#going alone and half don’t…I like it cause I don’t bother anyone and I don’t like it cause it feels lonely | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mediumgayitalian · 2 months

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Hades’ favourite thing to rant about is how much his family forgets about and sidelines him. Nico has literally never once given the lecture his full attention, because why the fresh fuck would he subject himself to that, but he discovers, lying facedown on the floor of Cabin Three, that he must have internalised enough of it to remember some key points.

He is loathe to admit it, but Father is right. How come the Poseidon cabin floors are so nice and comfortable? The floor of Cabin Thirteen sucks. Whenever he has Floor Time in his own cabin, he gets bruised and cold. Injustice.

“Could you suffer quieter? I’m trying to study.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

“I’m not the one groaning in misery.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

Percy sighs heavily. There’s a loud thud as he snaps his textbook shut, and the creak of mattress springs as he shifts.

“You’re so fuckin’ irritating, you know that?”

“Coming from you,” Nico says indignantly, pushing up to glare at him. Percy makes a face back. “I am here, having a crisis, being vulnerable in front of you —”

“Oh my gods.”

“— like you suggested, to rebuild our tenuous relationship —”

“I wish the prophecy had killed me. Either one, I’m not picky.”

“— and you are studying! Nose in a book! You hate reading! You are doing this just to spite me!”

“I am doing this to pass my classes,” Percy snips. “Someone should send you to public school. You need to experience that particular level of hell.”

“Experienced hell already, thanks. Don’t need a redo.”

“Tartarus references don’t shut me up, Zombie Boy. I’ve been there too.”

“Ugh.”

Percy rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. Nico contemplates rolling back on the floor to Ruminate and Think (after the second failure in a row he has a much to think about, like what the fuck is he supposed to do, should he even fucking bother, is he doomed to life without love, etc, etc) but finds himself, instead, sitting upright. Watching his — friend. Watching his heavy frown, listening to the bit-back curses and the crinkle of pages when he holds the book too tightly.

He’s moody, today. Sullen. Ate his breakfast in silence and stomped off to the sword fighting arena, raising hurricane downpour around the open theatre to deter anyone from joining him. Coincidentally, Annabeth has not been seen all day.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks quietly.

Percy shrugs, glancing over then glancing quickly away. “Fine.”

“I mean. You flooded half the camp. So.”

“Just drop it, Nico. If you’re going to stay in here, be quiet.”

Nico bites back the automatic, scathing retort. Be quiet, Nicolò! Lalalalala! Don’t tell me what to do! Ugh! I hate having a little brother! Yeah, well, I hate you too!

A quick, cut-off choking sound cuts through his thoughts. He looks up, startled, to find Percy’s face red, to find him swiping angrily at his cheeks.

“Woah,” he murmurs, climbing hastily upright. He ignores the loud chanting in his brain telling him to leave, the discomfort swirling in his stomach at seeing someone cry, seeing another man cry, instead hovering awkwardly. Percy shrugs off the hand he touches hesitantly to his shoulder, and Nico holds it there, suspended, in between and outstretched.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Nico hesitates. Of all people, he…nobody wants Nico around, when they’re —whatever Percy is. Upset. The only thing he can probably do is make it worse.

But what can he do? Leave him? Get Annabeth? Jason? None of it seems right. Instead he stands, frozen, hand still half-outstretched, eyes wide.

“You can —” He clears his throat. “Um. Did something happen?”

Percy shrugs. His eyes remain glued resolutely to his textbook, although the pages are wet and warped.

“Cause you can tell me, you know. I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything.”

Gods, he is so far out of his depth. Could Kampe come back and attack? That would be easier to deal with. Nico could handle that.

“I don’t —” the pages of the textbook crinkle under Percy’s grip — “it’s fucking stupid, is what it is.”

Hovering is not the right call. He knows that much. He scans the cabin, evaluating his options — sitting back on the floor feels like a bad plan. He doesn’t think any kind of touch would be welcomed, nor is he entirely comfortable in giving it. He doesn’t want to crowd. He doesn’t want to seem too distant.

Slowly, carefully gauging Percy’s reaction, he sits on the bed, across from him. He leaves the textbook between them, letting Percy keep pretending to read it, and tucks his legs up under his knees. He fiddles absentmindedly with his ring, chewing his lip every time Percy sniffles.

“Why’s it stupid?”

Percy shrugs again. Nico resists the urge to shake him. How does anyone deal with this shit? What the hell is he even supposed to do? He’s not Jason. He’s not Annabeth. Hell, he’s not Will, who seems to read emotions intuitively, who seems to know exactly what to do when someone is scared, when someone is upset. Even when someone is angry. He tries to imagine Will, in his position. Sitting across from a crying Percy Jackson, saviour of the world. Yesterday, one of the younger kids had tripped and scraped half the skin off their arm on the basketball court. Will had been there with a soft smile and gentle, glowing hands, speaking quietly and cracking small jokes until the kid was laughing again. Nico tries to imagine that here, soft words and lighthearted jokes. It doesn’t seem right. Would he — touch Percy’s wrist, like he did with Clarisse? Drag the fight right out of him?

Is Percy even angry? Nico has seen him angry before. Murderous. Fuming.

He’s never seen him cry.

Percy’s voice is like palms scraping hard over sharp gravel stones. “I made Annabeth cry this morning.”

The way he says it makes it hard for Nico to actually understand his words. His tone of voice is — volatile, is the best way he can describe it. Loathing. Based on the curling self-hatred dripping from the sentence Nico would assume he’d tried to kill her — he says I made her cry like he doesn’t deserve to live for it. Like he’s hoping to be punished.

“That happens,” Nico says. He swallows. “When you — love people.”

He and Bianca made each other cry a lot. He just never — stopped, never gave her half a second. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she wanted to hit him. She never did. But he knew and she knew he knew and sometimes it would well up in her eyes, and she would lock herself in the bathroom of their room and turn on the sink and cry and cry and cry. And it ached something nasty in the cavity of his chest.

Percy sneers at his hands, flexing his fingers. “People who love you don’t make you cry. That’s just — hurting. That’s people who hurt everyone around them.”

Nico frowns. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says venomously. “I’m supposed to be — I’m supposed to protect her. I’m supposed to keep her safe, keep her from people who cause her pain.”

“People like you?”

Percy nods.

Nico drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He thinks of bleeding fingers clinging to a tiny shaft of rock, thinks of dangerous green eyes, hard voices; thinks of a thick web clinging to a broken ankle and an abyss. Thinks of promises and oaths and choosing. Thinks of falling. Thinks of letting go.

“People who want to harm Annabeth do not jump into the Pit for her.”

The pages of Percy’s textbook have started to dry. The ink has bled, dark splotches in perfect circles. The fountain bubbles gently behind them, mattress creaking under shifting legs.

“You don’t understand what I —” He pauses, swallowing. “Did, down there.”

“D’you hurt her?”

“…I scared her.”

“Oh, well — Christ, Percy! Is that really what this — brooding is about?” He scoffs. “No shit you scared her!”

“…What?”

Percy looks at him, wide-eyed. Nico rolls his eyes.

“Aw, when you were fighting for your life in the place meant to tear your essence into atoms, did you do things that make you question your personhood? Your morals?”

“I —”

“Of course you did, dumbass! Of course you —” he takes a breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his brain — “of course the physical manifestation of darkness and distortion made you act differently than you would usually, Percy. Of course it — affected you. Gods. Of course you’re struggling.” He flicks Percy’s knee, looking at him with exaggerated exasperation. “Use your brain, why don’t you.”

A small smile quirks the corners of Percy’s mouth, although it fades as quickly as it comes. He wipes his face with his sleeve, breath shuddering.

“She didn’t scare me, though.”

“Not even once?”

“Not in the same way,” Percy admits. “I was scared, once, when I looked at her. In the death mist. But that wasn’t — her, you know? She could never scare me.”

“I mean,” Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to articulate, “I think that’s kind of abnormal?”

Percy tilts his head.

“I just mean that you have a very high threshold, Percy. For…what you’ll tolerate from people you care about.”

“Everyone has that.”

“Not in the same way you do.” He taps his knuckles, considering. “Tell me the truth — if Annabeth stabbed someone to death in front of you, in total cold blood, would you help her hide the body?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. He shrinks, a little. “Oh.”

Nico rushes to assure, placing a fleeting touch on his wrist. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t think. It’s just —” He shrugs. “I’m used to scaring people, too. I don’t mean to. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what I — do, it’s not intentional.”

Percy opens his mouth, but Nico stumbles on.

“But you’re not — a monster, Percy, gods. No one thinks you’re a monster. Especially not Annabeth.”

Percy wiggles his finger under his watch strap, turning it tightly around his wrist, cutting off the circulation. Nico watches but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not, either.”

Nico blinks. “Huh?”

“A monster,” he explains. “You’re not, either.”

“Oh.” Nico shrugs. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, I mean it, dude, I — look. Listen.” Percy sighs. “You got baggage. I put some of it on you. I’m sorry.”

Hands around his — throat — angry, angry eyes — harder — bruising — you promised! you promised! you promised!

