, gosh,” you gasp, body tensing up for a split second. The bear is now suddenly in front of you.

“Hello,” you greet, smiling. The bear bows its head. There’s a pause, then you decide to break the silence with, “Do you talk?”

The bear gestures at its wrist, before folding an arm, resting its chin in its paw, tilting its head to the side questioningly. “You want to know the time?” you gather from its gestures. It nods its head, so you check your watch. “It’s seven thirty-two PM,” you inform. The bear claps its paws excitedly, and you react with a confused smile.

“I can talk now,” he speaks, sitting himself down beside you. “Don’t you have to work?” you ask.

“It’s two minutes past my shift,” he replies.

“Cool,” you say. You lick your lips, pursing them, then deciding that you should ask the question that would get you the answer you’ve been wanting to know. “Hey, can I ask you something?” you start. The bear turns to look at you, “You followed me all the way here just to ask me something?”

“Well, kind of,” you say, “Technically, I derived the question after following you.”

“So you admit you were following me?”

“I didn’t deny it to begin with,” you state nonchalantly. You can hear the bear smirk under his bear head. “You’re honest, I like that,” he says.

“Thanks,” you reply.

“Go ahead,” he cues.

“Why’d you give me a sunflower badge, but not anyone else? I thought this was part of your café’s marketing.” You point at the sunflower that’s still pinned to your cardigan. You hear the bear chuckle under its mask, its body folding forwards as he does so, a sign of amusement. “I gave it to you because I thought you might need it,” he explains, almost matter-of-factly.

You’re slightly stunned by his reply. You think back to the situation earlier – you were busy dwelling in the thoughts that make you feel sad, that by the end of it, you were blinking away tears. Just how much of that did the bear see? You’re uncomfortable just by the thought of it; it doesn’t feel right at all knowing that someone might’ve caught a glimpse of your weakness. You don’t want that. You don’t think you can live knowing that someone potentially saw you struggling.

“But don’t worry,” he begins, as though reading your mind, “I’ve already forgotten everything.”

“That doesn’t really reassure me,” you say, eyeline falling to the ground. The bear leans his body forward, mirroring your position. “It’s human,” he says. Your eyes travel up to look at his bear face. “I get really frustrated sometimes, too. But I don’t go all the way to an offshore island to release the stress,” he pokes, eliciting a small smile from you.

“I didn’t come here specifically to destress,” you share, “I came because I’ve been meaning to come for nine years already. I just only found the chance to now,” you finish.

The bear looks at you through its mesh eyes. When he first spotted you back by the water body, he saw the way your brows knitted, the way your lips quivered, and the way you were quick to blink away your tears. He felt bad for imposing on a moment that seemed so private, but he would feel twice as bad if he had just walked away, pretending like he didn’t see what happened. So he decided to build up the courage to go up to you – it worked out really well that he’s in the bear suit. In fact, it’s working out even better now, because he can stare at you, and you wouldn’t even know. He can sit beside you, talk to you like it’s nothing to him, because all you see, is a big, brown bear.

Still, he can’t deny the slight fluttering in his heart. It’s cliché, and it’s definitely not right. But he can’t deny, that he’s attracted to you. It’s superficial, he knows. But he’s also only going to be able to see you today, and today only. After which, you’d return to the mainland, while he’d remain here, continuing his job as a mascot of the café.

He likes the way you’re smiling fondly, just at the thought of being able to finally visit the island you’ve been longing to visit.

“Do you like the island?” he asks, mentally slapping himself for not being able to come up with a better question.

“Of course,” you say, beaming. “It’s everything I imagined. And,” you pause, “I got to meet a really friendly bear, too.”

His heart does another thing at your declaration. It’s foolish, he’s well aware. But again, tonight’s his only chance to experience this. Then, you’d be gone, and he’d be back to his regular daily routine.

“Do you live on Nami island?” you ask.

“I don’t. I take the first ferry here every morning, and the last ferry back every night. The pay is good, so I don’t mind the tedious travelling,” he shares. “Wouldn’t you rather just live on this island?” you question. “Do you know how expensive that is?” he replies.

You shrug, “Wouldn’t your total expenses spent on travelling equate to renting a place here?”

“I travel for free,” he says, “The boss pays for that. I bring in customers by wagging my bear butt, so it’s a fair exchange.”

You laugh, amused by the way the bear phrases its words.

“Must be nice,” you say.

“What about you? You look like a student, so I’m assuming you work part-time?”

The bear notes the smile you force out. He can see the slight bitterness peeking from your eyes. He mentally slaps himself a second time – he must’ve said something wrong.

“I’m actually taking a gap year right now,” you share, “So I’m working full time, to save up for school.”

He understands now. It’s odd, to say the least. He feels a form of connection with you, even though he knows this’ll never come to fruition. Still, even if it’s just for tonight, he’d like to be able to just talk about what he’s been bottling up for the last few years with someone. Even better, that this someone is someone he mildly feels attracted to, and whom will go back to being a stranger after the conversation.

“Somehow, you’ll feel that whatever you make, it’s never enough,” he begins, turning his bear face away. You wait for him to continue.

“No matter how much I earn, it’s not enough. I was once naïve enough to think that I’d be able to eventually fund myself to do the things I want to do, but as I’m ageing, I’m starting to understand that that’s not possible. It’s all fiction. Fantasy. It’s all what I conjure up in my head.”

Your shoulders sink upon hearing what he has to say. Why does it seem to hit the exact points? Why do you seem to be able to relate to his plight? In other words, there are other people out there, dealing with the exact same things as you?

“Don’t say that,” you manage out, trying to think as positively as possible for the both of you. “Money doesn’t buy happiness.”

The bear turns to face you, tone serious as he says, “Yeah, money doesn’t buy happiness. But money buys you the things that make you happy.”

You feel a sting in your heart. You’ve always tried to psycho yourself into believing that what you’re going through isn’t so bad. That you’d still be able to be happy, because money doesn’t buy anyone happiness. Because of that, you’d always feel guilty for not being able to find contentment in your situation. You thought it just meant you’re greedy.

You realise now, it doesn’t.

You try your best to paint on a smile. But the bear knows well enough that it’s all pretence. He wishes you didn’t have to try so hard to be okay. At least, not in front of him.

“Who knows where we’d be a year from now? We might even be doing the things we like,” you say, feigning a tone of excitement.

“We wouldn’t know where each other is a year from now,” the bear says.

“Will you still be working here, a year from now?” you ask.

“I’ve been here for six years now.”

“It must’ve been cute, to be able to see a bear mascot getting taller every year,” you comment, lightening the mood. You can hear the bear smile, which makes you smile in return. The bear’s heart does another flip.

“Anyway,” you say, “How about I see you, a year from now, right here?”

The bear’s breath stops for a moment – are you for real?

“Really?” he asks. You nod your head. “Really.”

“Okay,” he agrees, though you can’t see the goofy grin on his face.

“What’s your name?” you ask, only realising now that you’ve basically revealed just about everything about yourself to him, excluding your name, yet you don’t even know what he looks like under that bear mask.

“Donghyuck. Lee Donghyuck.”

“Donghyuck,” you repeat after him, smiling, “Nice name,” you say, telling him your name in exchange. “So Donghyuck,” you say, getting up from the bench. “A year from now, I hope I can walk away with my memory of you, not being a bear.”

Donghyuck chuckles, agreeing.

“See you in a year, y/n.”

September 19, 2018.

You hold the bag of carp bread to your chest, your heart filled with excitement. You’ve practically anticipated for the entire of 2018, for the 19th of September to come. It’s interesting how just one conversation, of course, filled with mutual understanding and relatability, had created such a connection between you and Donghyuck.

There hasn’t been a day where you didn’t find yourself thinking about Donghyuck. You’d wonder if he had earned enough to do something he likes. You’d wonder if he’s staying adequately hydrated despite the scorching sun. You’d even wonder, if he still remembers his promise with you. A part of you is obviously afraid that after making a trip down to Nami island, that the boy in the bear suit would’ve completely forgotten about you. A part of you is afraid that when you greet him with a smile, he’d look at you with confused eyes, questioning how you know of him.

Then again, an even bigger part of you is simply hopping around in absolute joy at the mere thought of being able to reunite with a friend. You’ve never been able to meet anyone that could relate to you, the way Donghyuck can.

Upon arrival on the island, you rush off the ferry, immediately heading towards the café he works at. It’s close to 5PM in the evening. You were held up at work, because your boss had insisted that you at least take the morning shift, which made you jittery the whole day because you weren’t sure if you’d be able to make it. Luckily, it wasn’t that busy today, so you were even let off ten minutes prior to the end of your shift.

Just as the café comes into view, you spot the giant bear hobbling about, playing around with the group of kids. You immediately break out into a bright smile, a sense of relief washing over you. At the very least, he’s still here, like he said he’d be.

You bring up the bag of carp bread – will Donghyuck like this?

Donghyuck smiles at the adorable children who are rushing to cuddle him. He isn’t sure of the exact time, but he can tell that more than half of the day has gone by, and there is still no sign of you. He’s beginning to think that maybe he shouldn’t have been so naïve in the first place, gullible enough to think that a random stranger would actually come all the way back to the island just to meet with him again.

Heck, he’s in a bear suit. Nobody’s ever going to like a person that’s in a bear suit.

“Look here,” a mother coos, holding up her camera. Donghyuck bends down beside the child, holding him close as the mother begins to snap numerous shots of her baby son. “Thank you,” the mother says, reaching for her child as she presses a loving kiss to his forehead, gushing as she whispers praises to her little boy. Donghyuck has a pursed smile on his face; must be nice for that kid.

Donghyuck isn’t given the chance to dwell on the topic because a rush of kids come by, screaming and yelling excitedly at the sight of the bear. He joins in, chasing the kids around, and that is when he spots the one person he’s been waiting for (a whole year).

You’re standing there, a bag in hand. He isn’t even able to control the smile that spreads across his face.

“Hey!” a child shouts, tugging at Donghyuck’s bear leg.

You bring the bag of carp bread back to your side, smiling widely as you make your way towards the bear. As though working in your favour, the kids begin to clear just as you approach your friend. You give a small wave, your heartbeat picking pace in fear that he might not remember you. Just as quickly, though, your heartbeat slows when he returns the wave. He points at the wooden bench that you were seated on a year ago, and you get what he’s trying to say immediately.

You head over to the bench first, taking a seat as Donghyuck poses for a few more pictures with different children.

Once he’s done, he jogs over, stopping a small distance in front of you.

“Look what I brought!” you say excitedly, waving the bag in the air. “It’s carp bread, because bears eat fish,” you giggle. You thought you were really witty to have thought of such an idea.

Donghyuck chuckles. Now it’s his turn to feel nervous, because he’s going to have to remove his bear suit to reveal himself, like he promised.

“Are you going to change out of that?” you ask, looking on with anticipation.

“I’ll be right back,” he says.

You wait patiently for the boy to return. He does, within five minutes. He tries to soothe his hair down as he approaches you, moistening his lips with his saliva, tugging at the end of his hoodie to make sure he looks decently presentable.

You look up, meeting eyes with a tanned skin, lean-looking boy, who is making his way towards you. You raise both brows – is that Donghyuck?

Sure enough, the boy stops just in front of you, scratching the back of his head in an attempt to let out his nerves. He smiles shyly, formally introducing, “Hi. I’m the boy in the bear suit.”

Your encouraging smile calms Donghyuck’s active nerves. He looks at you in the eyes, the same feeling of attraction he had felt a year ago, still evidently present a year later. He wonders if you feel it too.

“You know, you kind of look like a bear,” you comment, eyeing Donghyuck up and down. He rolls his eyes in response, scrunching his nose, “I don’t.”

“Here,” you say, holding out the bag of carp bread. “Eat your fish.”

Donghyuck scoffs, feigning offence, before taking the bag from you, and taking a seat on the bench, gesturing for you to sit beside him. He brings out a carp bread, splitting it down the middle. He hands you a half, and you take it graciously, biting a chunk off. “So how has your year been?” you start off, still in a little bit of disbelief that this is how Lee Donghyuck looks like.

For a whole year, the only image you’ve had of him, was the brown bear suit, with the sunflower badge. Even when you tried to imagine what he looks like under the mask; you’ve never came to the visual image of the being before you. He’s good looking, obviously, and by that, you mean that he’s way better looking than you had imagined him to be. There’s something that’s just really cute about his small little button nose, his doe eyes, and his round face.

“What you said was true,” he says, swallowing. “2017-me would’ve never been able to guess where I’d be a year later,” he continues, “I’m learning how to dance.”

You smile in pleasure, “I’m so happy to hear that.”

Donghyuck returns the smile. “What did you do for the past year?”

“I saved,” you say, smiling proudly. “I saved enough for now, so if I keep the momentum going, I’d have enough for university, too.”

“Then I guess it’s mandatory for me to tell you that you’re doing a great job,” he commends.

You feel something stirring in your heart. You’ve never been told that before. It feels funny, now that you’ve heard it. Donghyuck notices the change in your expression, and somehow, he knows the reason why.

“You can always come to me to brag and show off,” he says, tone gentle and encouraging. “I’ll always tell you how you’re doing a good job.”

You look at Donghyuck, meeting his eyes. He’s sending you signals of comfort through his gaze, and you’re receiving them well. Somehow, it’s only the second time you’re having a conversation with him, and it’s the first where you’re looking at the actual him. Yet, it feels as though he’s impacted your life even more than the people who’ve been in it for way more than he has.

“Want to know a secret?” you ask. Donghyuck nods his head.

“Back when I was younger, I was walking beside a classmate in school. We were about to go down the stairs, but she tripped on her own shoelace. She rolled down the stairs, and laid unconscious,” you recall, letting out a deep sigh at the end. Donghyuck looks at you with a brow raised, “And?” he prompts, urging you to continue.

“You’d think my first reaction would be pure concern for that classmate,” you say, focusing on the dead leaves that decorate the ground. You kick at a maple leaf, “But it wasn’t. When I saw the way everyone rushed forward, all attention on her, I thought to myself, ‘why wasn’t I the one who rolled down the stairs?’,” you take a pause, turning to read Donghyuck’s expression. He doesn’t seem to have any real thoughts about what you said.

“Twisted, right?” you end off with a pursed smile.

“No,” he states, taking another bite of his carp bread, completely unfazed.

“No?” you repeat.

“No,” he reiterates.

“Why not?” you question.

“Because,” he says, “It’s not abnormal to think that way.”

“You don’t have to side with me just because we are friends, you know?”

“I’m not. I just think that it isn’t crazy weird why you thought that way.” He says, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s kind of like how it is in my dance class. There’s this guy, his name is Jisung. He’s younger by two years, but his talent is more than double of mine. He gets a lot of love and attention for being the youngest of the team, and for being the talent that he is. Sometimes, when I see the way he gets praised for executing a move really well, I’d think to myself, ‘why wasn’t I the one being praised? I thought I did the move pretty well’.”

You chuckle at his kind attempt to try to make it seem as though what you had thought at the time was normal, though the circumstances are obviously far from being similar. Donghyuck is sweet, to say the least.

“I’m sure you dance well,” you say, eyeing his long legs, “You look like you’d dance well,” you correct.

“I’m serious about what I said though,” he says, reverting the topic, referring to how he’d be willing to listen to you brag any time.

“I might just take you up on the offer,” you reply, “As long as it remains valid, for a long, long time.”

“Are you trying to tell me to stay in contact with you?” he questions.

“You mean you didn’t intend to?” you raise a brow.

“You’d know where to find me when you need me, but I can’t say the same for myself for when I want to see you,” Donghyuck says, looking at you expectantly. Can you take that as a confession? Did he just say that he wants to see you?

Then again, so what if it is a confession?

You’re well aware of how you feel about the boy. You know that there’s a connection. You know that sparks are flying. You know. You know it all too well. But how can you be sure that Donghyuck is meant to be something more? You met him under circumstances that most wouldn’t even consider normal, and it’s barely the second time you’re talking to him. How can you be so sure, that he’s supposed to mean something more to you? How can you be sure that you’re only feeling this way, that you’re only feeling the butterflies and the somersaults inside you, because you’re truly attracted to him, and not because of how he makes you feel?

He makes you feel understood. That’s unfamiliar to you.

“Please,” you begin, in an attempt to try to brush off what he had said. “I kind of like that we see each other once a year.”

Donghyuck feels a light sting in his heart. “Why?” he asks.

“It makes our friendship special. How many people can say that they know of someone, who becomes their friend, on only one day out of the entire year?”

Donghyuck fakes a smile, “So you’ll be back in a year?”

“Yes.”

Donghyuck nods his head. Maybe he should just be happy that this means he’ll get to see you, at least another time, a year from now.

He shouldn’t be too greedy, right?

September 19, 2019.

It’s the third time that you’re going to be meeting Donghyuck. You’re starting to kind of understand what people mean by ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’. Oddly enough, in the past year, Donghyuck wasn’t just a passing thought like he was in 2018. This year, he was quite a prominent thought. Sometimes, you’d even have sleepless nights, spent tossing and turning, just thinking about him. You’ve even gotten the urge to just go online to search for him, but there are so many Lee Donghyucks in the world, that you weren’t sure if you’d be able to find the exact one. It would also be a breach of your friendship terms, since the both of you are supposed to only rekindle every September 19th.

Today, you managed to take the full day off. You check your watch – it’s 10:47AM. Why have you arrived at Nami island at such an early hour? Knowing fully well that Donghyuck has a shift to fulfil?

Simple.

You miss him. A lot more than you’d like to admit.

Sounds silly, you’re obviously aware. How can you develop feelings for someone that you only see once a year, and that you barely know?

You’d like to think it’s just because of how curious you are as a person, which results in constantly being curious about Donghyuck. But again, that’s just you trying to talk yourself into denial. No matter what you say, you can’t deny that you’ve debated over fifty times about coming to Nami island before the 19th of September, knowing fully well, that he’d be here.

But every time you were about to purchase the ferry ticket, you’d stop yourself.

A year may have gone by, but the same worry still remains.

How can you be sure, that his presence in your life, is meant to be something more?

“Hey!”

Your attention snaps up to the familiar voice, the voice you’ve only been able to think of for the past year.

“Donghyuck?” you murmur. He isn’t in his bear suit today.

He dons a bright smile, jogging over towards you. “We must have more telepathy than we’re aware of,” he comments, chuckling to himself. You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you ask, “You’re not working today?”

“I took the day off,” he says. “I didn’t think you’d actually come this early, though.”

“And what if I didn’t?”

“I would’ve sat at that wooden bench until you showed up.”

His non-hesitance as he said that elicits a feeling of warmth to spread through your entire body. Donghyuck really makes you feel things, huh?

“You’d do that?” you ask, just so you can hear it loud and clear. Donghyuck smiles, nodding his head. “You would’ve done the same. Otherwise, what did you intend to do while waiting for me to end my shift if I were working today?”

Your smile only widens.

“What do you have planned for the day?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he replies.

“Shall we find somewhere to sit and eat then?” you suggest.

So five hours later, you’re seated opposite Donghyuck, empty plates and half-empty cups between the both of you. He has his arms propped on the table, listening intently to whatever you had to say. Conversation is easy when it comes to Donghyuck. He shows you that he’s listening. He makes sure to pay attention to what you say.

You feel the connection growing by the minute.

“That doesn’t justify why you’ve never dated anyone before,” he says, shaking his head disapprovingly as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Says you,” you retort, “But I’m sure if I showed my co-worker a picture of you, she’d go crazy.”

Donghyuck chuckles, “You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m not!” you defend, trying to put on the most serious expression you can possibly make. “She’s cute too. Come to think of it, she’s totally your type.”

Donghyuck furrows his brows. “What makes you think I’m into cute?”

You smile, rolling your eyes. “Okay, then what is your type?”

“Shouldn’t you know best?”

Silence.

Donghyuck’s just staring into your eyes.

Your heart is thumping so hard, so fast, you’re starting to lose feeling in your hands and legs.

You let out an awkward laugh – there’s no denying it this time. It’s definitely a confession.

“Very funny,” you say, trying to change the topic. “I have to leave already, I’m working a full-day shift tomorrow and I’m in charge of opening,” you say, getting up from your seat. Donghyuck follows after, allowing you to lead the way out of the eatery.

“Hey,” Donghyuck calls, taking your wrist in his warm hold, turning you around to face him. “Don’t you think it’s about time to tell me where you work? Or where I can locate you? Or your number, at the very least?”

You’re looking into Donghyuck’s eyes, and you can see the sincerity. Like him, you want this to be something more. But you can’t just turn a blind eye and rid the fact that you’re just not sure of what might happen in the future, and that’s what scares you. You don’t want to commit to something, at the expense of knowing all too well, that you might get hurt. What if Donghyuck was never meant to be a part of your life? You’ve seen it in the movies – when you let someone in, and they weren’t supposed to be in to begin with, it only ends in tears and sorrow.

“Look, Donghyuck,” you begin, trying your best to think of a way to get your point across accurately.