“It’s fine.” A pause. “I did shit to you, too.”

“It’s not fine. And I know you did. We can still —”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He sighs again, a long, defeated sound, and curls in on himself.

“One day you’ll forgive yourself,” Nico murmurs. “One day I’ll — me too, I guess. Me and you.”

Percy smiles tiredly. “And we’ll be okay?”

“No. You’ll still be annoying.”

He snorts. “Whatever. Drama queen.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen, Mr. I Don’t Deserve To Be Loved.”

Percy snorts. He turns back to his textbook, fiddling with the dried page, and snorts again, trying to duck his head. Nico bites the corner of his mouth, hard. Percy glances up again, and Nico meets his eyes, and they —

Gods, they’re bad at this.

But suddenly Percy can’t choke back his laughter, and it’s wheezing and self-deprecating and still kind of teary and Nico is laughing, too, because thank the gods that shit is over. Percy’s red-cheeked and Nico is red-cheeked and neither of them are going to look at each other for a week, Nico’s sure, but for now he can roll his eyes at Percy’s melodrama and dodge his embarrassed shoving, and it’s fine.

“You should talk to Annabeth,” Nico suggests, when the giggling has toned down.

Percy picks at the torn-up skin around his nails. “Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

“Why were you lying on the floor?” Percy asks instead. It is the least subtle subject change of all time, but Nico takes it as the hint it is and drops the subject. It’s not his business, anyway. They’ll talk. He knows Annabeth better than to think she’ll let it fester, at least.

“Oh, you know. Crushing weight of being alive, mortifying ordeal of being known, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Oh my gods. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Well, serves you right then, you selfish bitch.”

Percy snorts. “What, I cry all over you and now it’s your turn to vent?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it works. Transactional and eye-for-an-eye. Exactly as friendship should be.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Percy says, but he can’t tamp down his smile any more than he can stop his eyes from rolling, so there. Nico is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, thank you very much. A regular comedian.

Percy snaps textbook closed and sets it on the bedside table. “So.”

“So.”

Nico squirms. Suddenly he’s not sure why the hell he came in here in the first place. Are the floors in Cabin Thirteen really that bad? Surely not. Surely Floor Time didn’t have to be in Percy’s cabin.

(He blames Father for this. He’s horribly nosy. No doubt he’s passed his nosiness onto Nico, irregardless of his lack of DNA, and made Nico the way that he is. He can’t think of a single other reason he ducked into the cabin after lunch, when Percy still hadn’t shown his face.)

“Dude, come on. You came in here and whined and huffed and made a nuisance of yourself for literally forty minutes, and now that I’m giving you the attention you begged for you don’t want it? Nuh-uh. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill about,” Nico protests, “gods, can’t a man just complain in peace —”

“Ha! Not sure you can call yourself a ‘man’ if you’re voice is still cracking, squirt.”

“I literally hate you. Not joking.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Percy raises an eyebrow. “Well, since my guts are already spilled out and flopping all over the floor —”

“Disgusting.”

“—so it’s your turn, now.” He pokes Nico’s bicep. Nico bats him away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor, scooting over to put more space between them. Thankfully, Percy doesn’t follow, and he exhales, settling his back against the bed frame. The mattress springs creak again as he readjusts. “You can tell me, you know.” Nico can hear the smile in his voice at the cheeky repitition. “I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything. Ahem.”

“You’re so annoying.” Nico picks at a loose thread in the knees of his pants, looping it around his finger.

Will thinks ripped jeans are stupid. He hadn’t said so outright, when Nico came back from his Aphrodite-Cabin-enforced shopping trip, but Nico had noticed his pursed lips and deliberately schooled face. When he’d pressed about it, pestering him until he’d given up with the very southern passive aggressive if you like, Nico, I love, don’t you worry about it answer, he’d gotten a forty minute rant about jeans that “sold less jean for more fuckin’ money” that made him laugh until he cried.

He yanks the thread and pulls. The hole widens.

“Oh my gods, you’re actually whipped. Is that what this is?”

Nico flushes. “Shut up.”

“It is!” Percy grins widely, wicked delight in his eyes. “You are literally thinking about him right now! You might as well be kicking your feet! You —”

“Shut up, Percy, gods.”

“I’ve never seen you so red,” he says instead, because he is incapable of following instructions. His smile fades, face softening into something more pensive. “You must really like him.”

Nico shrugs. Is that what he feels for Will? Gorgeous. I’ve been crushing on you forever. He likes a lot of people. You always know just what I need. A lot of people aren’t Will.

“He’s not scared of me.” No matter how much he fiddles with it, the metal of his ring is always cold. Cold hands, he supposes. He never heats up much. “Or. intimated. Creeped out. He thinks I’m —”

He clamps his mouth shut. A bubble of something expands in his chest, growing out of his lungs, past his shoulders, pushing his throat closed. He swallows, hard, trying to shove it back, but — Nico! Hey! You think I couldn’t stand to see a friendly face? No way, Death Boy, no more Underworld-y magic for you! I can literally feel you fading! My hands are still shaking — here, feel.

“Gorgeous?” The smile on Percy’s face is teasing, but much softer than before. “I heard he — said.”

Maybe it’s the redness of Percy’s nose that hasn’t quite faded, or his still-puffy eyes, but finally the bubble pops, and Nico sighs, tipping his head back until it rests on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes. After a beat of hesitation, callused fingers brush through his hair, ruffling it, lingering awkwardly before pulling away. He smiles.

“Yes.”

“…Really? He just up and told you, that he had a —”

Percy stumbles on the words. Nico peeks one eye open and grinning wryly. “Yeah. He’s a hell of a lot braver than I am. Or maybe he’s just shameless.”

“He was always really intense about being your friend.” Percy screws up his face, tilting his head as if envisioning it. “I didn’t understand what that meant, at first. I didn’t get…the reason? Behind it? If that makes sense.”

“You forgot about gay people,” Nico says drily. “I know.”

“This is true,” Percy admits. He grins, sheepish. “That’s an L on my part. Every time me and Annabeth went looking for you he’d somehow know about it and ask us a bajillion questions when we got back. I just thought he was really into necromancy, or something, but now it’s like…damn.”

Nico covers his eyes with his hand, fighting back an embarrassed smile. He thinks your eyes are a tie between moonstone and agate, in case you were wondering. There is literally not a single soul in this camp unaware about how much he likes you.

“You’d think it would be easier to get him to go out with me, then.”

“It hasn’t been?”

Nico throws his hands up. “No! He doesn’t — I got him flowers, Percy, and he ground them up to make a poultice. He thought the rock I got him was a bribe. I open every door for him and I always pull out a chair for him at counsellor meetings. I make sure to stand up first when we’re sitting together and offer him a hand. I don’t know what else I can — do, gods.” He makes a noise of frustration, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m being as obvious as I can be. What am I gonna have to do to get him to realise? Fuckin’ — tattoo his name on my forehead?”

Percy slides his hand into his pocket, pulling out his pen. He twists it around his fingers, fiddling with the cap, picking at the plastic casing. He uses the end of it to trace mindless swirls on his thigh, which Nico can’t help but feel is dangerous. One wrong move and he better hope Nico can drag him to the fountain fast enough to stabilize him. But his eyes are far away, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“There is a chance,” he says slowly, “that he…knows.”

Nico frowns, turning to face him properly. He looks resolutely at his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I — well.” He does finally uncap his blade, staring at the soft glow of the bronze, rubbing his thumbnail over the leather handle. “I. Knew,” he says haltingly. “That Annabeth liked me. I —”

Nico watches him carefully. This is…news, to him. He didn’t keep up much on camp drama about the two of them — for obvious reasons — but he hardly had to. Even during his brief, one or two day stops at Camp, Percy and Annabeth gossip was impossible to avoid. People talked about them constantly, about how much they obviously cared for each other, how oblivious, especially, Percy was. It used to give him a twisted sort of hope.

“You…knew? And you didn’t do anything?”

Percy winces. “She got frustrated with hiding it. She kissed me, once, before I blew up St. Helens. And I just —” He shrugs. “I couldn’t believe that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me.”

It’s impossible to miss his meaning, to miss the self-directed bitterness at the end of his words. Nico recognises it because he practically invented it. Someone like me. Someone disgusting, ugly, unworthy. Someone bitter and twisted and wrong. Someone so undeserving.

“I think Will is like me,” Percy continues softly. “That — insecurity.” He says the word quickly, like he might be able to hide it in the rest of the sentence. “I think he thinks very highly of you. And I think it’s hard for him to believe that you want to — to lower yourself, to be with him.”

“That’s inane,” Nico argues. “He’s — bright and kind and smart and — he’s fucking everything, what is he —!”

“He grew up a healer in a camp full of warriors. Full of talented people,” Percy murmurs. “When you’re surrounded by people who know what they’re doing, it’s easy to feel like a loser.”

Nico opens his mouth, closing it again. On principle he doesn’t agree with Percy. It doesn’t make sense. Every single person at this camp has relied on Will in more than one way for as long as he’s been here — as long as he’s been healing them. How could he not know what his purpose is? How could he not realise his talents?

Ace bandage, sound and unwound. Hard blue eyes, self-directed sneer. I’m just a healer.

“He’s not a loser,” Nico says eventually. “I don’t think he’s a — loser.”

Nico thinks he’s quite a bit more than that, actually. In fact if all words in the any language he knows, ‘loser’ is probably the least apt to describe him.

“How do I make him realise? Make him —”

Percy shrugs. “Took Annabeth several years and I still think I’m — well. I still struggle. You’ll have to be patient.” He glances over, and that mischevious smile is back on his face, the one that promises trouble and guarantees Nico an excuse to kick him. “Or, you know, you could just tell him that you think he’s bright, and kind, and smart, and beautiful, and —”

Nico does indeed kick him. He falls back against his pillow, laughing, curled against his side.

“I did not — I did not say beautiful,” Nico says hotly, “that was not on the list, you total jackass —”

Percy only laughs harder, no matter how many times Nico kicks him.

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drunkenlionwrites · 29 days

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Heyy may i request boothill x fem!reader who likes feminine and cute stuff like bows, dresses and pastel colors while boothill is more the tough guy in the relationship

(maybe a short drabble of this)

ugh anon, I’m dying. It’s too cute, what did you do to my brain 😭😭 CW: fem!reader, fluff

All the pretty things. You’ve always had an eye for all the things pretty: soft flowy skirts that tickle the skin when you walk fast, elaborate looking huge parfaits, latte art that takes a maestro of a barista to make, pastel colored dresses that make you feel like a princess, especially when adorned with little bows – your latest obsession.

That’s why you stand in the huge line at Dreamjolt Hostelry now, with your boyfriend in tow – you just can’t miss the new limited cocktail they announced. It’s supposed to be sweet and fruity, but above all else you’re excited to see the presentation. When you asked Boothill to come there together, he looked at you with the “again your search for cute stuff” look, but agreed like he always does. How can he let his precious cupcake go into the bar all alone? His looks alone intimidate the crowd around you, and although people heard him to be Pom Pom, the mysterious Astral Express conductor, they don’t really bother any of you. Not that anyone would otherwise, but Boothill says you should always be cautious of your surroundings. And you listen to him, of course, albeit you know that he’ll never let anything happen to you.

‘Cautious’ he is now, already making friends among the people who stay in line in front of you, cracking some jokes that they half understand yet laugh, cause this weird outsider is honestly kinda endearing.

And when he finally gets two drinks for both of you - all big vinage glasses, white creamy top and horryfyingly pink liquid base, he turns to you with the smug toothy grin and shining eyes so alive, that you can’t look away for you’ve always had an eye for all the things pretty - and Boothill is the prettiest.

#lion writes #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill x reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #boothill x you #boothill x y/n #hsr fluff #hsr imagines #hsr headcanons #boothill headcanons

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sleepyhollands · 10 months

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false god

PAIRING harry styles x reader

SUMMARY harry’s having trouble finding enough time to spend with y/n, even after she drops everything and joins him on tour. when they talk, they only seem to argue. when they don’t, they only seem to fuck.

WARNINGS she’s an angsty one— lots of miscommunication, poorly executed arguments, and general couple fighting content. BUT!! there is lots of really cute fluff at the end :> also, beware of smutty content such as soft!dom harry (my favorite), oral (f!receiving, implied m!receiving), unprotected p in v, a brief hesitation to get naked on y/n’s part, an even more brief mention of bondage play, harry leaves like one love bite, and tooth-rotting holding each other while having sex content. lmk if i missed anything!

WORD COUNT 5.5k

AUTHOR’S NOTE fun fact this was supposed to be done months ago and then literally everything that could have gotten in my way did just that. but she’s here now!! writing this was a challenge but i feel so good about it now that it’s complete and i can’t wait for you all to read it. please lmk you enjoyed by leaving feedback and/or reblogging!! special thanks to @cherryjuiceblues for beta reading for me <3 ily <3

LOVER SELECTION one-shots here.

“harry, it doesn’t matter if—”

“it does to me!”

“hey, there are two people in this relationship, you know.”

“yeah, an‘ one of ’em feels like right shit on what’s meant to be the greatest tour of his life! doesn’t that mean anythin‘ to you?”

“of course it does, i just—”

“really? ’cause y’could’ve fooled me, love.”

“harry, i swear, if you interrupt me one more time, i’m booking the next flight home.”

… tour had been going really well for harry! he was playing back to back sold out shows in some of the biggest cities in the world, with adoring fans lining up by the thousands, itching to hear him sing live. he’d already had some really sweet interactions on stage, and no crazy mishaps had occurred (he was especially proud of himself for having ensured everyone’s safety so far). just in the last week alone, he’d been nominated for three different awards for his newest album and performances. anyone could see that he was living a dream— the dream, really. the kind that only comes true once in a blue moon.

and yet… tour had been going really poorly for harry. now, he doesn’t like to complain about much; he knows just how fortunate he is, and actively tries to see the bigger picture when frustrated. but it was really hard to zoom out of his particular situation when he was so zeroed in on a particular aspect that had been bugging him for weeks— y/n.

don’t get him wrong! y/n herself wasn’t what was bothering him. it was more so her presence, and his… lack thereof.

if there’s one thing harry prides himself on more than anything, it’s being an attentive lover— even in the most innocent and platonic of ways. he tries his absolute hardest to be a supportive brother, a considerate son, a (hopefully) decent role model to those who look up to him, and especially a present, loving boyfriend. and for the most part, he’s just as successful in those aspects as he is in his career. in fact, y/n regularly speaks of how harry treats her like she hangs the stars in the sky just for him, how he makes her feel like the most special girl in the world.

but this tour was taking its toll, and harry was taking it out on y/n. he’s never been great at communicating everything in the most positive of ways— that’s where he turns to songwriting— and he’d let his emotions get the better of him after letting them build up for the past couple of weeks. he wasn’t proud of himself, but he needed an outlet.

harry didn’t mean to start the fight. but when y/n asked him where he’d been after a last minute management meeting following that night’s show kept him an extra half hour later than he said he’d be, it was like all the frustration just erupted. inadequacy is one of his least favorite feelings (next to loneliness), and being a barely-there or only-sometimes-there boyfriend couldn’t be more of a trigger for that particular emotion.

now here they were, vexation filling the tour bus around them like a fog they could barely see through, inhaling it with every breath and releasing it back into the atmosphere surrounding them. harry huffed out a sigh, arms crossed and brow furrowed as he angrily looked out the window of the tour bus to distract himself for a moment, having to mentally step away from the argument at hand, even if just for a few seconds. watching as the dark streets outside shined with the headlights of other vehicles, he found himself wishing he were in one of them. it would be nice to be in a car alone, nothing but his thoughts and some music to keep him company.

but he had real company. she was standing not six feet away from him, emulating his defensive position with her arms drawn across her own chest, jaw clenching and relaxing every other moment. when he finally turned to look at her again, he exhaled loudly.

“we were crazy to think that this could work,” he mumbled, barely audible to y/n, but she was able to make it out.

even when they fought, the girl seemed to be in sync with him, inhaling deeply, subconsciously countering his previous expulsion of breath. the yin to his yang.

“what are you talking about?”

harry groaned at her words. how didn’t she get this? “y/n, i’m never around! i wake up when you’re still asleep, prepare for the day, go to the venue, help set up the stage, sound check, rehearse a bit, and then ’m off t’go get ready for a show that lasts two hours. almost each night! i come back exhausted and aching to sleep! where d’you see yourself fitting in there?”

when y/n realized it was her turn to speak again, she said, “first off, do you think you could please calm down a little? i can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

his eyes narrowed. “like what?”

“when you’re acting like a child, harry! i mean, for god’s sake, i’m not nine! i can handle hanging out on my own for a few days at a time and just getting to cuddle with you at night until you have a day off. it’s not like i don’t have things to do throughout the day, too.”

while harry tended to say things he didn’t exactly believe in the heat of the moment, y/n meant every word she uttered. she really was content relaxing in the tour bus or a hotel room taking care of work on her laptop, catching up on new episodes of her favorite shows, or even going out to explore whatever new city they were in by herself. harry had breaks between show days once or twice a week, and the thought of having those days to themselves was enough to sate her desire to spend time with him. it annoyed her that he didn’t understand that, as she’d never been the clingy type and was always very self-sufficient.

“oh, i’m acting like a child, am i? right, i didn’t realize that wanting t’be present in my relationship with my girlfriend was childish, but hey, you learn something new every day, i s’pose.”

oh, y/n was really starting to seethe now. letting her arms fall to her sides with a frustrated puff, she began again.

“god, harry, you’re not childish for wanting to spend time together! i’m saying you need to realize that i’m perfectly capable of waiting for your days off to really spend time with you. you’re acting like we can’t function without each other!”

“the whole idea of you comin‘ on tour with me was to have this time together, y/n,” harry fired back. “if we’re barely going to get to see each other anyways, then what’s the bloody point?”