“What makes you so sure that we’re meant to be something more?” you ask.

Donghyuck’s brow twitches, a sign that he’s taken aback by your question.

“See? You don’t know it yourself. What if we commit, and it just bites us in the back?”

Donghyuck runs a hand through his hair, “How would you know that?” he counters, “What if it doesn’t?”

The both of you just stand there, looking into each other’s eyes, trying to find the answer you’re both looking for.

“I believe in fate,” you say, breaking the eye contact. “On September 19, a year from now, I’ll be working at the café,” you continue, eyes finding its way to meet Donghyuck’s once more. “It’s located in Seoul. If, on that day, on the 19th of September, 2020, you’re able to somehow find me, I’ll take it as the sign that you and I are meant to be something more.”

Donghyuck furrows his brows at your proposition, “But Seoul is so big, how am I supposed to-”

“If you can’t find me, it just means that’s the end of our connection,” you cut in. “And you can’t cheat. You can only start looking on September 19.”

Donghyuck thinks it’s the end. He doesn’t think it’s possible. But if he wants this enough, he’s going to have to try.

“Promise?” you ask, putting out your pinkie finger.

“I promise,” he says, hooking his finger with yours, pressing your thumbs together.

What’s going to happen a year from now?

September 19, 2020.

“Here you go, enjoy your drink,” you greet, passing the iced americano to the man in the suit. He tilts his head in gratitude, before scurrying out the door. You take a moment to stare at the door, it’s going to be afternoon soon, and there’s still no sign of Donghyuck. You wonder if he’s even taken up the challenge, and is actually going about Seoul right now.

“Why do you keep staring at the door today? Are you waiting for someone?” Eunha, your co-worker, asks. You shake your head, shrugging, “I just can’t wait to knock off, that’s all,” you lie. Eunha furrows her brows teasingly, leaning in close as she says, “Please, I’ve worked with you for years now. That isn’t your ‘I-can’t-wait-to-knock-off’ look,” she says, pulling back.

You roll your eyes, hitting her on the arm lightly, before re-busying yourself with preparing the orders of the customers.

Another few hours go by, and now, the sun is beginning to set.

“You’re staring at the door again,” Eunha lilts, a teasing smile on her face as she sips at her coffee. “Stop, I’m really just excited to knock off soon,” you say.

“If you want to knock off so bad, you can knock off now,” she says, placing her coffee down on the counter. “I’m cool with closing on my own tonight.” She blinks her big eyes a few times, smiling teasingly, knowing that you’d deny her offer.

“I can’t do that to you,” you say, laughing awkwardly, “Think about all the times you sacrificed your nights staying with me for closing. I ought to return the favour.”

“Ought?” Eunha repeats, giggling to herself. “You’re definitely hiding something.”

You roll your eyes, moving on to do the dishes to avoid slipping up any further.

Donghyuck sighs, coming out of the eighth café he’s looked into today. As expected, this is basically mission impossible. How is he supposed to be able to find you, when you didn’t even bother with giving him any clue aside from that it’s located in Seoul?

He looks around, trying to spot any other cafés that might be in the area, before he’d move on to the next.

There’s still a good few hours before the end of September 19.

He might still have a chance.

You bite down on your lip. It’s five minutes to closing.

“I guess we weren’t meant to be,” you murmur, eyes refusing to leave the doors.

“Whoever it is you’re waiting for, they’ll show up,” Eunha chimes in, continuing to wipe down the counter.

“What makes you so sure?” you ask.

“Because it’s my first time seeing you anticipate something like that,” she says. Eunha might not be someone you contact outside of work, so it’s easy to forget how well she knows you. But Eunha is right. You've never anticipated anything this much.

“I hope you’re right,” you say, pursing your lips.

You didn’t know it a year ago when you made the proposition, but you know it now.

You really want to see Lee Donghyuck walking through those doors.

But as the time slowly dwindles away, you can’t be sure that it isn’t just your own wishful thinking.

Donghyuck kicks at the pavement, running a hand through his hair. The day is almost over, and still, no luck. He has been to eighteen different cafés already, and there’s just no sign of you.

If only he didn’t have to work the morning shift, then he’d have more time to actually look in more cafés.

He stops a short distance in front of the nineteenth café. He isn’t usually one to believe in anything like fate, but he’s desperate at this point. He looks to the sky, clasping his hands together, “Please. Make 19 our special number. Please let y/n be in this café.”

Taking in a deep breath, Donghyuck walks forward, towards the café.

Eunha checks the time, then looks over at you. You're sitting there, dazed, expression blank. She purses her lips in sympathy, calling out, “Do you want me to lock the doors or wait another f-”

Eunha is cut off when the bell chimes. You immediately turn towards the entrance of the café.

It's Donghyuck.

Oh gosh, it's actually Donghyuck.

Donghyuck makes eye contact with you. A sense of accomplishment and warmth overwhelms him. You feel your nose stinging, and your heart swelling.

“Sorry, we’re cl-”

You don’t know what comes over you, but you run forward. You throw yourself into Donghyuck’s arms, hugging him tight.

“Okay then, I’ll be over there,” Eunha says, excusing herself.

You pull away.

“You found me,” you sniff, grinning wide.

“I promised I would,” Donghyuck replies, reflecting your expression.

“I guess we are really meant for something more,” you mumble, taking in the moment.

“So,” Donghyuck says, holding out his phone. “Can I finally have your number?”

#nct scenarios #haechan scenarios #haechan fluff #haechan #nct fluff #nct imagines #haechan imagines #nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct haechan #fic #fic: september 19

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ill-go-with-that-then · 4 years

Text

Some Young Erasermic Because I Love Them With All My Dumb Heart

During their third year at U.A., Mic, Aizawa, and Kayama once passed an afternoon taking dumb personality quizzes. The results were predictable and obvious: Aizawa was logical, Kayama was ruthless, but Hizashi’s answer was a surprise - he was a romantic. The question that pushed him over the edge was “what kind of gift would you like best?” And Hizashi had chosen “something homemade! It really shows you care!”

Shouta had never considered that. He’d picked “C - whatever I need most” so the idea that the effort to create the gift could count for more than its overall value was a revelation to him. This explained why Hizashi hadn’t looked too excited at Shouta’s gift of an umbrella on his previous birthday. But! July was coming, and with it Hizashi’s 18th birthday. It was a month away, Shouta still had plenty of time to make... something.

But what?

The obvious solution was a mix CD. Hizashi loved music, it was the perfect choice. Except... the only songs Shouta knew were from the CDs Hizashi had given him. He tried combining his favorites into one CD, but they just didn’t sound right, Hizashi must have put them in a better order or something - this wasn’t good enough at all. Besides, Shouta thought, Hizashi knew all those songs anyway. That wouldn’t be a good gift. He should make Hizashi a cake!

But... baking was so illogical. If you turn the heat up higher, the food should bake faster! It doesn’t make sense that it doesn’t! It doesn’t make sense to put salt in a cake!! Cakes are not salty!! And if you put Hizashi’s favorite candy in the batter, the cake should end up being that flavor!! Not some weird, lumpy mix of plain and over-sweetened.

Anyway, after the third fire, Shouta was banned from the kitchen. He had to think of something else.

Other failed gift experiments: a knitted scarf (he kept snapping the needles), a drawing of Hizashi as a pro hero (according to Kayama, it looked like “goth jeanist who stuck his finger in a light socket”) and a photo album (turned out Hizashi was the one who took all the group photos.) Finally, it was the night before Hizashi’s birthday and Shouta had nothing - not only that, but he’d spent almost all his money on the other attempts. As a last ditch effort, he started listening to old episodes of Hizashi’s podcast, hoping it would give him SOME idea, ANY idea of something Hizashi might want.

Shouta listened to podcasts for five hours before he accepted that Hizashi never talked about anything he might like for a gift. He talked about everything else: music, the local hero scene, new All Might movies - even the cats at the cafe they frequented. But as hard as he tried, Shouta couldn’t think of anything that would make Hizashi happier than he was when he described the cafe’s new kitten stealing Shouta’s scone to the few dozen people that subscribed to his podcast.

At that thought, Shouta stopped banging his head on the desk long enough to blink. That was it - the perfect idea. He didn’t have any more money, but he didn’t need any, the supplies for it were already in his room. It would be a long night, but Shouta had spent longer nights on less important things. He got to work.

He and Hizashi met up for lunch the next day - Shouta had offered to take him someplace better than the cat cafe, but now he was glad Hizashi had said no, since cake and a bubble tea were about all he could afford at the moment. After they ate their food, Shouta shoved a clumsily-wrapped package across the table. “Here,” he said, already blushing. His mind worked furiously as Hizashi excitedly undid the wrapping. This was a bad idea. Why had he ever thought he could make anything? Hizashi was going to hate it, and worse yet he was going to be polite about hating it. If Shouta moved now, he could be out the door and halfway down the block before Hizashi knew what happened. There was still time to get out of this.

But Shouta didn’t. He just sat quietly and waited for Hizashi’s judgement.

“REALLY?????” Hizashi screamed when he saw the gift. His jaw dropped, but he was still smiling, like Shouta had given him something perfect and valuable, instead of just one of his t-shirts with some yellow paint on it. He held the shirt up to his chest - it would fit, and you couldn’t tell it had been worn, Shouta thought. The black was a little faded, but that was fashionable, right? Wincing, Shouta wished he’d done a better job with the paint. The letters were wobbly; Put Your Hands Up!! was legible, but with Present Mic took a little puzzling out.

“IT’S MY PODCAST!!” Hizashi shrieked, his grin even wider somehow. “THIS IS AWESOME!!”

Realizing that - just maybe - Hizashi wasn’t only being polite, Shouta decided it was time to move on to part two of the gift. Smiling a little awkwardly, he undid the zipper on his hoodie, revealing his own shirt - the twin of Hizashi’s. The writing on his was even messier, he’d given Hizashi the better attempt, but Shouta figured this was the true test of whether or not it was really the thought that counts.

“OH MY GOD!!” Hizashi pressed his hands against his face, overcome. “This is the best day of my life!!!! Can we get a selfie??? I NEED A SELFIE OF US!! SHOUTA PLEASE!!!”

“It’s your birthday,” Shouta shrugged, blushing even harder. “Do what you want.”

It’s illogical to carry photos - why would you, when they can be stored digitally and accessed from anywhere? But to this day, Aizawa keeps a copy of this one in his wallet, just the same.

#erasermic #maizawa #my writing #my ramblings

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 3 years

Note

Okay what about going to the pumpkin patch and carving them with Calum

I can do that. Reader Insert. No gender or race.

Halloween blurb night going until 8PM PDT. Writing for Shawn Mendes, 5sos, Harry Styles and FAHC.

See the Halloween Blurb Night Masterlist.

Enjoy my complete masterlist.

_____________________

The air is crisp but not too cool as you sit out in the backyard. Your cup of tea is still steaming. Calum’s mug of coffee is creating small tufts of clouds as its own warmth escapes it into the cooler air. The beanie on Calum’s head is low and covers his forehead and ears as he stands, green bag in hand and tying it close. Duke trots up to the door that leads back inside. The thud of the garbage bin top hardly disrupts the call of the birds flying over head.

“Halloween’s soon. Want to do something?” Calum asks after going inside to wash his hands and settling back down next to you. After the mugs are emptied, the two of you will take Duke for a walk and then the rest of the day will be all to yourself.

You shrug. “Like should we throw a party?”

“Believe me when I say there are plenty of others that have that covered. But possibly a pumpkin carving? Just us? I dunno. Or a group if you want.”

“The patch in town’s probably got slim pickings now.”

“I know about one a little further out that Luke told me about. He and Sierra went to the one close by and said there wasn’t much left to it either.”

“I’d be down for a road trip,” you agree before taking another sip from your mug. The tea’s still warm enough that the moment it touches your tongue you recoil slightly. “Gagh!” you exclaim.

Calum chuckles from next to you. “Patience, young grasshopper.” He digs in the tease by taking a pointed sip of coffee.

“Curse your burnt nerve endings.”

Your walk with Duke is nice. Most of the neighborhood hasn’t waken up yet. It’s early and the sun’s hardly turned the sky a hazy pink to signal the start of the day. As Duke pulls a little on the leash, his nose dug brushing the base of a bush as if something is wrong, Calum makes a quip about being a better pumpkin carver than you.

“That’s a lot of talk there,” you laugh, gazing up into the more normal sky. The sun’s climbed out more from the horizon, the sky it’s bright blue. “Put your money where your mouth is?” you asks.

“You the betting type?”

“Against you, Hood? Any day of the week. But we need to find out who’s judging?”

“Poll on IG. Let the public decide,” Calum returns.

“Fine by me.” The three of you soon start back up and then loop back around to the house. The scents are as new this time around as on the initial loop. Duke is content just to trot along. Back home, you shower and change. You find that it’s at least an hour and half drive so while Calum gets ready, you decide to put together a little basket with some snacks and something for lunch.

“Having a picnic too?” Calum asks as he slips into his leather jacket, noticing the basket in your head.

“Just some snacks. In case.”

He kisses the center of your forehead. “Snacks are always important.”

The two of you discuss what’s the best shape of pumpkin to get and what ideas you have. Though the conversation slowly fizzles out and the twinges of the guitars swell around you from the radio. Gazing out of the window you watch the buildings pass by you. It’s all stationary. All unmoving but somehow constantly moving forward too. And maybe that’s just you. Maybe that’s just you constantly moving forward and like from the window of the car it all seems to be moving with you.

A hand settles into your knee and without thinking you wrap your fingers around Calum’s hand. His thumb brushes along the skin of your hands and it’s just comfort--that’s all you can describe it as as the world stays and you move and Calum rubs and your hand.

Calum takes your hand as you walk into the patch itself. There are more pumpkins that you anticipated being left but you can still some haven’t weathered the test of time too well. Calum spies a pretty decent looking section and tugs on your hand before nodding in that direction. You follow behind him. Pausing him only once to show him the teeny tiny pumpkins. He laughs at the way you pout.

“Go on. Grab one,” he encourages and you zip off to grab the most robust looking one of the tiny ones. It fits all too well in the grip of your curled palm and you finally come to the section Calum noticed.

You turn over pumpkin, pressing inspecting them and trying to envision your design onto it. Calum goes off a little ways, not too far but he too is inspect his choices. You find one that’s tall enough to handle the idea you had for a little cartoon like ghost on the pumpkin and still have some width to it. Clutching your pumpkin close you set the tiny one on top and trot over to Calum, who’s crouched now, tracing over a pumpkin with his fingers. It looks like he’s spelling out something, but you can’t be sure.

“That’s a thinkin’ face if I ever seen one,” you tease.

He looks up, the sun casting the perfect glow around you and the fly aways of your hair. “Yeah thinking of all the ways I can kick your ass carving this pumpkin.”

You scoff. “You don’t have a tiny one. Clearly, two pumpkins are better than one.”

He laughs. “Clearly.”

“Can we stop by a craft store too? I don’t think we have paints at the house and I have an idea that involves painting the tiny one.”

“Yeah, we can make a stop.” Calum places the pumpkin back onto it’s bottom and searches around for another moment. He spies another one that he thinks might be wide enough for his plan. He stands with a small grunt and throws a pointed finger up at you. “Not a peep.”

You roll your lips together to keep the snicker at bay and trot behind him as he carries on and squats yet again at another potential canvas of the squash variety. He traces again with his finger and you watch out over the patch to take in the sounds of some children and possibly teens laughing. Their smiles are big as they survey their pumpkin pickings.

“Alright, you all set?”

“Been set,” you return still watching the young group pick up pumpkins to each the group.

After paying for your pumpkins you set them into the trunk and Calum pulls out the basket. There are some benches right on the edge of the makeshift public lot and Calum suggest a small reprieve to munch on the snacks you packed. Though the food break is short, you enjoy taking the moment just to sneak jelly onto the tip of Calum’s nose.

“Hey!” he calls out with a laugh. He scrunches his nose and face up when you stretch across and lick it off. “You’re disgusting.”

“And you taste like grape jelly.”

Back home, with pumpkin carving sets and paints spread out on the table in the backyard, and old newspapers from the local gas station covering the table, the two of you set out to cut open, deseed, and carve your pumpkins. You sit across from Calum and can only see the way his tongue peeks out from his lips as he takes the sharpie carefully over the ridges and bumps of the pumpkin.

You cut open and pulled out the seeds to the big one but switched to painting your tiny pumpkin first so it could try while you wrestled with your actual carving. The little witches hat is perfect on the tiny one and you set it off the side before exhaling and turning to you big on.

“Scared now? Got you shakin’ in your boots, I reckon. Going up against a professional.” Calum grins, driving the tiny saw into the rind. His sleeves that he previously rolled up are starting to slip.

“You wish. I’m exhaling because I know you want to, but you’re too scared to show that I’m getting into your head.”

Calum pauses, eyebrow raised but you’ve turned attention back to your carving. And it’s true. You are in his head. But not the way you think and the shakes come back. They first started in the pumpkin patch. He was going to stick with you until you picked yours but he needed a moment to breathe. His plan would work. It would all work out. You two had been dating for three years at this point. You had moved in with him. You two had worked out so that you’d spend Christmas one year with your family and the other with his--but you always made sure on the years that you spent Christmas with your family, that you spend News Years with Joy and David in Australia.

You coming home for the holidays, or Calum coming home with you weren’t even a point of discussion--in that it was a big deal. Everyone’s family just knew. Where one of you was, the other wouldn’t be far behind. And it all just fucking worked out. So this would too.

You giggle to yourself, setting the tiny pumpkin into the tiny whole you made so that the hat lines up perfectly onto of your cartoon ghost who’s smiling and there’s a tiny speech bubble with “Trick or treat.” It’s such a silly design but you’re so proud of it, even if your finger are covered in black paint and smell like pumpkin guts.

“Totally kicking your ass, Hood.”

He scoffs. “I doubt it.” He looks at his pumpkin. He couldn’t go with the full design--he needed two pumpkins he realized when he got the patch. He couldn’t get two big ones it would be too suspicious. But the tiny ring he might’ve butchered attempting to carve it with his lack of art skills but it’s not terrible. The question is still legible and that’s the most important.

You put in a tiny tea light and watch the ghost flicker and hand one over to Calum too. “Done?”

“Not quite.”

“Okay. I’m just going to start cleaning up a little bit.” The newspaper holding the pumpkin guts is thankfully layered a few times so it doesn’t make a huge mess as you walk over to the garbage can. You take the hose to try and get the paint off but you efforts will work best with soap and water.

As you settle back down at your side of the table you take a picture of it and watch the way Calum fidgets across from you. “You okay? What’s going on?”

Calum really is a do-or-die situation. He’s already got the pumpkin carved. He just needs to ask. “Not-nothing. It’s okay. I’m done now.” He looks up to you with a tiny smile. It wavers for a second but he continues on before you can ask again. “Reveal on the count of three.”

“Yeah. One.”

“Two.”

“Three,” you two say together and spin the pumpkins around. You hear Duke’s small bark and check for a second but he’s off in the corner tussling with one of his toys and your turn your attention back to the task at hand.

As you turn back around there’s tiny ring box sitting next to Calum’s pumpkin. Open to a gold band. It’s ornate but still simple without being overly decorated with gems. Marry me? is carved into the pumpkin. You gasps looking up to find Calum and he’s hand settles onto your knees, bringing your attention to your side. The tears blur his face for just a moment.

“I know you hate too much attention and even the thought of asking this in some stuffy overpriced restaurant wasn’t ideal for me either. But we’ve had a really great three years. And I love you. I don’t know how else to say it is. I want as many years with you as you’ll give me. So, will you marry me?”

You nod before your teeth, tongue and lips and push out the word, “Yes.” Once you can speak, you chant yes over and over even as Calum slips the ring onto your ring and you slip down out of your chair to burrow your face into his chest. “Oh my god, yes. I’d be so honored to marry you,” you exhale bringing your head up to gaze at him. “So, so honored.”

The kiss is soft and short and you both giggle into you. “My ghost pumpkin seems so stupid now.”

“Your witch ghost is so cute. And thank you. For allowing me into your life.”

#calum hood #calum hood fluff #calum hood imagine #calum hood x reader #calum hood x reader insert #calum hood blurb #5sos #5sos blurb #5sos fluff #5sos imagine #h writes #halloween blurb night 2020 #asks #answered #anon

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nothingeverlost · 3 years

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The Most Brilliant Idea, or how Sirius Black Accidentally became a Romance Novelist (HP, Wolfstar)

In which Sirius has a Brilliant Idea, Remus is gainfully employed, James is clueless and Lily is always right.

Unmitigated fluff with minor references to the first war, AU because James and Lily didn’t die.

It started with the classified, the first bit of proof that everything that happened was really Moony’s fault. There was always a classified ad in the kitchen, even when Moony was working, part of his optimistic opinion that any job could and would end. The classified ads were always marked in pen, and one could tell just how Remus thought his prospects fared based on how he’d marked a job. Some were viciously scratched out (potions expert and anything with ‘night shift’ in the description) some were circled multiple times (he usually came away dejected from those interviews, things he actually wanted but rarely got) some had question marks and some had a single bold circle. It was the single circle ones that were the best prospects.