…

harry might have spoken too soon. at least, that’s what he thought as he laid overtop y/n on the tour bus couch, because now the point might very well be getting to just feel her lips on his every now and again.

it was late; harry had just come back from a show. usually, he’s too tired to do anything but crash onto a cloud-like mattress after all the jumping around he does on that stage, but this time all he wanted was his girl. it’d started innocently enough, with harry pulling y/n into his lap on the worn, red leather of the couch. his hands roamed along her hips and down to her waist beneath her soft hoodie (which wasn’t even technically her’s, but is it really theft if harry just leaves his clothes lying around for her to nab?), exploring the soft expanse of her skin, not straying any lower. her own hands were hidden in his curls, lightly scratching at his scalp in what she hoped were soothing motions.

harry knew he was done for once he initiated the kiss. tentative at first, he pressed light pecks along the corner of her mouth, quick and feathery, like he didn’t really care if he got to kiss her so much as he got to hold her, or simply be with her. but soon, the eagerness set in, like he wasn’t sure when the next time he’d get to have her was, and suddenly he was capturing her mouth with his own, barely giving her a chance to breathe as he tasted her. while harry never really believed in a higher power, he could have sworn he found religion in her lips.

things only escalated from there. it wasn’t long before harry was wrapping his muscular arms around y/n, so tight that he accidentally squeezed too hard, earning a squeak from the girl. he muttered a hushed but sincere “’m sorry, darling,” to compensate. one hand supported her head, the other splayed across her back as he laid her against the cushions so that he could keep loving on her on the way down. he relished her little whimpers that she tried so hard to suppress, grinning against her jawbone, her neck, any skin he came across on his journey south to more pressing territory.

harry didn’t bother removing y/n’s hoodie, opting instead to push it up past her naval in favor of gaining access to the waistband of her fluffy sleep shorts. he felt her hands tighten their grip ever so slightly on his shoulders as he hooked his fingers under it, relaxing again when he rubbed the pad of his thumb delicately along her hipbone, reminding her it was only him.

it was a thing with y/n. she loved harry, of course she did, and she trusted him more than anyone. and maybe it was the way she was brought up, or perhaps a few poor experiences with sexual partners in the past, but there was always a fleeting moment of anxiety before shedding the clothing barrier before sex. like dipping a toe into a cold lake and hesitating a little, then ultimately deciding that jumping in wouldn’t be so bad.

harry never pried. the first few times they’d slept together, he noticed her nerves, and asked her if she was sure she wanted to continue. y/n had said yes each time, and after a while, he stopped asking. but still, whenever he noticed that brief nervous shift, harry gave her a chance to change her mind.

this time, he bided his time by sponging tender kisses right above where his fingers were still half hidden under her shorts. he wanted her to feel safe, and taken care of, and he hoped his gentle touches and even breathing could remedy her anxiety. as he waited, harry’s mind drifted…. he was getting lost in the feel of her soft skin, its dips and curves and blemishes. he thought about her waist, how his hands fit so perfectly against its sides; her tummy, and how the muscles there jolted when he tickled them; and her hips… god, if y/n’s body was a church, her hips could be the altar. harry was ready to say a prayer right then, thanking every higher power for blessing him with this gorgeous girl—

“harry?” his love’s melodic voice interrupted his thoughts, and harry’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, his nose continuing to skim just above her navel. “um… you can keep going. please.”

the corner of harry’s mouth quirked upward, and y/n could have sworn she caught a glimpse of mischief in the jade of his irises, but it was gone in an instant, as he wasted no time in stripping her of her bottoms.

…

“god, h-harry,” panted y/n, her grip on his curls constricting with every lick to her core, “’s so good, oh—”

“would feel even better if y’stopped trying t’run away from me, wouldn’t it? don’t wanna have to tie you down.”

y/n couldn’t help it! it wasn’t her fault if harry’s tongue was just too good and her body’s natural reaction was to attempt to escape his grip for a little relief. if anything, he should be happy— they’d been at this for so long y/n lost count of the minutes, and after two toe-curling orgasms, one would think harry’s jaw could use a break.

but that thought flew out the window when y/n remembered who she was metaphorically in bed with.

“’m sorry…,” she whimpered, gripping the side of the couch cushion as her eyes squeezed shut.

“don‘ have to be sorry, darling,” harry mumbled against her folds, chin glistening with her arousal as he placed a soft kiss to y/n’s clit, making her jolt in his hold. he breathed a short laugh, adjusting his arms so that one held her upper thigh next to his head, while the other pinned her hips to the red leather, restricting her ability to move. “jus’ wanna make you feel as good as possible, is all. will y’let me?”

harry turned his head, nipping at the inside of the girl’s thigh, and she gasped at the brief assault on the softest skin of her body, now adorning the mark of his front teeth that she loved so much. she shuddered a breath as best she could, and harry could tell by the way her knuckles were turning white in their grip on the couch that she was trying her best to be good. feeling a twinge of guilt, he figured maybe he should offer her a second to breathe. y/n opened her eyes when she felt harry’s lips retreat from her aching cunt and the weight of his head rest against the love bite.

“hey.”

y/n cast her gaze down upon the boy (who looked far too innocent, considering what they were doing) with his cheek laid on her inner thigh, stray hairs tickling her just a tad. playfulness swam in his eyes, but there was an underlying current of concern.

“doin‘ okay?”

she nodded, gulping. harry noticed.

“because we can take a break if you want to. just say the word, okay?”

“i will, i-i promise. but… can you please keep going?”

that was all he needed to get right back into it, only with even more fervor than before. when y/n reached her third and final peak of the night, her whole body shook, and harry had the pleasure of getting to watch as he helped her ride out her high. he almost came in his pants, rutting his hips into the sofa, moaning against her core, begging her give it t’me, love, that’s it.

harry pulled back when she started pushing at his head, whining for relief as he gave one final lap at her core. he grinned at her fucked-out figure as he wiped his face on his forearm, then took her hand that had been grasping at the cushion in one of his, bringing the back of it to his lips for a gentle kiss.

“feel all right, baby?”

“mhm,” she hummed between heaving breaths, glancing at what she assumed could only be a quite painful stiffy between his legs as he sat up, “do you?”

harry followed her line of vision, offering her a chuckle and an i’m fine, using his free hand to smooth his thumb along her brow. before he could even register it, her palm slipped from the grip of his other hand and traveled down to rub against the bulge in his pants, earning a sharp hiss from her boyfriend and a deep groan soon after.

“why don’t you let me repay the favor?”

…

harry was pretty sure y/n was asleep. if she wasn’t, she was definitely on the verge— her breaths were deep and even as she laid in his hold, her head on his chest, ear pressed overtop his steadily beating heart. and who could blame her? the evening’s activities had worn her out, which meant harry had done his job properly. he was more than happy to be wide awake, running his fingertips up and down her arm, inhaling the sweet scent of her fruity body wash while she dreamt if it meant she was rested and content and happy.

moments like these made harry think they could get away with it. the long hours spent apart, the hectic schedules, the fighting. sure, it was tough, and yes, they both had a temper that rivaled one another’s for the ‘least amount of patience award’ on any given day. but every missing ounce of patience was compensated by double its weight in love. they loved one another enough to make it work.

they could make this work.

right?

…

“jesus, harry, how do you think that makes me feel? you’d honestly rather i not be here? are you actually that insecure?”

“c’mon, y/n, you know tha’s not what i meant.”

y/n felt like they were going around in circles, having the same fight over and over again. only this time, the couple found themselves in a beautiful hotel room, with a beautiful view overlooking a beautiful city. and instead of getting to enjoy it, y/n was glaring at harry though the vanity mirror, his back facing her as he tamed his wild curls for tonight’s show… which he had to leave for in just a few short minutes.

the balled up fist on y/n’s hip flew up to her face, fingers flexing to pinch at the bridge of her nose as her eyes squeezed shut for a moment.

“i can’t believe this. i dropped everything to be here with you— to support you on the most incredible tour of your career— and instead of being happy i’m here as opposed to the alternative of thousands of miles away in a different time zone for months, you’re sitting here bitching about being too tired?”

harry sighed deeply, only infuriating y/n more. “you’re missing the point. ’s not that i don’t want you here, or just that ’m too tired. ’s knowing you’re sitting around by yourself, waiting on me while ’m working, when you could be out with friends and family, or sleeping in the comfort of your own bed—”

“that you’re not in!” the girl loudly interjected— how didn’t he get this? “i put all those things aside for us, har. it’s not like i’m leaving my life behind for years. christ’s sake, the tour is over in two months! but somehow, being away from my home and routine is easier than being in the same room as you right now.”

harry contemplated his next words carefully, turning them over in his head a few times and editing any obvious mistakes, leaving the pair of them to marinate in suffocating silence for a good ten or so seconds before he finally spoke.

“y/n… i can’t be a good boyfriend and a serious artist simultaneously, okay? not while ’m on tour. i can’t keep losing sleep over how well i’m balancing—”

“okay, you know what, harry? you know what? maybe you should just leave me, then. wouldn’t that be easier? you’d be able to sleep better at night, right?”

they both knew she didn’t mean it, though harry couldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt to hear. but she was pissed, and harry knew better than to try to reason with her when she was like this.

when she realized he wasn’t going to respond, instead electing to stare brokenly into the mirror, she continued. “you know damn well how hard i work for this relationship. i’ve flown across the oceans that have separated us, driven for hours just to get to see you for, like, one— hell, i’ve skipped some of my most important classes so we could go to shitty dive bars in the middle of the day together! yeah, remember that? i love you, okay? people who love each other are supposed to be grateful for any time they have together at all, no matter if it’s every day or once a year.”

y/n took a breath, finally cooling down after her heated rant. she took a moment to take in the sight of her boyfriend, dressed so vibrantly, feeling anything but.

“they warned us about times like this,” the defeated tone of y/n’s whisper was enough to finally get harry to say something.

“what was that, love?”

the girl swallowed the little saliva in her mouth before speaking up a mere decibel. “remember what my parents said? ‘the road gets hard, and you get lost when you’re led by blind faith,’” she imitated her father’s deep voice, and if not for the circumstances, harry might’ve laughed.

they weren’t lost, were they?

…

if there was such a thing as heaven on earth, y/n is pretty sure she’s been there. in fact, she goes there whenever harry so much as touches her.

when he kisses her shin as they lay watching a movie together on the couch, pulling her leg up off his lap and craning his neck downward to meet it in the middle. when he runs his fingers down the bridge of her nose, making an exaggerated boop! noise once he reaches the tip, gently pressing against it like a doorbell. and especially when he has her like this.

harry’s arms felt secure wrapped around y/n’s torso, her hips moving back and forth atop his own. the feeling of his cock twitching and shifting inside her while her nipples rub deliciously along his chest made her dizzy, like she had just gotten off a loopy rollercoaster. harry’s back arched just slightly off the plush mattress of their hotel suite’s bed when y/n gave a little bounce, arms constricting around her and forcing a pleased sigh to fall from her lips.

the girl hid her face in the crook of his neck, and harry could feel each and every hot breath against his skin. lost in pleasure, he let his large hands migrate from her hips down to her bum, where he gave a small pinch to the flesh, eliciting a yelp and a small jolt from y/n.

“sorry, baby,” he laughed, “couldn’t help m’self.” harry gently flattened his palm against the now tender skin, rubbing there softly in an attempt to soothe the little ache he left. when he felt satisfied, he shifted to rubbing between her shoulder blades instead, his other arm still wrapped around her lower back as she returned to her previous rhythm above him.

y/n could tell harry was enjoying himself. his groans alone were evidence enough, not to mention the little utterances of “shit, darling,” and “so good t’me,” he frequently let slip. but perhaps he just needed a bit more to reach his high, because without warning his hands were on her thighs, gripping tightly as he began to thrust upwards into her at a much quicker pace than she had originally set— it had her seeing stars in a matter of mere seconds.

“oh, god— harry,” y/n gasped out, gripping the edge of the plush pillow by harry’s ear. she could feel him hitting that special spot inside her with every snap of his hips, and she couldn’t stop her eyes from rolling back into her head, muscles tightening all throughout her body.

“almost there, angel… just…,” harry’s thrusts began to slow, becoming more deliberate, and now he was moving her hips to grind against his each time they met, sending y/n over the edge.

y/n’s moans were long and drawn out as she came, body spasms making her hold on more tightly to harry for stability. she didn’t even hear him finish, too busy reveling in the euphoric feeling of cumming in his arms, surrounded by warmth and love and feeling the safest she had in a long while.

it was moments like these where y/n couldn’t fathom how she’s ever been upset with harry. he was perfect, lying here under her unsteady body, breathing deeply not only to catch his breath, but to take in the smell of her. she wanted this for eternity. and if this was heaven, then surely hell was when they fought with each other.

…

y/n thought she was dreaming at first, not used to being roused from her slumber by anything other than her well-timed alarm and the occasional bark of a dog on a nearby street. she expected that after blinking the sleep from her eyes a few times, the vague image of her favorite boy would dissipate, and she’d fall back into the comfort of her warm pillow. but when she squeezed them shut once, then twice, and her boyfriend’s face was still a foot away from her’s, brushing his fingertips up her nose and along her brow, she set aside her exhaustion in exchange for confusion.

now, harry knew better than to wake y/n up. in most circumstances, she’d tell him off, or gently kick at him to get him to leave her alone. he found it rather endearing, and it’s one of the reasons he’s so protective of her in her sleep— always holding her close to keep her safe, shielding her eyes from any light intruding on the space she lay, making sure both their phones were set to ‘do not disturb.’ but he had to make an exception, just this once.

“darling,” she barely registered his whisper, “wake up f’me, please?”

a whine fell from y/n’s lips, her eyes scrunching shut as she turned her body away from him, which harry knew was code for let me sleep, for fuck’s sake! a smile graced his lips at the action, jotting down a mental note to make this up to her later.

compensating for the newfound distance between them, harry scooted closer to her. he kneeled on the floor next to the bed, close to the pillows she rested upon. he laid one arm against the mattress, perching his chin on the back of his wrist. using his free hand, he continued to brush his fingertips lightly against his love’s cheek, her jaw— all along her face, really. god, her loves her face so much.

“please, baby?”

harry had just come back from one of his best performances yet— the crowd’s energy was unmatched, the chemistry between him and his band members was palpable, and he’d managed to not get hit with any flying objects all night! but what really did it for him was the fan project he was surprised with at the end of the show. thousands of people in the room wore light-up bracelets that shone pink and blue during one of his favorite songs, ‘love of my life.’ if harry’s heart had been any more full in that moment, it might’ve exploded right there in his chest.

he had been on cloud nine for a moment. but soon, realization washed over him in a way that squeezed at his lungs, stealing his breath for a second. the love of his life was somewhere miles away, probably sitting in their hotel room watching a comfort film, oblivious to anything he was feeling on that stage. he just wanted to go home to her and gush about what had happened, and how he wished she’d been there, and how it made so much sense that it would happen during ‘love of my life’ because it was the perfect representation of the amount of love he had for his, and how if she’d have been there, he would have looked directly at her and smiled the whole time.

it made him realize how bloody stupid he was.

in retrospect, the conversation he’d needlessly just woken y/n up for could have waited until morning. but then harry wouldn’t have been able to sleep if he didn’t tell her he was sorry right away.

a groan sounded through the room, followed by the ruffling of bedsheets as the girl turned back over to glare annoyedly at harry. he let out a soft laugh at her behavior.

“’m sorry, baby. know you jus‘ wanna sleep right now, but ’s it okay if we talk for a mo‘?”

“now?” y/n asked in a gravelly voice.

“now, m‘ love.”

with a soft sigh, she relented, sitting up and rubbing the sleep from her eyes with her knuckles. harry caught the motion, bringing his hands up to pull hers away from her face. he didn’t like when y/n did that, as she always managed to do it too roughly. instead, he held her smaller hands in his own, getting up to sit on the edge of the bed, facing her.

“what is it?” y/n asked through a yawn. harry looked at her for a moment— really looked at her— before responding.

“i’m sorry.”

it took her a moment to register his words. “for waking me up?”

harry laughed that dreamy laugh she loved so much, and it almost made up for the fact that she was up at twelve thirty in the morning. “no, y’little minx. not for that. well, yes, for that, but that’s not what i meant.”

“what are you sorry for, then?”

harry looked at her with an expression y/n couldn’t place. it look him a few beats to speak. “i… i’m sorry i was such a prick before. i love that you’re here, an‘ that i get t’see you when i’m off. know you put aside a lot for this, an‘ i ruined it with m’own problems. didn’t mean to.”

y/n’s features softened at the boy’s sincerity, and if it weren’t for the warmth his hands encapsulating hers provided, she’d have reached out and held his face, peppering kisses over every dip and curve.

“i know you didn’t…. i’m sorry, too.”

“for what?”

“i should’ve listened better. you were trying to tell me how you felt and i just disregarded it. that wasn’t very nice of me, either.”

the right corner of harry’s lips tugged upwards, morphing his mouth into that little half-grin y/n adored so much. “think we can get past it, darling?”

the girl scooted forward the tiniest bit, harry’s magnetic pull too hard to resist. though they were the only two in the room, she whispered, “i’ll forgive you if you forgive me.” harry liked how she made something so simple sound like a secret deal between them.

harry’s half-smile quickly quirked up, completing itself, and y/n swooned over his dimples and adorable bunny teeth. a short and quiet breath of a laugh fell past his lips, and for a moment, he just looked at her. but his gaze caught a glimpse of uncertainty in her eyes, and his grin faltered a bit.

y/n was always good at hiding her true emotions when she wanted to. not when it really mattered, don’t get her wrong— she wasn’t one to take anyone’s shit. but at dinner with her parents or meetings at work, she was able to pretend she wasn’t exhausted or annoyed. it never worked with harry, though. he could read and understand her like his own lyrics, and tonight was no exception. he saw through the mask of humor at her uncertainty, and a pang of guilt bloomed in his chest.

he let out a sigh as he beckoned her forward by gently tugging her hands, still in his, toward him. “c’mere, baby,” he said softly, pulling his love into his lap. y/n curled into him, knees tucked upward into her chest as his strong arms found purchase around her frame, holding her tenderly but securely. one of harry’s large hands held the back of her head against him, her ear right over his heart, listening to it beat for her.