On this particular Tuesday morning while Sirius drank his tea and dripped jelly on a story about Minister Fudge’s election, the only ad that was circled was one looking for a book editor. It was commission work, the sort of things Moony did from home sometimes. It suited him, both because he was such a stickler for commas and spelling and because the flexibility meant that moons didn’t present a problem. The only downside was that it was sporadic work, a book at a time, and didn’t bring in enough income to make Moony feel like he was Contributing to Household Things. Sirius always rolled his eyes. Moony was the most stubborn person he knew.

It was then that he had his Most Brilliant Idea. What Remus needed was a constant stream of editing. Someone who would keep him employed on a regular basis with things a lot more interesting than editing a technical manual on the care and keeping of flobberworms.

“Lily I need to borrow some books.” When someone had a Brilliant Idea they had to start right away, so his first action was to floo to the Potter home. He was distracted for half an hour by Harry who insisted on a hippogriff ride and a sword fight, and he wouldn’t be a proper godfather if he said no to either, but after that it was strictly business.

“The only books we have here that you don’t have are meant for a three year old. You and Remus had quite the library between you,” Lily replied after telling both him and Harry they could only have two biscuits. Sirius took a third, but split it in half so it didn’t count. After all, two and a half was practically the same as two.

“Not true. Moony and I don’t have any of those girly books,” he said with his half a biscuit in his mouth.

“You want to borrow my romance novels?” Lily asked, puzzled. “I don’t know who you’re trying to date, Sirius Black, but romance novels aren’t actually meant to be used that way.”

“Like I need help,” Sirius said with an eye roll. Sure, it had been a while since he dated but that was totally his choice. He had a lot on his plate right now with a godson that needed his attention and Moony needing looking after and his three days a week working for Quality Quidditch Supplies. “They’re for Moony.”

“Somehow I doubt he knows that.” Lily rolled her eyes right back at him. “Take as many as you like, and don’t worry about when you get them back. It’s not like I have much time for reading when I have three boys to look after.”

“Something you want to tell me, Lils?” He looked at her stomach pointedly and wondered if they were really ready for another Prongslet.

“Yeah. You and James are more work than Harry and he has the excuse of being three.” But she gave him a bag for the books and sent him home with a plate of biscuits, warning him that she would tell Remus that she’d sent them so not to eat them all in one go. It was like she didn’t trust him or something.

Once he had the books stage one of The Plan could begin. He’d read a few of the romance novels when he was bored and they seemed like the easiest book to write. Certainly they weren’t anything Moony read so he could borrow a bit from others and no one important would be any the wiser. Over the next few days he spent most of the time Moony wasn’t around reading, stashing the books in the closet so they wouldn’t be seen in case Remus came in his room for late night chats or early morning bed sharing. It was a habit that they’d never quite left behind in school, especially when either of them had a nightmare. With the war almost two years gone the nightmares weren’t as frequent but they were always a good excuse if he needed company.

Stage Two of The Plan had a few false starts, as writing a book proved to be a little trickier than he figured, considering how many books he’d read. Finally though after twenty-six days he had a story written. The pining of Sigmund G Toadsnatch for Anastasia Flower ended in a passionate snog and a happily ever after. It was time for Stage Three.

“I need your help.” The moment Moony was gone for the day he popped around to the Potter home again, this time with manuscript in hand.

“Harry managed to get jam in his hair at breakfast and I have to give him a bath. Can it wait?” Her arms were full of a squirming toddler, anxious to greet his ‘Padfoo.’

“I’ll give him a bath,” he offered.

“The last time that happened you flooded the bathroom and transfigured the soap into a boat.” She carried Harry up the stairs. Sirius followed.

“He came out clean, though. Mostly.” He might have missed a few spots, but no one was perfect and there had been an important battle with a giant squid that looked a lot like Harry’s toes to wage. “I need to know if you have any friends that have girly writing and want to earn a few quid.” He plopped himself on the edge of the tub after stowing his manuscript on higher ground.

“You need what?” it was really quite impressive how she managed to run the bath, undress Harry, and listen to him.

“Alright, so this is the part where I have to swear you to absolute secrecy. Unbreakable vow kind of stuff. You can’t tell anyone what I am about to tell you, not even James.”

“You know James and I don’t keep secrets.”

“It’s not a big secret, just a little baby one. The more people who know the more likely it is that Remus will know that people are keeping something from him and then the whole thing will be ruined.” Besides Prongs would never let him hear the end of it if he knew what Sirius was doing.

“I will consider not telling him, once I know. That’s the best I can promise.”

“I guess that will have to do.” He was certain she’d see reason, or more importantly his side of things. “Now about your friends.”

“Do I even want to know what girly writing means?”

“You know what I mean. When you pick up something and you know a girl wrote it because there’s little hearts above the I’s and the ink changes color.” Not that Lily had ever done things like that. Her writing was perfectly sensible, not that it mattered. Moony would recognize her handwriting.

“Your handwriting is pretty fancy, with all those loops and the illustrations in the margins.” Lily made a few loops of her own, sending bubbled cascading into the tub to entertain Harry.

“One of the many skills a pureblood snob is required to learn, according to my dear old mum. Trust me I’ve tried mimicking James but it’s useless.” James wrote in a barely legible scrawl that only those with practice could read. Sirius envied him, though it had led to an accident or two over the years especially in potions and what time they were supposed to meet. “But it doesn’t matter, Moony knows my handwriting and that’s the whole point. I need someone to copy over my writing so he doesn’t know it’s me.”

“I think I need more focus and perhaps something to drink. Hold on a minute, will you?” Lily finished up Harry’s bath, keeping him long enough to dry his hair but giving up when he decided to squirm out of her hold and run away without his togs on. She shrugged. “Won’t hurt him to air dry.”

“James said the same thing once. It works better in a warm house and when you’re three, rather than when you’re thirteen and it’s snowing out.” He’d won the dare, though, and claimed it was worth it.

“Yeah, I remember that. Thought he was mental then. Now I know he is.” Lily headed for the kitchen and started a pot of tea brewing. “Now please tell me you’re not trying to get me to help you prank Remus. You know my rules.”

“It’s not a prank. It’s a Brilliant Idea to help Moony. You’re going to love it.” He couldn't hold it in anymore. “I’vewrittenabook.”

“Excuse me?”

“A book. I’ve written one and I’m going to send it to Moony to edit it, and then I’m going to pay him. But he’s not going to know it’s me so he’s going to accept the money without being his stubborn prideful self. When he’s done I’ll have another story ready and then he’ll be gainfully employed and happy and he won’t have to worry about what happens to his job when there’s a moon. Brilliant, right?”

“I’m still on the bit where you wrote a book.” Lily poured the tea and set a slice of quiche on a plate for Sirius. The spinach was in small enough bits that it didn’t actually look like a vegetable and he might not notice that under all the cheese he’d actually eaten something green.

“It’s not hard. I read the books you had and I wrote something like it. Boy meets girl. One of them annoys the other. There’s secret longing and someone trying to keep them apart and then they snog and everyone’s happy except the evil bloke who ends up in a cellar or something.” He shrugged and ate the food Lily had given him without much thought. He’d been so excited about the next stage that he hadn’t bothered with breakfast. “The book’s not really the important part, though, and there have to be bits to fix or else Moony won’t have anything to do. What’s important is that Moony doesn’t know it’s me. I have to rent an owl once it’s ready and send him a letter about a job. I have a name picked out already. Marmaduke Gaylord from Gaylord’s Romantic Press.”

“I don’t know why anything you come up with should surprise me anymore, Sirius Black. It’s completely bonkers and there’s probably fifteen different ways it could go wrong.” Lily reached across the table and covered one of his hands with her own. “It’s also unfailingly kind and possibly crazy enough to work.”

“Of course it will work.” Any doubts he’d had he’d buried down deep enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about them for a while at least. Probably not until the whole thing exploded in a very Sirius-like fashion.

As it turned out Lily did have a friend that could use a little spending money and had hand writing that, while not containing any hearts, was feminine enough to satisfy Sirius and more importantly wouldn’t be recognized by Remus. She rewrote the manuscript in her own handwriting. Sirius borrowed a typewriter from Arthur Weasley to make an official looking offer from the Gaylord Romance Publishers.

Stage Four was well timed, as Moony’s job in a muggle bookstore ended that week after the third time he’d had to miss work the morning after a full moon with no explanation. Sirius had made sure he was tucked into bed with a water bottle and a cup of tea with a warming charm that would last at least an hour, then nipped over to Diagon Alley to rent an owl for a single trip. The offer letter and manuscript were bound together. For an added bit of cleverness he’d asked the clerk to delay the delivery until afternoon so that Sirius could be home when the owl arrived.

“What could be so important about a romance novel that they’d be willing to pay this much?” By afternoon Moony was feeling well enough to be on the sofa instead of in bed. Sirius glanced at the letter Remus handed him and shrugged.

“Dunno, mate. Guess there’s enough people reading them to make it worth their while. The girls at school all read them. Tripped over them all the time in the common room.”

“They’d be better off reading Austen,” Remus groused but he was also quick enough to send off an acceptance letter with the owl. Sirius had a plan for that as well, and a newly rented owl post box.

“I’ll give you some quiet to work.” Sirius locked himself in his room, using the time to start his second novel, the story of five sisters all sorted into the same house and the rich pureblood transfer student who seemed rude but was secretly shy. The prat’s best friend was cheerful and had a crush on the main character’s sister.

“Comma,” was the comment he heard the most from the other room. ‘Why’ and ‘bloody hell’ and ‘you can’t do that to the English language’ were also common exclamations.

“Sounds like it’s going well,” Sirius said when his stomach was too loud to ignore.

“It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever read and the romance is dreadful but there are some bits that are hilarious, actually. Don’t know their goal but as a satire it’s not bad.” The stack of papers in front of him was all marked up in red ink worse than the first essay he’d ever written for McGonagall.

“I thought romances were supposed to be all sappy.” His main character had declared his love seventeen times. That was what girls wanted, wasn’t it?

“Fortunately I’m only supposed to edit the grammar and not the sap. I’m over my head on that sort of thing. Imelda Carson seventh year said I was the most unromantic boy she’d even snogged.”

“Imelda Carson is an idiot who is now breeding pink pygmy puffs and is completely single because no bloke was romantic enough for her. Besides you don’t like girls, remember?”

“I like girls just fine. I just don’t want to snog any of them or…”

“Smash your bits together?” Sirius offered.

“Yeah, exactly what I was going to say,” Remus said dryly. “I’m starved and close to going cross eyed from this editing. Whose turn for dinner?”

“I’ll start some steaks.” Sirius danced towards the kitchen. The Plan was going perfectly.

It seemed silly, really, to have a wonderfully written and perfectly edited novel and not do anything with it. The original plan didn’t take into account anything outside of making sure that Remus was employed, but when Sirius collected the edited manuscript from the owl post it seemed a waste to just throw it away or lock it up somewhere.

“I need a name.” It was just before lunch when he flooed to Godric Hollow, finding Harry just up from his nap and more than excited to use uncle Padfoot as a climbing toy.

“You know some people do give a little notice instead of barging in all the time. There’s a lovely front door on this house I don’t think you’ve seen in two years.” Lily winced when Harry’s foot found a foothold on Sirius’s crotch, but really the man deserved it.

“Other people aren’t nearly as entertaining as me.” Sirius winced as well and moved Harry’s foot a little higher, regretting it when the lad’s next handhold was his ear. “Now about that nom de plume.”

“I thought you were only writing so Remus could have an editing job?”

“Yes, but that’s no reason not to share my genius with the world.” He waved his manuscript over his head.

“How many times did Remus threaten to throw up while reading this drivel?”

“Only once but he edited that bit out. Not even I can be perfect my first time out.” Lily, of course, rolled her eyes for approximately the 42,596th time since she’d first met Sirius.

“If you’re serious about this we should do it properly. No more ridiculous names.”

“I’m always Sirius.” He couldn’t resist. After all the joke never got old, no matter how many times Lily groaned. “Too bad I can’t use my name. Imagine how dear old mum would roll over in her grave if she knew the sacred Black name was attached to a romance novel.”

“Sirius.”

“You’re right, Lils. If she got too excited she might reanimate and the world is not ready for zombie Walburga.” He shuddered dramatically at the thought, making Harry, now perched on his shoulders, laugh and say ‘again.’ Of course he obliged.

“Leave it with me and I’ll sort it out. I’ll have Molly redo a clean copy and send it off to Mary who’s a junior editor and a publisher. We’ll see what happens, alright?”

“This is why I love you, Red.” Sirius gave her a kiss on the cheek and handed her the manuscript so he could get down to what was really important; teaching his godson how to make bubbles in his milk.

Three months later Phaedra White was a published author. Sure, there wasn’t an enormous amount of money in a single book, but it was more than what he’d spent to pay Molly and Remus so it seemed profitable enough, and he was more excited than he’d expected to see it on the shelves of the bookstore..

In the next year ‘Phaedra’ wrote nine more books. More importantly with actual connections in the publishing world he was able to recommend Moony’s services to other authors, to the point that he began to worry that if Remus had too much work he might turn down the requests from Marmaduke Gaylord to edit Phaedra’s books.

“Get the bucket, Pads, I’m going to be ill. This is the worst thing I've ever read. Not only do I want to vomit but I think my eyes are bleeding.”

“It can’t be that bad.” His own book had arrived that morning but Sirius hadn’t known that Remus had started on it already.

“I don’t know how Gilderoy Lockheart got my name but I’m never editing a book for him again. Not only is it nonsense that clearly didn’t actually happen, but it’s badly written as well.” It was hard to tell from Moony’s tone what offended him more, but it was probably the bad writing.

“Wasn’t there a Lockheart a few years behind us in school? A gormless little thing that spent more time on his hair than anything else?” They didn’t usually pay much attention to Ravenclaws, but if he remembered correctly the boy had annoyed them enough that they’d pranked his hair blue once.

“That’s the one. What he knows about defense against the Dark Arts would fit in my little finger.” Remus pushed the manuscript away. “I can’t even look at this again until I have some chocolate.”

“I picked up a new stock from Honeydukes when I was at Diagon.” Rule number one for the care and keeping of your Moony was to always have a supply of chocolate on hand. “Why don’t you grab a bar and we’ll go out for a walk. It’s beautiful outside.”

“What would I do without you, Pads? Why don’t we pick up some curry while we’re out, my treat?” It was a plan, and they left the house shoulder to shoulder. Later that evening after he’d eaten Remus returned to his work. Sirius found him laughing, his shoulders relaxed, and not a single bucket around.

“Back at the Lockheart?” he asked.

“No, I’ve given myself a respite and picked up the latest White novel. You know this bloke is improving. It’s really kind of nice to see the balance of romance and friendship in here. Less sap and more affectionate teasing.”

“I thought that romance writer you edit for was a woman?” Sirius held his breath for a moment. Did Moony Know? He couldn’t possibly.

“I’m sure that’s what they want people to think, probably because most romance novels are written by women and I’d imagine they sell better. But I’m practically certain this is a bloke writing this. If the book centered around a flying motorcycle didn’t tip me off, the fact that the details about female anatomy are more vague than the male anatomy seems quite a clue.” Remus shrugged. “I don’t suppose it really matters, though.”

“No, I don’t suppose it does,” Sirius agreed.

“I need help.” The next morning Sirius showed up at the Potter house in the middle of breakfast, not knowing what time it was. James was still home, which was not the most favorable thing that could have happened.

“Help with what?” Prongs asked as he broke a banana into pieces for Harry.

“Nothing at all,” Sirius lied. “Just a question for Lils about a girl thing.”

“Dating someone you haven’t mentioned to us yet?” James cocked his head to the side. “It’s been a while since you’ve mentioned anyone.”

“Yeah, well it gets to be all the same after a while, doesn’t it?” Truth was he hadn’t had a date in ages. His free time was taken up with writing, and the rest of the time he was with Remus, or Prongs and his family or both. Lily had them over to dinner once a week at least, somehow thinking they couldn't take care of themselves properly. His social life worked out pretty well, except for the lack of shagging. He did miss that sometimes, but not enough to bother with finding a date.

“Not when you marry the love of your life and the most perfect person in the world.” James, of course, couldn’t help looking at his wife. Sirius was torn between wanting to gag and feeling a tight ball in the pit of his stomach that he’d never felt before.

“It’s been six years since you married her, Prongs. You are going to be a little less sappy at some point, aren’t you?” Of course considering how close they’d come to losing each other it was understandable. And Sirius was happy for them, but as a sibling it was his job to raz James as much as possible.

“If you don’t like it you do know where the fireplace is, Sirius.” Lily was careful when she stood up, her belly now heavily swollen. Potter number four was due in less than a month. “Come on, you can wash up dishes for me while you tell me what you need.”

Dutifully he followed her, ignoring Prongs’ questioning look. When the water was running he looked around to make sure they weren’t followed. “I need to know more about girls.”

“Excuse me?”

“Moony’s figured out that Phaedra White is a bloke. Says there’s not much detail about women’s bits and things in there and that it sounds more like a bloke or something. I don’t know. My first thought was that I could use some polyjuice and spend an hour as a woman but that’s a month of work just to make the potion plus it tastes disgusting.”

“I’m not going to ask why you know what polyjuice tastes like. I don’t want to know who you were or when or if my husband was involved.” Lily rubbed her stomach absently. “Your books are selling surprisingly well, I wouldn’t change things now. Besides you should know at least the basics about women.”

“I know that their breasts are nice and soft, most of them like to snog, and redheads have very good aim.” Or maybe it was just one specific redhead, who proved his point by throwing a spoon at the back of his head.

“Obviously rumors at school had to be taken with quite a few grains of salt and I know some girls exaggerated because it was good for their reputations for it to be known that they snogged the ‘great’ Sirius Black” Lily’s voice was dripping with sarcasm and she stuck out her tongue for good measure. “But you did date a fair bit, and I myself witnessed at least some snogging. Are you saying you never…”

“Did the no pants dance? Nah, girls are nice for kissing and easier for dating but for the whole naked tango I prefer a blokes ‘bits.’”

“Huh. I was dead certain about you and that Hufflepuff in sixth year.” Lily shook her head, bemused. It wasn’t like Sirius had ever hidden the fact that he liked boys as well as girls. “But if you’re here to ask me about my ‘bits’ that’s where I draw the line. We’re close, Sirius, but not that close.”

“You are the best sister a bloke could ever hope for, Lil my love, and as such that is a completely disgusting idea that I would never suggest. I was thinking you might have a friend.”

“I am not pimping out my friends to you, brother dear.”

“You try to set up Remus sometimes.” And somehow each time Remus came down sick and couldn’t come to dinner.

“I worry about Remus being alone. Do you know when he last went on a date?”

“Sometimes in the seventies, probably, and he’s not alone, he has me. What could be less lonely then having me as a roommate?” Other than a bit of time during the war he and Remus had lived together since leaving Hogwarts. It worked well for them both, and honestly the idea of Remus dating made his left shoulder blade go all tense. They took turns making dinner and washing up, cleaned the flat together on Mondays and read out bits of their books to each other as they shared a sofa in the evening. If Remus was spending his time with someone else there would be less of the enigmatic little half smile that made his day better. And at some point Moony would have to share his furry little secret and what if they took it badly and hurt him? Or worse, spread it about? Sirius would have to kill them and then he’d go to Azkaban and then Remus really would be alone. It would be a disaster.

“Sirius have you ever considered…” Lily stopped, wincing a little and struggling to pull herself up. “This little one has great aim and likes to kick mummy’s bladder. You’ll have to excuse us, Sirius. And find your own dates.”

He did find his own dates. Three of them, in the next month, and twice with the girl from the local coffee shop. And though the snogging was nice he just couldn’t get interested enough in taking it farther, not even in the name of research. Sighing he decided he was just going to have to keep doing what he was doing. Besides, having Moony suspect that a romance novelist was a man was a far sight from having him suspect that it was the man he lived with so he was still safe enough. After all who in their right mind would think that Sirius Black was writing romance novels?

When he got home from his last date he found a note stuck to his door in Moony’s careful hand. The word ‘St Mungo’s’ might have worried him if not for the ‘Baby Potter on the way’ underneath. He took a minute to change into something more comfortable, remembering that Harry had taken hours to arrive, and apparated to the maternity ward.

“You brought work with you?” Remus was already there, sitting in the waiting room with a quill in one hand and a stack of pages on his lap.

“You know how long Harry took to make an appearance. Might as well pass the time in a useful manner.” Remus looked up at him, head cocked to the side. “How was the date?”

“Bit boring, to be honest. I think I’m out of practice.” Dating used to be more interesting, but halfway through he’d found himself wishing that he was on the sofa throwing popcorn at Remus and asking about his latest book. The editing of the Lockhart book and its ridiculous lies was keeping him well entertained. “Speaking of the sprog, where is my favorite godson?”

“Lily’s friend Molly has him. The one will all the redhead kids, you remember?”

“Yeah.” Molly happened to be the friend that rewrote everything he wrote. No reason for that to make him nervous, though. “She was Gid and Fab’s big sister.”

“Yeah, she was.” It was never easy to think of the casualties of the war so Sirius tried not to think of them, not even the ones with hair and hearts like fire who he’d shagged once. Gideon had been one of his first crushes in school, and a compatriot in war.

“What are we working on tonight?” Sirius tried to take a look at his papers. “Anything good?”

“Something very frustrating, at the moment. The latest Phaedra White.”

“I thought you said her books were getting better. Seemed to me you quite enjoyed the last one.” He took great pride in the fact that he’d made Moony laugh more than once, and that it came back with hardly any notes other than the usual missing commas and split infinitives. The ending, Moony had declared, was only as sappy as was necessary for that sort of story and not bad at all.

“It’s stupid. I’m just the editor, there’s no reason for the direction of the plot to bother me so much.” Sighing, Remus put the quill down.

“I’m sure the author is grateful for your notes. You said she’s listened to them before, hasn’t she?” Of course he knew the answer. He’d written three thank you notes for changes the Remus had suggested, and every time Remus had been right. Merlin’s pants, Phaedra White was actually making best seller lists and had been mentioned in Witches Weekly twice, and Sirius wasn’t too full of himself to know how big a part Moony played in that. His publisher was trying to make him do a book signing at Flourish and Blotts, and didn’t understand why he kept saying no to the publicity.

“This isn’t the same situation. It’s not a small change to a scene, it’s the whole romance that feels wrong.”

“You read me a bit the other night, between the bloke and his best mate that made you laugh.” He’d found the byplay between his main character and his friend to be the most fun part of the book to write.

“That’s the whole problem. Byron and George have this great relationship. The scene where George is trying to convince Byron to go on the date feels almost like…”

“Like what?” There were times that Sirius totally wished he could talk through scenes with Remus while he was writing. He’d had to bite his tongue more than once when he remembered that he hadn’t sent a story to Moony to edit yet.

“Like he was trying to cover his own feelings for his friend. The chemistry between the two blokes is more natural and interesting then the bits with Byron and Melody.” Remus picked up his quill again. “Now you see why I can’t write that suggestion. I’m not about to tell someone to trash half their story and turn it into a gay romance.”

“Moony, w-”

“She’s here.” The door to the waiting room crashed open and Prongs came running out, tripping over his feet in his hurry. “I’m a dad.”

“You’ve been a dad for almost five years, Prongs,” Sirius couldn’t help but tease him.

“But never to a girl.” It was funny how big Prongs’ eyes could get. “Merlin’s elbow, I have a daughter.”

“Most of the bits are the same, mate. You’ll be alright.” Remus shoved his papers and quill into a bag and took out a flask. “I think this calls for a drink. Not too much, or Lily will kill us all, but just to celebrate.”

“You think of everything, Moons.” Sirius shouldn’t have been surprised, it was very like Remus, but there was something about drinking out of the flask immediately after Moony’s lips had touched it that felt different.

“You’re brilliant, both of you. In a minute we can all go in and you can meet my daughter.”

“Poor Lils, she’s got three kids on her hands now.” Sirius pointed to the dopey looking expression on Prongs’ face.

“I think you mean four kid, Pads. After all she has to deal with you as well.”

“Her name is Olivia Marlene.” Lily had that exhausted but happy glow of a new mother when they were let in to see her. The baby she held looked pretty much the same as Harry the first time they’d seen him, the dark hair on the top of her head and the splotchy looking face.

“It’s a good name. Strong.” Moony nodded solemnly. “Marlene would have been proud.”

“Marlene would have rolled her eyes and called me daff,” Lily said with only a hint of moisture in her own eyes. “But if my daughter is half as fierce she’ll be able to do anything.”

“Moony, ready to say hello?” James took his daughter from Lily and held her close to his chest.

“Let Sirius go first, I’ll hold her in a minute.” Sirius had been the first five years ago, when Harry had been born.

“Sirius will have his turn but it should be her godfather first, Remus.” When Lily spoke Sirius had the good fortune to be looking at Remus. The look on his face and the way his knees buckled were priceless.

“Alright there mate?” Sirius caught him around the waist and helped him to stand up again. “Welcome to the club, by the way.”

“So will you, Moony?” James looked at him expectantly.

“I think you’re mental to ask me.” But Remus carefully took the baby and held her, touching her cheek with a single finger. Sirius felt for a moment like he’s turned into liquid marshmallow, watching the two of them.

“Welcome to the world, Olivia Potter,” Remus said softly.

It was in that moment that Sirius Black, author of almost seventeen romance novels, realized that he was in love with his best friend.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave the country.” Somehow Sirius made it through the next week. He wasn’t sure how but it seemed only fair to give Lily a bit of recovery time before bothering her. A week was as long as he could wait, though, and on the eighth day he flooed over.

“That’s a bit of a dramatic reaction to not being chosen as godfather for our Olivia.”

“What? No, of course you should have gone with Moony. Brilliant choice. Probably should have picked him for Harry, bit of an unfair advantage Olivia has.” Sirius flopped down on the armchair across from Lily. “Where are the sprogs, by the way?”

“Baby’s sleeping. Harry and James are at the park so Harry can run off some energy.”

“Prongs is probably the one that needs to run off the energy. He’s walking on clouds, that one. Reminds me of the week after you finally said yes to a date.” Sirius was pretty sure James hadn’t slept for two days straight. For a week he also hadn’t shut up, even when he did finally sleep. He’d been well stuck on Lily long before they’d dated. Sirius finally had an idea of what that was like.

“Probably. Now tell me what you’re running from.” Lily put on her best getting-ready-to-mock-you expression.

“Nothing really, only the most stupid thing I’ve probably ever done.”

“I’ve seen some of the stupidest things you’ve done, Sirius. Many of them. Unless you’re going to tell me you have to flee the country because aurors are after you I very much doubt it’s as bad as you think.”

“I’vefalleninlovewithMoony.”

“I’m going to need you to actually take a breath at some point, sweetie. You’re going to turn purple if you don’t and then I’m going to have to explain to James and Harry why you’ve passed out on the floor.” Lily patted the empty seat on the sofa next to her. “Now come over here, take a breath, and tell me again what you said.”

Sirius, erring on the side of caution, took three breaths, decided that wasn’t enough, and took three more. “I’ve fallen in love with Moony.”

“Now there, wasn’t that easier to say the second time?”

“You knew perfectly well what I said.” Sirius narrowed his eyes. “You tricked me.”

“Only for your own good.” She leaned in and wrapped her arms around him. “I know this bit is scary but you’re going to get through it and you’re going to do it without fleeing the country.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said?” Maybe having a baby did something odd to your ears.

“You’ve finally figured out that you’re in love with Remus.”

“Finally?” Sirius stared at her.

“Finally,” she confirmed. “Other than this month because of your crazy idea about your books, when was the last time you dated?”

“Dunno. That carpenter maybe?” Sirius had wanted to find out just what else he could do with his hands. The answer was quite a bit. Unfortunately not so much in the brain department and even less in the sense of humor department.

“That was three years ago. What is Remus’s favorite dinner?”

“Steak with mashed potatoes and lots of gravy, popovers, peas.” It was a meal he liked to make a day or two before a full moon when Moony was feeling a bit low.

“And for dessert?”

“Chocolate, of course. I found a chocolate fondant recipe the other day I thought I might try.” Moony was happy to have a chocolate bar but Sirius liked to find new desserts to try. Moony was always pleased when there was a new dessert.

“Who is the first person you see on Christmas morning and whose present do you spend the most time picking out?”

“Moony, of course. We live together.” Last year Moony had put a ridiculous ten galleon restriction on gifts, insisting he didn’t need anything extravagant. His silly Moony hadn’t thought to specify that it was only a single gift, though. Sirius had brought thirteen, but they were all under ten galleons each.

“And when you’ve had a really shitty day who is the first person you seek out?”

“Moony.”

“And when something wonderful happens who is the first person you want to tell?”

“Moony.”

“Are we seeing a pattern yet? And before you tell me it’s just being friends let me remind you that you have created a whole career for yourself solely because you wanted to make sure that Remus had work that he could take pride in. The entire existence of Phaedra White is basically one really long love letter, which is a bit over the top even for you.”

“I’ve been in love with Moony this whole time?” It didn’t feel wrong when he said it. Maybe later he’d be able to look back and figure out when exactly it all started, but for now it seemed to be enough that it was true. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You were always going to figure it out in your own time. I couldn’t make you go any faster and risk it not happening at all.” Lily kissed his cheek. “If I’d said yes to James in third or fourth year maybe we would still be where we are. Or maybe I would have written him off as a ponce and I wouldn’t have him or my babies. Things happen when they’re right, and you can’t rush them. Or run away from them.”

“What if he doesn’t feel the same?” Remus rarely dated and never said anything about marriage. “What if I ruin everything?”

“What if he does? I don’t have the answer. I think you have to trust Remus and yourself enough to give him a chance to hear how you feel.”

“And if I fuck it all up?”

“Your friendship has survived war and betrayals and pranks gone horribly wrong, as well as seven years of sharing a dorm and about as long sharing a flat. I don’t think it’s going to fall under the weight of loving him.”

“You better be right, Lily Potter. If you’re not I’m going to be crashing on this sofa after I flee the flat in embarrassment, and I shed.”

Talking to Moony, of course, was a far too direct and logical choice. It took an hour for Sirius to decide that no, that just wouldn’t do.

“You alright, Pads?” Remus asked when he spent the second hour after he returned home pacing.

“Just thinking about Christmas,” he answered distractedly.

“It’s May, I think you have some time before you need to worry.” Remus caught his hand as he walked past. “You look like you have one of your headaches. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll give you a massage? Or I could read something to you?”

“No books.” Books are what had gotten him into the whole mess in the first part. How could he tell Moony how he felt without also confessing the whole story of Phaedra White? Why had he never considered that at some point Moony would have to know about The Brilliant Idea? “I think I might just go to bed.”

“I’ll bring you some tea, it will help you sleep better.” True to his word Remus showed up ten minutes later with a cup of tea, cream in first and half a spoon of sugar, just the way he liked. He’d valiantly tried to fall asleep in those ten minutes, but had failed completely and sat up to accept the tea.

“Thank you.”

“You know you can tell me if something is bothering you, right?”

“There’s no one in the world I trust more than you,” Sirius said honestly. The tea was too hot still but he sipped it anyway, knowing he’d either burn the tip of his tongue or the roof of his mouth but not caring.

“It’s a bit odd, isn’t it, Prongs and Lily having two kids now? They’re well and truly settled, like proper adults. Might make someone think about it a bit, wonder if they’re wanting something different.” Remus settled on the edge of the bed, looking up at the ceiling as if he could see the stars overhead.

“Do you think about something different? Finding your someone and settling down with a couple of sprogs?”

“Merlin no. That sort of life’s never been for me, even if I could find someone who wasn’t put off by my special little problem. Besides I like things the way they are. You know how much I loved marking up papers with red ink in school and I get to add commas and edit dangling participles to my heart’s content now, with the added bonus of actually making a proper amount of money. And I couldn’t possibly ever be lonely or bored with you around. If I want to play with a kid I just have to pop over to see Prongs and Lily. Seems to me being a godfather is like the best bits of being a parent without all the rest.” Remus shrugged and looked sideways at Sirius. “I always figured you’d follow James’ example at some point.”

“I would have had to start developing a crush more than a decade ago, wouldn’t I, to really emulate Prongs?” It made him stop and wonder for a moment, tea slopping over his chin as he stopped halfway to his mouth. Just when had he started falling in love with Moony? Maybe he was more like Prongs then he thought, with less of the whinging. He couldn’t remember a time when making Moony smile hadn't been a priority, or when Moony touching him hadn’t been a comfort.

“Not like that, of course. I mean the whole home hearth and family sort of thing, and making me a godfather.”

“I like my family just the way it is.” It was a little too close to the truth, and Sirius faked a yawn. “Night Moony.”

“Night Padfoot. Sleep well.” Despite being the first to say goodnight, Sirius was a little dismayed that Moony actually left his room.

The next day Sirius stopped by to pick up his post, finding a rather sizable cheque, yet another request for a book signing, and the edited return of his most recent book. Remus must have mailed it when he’d been with Lily. Flipping through the pages he found the usual red marks adding commas and rearranging the occasional unclear sentence structure, but nothing about the plot of the novel. He hadn’t made any of the suggestions that he’d mentioned at the hospital.

Sirius took the book home and read through the story again. Remus was right. The supposed romance of the story felt flat and predictable when compared to the banter between the best friends, and George was clearly nurturing a crush on his friend. He only wanted Byron to be with Melody because he thought it was what his friend wanted. It was a mess. Sirius was a mess too, but at the moment it was a lot easier to fix things for Byron and George. All he had to do was cut half the book and rework the rest to make sure two best friends realized that they were actually in love.

When he was done he sent it off to Molly with a bonus payment and a warning that he might not be needing her help anymore. She sent it back three days later with a cheerful little note letting him know that her twins kept her quite busy and while it had been fun to read his stories first she was fine with the change in things. Also it was her favorite story yet.

“I need to borrow my godson.” The day after he sent the manuscript back to Remus for editing he left the house early in the morning. He couldn’t bear to be around when Moony saw it for the first time. Better to let him read it and get it all over and done with at once, no matter what way it came out.

“You’re not back on the fleeing the country plan, are you? Because you can’t take Harry to Spain.” Lily raised one eyebrow.

“Why would Sirius flee the country?” James held his daughter but stared at Sirius in confusion. “You didn’t actually break into your cousin’s vault at Gringotts, did you?”

“I decided anything Narcissa owned would probably have cooties. Not worth the risk.” Sirius shrugged. “I won’t even take him out of the county, Lils. I promise.”

“Pads? Lily?” James pushed, not having a clue what was happening but suspecting that his wife knew a fair bit more.

“Not now, Prongs. I’ll tell you tomorrow if the world doesn’t crash around my ears today.”

Lily, fortunately, said yes and Sirius was able to mostly distract himself with a trip to the zoo and far more ice cream than an almost five year old and a twenty-five year old should eat. He returned Harry in time for tea but warned Lily that he probably wasn’t very hungry.

“I’m proud of you,” Lily said before he left, kissing his cheek.

“I’d probably be proud of you too if I knew what the bloody hell was going on,” Prongs added, kissing his other cheek. Sirius said thank you to them both, decided against the floo, and apparated home. He sat on the front stoop for half an hour before daring to open the door. The flat was completely silent.

“Moony?” Maybe he wasn’t at home. Maybe he hadn’t gotten the package or had been too busy to read it today. Maybe he had read it and had run for the hills. Maybe he hated it and hated Sirius and was in his room packing for a trip to Zanzibar. For a minute he worried that Moony really was gone because the flat, even Moony’s room, were empty. The last place to check was what they grandly called the balcony, which was really just a fire escape with a upside down rusty cauldron as a seat and a single pot with a dittany plant they barely kept alive. Moony sat with his back to the wall, looking out at the view. They were lucky enough to be on the side of the building that looked out over a park rather than another building.

“Hey.” He settled on the sill of the open window, which was the only other place to sit but also meant that Remus couldn’t go anywhere without stepping over him, which could come in handy. “How was your day?”

“I read a book.” Moony didn’t look at him. Sirius couldn’t tell what he was thinking at all, other than that he looked like he should be smoking. They’d both given it up when Harry was born, though, and that went double now that Oliva had come along.

“Yeah?” He took a deep breath and waited.

“Yeah. I thought it was weird, at first. It’s the same Phaedra White book I just edited, and I thought it was a mistake until I got through the first couple of chapters and it’s been completely rewritten. I didn’t say anything about the story to anyone, other than you, but it was like they looked inside my head and saw how I wished the story had been written. George was so certain that Byron was going to propose to his girl but instead there’s this scene, this magical scene where Byron says that he couldn’t fall for Melody because he was already in love. That it had been George all along. Sometimes your best mate is also the love of your life.” Remus was still staring down at the park and Sirius wanted to shake him, or beg him to turn his head, or just kiss him and take his chances that Moony wouldn’t throw him over the side of the balcony.

“Do you think that’s true?” he asked. “Even when the best mate is a complete disaster who might be keeping a secret or two, but only because they want their best friend to be happy and not have to worry about anything?”

“Do I think that Byron and George are in love?” When he finally turned, Moony had a perfectly inscrutable expression on his face, the one he used in school that let him tell McGonagall that he didn’t know anything about a prank that had in fact been his brainchild. When he used it on anyone else it made Sirius smile. Facing it himself was agonizing.

“Do you believe that sometimes your best mate can also be the love of your life?” He’d channeled everything he felt and thought into Byron. Remus set a great store in books and the written word, and Sirius hoped that maybe works written in black and white would make his argument for him.

“I think the hardest thing to believe is that I could possibly be that extraordinarily lucky.” With the blink of his eye Sirius could see all the vulnerability Moony had been hiding. The hope and the fear, the trust and the love. The love he saw there knocked the breath out of him.

“Merlin, I think you just scared five years off my life, you were that hard to read.” He pulled himself through the window and squatted in front of Remus. “Do you really think you could love me?”

“You deserve to be scared, you bloody git. You had me secretly editing books you wrote and somehow you became an author for the lark of it.” Remus rubbed his forehead, like he did when something was puzzling him or the writing of something was particularly confusing. “I’ve been in love with you for ages, Pads, and I find there’s generally very little thinking involved. It’s a simple fact.”

“I don’t think there’s anything simple about it.” Sirius Black was the author of seventeen and a half books, and it seemed to him there was only one possible option for what came next. He kissed Moony, of course. Kissed him like Byron had kissed George, like Psych had once kissed Cupid and Darcy had kissed Elizabeth. The kiss had been brewing up inside him for some time and he did not stop until the air was gone from his lungs. And then he said the words that he planned on repeating every day for the rest of his life. “I love you Moony.”

“I love you too, Phaedra White.”

Sirius groaned, and laughed, and kissed his Moony all over again. It was Absolutely Brilliant.

#wolfstar #wolfstar fic #sirius black #sirius x lupin #remus x sirius #harry potter fic #my fic #remus lupin #lily potter #remus lupin x sirius black #maurader fic #everyone lives #or at least the important people

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writingkitten · 4 years

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L!Joker x Reader: Dogs

Note: pure fluff, v short, and super inspired by a post I saw awhile back about the three (? I think three) Rottweilers being loyal to J and all that. Also I’ve been busy working on this other project that I kinda let this one have not-as-great quality, but it was cute so there. Double also, pls forgive formatting, both the shitty paragraph spacing and the lack of italics. Tumblr fucked up the format and I don’t feel like fixing it lmao

Warnings: like, swear words? And some graphic descriptions of violence? But that’s it, not too sinful

In the dwindling hours of the day, dusk heavy on the horizon, you trudged home. Exhaustion plagued your body, the frigid air and harsh winds further driving your desire to get home. It wasn’t far from your work, only a few blocks, but it was on days like this that you cursed yourself for not taking a car. Even the thick mauve sweatshirt you wore couldn’t keep the cold away.

You had been out since 8am, almost 10 hours ago by now. Your throbbing head told you that cooking dinner tonight was a no-go, and so you’d stopped to pick up some warm comfort food. A treat for you, and a nice little surprise for J.

He’d been away all day yesterday, leaving before dawn and never returning. It did worry you a bit, but J had disappeared for much longer in the past, either running a scheme for days on end, or staying at his other hideout — an abandoned warehouse just outside of the city limits — to avoid leading whoever was after him this time back to you. Still, you worried, your mind racing with every bad thing that could’ve happened, like a kid whose mother was taking too long at the store. J knew this, though he continuously tried to convince you he would always come back. He knew your anxiety was far too engrained into your very being to not imagine the worst case scenario, but he still tried, if for no other reason than the hope that his constant reminder would dig itself deeper into your psyche than the anxiety.

But that had yet to happen, and so J had taken to other means of calming you. Keeping you informed was first and foremost. He’d call to tell you where he was, or text if he was in a rather boring meeting with mob bosses. He’d perfected the art of maintaining eye contact and taking part in the particulars of the conversation, while simultaneously writing a text with his phone under the table. Always a new phone, always a new number, but he had yours memorized, and you knew who it was when a message from an unknown number popped up.

That’s why, despite the apartment being empty when you left this morning, you knew he was there, waiting. It had only been about ten minutes since you’d left, so, by the time you headed home, he’d been there all day. Alone. You hoped he had caught up on his sleep, but you knew him better than that. You knew he was too bored sleeping alone, as wild of a concept as that seemed. No, instead you’d probably come home to see parts of makeshift weapons on the coffee table, or maybe the kitchen torn apart like a rabid raccoon had broken in.

At least he’d be home, you thought.