“love you like crazy. you’ve no idea.” he peppered light kisses to the top of her head, so softly she might’ve missed one or two. “thank you for comin‘ an‘ s’porting me. means the world, honestly.”

“i’m happy to be anywhere with you, har,” she replied in a voice honey-thick with sleep. “even if it’s just for a few minutes. always so happy to have you.”

harry closed his eyes, laying back into the pillows, bringing y/n down with him so that she was laying overtop his sturdy body, inhaling his every exhale.

“you have me,” he said, though he was almost certain she didn’t hear him, likely already pulled into the void of sleep, drawn in by the comfort of harry’s arms, his smell, him.

“you’ll always have me.”

taglist (final time using the old one, see new link in bio): @fahsey @caswinchester2000 @lmaotshollandd @jackiehollanderr @nervousdadmode @amii-nyc @skitmix @auggie2000 @voguesir @yourgoldengirls @hunnybunimdun @lolooo22 @atoris-fantasy

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leaentries · 8 months

Text

welcome back | luke hughes

summary: when someone insults you at the devil's welcome-back party, luke doesn't take it lightly.

warnings: rude comments about weight, pretty much straight-up bullying, a stranger being a complete dickwad, swearing, making-out

wc: 1.3k+

Luke absolutely adored you. In his eyes, you hung the moon and painted every last star. That’s why he often got distraught and confused when people felt the need to comment about your appearance. Now, it was very clear that you were bigger than the typical girl, but it just made Luke love you that much more.

The ceiling was littered with glittering lights, and the walls were covered in black and red decor. The annual welcome-back party was in full swing, couples and players alike mingling in every corner of the large room.

It was quite obvious that the Devil’s organization spared no expense in planning this event. It was grand, to say the least. A highly sought-after DJ stood at his booth in the center of the room, playing any song imaginable. Yet, you were too enamored with the brunette in front of you.

Luke was dressed in a sleek black suit with a jacket perfectly tailored to cling to the hard muscles on his arms, displaying them with any slight movement. His white dress shirt was slightly unbuttoned as the room got hotter. Luke’s tie had been ditched within the first five minutes of arriving, as he claimed it was “choking him.” You could barely tear your eyes away, even for a moment. However, the feeling was very much mutual. With the dress you had on, Luke was practically drooling all over the table.

You wore the very dress that could make Luke fall to his knees. The material hugged every curve of your body in the most flattering way. Luke could have sworn he fell in love with you all over again the second you walked out of your apartment. Anyone in the room could see the love swimming in waves around the both of you.

You quietly talked amongst yourselves, at least until Jack and Nico made their way to your table. The conversation quickly changed to the upcoming opener, the boys eager to start the season. Only half-listening, you noticed the food being restocked. You figured Luke was probably starving since the two of you had spent almost all day getting ready.

You lightly gripped the arm that rested next to you, gaining his attention. “I’m gonna go make us some plates.” You nodded towards the freshly made food. He agreed immediately, solidifying your previous assumption. You stood, placing a gentle kiss on the top of Luke’s head as you made your way to the buffet.

You grabbed two pearly white plates, setting them in front of you as you began to put all of Luke’s favorites onto his plate. You piled as much as the porcelain could handle, then proceeded to fill your own. You balanced the two plates, getting ready to walk away when a male voice sounded from beside you.

“Two plates, seriously?” You turned towards the rough voice, clearly confused as to what you thought you heard.

“Excuse me?” You replied, a slight edge to your voice.

“I mean, c’mon, you obviously don’t need that much food. Sweetheart, I hate to break it to you, but you fill out that dress a bit too much already. It wouldn’t hurt to cut back on the carbs.”

Shock flooded your body, causing you to freeze. There was absolutely no way a complete stranger just said that to you, let alone to your face. The shock was quickly replaced with anger. You set the plates down, careful not to spill Luke’s food.

“Apparently, I’m doing just fine if you felt the need to stare at me for that long.” You crossed your arms, biting the side of your mouth in an attempt to control your irritation.

“It’s kind of hard to miss you. You’re one of the biggest girls in the room.” Your anger dissipated, shame rushing to take its place. You felt your cheeks and ears begin to burn with embarrassment.

Normally, comments like this didn’t bother you, but something about the look in this guy’s eyes made you feel a brand new form of humiliation.

“What the fuck did you just say to my girlfriend?” The sound of a voice you couldn’t be more happy to hear echoed from behind you. Luke came to stand beside you, slightly putting his body in front of yours.

Luke’s jaw ticked with rage. His eyes were dark, you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this angry. Not even on the ice. The guy’s eyes widened, noticeably in fear and… excitement?

“Oh my, you’re Luke Hughes! I’ve been trying to find you all night! I wanted to see if you would be interested in coming on my podcast next week?” The stranger's audacity caught you by surprise.

Luke’s fists tightened, glaringly angry.

“Are you serious right now?” Luke’s voice was harsh, “You just openly insulted my girlfriend, then you have the audacity to ask me to come on your podcast?” The stranger’s eye drifted to you, then back to Luke.

“She’s your girlfriend? I heard you had one, but never would I have guessed she would look like that.”

Crack!

The sound of Luke’s fist colliding with the guy's face was all you could hear. The room went silent, all eyes on Luke’s visibly enraged body towering over the guy clutching his nose on the ground.

“I swear to God, if you ever come near me or my girlfriend again, you’ll fucking regret it.” Luke grabbed your hand, leading you past your table where he quickly snatched up your belongings. He whispered something to Jack and Nico, to which they responded with understanding nods. He continued to lead you through the large building until you reached the parking garage.

Luke had yet to say a single word, the tension in the air became suffocating.

He remained silent the rest of the way to the car, helping you into the passenger side. Once he was in the car, he let out a deep sigh, gripping the steering wheel.

“I’m so sorry, baby” His voice came out barely above a whisper. You looked over, noticing his eyes tightly shut.

You shook your head, “Sorry for what? Nothing that happened in there was your fault.” He turned his head towards you, opening his deep eyes to meet yours. Conflict fought battles within his orbs, causing you to reach over and cradle his face. “Lukey, listen to me. I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re okay. He was just some jackass that isn’t happy with his life so he felt the need to take it out on me.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “I don’t get it. You’re the one who got insulted, yet you’re comforting me. It’s supposed to be the other way around.” You smiled, leaning to place a soft kiss on his nose.

“I’m just used to it, I guess. I have tough skin.” Luke frowned at this.

“You shouldn’t be used to it, y/n.” He reached to hold your hands in his, “You’re so fucking beautiful, I just don’t understand how anyone could say those things about you. You don’t deserve any of it.”

Overwhelmed by his statement, you couldn’t do anything but press your lips against his. He kissed back immediately, pulling you as close as the car would allow. The kiss was desperate and needy, expressing every emotion you both were feeling. Your hands gripped at the curls on his neck, causing a low groan to escape his throat.

You pulled away, leaving both of you with heaving chests as you attempted to catch your breath. “Thank you for defending me, Lukey.”

“I’ll always defend you, angel.” He looked deeply into your eyes, before leaning back to turn on the car, “But now it’s time to go get as much food as we can stuff down our throats.” You laughed at his antics.

This boy was gonna be the death of you.

#luke hughes #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x chubby!reader #luke hughes headcanons #luke hughes fic #luke hughes imagine #luke hughes blurb #nhl x reader #umich hockey x chubby!reader #umich hockey x reader #nj devils #njd x reader #njd x chubby!reader #jack hughes #nico hischier #leawrites🍀

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sonicblueartist · 7 months

Text

Bullfrog x h!reader

Request: A scenario where he gets cold and just wants to seek warmth cause he feels like he could hibernate

A/N: This idea is so cute 😭 thank you for telling me! @viney900 (he might be a bit out of character omg so sorry for that) I hope you like it. And sorry it's a bit short and rushed 💦

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.6k

Taglist: @blorbostation

Btw does anyone want to be in the tag list?

Hibernation

It was mid-December and it was snowing like crazy. Everything was white as far as the eye could see. You were wearing your warmest clothes while watching this beautiful view with a cup of hot chocolate in your hand. It was your favorite time of year as all these piles of metal were covered in snow, it was a new sight. Finally something natural and organic.

You sipped your hot chocolate with a delighted smile and looked towards the couch, "Hey, do you want to go outside and play in some snow?" No, of course you weren't talking to your couch. You weren't that crazy yet.

A muffled, unamused grunt came from the other end. Bullfrog spoke unhappily from where he was wrapped in blankets, "I'd rather stay inside, Miel. Don't get me wrong. I'd love to have fun with you, but—" You could literally hear him shudder when he heard the word snow.

You chuckled at that, "Oh, come on. A little snow won't do anything. What's wrong with having a little fun? It's not like it can eat you." Your smile faded slightly with concern when you didn't hear a sound from him. Your thoughts were intruding again, "It's not that cold at home and you're still wrapped in a bunch of blankets. Aren't you sweating in there? Don't tell me you're..." Your voice trailed off.

“Non, I am not sick, stop worrying.”

"I can't help it, you know." You approached and leaned back on the couch. You watch as he slowly sips his own hot chocolate. His half-closed eyes had been staring at the silent program that had been playing on the television for some time. The show kept ending and repeating itself.

"Well, if you are not sick and want to have fun with me, do you not want to get your clothes wet in the snow or do you hate the cold or something?" You had a feeling it was more than that. You knew he wouldn't mind getting cold or his clothes getting wet and dirty if it meant the two of you had fun. But... this time the 'cold' seemed to bother him further then he was letting on.

He rubbed his eyes, “I…” He sighed. “I don’t hate it—“

“You just don’t feel like it then—“

"You don't need to be around me all the time, you know. If you want to play in the snow, you're free to do that." He thought you weren't having fun because you were staying with him, and you know he felt guilty about that. But it was your choice and frankly you would have preferred to stay with him. You weren't staying with him because playing alone wasn't fun, you were staying with him because you just wanted to be around him. And that was reason enough. It was better to sit quietly with him than to run through the snow and possibly get sick afterwards anyway. You chose to stay warm and comfortable. So you were understanding him.

"My free will chooses to stay with your sick body." You patted his head.

“I am not sick— peu importe…” He grumbled.

You jumped over the couch and sat next to him with a grin, "Fine. You're healthy as always."

Bullfrog didn't seem to understand what you were saying and neither of you spoke for a while, continuing to watch the TV idly as you sipped your hot chocolate. Instead he seemed to be having a fight in his head, "You know what? I changed my mind. Let's go outside. If I keep sitting like this, I'm going to fall asleep."

You turned to him, surprised, "Really? Hey, you don't need to force yourself. It's okay if you're not comfortable. It's fine with me, you know."

He gave a dismissive thumbs up, "No, it's okay, don't worry. Let's go." He freed himself from the pile of blankets he was wrapped in and jumped down to the ground. He quickly finished his hot chocolate and placed it on the coffee table. As you looked at him in surprise, he abruptly grabbed your arm and quickly dragged you towards the door while you yelped in surprise, "Let's go!"

You stumbled, trying not to drop your own hot chocolate, "W-wait. Slow down! I'm gonna fall!" You put your drink aside and quickly took your coat, and before you could wear it properly, you were already out of the house and being pulled up the stairs. He had already put on his own coat before you started getting dressed.

He dragged you up the stairs and you walked out of the building and onto the rooftop. You heard him let out a small breath when his feet came into contact with the snow. He trembled and muttered a few inaudible French words.

The two of you walked to the middle of the roof and observed the white world. Bullfrog looked tense and stiff. You could see that he was trying hard not to shake. He looked like he was torn between whether to stay or run back inside.

You decide that you can help him get out of his misery. To your surprise he seemed to have chosen to slowly escape. While he turned back and tried to walk towards the door with shaky steps, you took a handful of snow and formed a ball. He was muttering about what a bad idea this was.

“Hey, Bullfrog. Are you running back inside so quickly?” You didn't know what was going on inside his head, but you were sure he had to win whatever argument was going on and forget about it for a moment. He just needed to relax. You knew he could have fun too.

He stammered, mostly out of embarrassment, as you can guess, "I'm sorry. But it seems like this isn't the right mood for—" He cried out, losing his balance as you successfully hit him in the head with the snowball, and fell face flat down.

Your eyes widen, “Holy shit." You were actually expecting him to sense the incoming attack and dodge or catch the ball or— do anything else. He's never done this before. Now you're worried. There was definitely something wrong with him.

You rush to his side, “You okay?” He shakily got up to his knees.

"I shouldn't have let my guard down. It's my fault." He laughed weakly at his mistake. But you knew there was more to it than that. After not getting an answer from you for a while, he slowly looked at you. He swallowed with your serious face. It seems like he can't evade the questions anymore.

"What's your problem?" Your eyebrows furrowed in seriousness and concern. A simple question but difficult to answer. A question that heaved his heart.

He frowned, “Rien, nothing wrong—“

"Are you ill?" You repeated the same question that worries you again. Because if he was really sick, you couldn't let him tire himself out like this. You gently caressed his cheek, and pressed the back of your hand to his forehead. His weak arms almost give out with your warm touch. He fleed from your touch, not letting herself melt, and sighed, "I told you I wasn't."

“Then what’s wrong with you?” He stood up shakily with a grunt. He heavied a sigh and watched his warm breath come out in a visible small cloud, "I...I'm going to hibernate." He sulked.

“You… what?”

He dismissed it, "It's not a big deal. I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner... I just couldn't find the right words to inform you." That felt like a big lie "And I'm sorry for ruining your fun, I'm... going back now."

You held his shoulder, "Wait a minute. Are you going to hibernate? Now?" How could he say this wasn't a big deal? He'll probably sleep for about a month or two and that doesn't seem like a big deal? This is really important for his health and it seems like he's been ignoring it for a while! Why does he keep himself from hibernation!?

He glanced away, “Uh… non… Not right now. I can’t… I can’t sleep yet.”

“And why is that?”

He frowned, “You know why. I shouldn't sleep. I have lots of work to finish.”

You crossed your arms over you chest, with a raised brow, “I thought you said you were free until—“

He quickly interjected, "That's right! I said 'until'. And at any moment, someone can give me an important task. So what happens if I don't do it? I can't leave anything unfinished using the excuse that I was just sleeping." As the two of you stared at each others eyes for a while, a light breeze passed by and you noticed that it had started to snow again.

You saw that his shaking was getting worse, he is vulnerable right now, so you approached him without furthering the discussion and easily picked him up as he looked in surprise. "H-huh..."

“Let's go back home before you get actually sick. We'll talk about all this there." He sighed in defeat and let your warmth envelop him, finding it useless to resist. He pressed his face into the crook of your neck as he let it all happen.

You closed the door behind you and looked at him. You took off your jacket along with his and dropped it on the floor. At that moment, he was using all the energy in him not to fall asleep while in your arms. You smiled slightly at this. He was just like a little child stubbornly resisting falling asleep in his mother's arms. How long had he been resisting hibernation? All his life? Is this even possible?

"I understand your concerns, but hibernation exists for a reason. It's for your own g—"

"Please, you don't have to tell me that. I already know." He mumbled, sighing sleepily. "Please put me down."

You hummed, "Fine. I'll put you down."

He stammered when he noticed you walking towards your room, "W-what are you doing?" You didn't answer, instead you walked into your bedroom and laid down on your bed with him. You wrapped your hands tighter around his body and didn't let him escape from you. He didn't struggle much and exhaled tiredly.“Dors avec moi” you mumbled, causing his eyes to widen with your words.

His cheeks changed colors with that, "I told you I am not going to sleep." This time it was you who flustered him.

"Sure. Don't. But I will. And you are not leaving me while I sleep." He tried to push you away in protest. You finally let out a deep sigh. "Please. Bullfrog. I promise to wake you up if something happens, okay? Just focus on resting for now." He froze. He thought about it and glanced up at you, "You promise to wake me up?"

"Of course I do! When did I lie to you?"

His eyes softened. He moved a little closer to you and sighed, "Bien..." He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer and closed them with a relieved smile. And with surprising speed he fell asleep immediately. You watched for a while as his chest slowly rose and fell as he soundly sleeped. Maybe you shouldn't have taken off his coat because even though you covered him with a blanket, he was still slightly shivering, holding on to you like his life depended on it. You slowly took his hands off you and left his trembling body silently. He quickly curled into a small ball to protect himself from the cold, causing you to smile. You quickly ran to the living room and collected all the blankets he left on the couch and went back inside and wrapped him even tighter with the blankets you brought and laid down next to him. He had somehow managed to find you and cuddle up next to you.

"Bonne nuit" You whispered as you closed your eyes to rest with him.

#bullfrog x reader #bullfrog #captain lazerhawk spoilers #captain lazerhawk #allenwrites #reader #x reader

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tornoleander · 9 months

Text

Jay’s been through it

CW: Sexual assault Implications brief discussion of sexual predators + lotta swearing

(Please let me know if I missed any content warnings and Check if you are ok to hear this theory before reading. This type content has potential to help or hurt you depending on who you are as is the nature of problematic themes. Safety over curiosity.)

This is cannon compliment. Uhh kids show?! Yeah I know shouldn’t really have these themes but they’re there hear me out. Spoilers for season 6/8 I guess.

I’m bothered by this scene and how It connect to certain events so I’ll cautiously share

Sons of Garmadon Episode 7:

Here is the clip

Kelo asks “Where’s the green Ninja”

WHAT THE FUCK! Dude the double take I had when first watching this.

So he looked at Kelo’s… lower half and basically said ‘Cole shut up that man’s crotch is too close’. And not in Jay joking tone, he’s like dead serious and stressed. (The scene just cuts away after)

Jay you ok? Why is it implied some guy might have tried something?! Why else would he say that?! Who the FUCK touched my boi? What even is this scene?!