Finally standing in front of your door, you couldn’t unlock it fast enough, your feet aching, begging to be given some reprieve.

“J?” you called out as you entered.

You heard him say something, his voice too quiet to make out anything legible. Just as you were about to ask what he’d said, a massive black form sprinted towards you. Screaming, you dropped the bag of food on the floor, holding your hands out to stop whatever it was.

You eyes were screwed shut, but nothing happened. At least, not what you expected. Instead, you felt something prop itself on your shoulders. Hot breath hit your face, smelling of peanut butter. If that hadn’t given it away, the hassling sure as hell did.

Opening your eyes, you were met with the dark glassy eyes of a Rottweiler, standing on his hind legs, front paws gripping your shoulder.

J said something, this time louder, though you still didn’t hear him through your shock. The dog jumped down and ran back to the living room.

Ripping yourself from the frozen stance that you had been put you had been stuck in, you followed the Rottweiler.

On the floor sat J, his coat and blazer off, sleeves rolled up. There were strange stains on his pants. Peanut butter. Several dog toys lay around him, and two giant buckets of dry food and water sat in the corner. Most surprising, however, were the two other dogs that sat next to him.

J hadn’t looked up to greet you, busy filling some kongs full of peanut butter, seemingly the only treat he had for them.

“Uh, J?” you said, mouth agape at the sight.

“Hiya, doll,” he said, finally looking up at you, “I like that color on you.”

You had no idea what has happening, you didn’t know how to react. All you could really do was laugh.

“What the fuck is happening?” you asked.

“Uh, peanut butter time?” he said, as if it was obvious.

“J, why are there three massive dogs in our apartment?”

J sighed dramatically, “Well, I was just attending a little meeting with the Russian guy. And, wouldn’t you know, somehow he got locked up in their cages, and they just ripped off his limbs and ate him! Really fuckin’ weird cowinky-dink.”

Your eyes widened, “You fed him to his own dogs?”

J looked up at you in disbelief, “Didn’t ya listen to the story, doll?”

“Right, because you’re known for telling the truth.”

J growled, “...I’ll feed you to the dogs.”

“Ha,” you said, knowing full well that J would rather feed himself to the three than put your life on the line.

You left J on the floor as he passed out the stuffed kongs, taking the food out of the bag and setting it up on the table. Well, you were, until J turned around and watched you with an eyebrow raised.

“Uh, doll, I’m eating with them,” he said, as if it were obvious.

“...What.”

What the hell is happening?

“I’m building trust with these guys, I gotta show ‘em that not everyone is an abusive prick.”

You were silent for a moment, staring at J. Compassion was not a common experience to have with him, at least, not for other people. Towards you? He was very compassionate, even if he showed it in his own gruff way. But anyone else was lucky if they didn’t get the business end of J’s blade shoved through their throat.

Then again, that was still the case. He hated people, despised their selfishness and callousness, especially after experiencing that evil when he was still young and innocent. But animals? They were pure, only acting on nature with no societal influences. They were loyal as long as you were loyal to them, something that couldn’t be said for many people. That was one of the things he liked about you, your loyalty. You knew what he did, even if you didn’t know specifics. You knew he killed people, tortured them, destroyed the city and disrupted “society”. Yet you stood by him, loving him without question. Why you did, he’d never fully understand. But you did.

Instead of just bringing J his food, you brought your own, as well.

“I still wanna eat dinner with you,” you said, sitting down next to him.

“Aww,” J said, his voice mocking.

As soon as the containers were opened, the dogs abandoned their treats and sat around the two of you. Their eyes bored into you, pleading for a bite. Having all three of them up close now, you could see their bones, and thick scars that broke through their fur.

J tossed food at each of them, all three catching it mid-air.

“Good boys,” he said, reaching out to them and scratching around their face and neck.

“So, I assume they’re yours now?” you asked as you ate.

“Ours, bunny. They’re guard dogs, they’ll protect ya from, uh...bad guys.”

“Like you?” you asked with a smirk.

He grabbed his chest, feigning pain, “Shot to the heart, doll!”

———

After dinner — which J pretty much ate as much of as the rottys, giving them most of his food — you showered and got ready for bed, too tired to stay awake any longer. J stayed in the living room, working on a new idea, and, you had assumed, training the dogs. However, it seemed as though he was testing them now that you were home. Everywhere you went, you had three massive shadows following you. They stayed in the bathroom while you showered, laying next to the door, watching you. It felt as though they were ready to both protect you from an intruder, and come to your aid if you slipped and fell.

J couldn’t have trained them that much by now...right?

Once out, they practically escorted you to your bedroom. You got in bed, laying on your usual side. The three followed suit, taking up J’s space. One snuggled up by your feet, resting his head on your legs, staring up at you, while the other two did their best the lick your face. After the first few swipes, your face had practically been rewashed.

You laughed as they licked, “Oh, you’re so sweet! Thank you, thank you! Sweet babies!”

“So, am I gonna have to actually sleep in the dog house, now?”

J stood in the doorway, watching you laugh and love on the dogs. He mouth twitched, a quick smirk gracing his features when he saw the look of pure happiness on your face. It wasn’t something he got to see often, most of the time your happiness being qualified by some cloud of negativity. Depression, anxiety, self-loathing...it was a welcomed sight to see your unhindered smile.

He said a quick command, something in Russian that you couldn’t understand, and the dogs jumped off the bed. It was only then that you noticed three massive dog beds lining the wall next to yours.

“They’re so sweet,” you said to J, watching them curl up, getting as close together as possible.

“Yeah,” he drawled, climbing into bed beside you, “that guy got what he fuckin’ deserved. He kept them hungry, beat them, locked in cages too small for ‘em...”

You could see the anger rising in J’s eyes, his jaw clenching with malice as he stewed in his thoughts.

You reached out and took his hand, “They’ll have a good life now, J. We’ll spoil them.”

J looked over to you, “You know, that one that was at your feet was actually a service dog. Saw it in the papers the Russian kept. He’s trained for depression and anxiety.”

You perked up, “Wait, so I can take him around with me?”

“I’d want you to take all three, in case someone wanted to mess with ya and I wasn’t around. Bu-t you can have him with you at work and all that.”

The thought of having a dog to stay by your side at all times — and two more to come home to — was already making the knowledge of J leaving again much more bearable. That night, you fell asleep wrapped in J’s arms, him squeezing you far too tight to his chest as always, feeling invincible with your boys by your side.

#joker #joker x reader #l!joker #tdk #heath ledger joker #im sorry its short and shit quality #all of my creativity has been going towards my script and my brain was hurting itself writing this #it was supposed to be a nice little break #but fuck me in the ass it was NOT #also forgot that they were rottweilers and not dobermans #so if you see doberman in there its my bad because im stupid

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open-the-door-trey · 4 years

Text

Handwriting Headcannons

Heartslabyul

Riddle

Neat, cursive handwriting

Can easily pass for calligraphy

His mom probably gave him a old fashioned writing tutor that made sure he was the best of the best before they were satisfied

Ace

Oh no

A mess™️

The type of writing teachers fear, are usually used as an example of how not to write

Ace sometimes can’t read his own handwriting, but surprisingly enough Cater can decipher his scrawl

Deuce

Mostly neat, large handwriting

Usually doesn’t really care about his handwriting, but after Trein told him he can’t read what Deuce is writing and would penalise him for it, Deuce bought stationery sets and handwriting books

He doesn’t want to fail his tests, he wants to graduate and make his mom proud

Cater

A few steps up from Ace’s

If he puts in the time and effort, it’s almost as good as Riddle’s

But whether he does or doesn’t really depends on a coin toss

(No, really, he tosses a coin)

Trey

Neat, block handwriting

Standard nice-to-look-at™️ handwriting

The type other students would look at and be inspired by to improve their handwriting

Deuce used Trey’s handwriting as a guide to improve his

Savanaclaw

Leona

Like Cater, his handwriting varies from “oh god” to “oh hey, that looks nice!”

Depends on whether he decides to put in effort for the day

Even at his most lazy though, his handwriting is still legible

Ruggie

Somewhat messy handwriting

Since he grew up in the slums, he didn’t really have anyone who taught him handwriting, and it wasn’t on his list of priorities

He does want the writing to be legible though

Takes reference from Leona’s handwriting

(Fortunately referenced the “oh hey that looks nice!” handwriting rather than the other abomination)

Jack

Surprisingly, neat and pleasant handwriting

Looks like Trey’s, but with a little more cursive

He doesn’t tell people, but he’s focused on the little details of his i’s and which type of a to write

Changes some of them when he feels that they don’t match

Octavinelle

Azul

Reminiscent of Leona’s “oh hey this looks nice!” handwriting, but a little more stiff

He doesn’t really like cursive, since it can be hard to read, and he needs his handwriting to be legible when writing contracts

(Cursive also puts the pressure on him to outperform Riddle’s, and he doesn’t want that)

When he thinks he’s alone though, he tries to write cursive. It’s a work in progress, but he’s getting there

Jade

Standard cursive handwriting

It’s nice to look at, and legible, which is enough for him

Tried to teach Floyd to better his handwriting

That didn’t work out.

Floyd

Somehow, a step down from Ace’s

But also somehow, a step up from Ace’s, because he can read his own handwriting

It’s just that others can’t read it

Like Cater, can actually write nicely, but depends on his mood that day (which is less consistent than a coin toss)

Scarabia

Kalim

Wobbly cursive handwriting

His handwriting is nice and legible, but it does go up and down the lines

Sometimes curves his letters extravagantly like he’s writing calligraphy, and Jamil has to hold him back

Will try out new styles from time to time, because variety is the spice of life

Jamil reigns him back though

Jamil

Midpoint between Jack’s and Jade’s

Usually neat and legible, but if he’s a little stressed out form dealing with Kalim’s antics, he forgets to dot his i’s and cross his t’s

Checks on Kalim’s handwriting every week to make sure he doesn’t attempt an avant garde style of writing

Actually gains inspiration from that avant garde style and adds it into his own

Pomefiore

Vil

The epitome of perfect cursive

...If only it didn’t take an ungodly amount of time

He can’t tarnish his perfect record by failing to complete tests on time, so he increases his writing speed with the sacrifice of the cursive f and t

Rook

Like Vil, almost near perfect

He takes less time though

Circles the dots on his i’s, making it an easy way to identify his handwriting

Epel

Neat, cursive handwriting, but sometimes morphs into non-cursive

Only cares if his writing is legible, but Vil and Rook will never let it slide

Poor boy

Ends up with compulsory handwriting lessons and handwriting books he has to complete every month

Ignihyde

Idia

Like Trey, neat block handwriting

His words are smaller than Trey’s though, to the point that it’s hard to read sometimes

He writes numbers beautifully though, as if computer generated

Writing gets smaller if he’s nervous or pressured

Ortho

Somewhat like Jamil’s, but more blocky and larger

Easy to read and large, sometimes large enough to exceed the lines

Helps Idia out with writing sometimes if he finds the his words getting smaller and smaller

Also gives him a sign that India’s stressed out

Diasomnia

Malleus

Traditional cursive, to the point it’s actually calligraphy

As beautiful as it is, it’s hard to read sometimes

Nobody says that to him though, other than Lillia

His handwriting then becomes easier to read

But gradually goes back to being hard to read over a while

Silver

Like Kalim’s handwriting, but more stable

He’s used Malleus as a point of reference, and this is how his writing turned out

Becomes wobbly like Kalim’s though if he’s not paying attention

Still more legible than Malleus’

Sebek

Similar to Silver’s, but larger and leaves indents on the page

He’s also used Malleus as a reference point

Cannot use pencils

Will break pencils when he tries too hard to connect the letters

Went through a box of pencils in one week

Lilia

Neat, cursive handwriting, similar to Riddle’s

Likes to change style from time to time, and tries to copy other student’s handwriting

Works too well, and teachers think Lilia’s work is the other students

Unfortunately or fortunately, cannot copy Floyd’s

#twisted wonderland #heartslabyul #savanaclaw #octanivelle #scarabia #pomefiore #Ignihyde #Diasomnia

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shinsorokiri · 4 years

Text

UA Idol | Chapter Fifteen

Hitoshi Shinsou x reader

Word Count: 1,802

Warnings: Language, alcohol, drinking, drunk flirting

A/N: This is just a cute fun one. Alcohol man. She does shit to you. I hope you enjoy this one, this is a little bit of how Shinsou truly feels 🥺 I’m excited to write about the third challenge too, I think it’ll be fun. I also can’t wait to write for all the other characters too, this is gonna be fun as hell. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this chapter!! :)

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The first two days of Hell Week were officially over. It’s crazy to think that that was an actual thing. You’ve done two whole performances, and it was only over the span of two days. Literally wild. Luckily though, you’ve made it through the first to rounds. Now there was only the third, which you would get three whole days to prepare for. And thank GOD you did because the next one was intense.

After all the remaining contestants had gone and quite a few of them got wiped out, there were only forty in total left. This of course included you, Shinsou, Mina, and Denki as well as your new friends Kirishima and Bakugou. Of course, a lot of the people who stood out to you in the first round also got through, which you were happy about because they really deserved it. But with that, this next round was about to present half of the forty as the top twenty and the other half were about to head home.

“Alright, everybody. Congratulations on making it through to the third round! That’s not an easy thing to do, and you’ve all adjusted wonderfully to the group singing challenge to a duet challenge. Moving on from that though, is the solo rounds. You all are able to perform a song of your choice, but this round, as well as the last, it’s required to sing songs by artists that have already been out. However, there’s no list to choose from this time, so you can choose whatever song you would want to sing. You get two days to rehearse and let the band as well as the lighting and sound designers what you would like and work it all out with them! On the third day there will be sound check and then the performances in front of a crowd of people. This is the biggest test for everyone, you’re going to be able to show us how you interact with the audience, which is important for the live shows. For now, though, go get some rest and decide which song you want to perform. You all deserve it!” Toshinori told everyone, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t excited to just sit. Literally, that’s it, you just want to sit.

Mina and Denki had other plans.

So here you were, at a club in LA, sitting on this random ass couch that’s conveniently placed away from everyone in there. Essentially everyone from the show is in there, but everyone is too busy getting drunk and dancing and singing with their newly made friends. That is, of course, except for you and Shinsou. Who’s actually been right next to you this whole time. The two of you were slowly sipping on some complimentary drinks from Mina and Shinsou that they told you they’d keep ordering until the two of you were sloshed. Which wouldn’t happen. There’s too much that the two of you need to decide to actually get drunk.

“So, have you thought about what song you’re gonna sing?” he asks, taking a sip of the alcohol in his hand. “No… I wish I could just bust out an original, I could do that easy,” you say, sighing. “Yeah, same here. I mean I have some options, but I wish I could just sing something that I want to share. Like with my own words.” “Yeah, same. Especially since, like, you know, almost every single song out there is about love??? Like, no thank you, dude. I’m tired of that shit.”

“And this is why I love to hang out with you,” he says, a small smirk on his lips. You give him a grin and raise your glass in a bit of a toast before taking a drink. He chuckles, his eyes never leaving you. While the two of you aren’t necessarily drunk, the two of you are tipsy. I mean, think about it. Mina and Denki have bought countless shots. And there’s always four. So now, you two are just kind of trying to relax while they talk up the two girls, they’ve been staring at for the past two days. You’re feeling it a bit more than he is, and he knows that so he’s keeping an eye on you to make sure you’re okay. That’s the sole reason he is staring at you. Only reason.

Okay.

So maybe that’s not the only reason.

Can you blame him though? You really are the prettiest person he’s ever seen in his entire life. Sure, it scares him, but he really just can’t help it. I mean, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with him liking you, obviously. But the more time he spends with you, the more and more he just wants to hold you. And kiss you. And you know just be in a relationship with you. And maybe this is the alcohol getting to him, but damn. He really really likes you. And not just the way you look. The way you think. The way you act. Your voice. Your talent. Your humility. Everything about you is just so appealing and attractive. Weird how alcohol makes all of his thoughts that he tries to suppress flood his brain. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer,” he hears your voice, which pulls him out of his silent stare. The smirk on your lips makes him smile. “Yeah, but a picture doesn’t compare to the beauty of the real thing,” he responds, reveling in the fact that he just made you flustered. He can tell by the change of pitch in your voice when you tell him to fuck off. Not mention she almost dropped her drink.

He’s so relieved he probably won’t remember this in the morning. Oh shit, wait he’s drunk. This was what he was trying to avoid? What the fuck. That’s when he realizes that if he’s drunk, you are too. You drank the same amount as him and he’s a heavy weight, so if he’s drunk you are too. And he definitely notices as soon as you stand up to go get another drink since you nearly fall over. Luckily, he steadies you. Sure, he also feels not very steady on his feet, but making sure you were okay was the top priority right now. And he would be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the fact that he was holding you by your waist again. Just like when you two fell asleep together earlier. “Maybe that’s enough drinks for you,” he says, and you giggle. “Probably a good idea,” you respond, and he takes your empty glass before chugging the rest of his down. He takes the glasses and hands them to one of the workers before leading you over to Mina and Denki. “Hey, we’re going to head out. I think (Y/n) needs to take it easy for a bit,” Shinsou says, trying to pretend that he wasn’t on cloud nine with you leaning into him and happily humming to yourself. “Aw, but we’re just starting to have fun! This is Momo! Isn’t she pretty?” Mina says, motioning to one of the girls from earlier with black hair. “Not as pretty as Jirou. Come on you guys should totally stay,” Denki basically begs, but Shinsou shakes his head. “I’m gonna take her back to the hotel. I’ll text you when I’m there.”

Before Denki and Mina can protest again, he hurries and takes you out of the club. He calls an Uber, leaning against the outside wall of the club with you still attached to his side. He has his arm around you and is gently rubbing your side with his thumb. “You smell so good,” he hears you mumble, and he grins. “Thanks, kitten.”

“I really like it. You’re the best.”

He knows that you’re drunk, and he is too, but damn. That sounded so nice coming from you. He can’t help but full on smile. “You make me so happy,” he hears you mumble into his shirt, and he swears his heart skips a beat. “You make me even happier, kitten,” he answers, and it’s true. He hasn’t felt this good in a long time. And it’s not just the alcohol. It’s you. Even if he’s physically drunk right now, he feels this way around you all the time. He hears you hum a bit before looking at him with a big grin on your face. He smiles back, and before he even processes what he’s doing he kisses your forehead. Your reaction is adorable, considering you just bury your face into him again. He chuckles, not even feeling embarrassed. Thank you, alcohol.

Eventually the Uber arrives, and he helps you inside before telling the driver where you’re headed. You both get there no problem, and he helps you to your room. He gives you some Advil and gets you a glass of water, making sure you drink it. He helps you lay down, sitting next to you on the bed. He watches as you start drifting off, making sure you were comfortable and sending a barely legible text to Denki telling him the two of you are back home. When he thinks you’re asleep, he goes to stand up but is stopped by you. “Noooooooooo,” you mumble, and he looks down at you. You have your puppy eyes out and he feels his heart basically stop. “Don’t go, Toshi, you make me feel warm and happy and I sleep better with you.”

Toshi? Fuck, he likes the sound of his first name coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t even oppose. He immediately lays down next to you. “Yay,” you mumble, and he grins. “Jesus Christ, kitten, you’re so perfect,” he says, pulling you into him. You giggle. “Not as perfect as you.”

“Um, no, you’re 100% more perfect than I am. I mean, look at you.”

“Nuh-uh, everything you do is amazing. You’re amazing.”

“You’re more amazing than I could ever hope to be,” he says, sighing. How did he get this lucky? Truly, even if you two aren’t dating yet, how did he end up just be able to be here and lying down with you? He doesn’t deserve this chance. And he loves being able to actually see you as you drift off to sleep this time. The city lights shining through the window and falling on your face make you look even more like an angel. He would love to fall asleep like this every night. And he actually falls asleep decently early for him again.

He even somehow managed to sleep through the noise Mina made when she saw the two of you after stumbling into your hotel room.

And now there’s a picture of the two of you on her phone. Just wait til she’s sober and sees it.

#shinsou x reader #hitoshi shinsou x reader #shinso x reader #hitoshi shinso x reader #my hero academia x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #boku no hero x reader #bnha shinsou x reader #shinsou #hitoshi shinsou #shinso #hitoshi shinso #my hero academia #mha #bnha #bnha shinsou #boku no hero academia

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tardistimes · 4 years

Text

Malaise Malfunctions

Summary: The Master made no secret of thinking human functions were ridiculous – that you needed so many hours of sleep, routine meals, toilet breaks – a period was likely held in equal derision. You were sure Time Lords had somehow perfected menstruation in a way that would only make you jealous. It was bad enough living with someone who apparently only needed one or two hours sleep every few days. Living with the alien was going to give you a complex, you were certain of it.

Series: The Master’s Maniacal Misadventures Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 1,876

AO3 link here.

You didn’t want to get out of bed. The thought alone made you want to pull the sheets over your head and curl into a tight ball. If you could curl into a ball that was, the unyielding pain in your back currently made that impossible.

If you didn’t get up however he would start looking for you. Which would lead to questions. Probably leading with, why is there a stain of blood on your bed? That was a question you didn’t want to face. Any more than getting out of bed.

It wasn’t a surprise really that it had caught you off guard. Living in a time machine made it difficult to keep track of your monthly cycle. It didn’t make it any less mortifying though. If you were in your own bed back home, it might not be so bad. But staining the sheets he’d given you was different. Hopefully, you could clean them up with some cold water.

With a groan, you slid out of bed. Your feet arched as soon as they connected with the unwelcomely chilly floor, but you persisted in making your way to the bathroom. Quickly changing out of your now ruined shorts, you got dressed for another day of running towards danger. Luckily, you’d thought to pack some pain killers before your latest trip in the TARDIS and took a couple to ease the coiled pain in your back and the unpleasant ache in your abdomen. Most days you didn’t bother with makeup but, not wanting your tired pallor to draw any difficult questions, you took an extra minute to put on some blush for an injection of much-needed colour. Forcing a smile, you opened the door to your room and bounded for the console.

As always, the Master was there. Tinkering away on the TARDIS, he spared you a quick glance as you headed for the kitchenette for some cereal. The last thing you need on top of your period symptoms was hunger pangs.

You didn’t speak while you sat at the rickety table, mostly covered with old, barely legible papers. When the Master focused on something he didn’t talk much unless he was monologing. Usually, you’d try to strike up a conversation, not yet comfortable sitting in silence with him, but – while a part of you was curious about what he was doing – you were too tired to try today.

While you usually liked to chatter with him, you never minded eating alone. He’d once sat with you when you ate one morning and you felt like you were an animal being watched in a nature documentary. The Master made no secret of thinking human functions were ridiculous – that you needed so many hours of sleep, routine meals, toilet breaks – a period was likely held in equal derision. You were sure Time Lords had somehow perfected menstruation in a way that would only make you jealous. It was bad enough living with someone who apparently only needed one or two hours sleep every few days. Living with the alien was going to give you a complex, you were certain of it.

Only once you had finished your meal did he acknowledge your presence.

“Make yourself useful and pass me that.” He said, pointing towards a tool he wanted.

If it were anyone else, you would ask for the magic word, but you weren’t in the mood to try your luck today.

Bending to retrieve the wrench-like item, your uterus betrayed you with an especially vicious cramp. Curling into it, you ended up on your knees and decided it was best to stay there until the spasm passed.

“Anything else, Master?” You smiled genially as you passed the item over. You dropped it into his open palm, careful to avoid skin contact – knowing the Master didn’t like it. The last time you tried to initiate physical contact, grabbing onto his arm when an explosion had taken you by surprise, he’d flinched so violently he nearly slammed into the wall behind him.

“No.” He intoned, throwing another glance your way.

You stayed where you were, body not cooperating enough to try standing yet.

“Is there something I can do for you?” The Master asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No.” You said pleasantly, sighing happily when the tension in your abdomen lessened. Gently standing you gave him another smile before walking back to your room. As soon as you crossed the threshold, your smile dropped and you sought the warm comfort of your bed, diving in and nuzzling your pillow like it was your long lost lover. There was still a patch of blood on the sheets but the brief excursion to the console room had drained you of your ability to care.

You were just beginning to drop off when your door suddenly slammed open.

Scrambling upright, you propped yourself up on your hands and watched the Master unceremoniously enter your room.

“What the hell?” You asked, your tone angrier than you would normally dare address him with.

“You’re acting bizarrely.” He stated.

“How so?” You said through gritted teeth, hoping he would write it off as justifiable irritation rather the result of pain shooting along your back.

“You didn’t annoy me.”

You huffed. “Excuse me?”

“Usually you’d be bugging me. Asking where we’re going. What we’re going to do there. Asking what I’m working on in the TARDIS. Somehow thinking your paltry mind could comprehend such things.” He said, looking around your room curiously.

“You’re annoyed that I’m not bugging you?” You drawled back, pushing yourself up so you could lean against your headboard. “Well, if you’re missing it so much…”

He ignored you, pointing to your bed. “Is that blood? Humans bleed red right? Or am I thinking of some other minor species?”

“If you’re just going to insult me, I’m going back to sleep.” You groaned, plumping the pillow beneath you more aggressively than necessary. The Master smirked in response.

He sprawled himself over the end of your bed, propping up his head with a hand. “What’s bothering you pet? Are you malfunctioning? Your species is so delicate, I know.”

“You know, you’re in the perfect position for me to kick you in the face.” You threatened, bending your knee.

A shit-eating grin was not what you needed right now. “You’re so sweet.” He baited, tugging on your ankle and settling your leg back down on the bed. You weren’t used to him touching you and it seemed your body’s natural response to this was a burningly bright blush – talk about betrayal. It didn’t help that he kept his hand there, his thumb lightly stroking the soft skin around your heel. The last time you saw him touch someone he was threatening to choke them to death; you’d never imagined he could be so gentle, let alone you. “So?”

“So?” You replied, cursing yourself as your voice came out far too huskily.

“The blood?” He prompted.

You pulled a face.

“If you don’t tell me what’s the matter, I must presume you’re hiding a serious injury from me and carry out an inspection of your persons.” He warned, suddenly yanking your ankle and pulling you from your upright position down onto your back. You scrambled to correct yourself.

“I’m fine.” You protested, brushing the hair away from your face. As your hands smoothed past your skin you realised it was burning hot meaning your blush had only intensified. How mortifying. “Wouldn’t mind a little privacy though.”

“If you think I’m leaving, you’re delusional.” He said thinly. “And unless you’re planning on walking out into the time vortex, you’re not going anywhere either. Explain the blood.”

You groaned, pressing your palms over your eyes. “I thought you were the intelligent one! I mean, are you serious? I’m blushing, there’s blood on my sheets and I could barely walk before without collapsing.”

“Ah, I see. You had a night of vigorous, and somewhat kinky, lovemaking.” The Master suggested wryly, though he now understood.

Your next groan was more pained. Tearing your ankle free of his grasp, you pulled your knees up to your chest and hid your face against them.

“Seriously. A period has made you this irate?” He said, unimpressed.

“I am not in the mood to be teased.” You grumbled into your knees.

“It’s a perfectly natural bodily function.”

“Oh yeah, I’m sure you’re about to tell me how stupid it is and how it’s proof of my species’ inferiority.”

“I think I’ve got enough evidence to confirm that already.” He chuckled, moving up the bed. He prised the hands from your face, holding them tightly so you couldn’t hide again. “There’s no need to suffer in silence you know. Or to get arsy with me.”

You pouted. “I wasn’t arsy. Not until you broke into my room anyway and then it was completely justified.”

“My TARDIS, my rules. Or do I need to remind you of that, pet?”

For a split second, you could have sworn he directed that threat at your lips but his eyes were back on yours in an instant, so you dismissed it as your imagination playing tricks.

Letting your shoulders slump you gave in. “My back hurts. And my cramps are bad. And I’m exhausted.” You listed, falling backwards onto the bed. He released your hands as you went, looking down at you in amusement. The rest of your list was muttered into your pillow. “And I want salty food. And a milkshake. And I want to sleep until this is all over.”

“Would your majesty care for anything else?” The Master responded sardonically.

“A puppy to cuddle?”

You laughed at his expression of disgust. “Where did I lose you, with the puppy or a cuddle? A puppy is this animal we have on Earth…”

“I’m well aware.” He sighed, secretly pleased you were back to teasing him. Your lack of interest had disturbed him earlier – for a brief second misinterpreting it as a disinterest in him, before realising that was ridiculous and that there was clearly something else afoot.

“Oh yeah, genius. I remember. Okay, so a cuddle…”

“I preferred it when you were quiet.”

Rolling your head against the pillow, you gave him a mischievous smile. “I think you care really.”

“You are not getting a puppy. If you try to sneak one on here, I’ll skin it alive.”

You cooed at the threat. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Let’s not find out, shall we?” He decided. “And before you even try to ask, no I’m not cuddling you. You can pout all you want to.”

Immediately you retracted your lip, not even realising you’d stuck it out in the first place.

“Get some rest. I’ll take us somewhere to eat in a bit. You can have all the salt, fat and sugar-laden foods you want. But don’t expect me to hold back your hair when you vomit later.”

“Milkshakes?” You asked optimistically.

With a sigh, wondering what he had come to, he agreed.

“You’re the best, Master.”

That made him grin. “You’re a pretty good pet yourself. In fact, give me a little time and I bet I can even teach you how to play dead and fetch the newspaper.”

Your pillow hit him squarely in the face.

Be kind, this is my first time writing in the second person since secondary school and I don't even want to think about how long ago that is now. This is also only my third work about the Master, so I'm still working on my characterisation. I hope you all enjoyed it anyway.

#doctor who #dhawan!master #dhawan!master x reader #first time writing second person fanfiction #not sure how I feel about that #fluff #period

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beauregardlionett · 4 years

Text

Queens of Queens - Ch. 2

AO3 Link

It was as he exited the subway, coming back into daylight and squinting against the change in brightness, that Fjord wondered exactly what he was doing. He had no reason to go back to a gay bar beyond the strange invitation from Molly. Earlier that morning, Fjord had rationalized with himself that he was exploring different options for food beyond his usual places. But it served as a weak excuse; he was just a curious, impulsive man.

Fjord rolled his shoulders with a sigh as he walked, resigning himself to whatever he was about to walk into. Coming upon the bar, casting a cursory glance at the intricately painted sign above the door reading The Moon and Mirror he had failed to notice last night, Fjord made his approach. Yasha was not sitting outside this time, so he walked right in and found a completely different establishment.

Without the throng of drunken bodies milling about, the interior seemed bigger. Cozy tables arranged a scattered, senseless pattern across the floor, and a large, beautiful tapestry adorned the one wall. The drapes that had covered the front window from the night before were pulled back, letting natural light spill in as the afternoon wore on.

“Oh, well, if it isn’t Mr. Fjord!” a jovial voice called, directing Fjord’s attention.

Stood behind the bar, leaning casually against the counter, was Molly. A grin stretched their lips wide as solid red eyes scrunched at the corners with their smile. The daylight revealed tattoos covering their neck and one side of their face that Fjord had (somehow) failed to notice earlier.

Striding over to the bar, Fjord slid onto a stool with a nod of greeting.

“Yep. I uh…I’m here.” Fjord was so out of his depth, his natural charm seeming to flit away for reasons unknown.

“Charming as ever, I see,” Molly crowed, attention flicking to the tiny figure beside him.

Perched rather precariously on a barstool that had been dragged behind the bar was a sturdy Halfling woman, her hair in braids and wrists decorated with button bracelets. Her eyes were bright and mischievous, as she seemed to take in the two of them.

“Ah this,” Molly said by way of introduction, gesturing to the woman. “Is Mrs. Veth, our newest bartender. She’s doing some training today, if you’d like to test her skills with an order.”

“As much as I’d like to, I’ve got to head to work in an hour or two, so no drinks for me I’m afraid.” Fjord mustered up enough of his wits to flash Veth an easy, apologetic grin. She met the gesture with a smile that was all teeth and felt a little dangerous.

“Shame,” Molly said with a shrug. “All the same, what can we get you to eat, then? I’m sure you need something in your belly before any job.”

Pulling a menu his direction, Fjord perused the extensive collection of platters before deciding on something that sounded safe. He watched Molly scribble Fjord’s order down on a notepad before flouncing off into the kitchen. It left Veth on the stool, going over the process for mixing certain drinks in her head as she quietly pointed to random bottles and muttered to herself. She seemed uninviting for conversation with Fjord, and the half-Orc was more than okay with that.

It was as he was scrolling through some social media he wasn’t absorbing that the front door of the bar opened. Glancing up out of habit, Fjord did a double take.

One of the tallest creatures he had ever seen was ducking through the entrance, skin pale and contrasting against the shock of long, pink hair cascading over one shoulder. The other side of the Firbolg’s head was shaved high and tight with an interesting pattern buzzed even closer to the scalp. Fjord felt a little weird about staring, but he had never seen hair quite that color before.

“Caddy!” Molly’s voice crowed from the bar, startling Fjord who hadn’t noticed them returning. “You made it!”

“Mollymauk,” the Firbolg greeted in a deep, calm voice, offering a serene smiled to the Tiefling. “How are you?”

“Swell, of course,” Molly grinned, large and bright. “Did you bring what I asked for?”

This ‘Caddy’ nodded and reached into a worn shoulder bag to produce a little cloth pouch to pass over the counter. Molly beamed and pocketed it before happily dropping a couple crumpled bills into the Firbolg’s hand.

Fjord pretended that he had seen none of that.

“Well now,” Molly said, clasping their hands together and turning to Veth with a quick gesture. “Caddy, this is Mrs. Veth, the one I told you about. Veth, this is Mr. Caduceus Clay. He’s going to make you that bench we talked about.”

Veth and Caduceus got into conversation, discussing the semantics of the bench that would aid Veth’s work. She was far too short to reach the counter as it was and putting her on a barstool severely limited her range of movement. The bench would ensure she could see above the counter to work while also allowing her to move back and forth.

Fjord stopped paying attention not long into the conversation. It wasn’t a discussion he needed to be a part of, and he felt weird about just flicking his gaze back and forth between the speakers. Every now and then, Molly would pipe up, spouting off something about the space behind the bar. At one point, however, they ducked into the kitchen and emerged a couple minutes later with Fjord’s food.

“Here ya go, handsome,” Molly said, winking as they slid the platter across the counter. The steam wafted merrily up from the pile of food, and Fjord fought to keep a straight face.

“Thanks,” Fjord muttered, scooping up his utensils, glad to have something to hold his attention so he wouldn’t feel so awkward.

“Mrs. Veth,” Molly sweetly interrupted the conversation between their other two patrons. “Does Mr. Caleb want anything while he sits here?”

“He should probably have a drink,” Veth mused, glancing at a point over Fjord’s shoulder. “Would you mind taking him some water? He’ll figure out it’s there if you just leave it nearby.”

Fjord glanced over his shoulder at where Veth had indicated. Doing a double take as he spotted a table tucked into a part of the room he hadn’t seen upon arrival, Fjord had to blink a few times to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. Sitting there, somewhat hunched, nose buried in a book, was Fjord’s roommate Caleb.

“Caleb?” He said more to himself than anything. He had a lot of questions suddenly—the main one being why his reclusive roommate was familiar with the employees of a gay bar. But Fjord shoved those down, probably to never pose to his roommate. He and Caleb operated on an acquaintanceship basis. It was not Fjord’s place to pelt the other with potentially personal questions.

Turning back to his food, Fjord found himself pinned under the curious stares of both Molly and Veth.

“You know Caleb?” Veth asked first, bold and straightforward.

“Oh, uh yeah,” Fjord managed, pushing his food around on his plate. “We’re roommates. I don’t uh…know him all that well. Our schedules don’t match up much.”

“How unfortunate,” Molly tut under their breath, strutting off to the kitchen again before Fjord could ask what that meant. Veth kept her piercing gaze trained on the half-Orc a little longer as Fjord returned to his food. After a few awkward moments, though, Caduceus pulled Veth’s attention back to him. Discussion of the bench continued and Fjord busied himself with eating.

Molly returned as Fjord was finishing up, and he handed off his credit card to the Tiefling.

“Okay,” Caduceus’ deep voice caught Fjord’s attention. “I think I have everything that I need. I’ll come back here when it’s finished. Oh, and fair warning, my roommate is an artist. She’ll probably end up painting it while I’m not looking. I hope you don’t mind.”

Veth furrowed her brows at the comment but in the end just shrugged and said, “doesn’t matter to me.”

It was at that moment Molly returned with Fjord’s card and receipt, handing them off to the half-Orc. The Tiefling turned a dazzling smile to Caduceus and leaned their elbows on the bar top.

“Leaving already, Caddy?”

“Yes, I’ve got to get back to the shop. I’ll have the bench in a few days, if that’s all right.” Caduceus’ grin was affable, unaffected by Molly’s heavy charms and mannerisms. Fjord wondered idly how long they had known each other as he scribbled his barely legible signature onto the receipt.

“Sounds perfect!” Molly chirped, turning to Veth cheerily. “I’m sure it’ll be perfect. Caddy’s great at what he does.”

“Oh, why thank you,” Caduceus grinned at Molly as Fjord stood to leave. “Well then, I’ll be off,” the Firbolg waved to Molly and Veth, turning to head out the door. The other’s gaze caught Fjord, who had slung his bag over his shoulder and left quiet thanks to Molly for the food.

“Which way are you heading?” Caduceus asked, casual as anything as he held the door open for Fjord.

“Oh,” Fjord blinked, not expecting the other to say anything to him. “I’m heading to College Point. I’ve got to catch the Q66 in a few minutes.”

Caduceus smiled, walking alongside Fjord as the latter started heading towards his stop. “I hope it isn’t weird if I come along. My store’s in the same direction about two blocks from here. Also, I don’t believe I caught your name in there.”

“Oh, uh I’m Fjord,” he paused after introducing himself before asking, “you’ve got a store?” Fjord couldn’t help his curiosity, despite knowing nothing more than Caduceus’ name.

“I own an apothecary that doubles as a flower shop,” Caduceus said, hands tucked into the pockets of a long, green cardigan. “It’s very nice, if I do say so myself. I’ve put quite a bit of work into my establishment and it’s unique set up. Mollymauk has been very gracious in helping spread word about what I offer there, too.”

Ah, so now the hand-off from earlier made sense. The apothecary part of that statement meant Molly had likely been getting herbs or a tea blend or something of the like. Fjord felt a little better for having witnessed something that had initially seemed sketchy.

“That’s pretty cool, actually,” Fjord admitted, pausing at an intersection. Cars rushed past them in their daily bustle. Fjord could see his bus stop from here, and it looked like he had beat the arrival, so he wouldn’t be late for work. Turning back to Caduceus, Fjord tried to keep the conversation flowing.

“What kind of things do you sell under the apothecary part of the shop?”

Caduceus’ eyes sparkled, a smile tugging at the Firbolg’s lips, looking rather delighted that Fjord had asked. Pulling his hands free from his pockets, Caduceus ticked items off on his fingers, voice cheerful.

“All sorts of tea blends—floral, fruity, earthy—loose herbs,” Caduceus continued as they crossed the street, slowing as they approached the bus stop. “Essential oils, even some gemstones. I recently got my license to sell CBD oil, too. I’m expecting a new crowd through my doors soon.”

“Oh,” Fjord huffed a laugh, amused as he craned his neck to peer through oncoming traffic for his bus. “I can imagine.”

“I’m sure they’re lovely people,” Caduceus said, and Fjord was a little surprised to hear how genuine the other sounded. “I’m excited to meet them.”

Glancing over his shoulder at the pink-haired Firbolg, Fjord took a moment to truly observe him. There wasn’t a trace of dishonesty in that statement, just genuine anticipation to meet people he had never met before. It was…refreshing? He wasn’t sure why, but it was an outlook on a stereotype that Fjord hadn’t encountered.

“I believe this is your bus?” Caduceus’ voice pulled Fjord from his musing, eyes darting to the bus that was just pulling up to the curb. He hadn’t even noticed it approaching.

“Oh, yeah, uh,” Fjord looked back to Caduceus and stuck out his hand, offering a grin. Caduceus took Fjord’s hand and gave it a simple shake, pleasant. “Thank you. It was nice to meet you.”

“You as well, Mr. Fjord,” Caduceus said, giving a cheerful wave to the half-Orc as Fjord hopped onto the bus.

Looking up from his book to find himself in the middle of a drag performance was disorienting, to put it mildly. His innate ability to tune entirely out of the world around him and focus only on the inked words lining the pages of his tome was both a blessing and a curse. As he blinked against the strobing lights, Caleb winced when the music pounded from dull to roaring as he came back to himself. Immediately going tense, he scanned the bar that had all but transformed in his lapse of attention. His initial reaction was to find an exit route, wanting nothing more than to be anywhere but here.

The last time Caleb had been in a bar this late at night, he had been twenty-one and celebrating his birthday with friends from school. But never in his life had he been to a drag performance. So again, looking up from his book to find himself smack in the middle of one was the exact last thing he had expected to happen today.

After a moment of glancing about, he figured he could just get up and slip out without issue. Caleb shut his book and set about packing up. A glance at his watch proved that it was well after ten, approaching eleven. It was almost embarrassing how absorbed he had become in his novel, not even registering the rowdy performance. Through the throng of bodies, Caleb could see a masked Veth standing alongside a dark-skinned woman with a noticeable undercut behind the bar. He didn’t fault the Halfling for not rousing him, because she was working after all. But a warning about the bar’s nightlife would have been helpful.

With a rough sigh, Caleb snapped his bag shut and shrugged his coat more firmly around his shoulders as he stood. As he ducked and wove through the crowd, trying to keep his head down, he felt a shoulder jam into his. Knocked off balance, he stumbled a little toward where the crowd had left some open space for the performers. Caleb caught himself before completely falling, grunting as he straightened and tried to step out of the way. But there was someone in his space, reeking of perfume and every inch of them seeming to glint in the flashing lights.

He looked up and came face to face with a heavily made-up but easy to recognize Mollymauk.

Caleb blinked, startled, and tried to take a step back but found a throng of bodies at his back, barring him from escaping. Panic settled into his bones, and Caleb muscled it down, pushing a harsh breath through his nose. Molly grinned, sharp and intoxicating, fangs gleaming, and one front tooth stained with a smudge of the gold glitter lipstick they were wearing. They didn’t touch Caleb, but socially they were in Caleb’s space. Solid red eyes flashed in the dim light, taking the human in and looking hungry, curious.

Everything about this situation was confusing, contradicting, because Caleb’s instincts were yelling at him to run, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Molly. Every inch of skin uncovered by the revealing blazer Molly sported was shimmering with body glitter, accenting their gold glitter lips and matching brows. They had even painted precise shimmering facial hair over their chin and cheeks in a mockup of a beard. Their wavy purple hair was slicked back and styled. A stray curl brushed over Molly’s sweaty forehead that Caleb found infinitely distracting. The blazer was a deep crimson, with cigarette pants to match and heels too tall to be functional. Caleb flushed and tried to press further back, flinching when Molly danced a little closer to him, ignoring all the hooting drunks waving crumpled bills at them. The Tiefling had eyes only for Caleb it seemed, and Caleb wished fiercely that they would look anywhere else, free Caleb from this pinning stare.

“Going somewhere, handsome?” Molly’s voice crooned beneath the music, just barely audible over the thrum. Caleb felt his cheeks warm—whether from irritation or being flustered, he didn’t know at the moment. But Caleb stared level back at Molly, mouth set in a firm line and brow furrowed—refusing to back down.

He watched Molly chuckle before winking at Caleb and sauntering away. The Tiefling snatched the bills from those waving them, integrating the movement with almost flawless grace into their dancing. Caleb watched them swing their hips around, twisting to make eye contact with the human and blowing him a cheeky kiss. The crowd whistled and cheered, and Caleb didn’t bother sticking around. His cheeks were hot, his heart pounding a furious beat behind his ribs.

Stumbling free of the throng of patrons, all but collapsing against the door, Caleb shoved it open and spilled into the night. A bouncer was sitting on a stool, leaning her back against the wall, and spared Caleb an uninterested glance at his graceless exit. Letting the door swing shut behind him, he took deep, gasping breaths of chilly air. Caleb focused on the cars driving by every now and again, this part of Queens a little quieter than others. He let the muted noise ground him, bring him back to an easier reality.

“Just so you know,” the bouncer’s quiet, accented voice piped up behind Caleb, prompting him to twist and look at her. “If you throw up on the sidewalk here, you’re coming back to clean it up.”

Caleb wasn’t sure if she was joking or not, but he didn’t bother to find out. Shoving his hands deep into the front pockets of his coat, Caleb stalked off into the night. The subway stop back to his apartment wasn’t far from here, and he kept up a steady pace to try getting there faster. He was properly through with today and wanted it to end as soon as possible. Caleb knew that his roommate would likely be home from work, but considering how late it was, he didn’t think it was likely he would bump into him.

Head tipping back to stare at the sky between the buildings, sighing long through his nose, Caleb just hoped that Veth enjoyed her new job. He tried to let that thought distract him, but it wasn’t enough. His mind wandered, quite without his permission, to places Caleb would rather avoid.

Molly’s face flashed behind each blink, a brand against the backs of Caleb’s eyelids. He tried to shove down the feeling that welled in his chest; the attraction borne of curiosity and something long repressed. His hold on the bag slung over his shoulder tightening, Caleb picked up his pace back toward his apartment.

He told himself in a repetitious mantra that he wouldn’t let himself be curious this time. Caleb couldn’t afford to slip up a second time.

The early winter wind nipped at Caleb’s cheeks as he paced toward his apartment as he forced Molly from his mind.

“You’re late!” An obnoxious voice crowed from behind the counter as Beau shoved into the bar. She didn’t even spare Molly a glance as she held up a hand to flip them off, fighting a grin at the familiar greeting.

“Am not!” Beau called back, indignant if only for her pride. “Learn how to tell time!”

Molly cackled and flung a dishrag at her, Beau deftly catching it before it could smack her in the face. Turning, she chucked it back and watched Molly fumble with the damp rag for a moment before dropping it on the bar top. Beau detoured from her route to the back to swipe in so she could lean against the bar and raise a pierced eyebrow at Molly.

“New hire here today?”

“Yep,” Molly beamed, fangs peaking out from behind their lips. “Mrs. Veth seems to be a quick learner. I’ve sent her on a dinner break since she insisted on working the shift tonight. I might pull you back behind the bar from out front if it gets too crazy. You know how Fridays are.”

Beau offered them a two-finger salute of acknowledgement before making her way to the back room. She changed out quickly, shrugging her bomber jacket back on over her uniform as she shut her locker. The room next to their lockers was lit, music playing from the speakers as a handful of queens bustled about, dolling themselves up. The beginnings of a haze of smoke carrying the sweet zing of weed with it already fogged the room. Beau lifted her hand toward them in a casual wave as they called out greetings.

“Yasha just went out front,” Molly called to Beau when she re-emerged into the restaurant. Her eyes scanned across the growing crowd that was already starting to pack into the bar. Every Friday was like this, and Beau loved it. As she scanned over semi-familiar faces, her eyes caught on a lone figure hunched over a book in one corner.

“Who’s the nerd?” Beau asked, turning to look at Molly. Their solid red gaze made a strange motion as formless eyes flicked to glance over Beau’s shoulder at where she gestured. A strange smile pulled at their lips, and Beau was intrigued.

“That’s Mrs. Veth’s friend—Caleb. He’s been nose to ink with that book since he got here three hours ago.”

“Three hours?” Beau repeated, incredulous. “What the fuck?” She shot another glance over at the man, double checked her watch and—yeah. It was just past nine at night, the bar revving up for their drag show that night, and this Caleb person was reading a book. Huffing a disbelieving laugh, Beau shook her head and shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket.

“Whatever. I’m heading out front, call me if you need me behind the bar. You better head back if you want to be dolled up in time.” Molly gave her a shooing gesture of acknowledgment as she turned and headed out to sit with Yasha.

Pushing open the front door, Beau hunched into herself a little at the biting chill that greeted her. She slid onto the empty stool across from Yasha as she fumbled to zip up her bomber jacket, fingers already chilled. Beau spared the other woman a glance before checking the IDs of a rather rowdy squad of humans and half-elves that she vaguely recognized. As she waved them in, Beau once again wished that they had the funds to spare on one of those fancy scanners. It would expedite letting people into the bar, that much was certain. But Molly wasn’t in the business of making drinks and food more expensive than necessary. They also didn’t have a cover charge to get in on nights like these.

But they got paid, so they could manage without the scanner.

“Gods, it’s freezing,” Beau groused, hunching further into her jacket and tucking her nose into her collar. A glance at Yasha showed that she was lounging against the wall, looking as intimidating as ever and sporting her signature leather jacket. The towering woman also looked unbothered, jacket unzipped and dark t-shirt underneath.

“How are you not cold?”

Mismatched eyes flicked over to meet Beau’s, leaving the human breathless as always.

“I don’t feel the cold much,” Yasha said, offering Beau a loose shrug. Her voice was quiet and even as it always was. It was that removed, badass attitude of hers that first drew Beau in, the mystery and the punk vibe. But through the tiny snippets of conversations over their time bouncing together, Beau found dry humor and quiet thoughtfulness hidden beneath that stoic mask. It only served to add to the allure, and Beau was a quiet goner from the start.

“Lucky,” Beau muttered, shivering again as the wind picked up a little.

They passed a little longer in silence, interrupted only when patrons arrived, rosy-cheeked from the cold and most already looking a little buzzed. Beau kept a tally of how many bodies passed through their door on a little notepad. It was more to make sure they were keeping to the building code than anything else, but Molly also liked to know how consistent their population was in terms of audience.

Beau tucked the notepad away again as Yasha waved a gaggle of half-orcs, humans, and a Tabaxi inside. She shot a look at her companion, observing the other woman while Yasha’s attention was elsewhere. In the yellow half-light of the streetlamps and shop windows, Yasha’s abnormally pale skin glowed like washed out moonlight. Yasha gathered her hair up and pulled it over one shoulder as Beau watched with fascination and swallowed against her suddenly dry throat. It was such a mundane, simple movement, and yet Yasha made it look so ethereal. Beau opened her mouth to say something, maybe to tell Yasha how beautiful she was, when the door burst open and a queen stuck her head out. The fake hair almost didn’t fit through the frame, and both Yasha and Beau looked her way almost immediately.

“Beau, love,” the queen—Amber—called above the music spilling out behind her. “Molly needs you behind the bar. Nott’s getting a tad overwhelmed.”

“Who the fuck is Nott?”

Amber blinked at Beau, long, exaggerated lashes fluttering obscenely.

“The recent hire? It’s her fake name, didn’t Molly tell you?” Beau shot a look at the queen and she simpered a look Beau’s way in return. “Right. Well, either way, you’re needed.”

Amber ducked back into the bar as the door swung shut soundly after her. Beau pushed off the stool and stretched her arms and legs out, the icy air nipping against her as she moved. She would rather sit out here in the cold the rest of the night across from Yasha. Instead, she waved a hand in the other woman’s direction and headed inside with a sarcastic, “duty calls”.

Inside was just as insane as it always was on a Friday night.

People were everywhere, the throng of sweaty, drunk, dancing bodies filling up the space to just under code regulations. Molly was always fond of pushing boundaries in the best and worst of ways. The performance hadn’t started just yet, but the queens that were ready had begun to mingle in the crowd, hyping them up and drawing attention. They had a steady rotation of queens and kings that came through the bar with a solid six regulars that used The Moon and Mirror as their base, and Friday was almost always for their regulars. Molly hadn’t emerged from the back yet, so Beau shucked off her bomber jacket and tucked it beneath the bar before swiping up a shaker.

Veth—who wore a mask that covered the lower half of her face—was in the middle of pouring a bunch of shots. Beau caught the Halfling’s eye and gave her a quick nod before moving on.

Twenty minutes later, most of the crowd had moved away from the bar, properly drunk, to focus on the drag show about to start. Beau and Veth had a moment to breathe and Beau took the chance to sidle up alongside the stool the other perched upon. As she wiped down the shaker she had been using, Beau glanced at Veth.

“So,” she said above the music. “Nott?”

Veth looked up at her, and the Halfling’s eyes narrowed for a moment before she nodded.

“Why? Boss never tells me anything.” She avoided using the nickname she always used with Fjord, just because she didn’t know where Veth stood yet. It was all in good fun, but Beau learned the hard way to test the waters before jumping in.

“I’ve got a family,” the answer came from behind the mask. “And while I don’t have any qualms about working here, my husband’s coworkers aren’t as open-minded. I figured I would spare the bar and him the trouble.”

Beau wanted to dig into that, wanted to get defensive, but she stopped herself. If anyone understood a little lying for the sake of one’s self, it was Beau. So instead of saying what she wanted to say, she just nodded and put the shaker away.

“Cool,” Beau offered, reaching for another shaker to dry. “What does your husband do?”

Veth’s eyes were calculating, intelligent, as she studied Beau over the lip of her mask. Beau stared right back because two could play this game and Beau had been playing it her whole life.

“He works at one of the nearby universities as a science professor. He does a lot of research, and he’s very brilliant.”

Beau knew that Veth was probably inflating her husband’s intellect as most were wont to do in casual conversation. But she chose not to call her out on it. She just nodded and went about the motions of wiping down the drying cups and shakers lined up in front of her as they talk.

“I’m sure—the universities in this area are no joke. Any kids?”

“One, he’s five. He’s just as brilliant as his father.”

Beau nodded again. A human came up to the bar to order three more shots and Beau sent him on his way pretty quick. The interruption broke their flow of conversation, and neither seemed to know how or where to pick it up again. Deciding to let it drop, Beau leaned up against the counter, arms folded, and watched the performance through the tangle of bodies between the queens and herself. She hooted and cheered for each queen, happy to see they were all being decently tipped tonight by the crowd.

Around the start of Molly’s performance, a group of people stumbled up to the bar and stole Beau and Veth’s attention from the show. By the time they were wiping down the shakers and shot glasses, Molly was wrapping up their performance. Veth was peering through the crowd at a table near the corner of the front window, when Beau glanced her way. From the concerned creases at the corners of her eyes, Beau had to wonder what she was looking at.

Veth concealed the expression rather abruptly, though, and Beau decided it wasn’t worth bringing it back up.

The pair passed the night in relative silence between each other, and about an hour after the performance ended, Beau gave last call. Their Friday shows were always two hours long, and by now they were edging on one in the morning. Most of the patrons had emptied out of the bar, and the queens had long since ducked into the dressing room to take off their glitter.

Beau was in the middle of pouring three shots out for a blasted trio of half-elves when Molly came up to Veth’s side of the bar. She waved off the trio as they stumbled from the restaurant after downing their last shots and paying, before turning to the pair behind her.

“How was the shift?” Molly asked conversationally, gold glitter still shimmering faintly on their lips.

Veth, who still wore her mask, gave a one-shoulder shrug as she lined up the clean shot glasses with unnecessary precision.

“About what I expected,” her shrill voice was a little muffled behind the face covering. “The performance was…interesting.” Her hesitation was brief, barely noticeable, but Beau picked up on it, anyway. She leaned against the bar and smirked at the Halfling.

“Which part? The raving drunks or the way Ophelia shook her ass padding for a twenty?”

Molly barked out a laugh and Veth looked almost like she was fighting the amusement in her eyes.

“All of it,” Veth answered once Molly had settled down. “I’ve never been to one of these performances before—or a gay bar, for that matter.”

“Well,” Molly said with a flourish, grinning widely with their fangs on display. “I’m glad it could be our establishment that deflowered you for both.”

Veth made an amused noise of surprise behind the mask and Beau couldn’t help but cackle in response. She reached under the counter and pulled out a bottle of dark, rich colored whiskey before swiping three of the clean shot glasses from Veth’s neat rows. Pouring out the liquor with deft ease, Beau pushed a glass to Veth and Molly, lifting her own in cheers.

“I’ll drink to that,” Beau said as the other two clinked their glasses against hers. Taking the shot in one swift motion, Beau breathed out harsh and quick through her nose as the whiskey burned on the way down. Veth had removed her mask to take the shot and was staring at the now empty glass appreciatively.

“Well,” Molly crowed, sliding their empty glass to Beau and stretching their arms long over their head. “Mrs. Veth, your friend from earlier headed out during my first song, so you don’t have to worry ‘bout him. You should get back to that family of yours. Need an escort home?”

Veth tucked her mask away under the bar and produced her bag from the same compartment. Worn and well loved, sewn on patches and buttons covered the bag, and kitschy key chains were hanging from the zipper and rattling cheerfully. The Halfling flashed Beau and Molly a deceivingly sweet smile as she adjusted the bag on her shoulder.

“No need, I’ve got a switchblade on me at all times.”

Molly and Beau exchanged a look, and Beau smirked.

“Yeah, she’s gonna fit in here just fine,” Beau said, wiping down the shot glasses they used.

“Well, we’ll see you tomorrow then, Mrs. Veth,” Molly said cheerfully, waving as they headed back toward the dressing room.

Veth gave Beau a strange look before offering a swift, “good night,” and hopped off her stool to scuttle out the door.

Beau finished cleaning up behind the bar before moving on to wipe down the tables on the floor. They removed the fabric before the bar opened for the night because spills were inevitable, and it would be a pain to wash those things every night. With practiced ease of numerous shifts, Beau got the place clean enough to be passable until tomorrow when they could go over everything again, and she thought about Veth. The Halfling definitely didn’t appear to be cut from the same cloth as the rest of their staff upon first glance, but Beau had an inkling that there was something more to her. She was willing to bet money that Molly didn’t have all the details but had the same suspicion. Beau hadn’t fully taken to Veth, but she was curious enough to keep at her.

And who knew? Maybe it would be fun.

#qoq #my writing #writing #cr #critical role #fjord #mollymauk #veth brenatto #nott the brave #caduceus clay #jester lavorre #beauregard lionett #caleb widogast #yasha #m9 #the mighty nein

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vanillapie-80 · 4 years

Text

Distant Shore

The sea was something Steven lived with throughout his whole life. Many residents and tourists think the beach was haunted, but Steven knew better. It was simply just overrun with corrupted gems. Which is why The Gems won't allow him to go surfing alone, since there could be corrupted gems hidden under the ocean. But like any teenager, Steven would often sneak out to surf. And today was one of those days, he planned on going beyond the waves and relaxing for an hour or two.

Steven, with a small waterproof bag strapped around him, paddled towards the ocean. When he thought he was close enough, Steven got up from his board. Getting past the waves was something the teen relished. The rush of adrenaline, the water droplets splashing through his face, it was perfect for Steven.

As he made past the waves, the excitement died down. Steven sighed quietly and moved his bag in front of him. The teen stuck his hand in there and took out his ukulele. Steven adjusted the cords, testing out what tune he wanted for the day. When he was satisfied, Steven laid down on the board and began to play his instrument, singing along the way.

People barely go to this side of the beach, mostly because it's been closed off but also because of the whole haunted rumors. So to Steven, he had the ocean to himself. The teen rarely gets to hang out with others, he's considered to be the weird kid in the town. It doesn't bother Steven anymore, but he has been feeling lonely lately. Throughout his whole life, the people he could talk to were The Gems, his mother, his father, and Lion. But overtime, conversations feel predictable and the longing of meeting new people starts to grow.

Steven quickly pushes those thoughts away. He came here to enjoy himself and unwind. As the teen continued to sing, from the corner of his eye, he could see a shark's fin popping out of the ocean. Most people would freak out at any signs of a shark, but not Steven, he knew better. He remembered what his father told him, as long as you don't bother it and are not bleeding anywhere, the shark won't attack. So Steven tried to ignore it and focused on playing the ukulele.

Then something made his board move. The teen held a tight grip on the sides of the board on impulse. With a shaky breath, he looked down at the water to see if he found anything.... nothing. Steven tried to rationalize the odd occurrence as the ocean's current messing up his board's balance. But the teen felt like he should tuck his ukulele back in his bag, just in case. He laid back down and sang to calm his nerves.

Suddenly his board jumped out of the water, and Steven was flung into the ocean. What happened next was something teen didn't expect to see. He saw a massive shadowy figure, who looked to be twice or even thrice as tall as him. The most unique feature though was its piercing blue eyes, somehow it gave a warm feeling to Steven. But the moment the creature tried to get closer to him, that feeling was quickly replaced with fear. He swam to the surface as fast as he could and desperately cling to his board.

"Steven!" The teen groaned and looked behind him and The Gems on the beach.

"What are you doing over there!?" Pearl shouted worryingly. "Get back here this instance!"

Steven cursed himself and paddled to shore. As he expected, Pearl scolded him for going alone, Garnet looked at him in disappointment, and Amethyst... well she didn't seem to care.

In the end Pearl hugged Steven as tight as she could. "You could’ve gotten seriously hurt."

"I know." The teen said automatically. He's heard this before countless times.

"Rose is gone for a few days and put us in charge of you. We just want to protect you Steven." Garnet clarified.

The teen didn't say anything and quietly went to the house. As he reached the porch, Steven looked at the sea. Maybe there was more than marine animals and corrupted gems out there.

The rest of the day went as the norm. Do chores, waste time on videogames, help Pearl with dinner, and call mom. Steven fell on his bed and rubbed his face. What happened at the beach was still on his mind, and who could blame him? He thought of what it could be based on what he saw. Definitely not a gem, looked too human to be one. But then Steven realized, that from below its torso, it didn't seem to have any legs, but rather a tail? The teen tried connecting the dots and came to the conclusion that it was... a mermaid?

"That doesn't sound right." He thought.

Then again, he was living with aliens so maybe a mermaid was in the realm of possibilities. A loud splash that came from outside caught Steven's attention. He got out of bed and went outside, but Steven came prepared. The teen held a sword that was a gift from his mother, which was also once hers.

Cautiously, he stepped closer to the beach. At first nothing looked out to the ordinary, until Steven saw an oddly large clam. It was basically the size of a football. The teen knelt down and noticed a wet piece of paper was slapped onto the clam. Steven picked the paper up with only two fingers and realized that there was something on the paper. It was barely legible since the ink was smeared but Steven was able to read it as I'm sorry.

He dropped the paper next to him and opened the clam out of curiosity. Inside was a pearl ring, Steven plucked it out of the clam and examined it. It was beautiful all things considered, but it was apparent that the ring couldn't fit Steven's finger. The teen still appreciated the gift and held it to his hand with care.

He wasn't sure if he should say thank you, since the creature was nowhere to be seen. But he felt like it'd be rude to not say anything.

"Uh... Thanks for the ring, it's really beautiful!" Steven exclaimed at the creature, if it was even still there.

After a long awkward silence, Steven nodded to himself in reassurance and went back to the house. Morning came and Lion suddenly sat on top of Steven as he slept. The teen tried his best to get his pet off of him, but he didn't have the same strength as his mother.

"Lion, get off of me!" And he did, but by dragging Steven out of his bed. The teen huffed in annoyance and stood up, only for his feline companion nudged him relentlessly out of the house until he was outside.

"I'm already out of bed, what more do you want?!"

Lion stopped and knelt down in response. Steven felt too tired to take Lion for a walk, unfortunately that didn't matter to his pet. If Lion wanted to go out for a walk, then he was going to force Steven to do so no matter what. So the teen lazily got on top of his lion and grabbed his mane as the feline started running. At first, Steven thought that he could sleep while, but then Lion created a portal and landed in a cave. They were still on the beach, but the cave was located somewhere far away from Beach City.

"Lion, this is too far. Let's go back." Steven said.

Lion instead went inside the cave The teen was about to leave without the feline despite the fact that there was no solid ground in the cave but the deep water, until he saw a large silhouette pass by beneath them. Lion noticed and stopped, as if he was waiting for someone. And sure enough, someone emerged out of the water in front of them. Steven knew full well who it was, as the mermaid pulled his hair back and the teen could get a better look at the blue eyes he vividly remembered.

The mermaid smiled, showing his sharp teeth, and said, "There you are." His soft voice somewhat helped ease the situation for Steven.

"Oh wow." Was that came out of the teen's mouth. His body stayed completely still, not sure what to do now.

Steven had to run, it's what the Crystal Gems and his mother has taught him to do. That his life mattered more than theirs and he shouldn't get involved in anything could risk his life. But Steven didn't do that. He wanted to know why, why this person took time to come here.

"Okay, you're quiet... But I expected your reaction to be worse coming from a human."

The mermaid got close and scratched Lion's chin with his finger. "Thank you so much for helping me, little guy."

Steven regained his train of thought and realized what the person next to him said. "Wait a minute, you planned this?"

"Well yeah." The mermaid shrugged.

"How?"

"My people have the ability to communicate with animals, and I managed to convince this fella to help me bring you here."

The teen looked at his surroundings. The cave was very dim, with the source of light only being the entrance and the mermaid's eyes. "Why here though?"

"I'm not allowed to meet other humans, supposedly it's dangerous and can endanger our species." The mermaid explained, who seemed nervous trying to explain.

"So isn't being here kinda breaking that rule?" Steven asked.

"Well I had to, because you're my soulmate."

"I'm sorry, what?" The teen thought he was joking, "Soulmates don't exist. "

"Oh but they do. It's that you humans don't know it yet. Haven't you felt like a piece of you has been missing throughout your whole life, or that you've been attracted by a certain place for no reason? That's because a soulmate makes someone feel complete." Steven didn't want to believe this, he knew better, but the teen couldn't help himself. The thought of having a soulmate excited him. It was as if it came out of a fairytale.

"Of course there is another way I can prove that we're soulmates if you have any doubts." The mermaid continued.

"Really?" Steven asked.

"Yeah, here I'll show you."

The mermaid placed his hand on his chest and made it glow. As he extended his arm, strings came out that then connected to Steven's heart. It felt weird, but Steven thought it was an amazing sight to behold.

"See, we're connected." With the wave of his hand, the strings disappeared in a matter of seconds.

"This is... a lot to take in." Steven admitted as he nervously chuckled.

"Pretty much much, I mean a mermaid having a human for a soulmate is practically unheard of."

"Half human actually, my mom's an alien." The mermaid looked confused but didn't ask for more clarification.

Steven leaned forward on Lion and asked, "If you don't mind, what's your name?"

"My name is Jim." He answered, as if a weight had been lifted from him.

"Well my name is Steven."

Jim lowered himself in the water as his demeanor changed. "Can you keep our thing a secret? This really isn't supposed to happen and I don't want you to get hurt."

"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone about you." Steven stated. "Besides, I like the idea of dating in secret."

Steven had always hoped he'd find someone special in his life. But the teen didn't expect to find out this way, or who it was. Then again, his life has never been that simple or normal, and for once, it didn't bother him.

#steven universe #trollhunters #steven quartz universe #jim lake jr #mermaid au #jimven #jeven #I literally could not think of any title relating to the ocean and love #god I suck at titles #vanilla writing

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tiredandineffable · 5 years

Text

A Proposal

Now I’m Very behind on fictober, as this is still entry #7 (prompt: “Can you stay?”; I had to adapt this one slightly). This one just ended up being an immense entry for me with so much I wanted to throw in. It’s also quite possibly the longest single scene I’ve written in a good while.

This is a continuation of the past three entries (part 1, part 2, part 3). One part left, y’all!

A huge thank you to my amazing beta, @eunyisadoran, for all her amazing work! This chapter literally could not have been done without you!

Rated G.

Summary for the whole work: Aziraphale just wanted to get her parents off her back about her love life. She did not plan on falling in love with her best friend and fake girlfriend along the way. Nor did she plan on getting fake engaged. But such is life, she supposes. Ineffable wives, fake dating au that Escalates to fake engagement au. All around, a good time to be had.

..............................

2 Years Ago

“Did she say what she was looking for?” Mr. Eliot called, perching neatly on the stool behind the counter.

“Tolstoy. Zira dropped Sevastopol Sketches in the bath and she’s panicking because she teaches pre-Soviet literature this Monday, well before library hours,” Crowley explained, taking the stairs two at a time and all but throwing herself into the classic literature section. War and Peace, Anna Karinina, but where’s the rest? “Do you keep Tolstoy in Classic Lit, or is he under general fiction?”

“I’m afraid that whole second floor would be labeled classic literature if it contained everything I believed to be classic literature,” Mr. Eliot sighed. There’s the sound of another box of books landing on the counter and a smile tugs at Crowley’s lips. This place can’t fit any more books, but then he goes and buys them by the box full. “I keep popular Tolstoy works under classic literature, but Sevastopol Sketches is under politics. If it refuses to be found, I’ll come up. Can’t very well have you going home to Aziraphale empty handed, now can we?”

Crowley trailed her fingers along the spines, letting the warmth of the shop settle in as she worked her way to Politics. “Definitely can’t have that. I think the dissertation is already getting to her. You won’t believe how rude her advisor’s comments were. He claimed she was romanticising Oscar Wilde.”

When she found the book, the cover was torn and water damage had built up from what was likely years of reading in the rain, but it was legible and beggars can’t be choosers so close to a deadline. Knowing that nerd, she’ll probably just call it well-loved.

“Did the man not romanticize himself?” Mr. Eliot asked. “Was his entire life not one grand aesthetic movement? One decadence upon another?”

“Exactly!” Crowley wandered about the second floor, finding herself once again in classic lit. Victorian literature is comfortable, she realized, because it remains one of the only things she and Aziraphale share. She might never understand how a point in time so overstudied in literature could feel so personal, but it did, somehow. Ours, she thought, fingers trailing over a green spine with gold embossing.

“At times I wonder if this dissertation is about Wilde at all,” Aziraphale had said, closing her computer with the certainty of someone who has finished, but the sigh of someone who never will.

Crowley looked up from her book with a raised brow. “How is your dissertation on the translational history of Salome not about Wilde?”

“It’s so much more than that. The first English edition? Alfred translated it from Wilde’s French, even though Wilde could have easily translated it himself. To even accept its publication in Britain was to accept the censorship of its illustrations. It wasn’t true to the French version, the version Wilde himself had created. It was all a compromise,” she said. Aziraphale laid back on the carpet, short hair falling about her like a halo, and Crowley was acutely aware of the tightness in her own throat.

“But after Wilde’s death, Robert Ross took on the thankless job of purchasing back the rights on every one of Wilde’s works, including Salome," Aziraphale continued. "Cost him hundreds of thousands of dollars."

Crowley finally shut her book to lay beside her on the carpet, looking up to the ceiling to avoid staring right at her. Aziraphale was beautiful like this. Her usual perfect posture had been swapped out for a much more casual sprawl, a symbol of some unspoken trust. They'd seen the worst of each other, Crowley supposed, so letting her guard down made sense. "Seems like a lot of money to spend. Was he hoping for royalties?"

Aziraphale had lit up at the question, shaking her head and rolling onto her side to look at Crowley. "That's the thing. There was no promise the books would even still sell after the trial. But Oscar had hated some of the changes made for publishing and Ross decided to fix them after his death. Salome in particular. Robbie made sure the illustrations weren’t censored this time, confirmed that the cover was as self-indulgent in its beauty as Wilde would have wanted, took out Alfred's name. My dissertation focuses on the translation, sure, but it is a study in Ross’s choices, not Wilde’s.”

Crowley brushed her fingers along the cover, the floral pattern larger than life under her touch. A cover as decadent as Wilde would have wanted. The restored illustrations are in such direct opposition to turn-of-the-century rules of propriety that it's any wonder the uncensored form got published in Britain at all. From cover to cover, the only credit Crowley found was to Wilde; Alfred's ties to the play had been severed completely. Ross's choices.

It's a tribute, Crowley realized. In her hands is a testament to Ross's self-sacrificing love. It is the product of countless fights against King, country, and publishing houses until Ross was sure Wilde would have been pleased. All this done in the memory of a man who had never loved him back. A man who never would.

An act of self-sacrificing, unrequited love.

She paid for both books quickly and tried not to read too deeply into the purchase on the walk home.

……………….

Present day

“Don’t see why this couldn’t have waited,” Aziraphale said, brow raised to emphasize the edge of doubt in her words. Part of the benefit of their agreement was that they could toss ideas for their theses back and forth without having to worry about classes the next morning or Crowley’s commute back to her own apartment. That’s where they should be, sitting on Aziraphale’s bedroom floor, brainstorming or complaining about whatever it was they had to write next.

Instead, she’s sitting at the front door, straight-backed despite her exhaustion and tugging on her boots for an excursion that is likely not appropriate for the time of night. “It’s nine PM, Crowley. The bookstore closes in less than an hour and I am very certain that you can simply download Jekyll and Hyde online instead of harassing the bookshop owner who, quite frankly, is likely already at his wits’ end with regards to our visits. And it’s very unlike you to go out of your way to purchase a book.”

Crowley rolled her eyes, reaching over Aziraphale for her bag. “Firstly, download? What kind of English student are you? There’s no romance in sitting around with my eyes burning, reading on my computer like some amateur. There are notes to be made through the margins, stolen glances to be had over the top.”

“This isn’t Dead Poets Society, Crowley. I’m rather certain your romanticism is not worth the trouble to Mr Eliot.”

“He likes us, Zira. He’s probably bored. It’s why he always asks us about our theses and gives us discounts when we go.” She pauses then, squinting down at Aziraphale as she tugs on her sweater. “Wait. Are those my boots?”

Aziraphale considered it, looking down at the boots before getting up to smooth her skirt out. There are so many things she’d borrowed and so many things Crowley had borrowed in turn. “Likely. I don’t believe I remember buying them. Although that sweater is mine, so I’d say we’re evenly matched.”

Crowley shrugged, lips curling up in a way that leaves Aziraphale’s chest aching with fondness. She’s fond of the way Crowley turns and steps through the door, swaying as if she has both too many bones and not nearly enough. She’s fond of how Crowley all but swims in that sweater, of how she’s rolled the arms up neatly to the elbows in order to compensate for the size. Most of all, she’s fond of the unspoken intimacy they’ve cultivated over the years. She rarely lets herself dwell on that last part; no sense in misconstruing friendly actions for romantic ones when her feelings are so clearly not reciprocated.

The sweater suits Crowley, she supposes.

God, Zira, don’t focus on that either.

……………….

She stepped into the bookshop and immediately forgot why she had protested this book run. It is utterly deserted and blessedly quiet, filled only with the dusty scent of well-loved books. She has spent countless hours sitting amongst the books with Crowley, debating the potential symbolism of some minutiae of Atwood’s latest novel or the relevance of Orwell in modern society. The bookstore holds both her most infuriating and most beloved memories of Crowley, tucked comfortably between its floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.

In the middle of it all, Mr Eliot sits perched behind the counter, passively accepting the shenanigans and arguments with learned patience. He looks up as she and Crowley step in. “Ah, such illustrious visitors at such a late hour,” he says, looking up from a pile of collectible Beatrix Potter paperbacks. “May I help you find anything?”

Aziraphale shakes her head automatically, speaking before Crowley can start up an inevitably long conversation. There’s no sense in holding up Mr Eliot more than they already have. “No, no. Crowley simply forgot a book and insisted she needed it tonight. Apologies for the late hour. I assure you, we won’t be a bother.”

“Nonsense. You two are always welcome to come in,” he insists, returning his attention to the books, while Aziraphale turns hers to Crowley.

Crowley, to her credit, has made no move to engage Mr. Eliot in literary conversation. Rather, Crowley is already halfway up the steps, bounding up the stairs two steps at a time. How could anyone still be so enraptured by the subject of their dissertation after so many years? Aziraphale sighs, ignores the pang of jealousy, and ascends the stairs at a pace better suited to individuals who were not long-legged beanpoles. Maybe I should have focused on Victorian horror too.

Crowley looks over at Aziraphale as she finally reaches the top, a handful of books already in her lanky arms. All are clearly too large to be the sought-after Stevenson novella.

“How are there no copies of Jekyll and Hyde under classic lit?” Crowley asks, her shoulders back, and hips tipped a little too far forward. Forced nonchalance. Crowley’s tension is clearly the result of far more than just a misshelved book. Between the kiss and the proposal, Aziraphale has put too much on her shoulders and this is the result. Guilt settles into Aziraphale’s chest, stamping out the bookshop-induced calm.

“You check horror and I’ll check general fiction? It has to be here, Zira. I have to get this shit emailed to my advisor by the morning or he might literally crucify me.”

“We’ll find it, Crowley.” She bites her lip as she walks through the bookstore, finding her way through on muscle memory alone as she worries. Crowley had insisted it was fine, even talking her into the not-proposal. But Crowley always did this, sacrificing her mental health to save Aziraphale, and in the grand scheme of that week, it all made sense. Crowley had listened to the “80’s Songs for Self-Pitying Dumbasses” playlist no less than 14 times in half as many days on their shared account and Aziraphale, perhaps the true dumbass in this whole situation, had assumed Crowley was beating herself up over her latest publication draft. Aziraphale has to call this off. She can’t keep taking advantage of Crowley’s kindness.

Book first, sort-of-breakup second.

Stevenson should be an easy find. She brushes her fingers along the spines as she moves through the horror section. Jackson, Lovecraft, Poe, Rice, Shelley, Wilde.

Wilde?

She looks curiously at the misshelved book, running her thumb over gilded letters. Salome. The warm bookshop lighting illuminates the delicate gold floral pattern of the cover, brightens its soft green background, and Aziraphale’s hands shake not out of anxiety but out of overwhelming excitement. She flips through it with quick, light touches to the first few pages and inhales the words just as she exhales the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. She skips over decadent illustrations, over publication details. And, impossibly, there it is.

A Note on “Salome” by Robert Ross.

“Crowley!”

“Did you find it?”

Something drops out as Aziraphale flips through the book, and she reaches for it just as Crowley turns the corner. She looks...hopeful, worried. Aziraphale looked down at the small envelope and then back up to Crowley, tears forming in her eyes because this is it, isn’t it? The proposal, ineffably cruel in its perfection.

Because it is perfect. It’s intimate and thoughtful and literary. She has no idea where Crowley would have found this edition in such perfect condition, nor does she have a clue how Crowley would have been able to afford it.

And then there’s the bookshop itself. It has borne witness to their very history, from the earliest days of whatever this is, cataloguing every laugh and shelving every fight. If this were real, if Aziraphale and Crowley had actually been together for three years and Crowley had proposed right then, things would be fine. Because the library would have been theirs. Ours.

It’s where I fell in love with you. With your red curls and your too-loud laugh and the way you complain about books with bad covers. Its where I realized that every bookshop felt too quiet without your commentary. Did you notice how I dragged you here whenever I felt like shit, because I wanted my favourite person in my favourite place? How I snuck glances at you while you read because I’ve spent every school holiday over three years just fighting the urge to kiss you against the shelves? I have ached and I have ached and I have ached for any of this to be real, for you to feel even an iota of the love I do for you. I have done so amongst these books, these shelves, and these words.

And now you mock me with it.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale sounds about ready to break and she knows it. “Please tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”

Watching Crowley’s face in that moment is like watching a person simultaneously go through the five stages of grief. She wets her lips, parting them to say something but seemingly not finding the words, her brows furrowing only to smooth out. Instead, she stands frozen, sharp edges barely held together, quiet as if deciding how to act without pushing Aziraphale any further. She finally takes a step, tentative and awkward with stiff knees, looking down at her feet.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for all of it. This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”

Aziraphale almost laughs despite the tears rolling down her cheeks. “Dearest Crowley, how the hell was it supposed to be, then? Had you intended to hurt me more, to make things worse? Was there some silly detail you missed that would have truly put the nail in this coffin? I can’t imagine there’s much else you can do to toy with my emotions. You truly did your homework, checked all the boxes. Bravo. Perfect show. You outdid yourself with this one.”

“Is that what you think this is? Do you think any of this has been easy for me?” Crowley’s entire demeanor has changed, her shoulders rising not with their usual anxiety but with the frustration that comes with years of suppressed hurt, exploding all at once. “I almost drove home three times this week because the thought of doing this and seeing you react the way I had imagined was excruciating.” Crowley reaches for the envelope on the ground and pockets it, not looking back as she walked down the stairs. “Congrats on somehow making it fucking worse.”

“Can’t you stay and address your mistakes like an actual adult?” Aziraphale calls back. She won’t give her the satisfaction of running after her.

“My mistakes?” Crowley stops on the last step at the bottom of the stairs. “Want to hear about my mistakes? I fell in love with you. Not even a year into this. I stayed because it wasn’t fair that you’d have to deal with your parents just because I got a crush. Then I stayed because I couldn’t risk losing my one shot at doing all the dumb little romantic shit that I wanted to do with you, even if it didn’t really mean anything. Then I stayed because I thought maybe, one day, it might actually mean something.” Crowley sighs, tugging her coat on a little tighter with her hands clenched in the fabric, her voice too thick. “So no, I won’t stay.”

“Would you stay if I said I did too?” Aziraphale doesn’t know where those words came from, how she spoke them so confidently despite her wet lashes and shaking hands. She takes a breath as she slowly works her way down the steps, leaning on the hardwood railing. Now she’s the one being overcareful, stopping a few steps short of where a tightly wound Crowley still stands. Aziraphale is suddenly very aware of how ready Crowley is to run.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean, angel.”

Aziraphale laughs, short and bittersweet. “We were here one night, just upstairs. Mr. Eliot said we could stay as late as we wanted so long as we locked up before going home. You wanted to power through, finish up some presentation in time to get comments from your advisor because you insisted we should get some time to ourselves on this trip. So you sat there and you worked, but I didn’t. I couldn’t, really, because I kept thinking of what it would be like to crawl over and just kiss you. Which is ridiculous, because we’d kissed a handful of times that day for show. But I wanted…” She feels the curl of her lips, a breath escape between words. “I wanted to kiss you until you forgot about that presentation entirely. Until it meant something to us both.”

Crowley turns a bit towards her, wiping roughly at her face with shaky hands and God, even looking like an emotional wreck, Crowley is somehow the most beautiful person Aziraphale has ever seen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“You could right now,” Crowley says, looking into the otherwise empty shop beside her in a desperate attempt to avoid eye contact. The soft hiccuping breaths, a remnant of some shouting they’ve both come to regret, have squandered any attempts at looking cool and collected. Crowley is trying all the same. “Kiss me, I mean.”

“Could I, hmm?” Aziraphale steps forward, her pinky reaching for Crowley’s own. Crowley, to her credit, takes her whole hand instead.

“Better do it fast or-”

There’s a little choked sound from Crowley as Aziraphale finally presses in, letting her hand tangle up in Crowley’s curls, pulling her in as she’d only dreamed of doing for...God, too damn long. Her lips press in hard, a little too eager, but neither of them is up for complaining when this is so long overdue, and it’s all more than smoothed over by Crowley’s tender brush of a thumb along Aziraphale’s cheek. She had imagined how this might feel before, extrapolating from the limited data of their meaningless embraces, but she’d never before noticed the little things: the cherry taste of Crowley’s lip balm, the way she somehow eternally smells like coffee, the way she miraculously manages to be tender and hurried all at once. Too much and not enough.

She pulls Crowley in tighter but miscalculates the trajectory, accidentally bumping their glasses together. They’re both laughing by the time they pull apart.

“Wanna get out of here?” Crowley asks. She’s a little a little dishevelled and a little breathless, but she’s still brimming with her trademark teasing and Aziraphale wouldn’t have it any other way.

Aziraphale hugs the book to her chest. “Wherever you want to go.”

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