The fact it’s Jay that said it out of everyone is bad because it’s been implied to him before.

So let’s talk about the darkest Ninjago theory that’s been quietly circulating for a while in fan content. For simplicity I’ll call it captains quarters theory, If you’re unfamiliar I’ll explain.

Basically some speculation happened because of a certain villain that displayed subtle ongoing predatory behavior. And a part when Jay was his prisoner that caused people to worry what happened before the scene started.

As some of you have caught on It’s the scene where Cole rescues Jay from Misfortunes Keep.

He didn’t find Jay in his cell where he should have.

Cole found him beaten as ninjago has ever depicted except when literally dying.

Alone

no explanation given.

In the corner of Captains Quarters.

Nadakhan’s room.

Dude :(

And his concern afterwards.

And thinking he didn’t deserve saving.

“Thank you for trying to save me,-

It’s Just a lot.

Doing awful things to make Jay wish it all away is terrifyingly in Nadakhan’s character. Not just the sadistic torture part.

Nadakhan has many behaviors similar to a sexual predator. I’ll go over it briefly but see my last post for a detailed analysis.

He Seeks out vulnerable people for victims. The Ninja are teens and he waits till or makes them emotionally vulnerable. The way he talks about gifting his wishes and giving his victims anything they desire can be read as grooming behavior. His secrecy in getting all the ninja alone and doesn’t even talk to his crew about his plans. Manipulative and Controlling obviously.

And the most glaring issues he’s WAY tooo fucking touchy all the time. Like watch his body language during Skybound and see how uncomfortable it is

“Too slow junkyard boy”

Not to mention how explicitly he doesn’t care about consent….

And “If you don’t come willingly Nya, I will take you regardless” followed by a forced marriage.

Side note he doesn’t refers to Jay with his name and the things he calls him…uggh “What lies is our little canary whistling now, hmm?”

So… It’s cannon compliant that something was attempted or happened to Jay. Bruh wtf.

Well if you feel like you resonate with this or it may help there a few great fanworks that explore this I can recommend if interested. Mmm comfort angst.

(Note don’t bother anyone for enjoying Nadakhan as a character. It’s fiction and it hurts no one)

#captain’s quarters theory #ninjago #ninjago jay #ninjago ninja #ninjago nadakhan #ninjago nya #ninjago thoughts #ninjago theory #ninjago angst #tw sex abuse #cw swearing #tw predator #tw implied abuse #cw sa implied #cw language #ninjago skybound #Oli speaks #Oli’s Skybound insanity #skybound slander

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dearestvante · 4 months

Text

wrong number; kth.

in which your boyfriend is ignoring you, so you have to get creative.

pairing: taehyung x reader genre: non idol au, established relationship, fluff, lilbit of angst warnings: mild swearing word count: 873

a/n. just a little something before valentine's ends <3 enjoy!

the pounding on your front door got louder with every second you left it unanswered. you had a faint idea who might be behind it, so you weren’t exactly rushing to open it up.

“alright, i’m coming!” you yelled, then after fiddling with your keys for a few more seconds, you finally opened it. your senses didn’t fail, behind the door it was taehyung, your noticeably pissed off boyfriend. you can’t get a word out, he’s already barged in, standing in front of you with both hands on his waist.

“sure, come right in.” you close the front door and face him, arms crossed in front of your chest.

“what the fuck was that text y/n?!”

oh, yes. the text. the two of you had quite a big fight a few days ago, which resulted in him storming out of your apartment in the middle of the night. he has been ignoring all your calls and messages ever since, therefore in order to get his attention, you had to get a little creative. so you had the genius idea to send him a text, which suggests that you had fun with someone last night and you would like to do it again, and make it look like it was meant for someone else. and after half an hour of sitting around, staring at the message, you hit send eventually. your efforts didn’t go in vain, cause he replied within minutes. gotcha, you thought before hitting him with the “oh, sorry, wrong number.” that sentence definitely set your plan in motion, cause he’s here, and he’s talking to you, although it’s not about making up. not yet, at least.

“it was nothing, forget it.” you reply, trying so hard not to smile.

“nothing?! do you, perhaps, need a reminder that we’re still together?” his eyebrows raise in confusion as he takes a small step towards you. he is a bit intimidating, but good god, he looks so attractive.

“no, but you might!” you quickly shake away your wondering thoughts and focus on settling this conflict, cause it’s been bothering you. and you were hoping that he feels the same, he’s just too stubborn to make the first step.

“me? i’m not the one “having fun” with others.”

his words hit you so hard, you drop your act almost immediately. “did you really think that i— oh my god, taehyung!”

“what the fuck was i supposed to think after that text, huh?!” you bury your face in your hands, realizing just how stupid this whole plan was. now you have to come clean, and he might not even believe you. you take a deep breath and raise your gaze to meet his, that’s eagerly waiting for an explanation.

“it wasn’t meant for anyone else, it was meant for you, all along.” he doesn’t seem to understand, so you continue. “i sent that text to get your attention.”

you break the eye contact, looking down at your feet. you feel ashamed and pathetic and his piercing gaze is not exactly helping. the few second of silence that falls on the room feels never-ending and suffocating. you want to say something but you can’t even bring yourself to lift your head, let alone talk. he breaks the overwhelming quiet with a relieved sigh. you can feel him get closer to you, one hand grabs your waist, the other slips under your chin, forcing you to look at him.

“it worked, i guess.” he smiles, faintly.

“why were you ignoring me?”

“cause.. uncertainty was better than accepting the fact that you might want to end this… and then you sent me that text today, and i just… i thought you moved on.”

“oh, tae..” you almost break down crying when you realize what you did. he wasn’t mad, like you thought, he was just scared of losing you, and you just fueled his concern.

“i would never do that to you.”

you bring your arms up to cup his face but he precedes you with the act and before you would even realize it, his lips are crashing against yours. you don’t waste so much time either and kiss him back immediately, one hand running through his soft, dark hair, while the other wraps around his shoulders so you can pull him closer. seconds turn into minutes like this and you get so lost in the moment that you forget why did he came here in the first place. after slowly separating, you are standing there, with both hands intertwined, foreheads still touched together.

“i don’t even remember what we were fighting about.” taehyung says, raising his head a little so he can look at you.

“probably something stupid.”

“and you sent me that text to get my attention? that was the only reason?” he changes the subject, you can tell that it’s still bothering him.

“well.. not really.” you reply, but seeing that look on his face makes you regret it a little, so you quickly add, “you look hot when you’re pissed off.”

he sighs in relief, shaking his head, then looks back at you with the most beautiful smile you’ve ever seen. “you make me crazy, you brat.”

“i love you.”

“i love you more.”

#taehyung ff #kim taehyung #bts x reader #taehyung x reader #taehyung x y/n #taehyung x you

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chavahlahdraws · 10 months

Note

okay i see you’re obviously a fan of hmc, as you should, but i have a question cause i read the book but people on tiktok pissed me off (as booktok usually does i’m about ready to get rid of it) and a lot of people were saying it’s weird that people love the relationship even though sophie “didn’t really love him” because she was charmed. but i was like no y’all i thought she really loved him?? like she stays with him to have a kid right so???

ok. here is a real way to comment on this yippee! this is actually aweslome because i get to do my little sophie rant.

first of all and most importantly - sophie was never charmed by howl. quite the opposite, really, which i would argue is how she fell for him in the first place.

“Oh, confound that gray-and-scarlet suit!” Sophie said. “I refuse to believe that I was the one that got caught with it!” The trouble was the blue-and-silver suit seemed to have worked just the same. She stumped a few steps further. “Anyway,’ she said with great relief, “Howl doesn’t like me!”

this is by far one of my favorite sophie moments in the whole book: and i understand the confusion here for more than one reason (will explain more later!) but clearly she’s using the gray and scarlet suit as a euphemism because she’s in denial. after everything she’s seen of him, sophie refuses to believe that she could fall in love with someone who is so intrinsically flawed—however, as we find at the end of the book—they’re the same in that respect.

howl is by no means a bad person or an evil person in the slightest, and despite herself sophie falls in love with him because of his kindness (like most people do, anyway) here’s some times that they bond …

More about Howl? Sophie thought desperately. I have to blacken his name! Her mind was such a blank that for a second it actually seemed to her that Howl had no faults at all. How stupid! “Well, he’s fickle, careless, selfish, and hysterical,” she said. “Half the time I think he doesn’t care what happens to anyone as long as he’s all right-but then I find out how awfully kind he’s been to someone. Then I think he’s kind just when it suits him-only then I find out he undercharges poor people. I don’t know, Your Majesty. He’s a mess.”

“Behold the new Royal Wizard,” he said. “My name is very black.” Then he began to laugh, much to the surprise of Sophie and Michael. “And what did she do to the Count of Catterack?” he laughed. “I should never have let her near the King!” “I did blacken your name!” Sophie protested. “I know. It was my miscalculation,” Howl said.

Howl pointed a shaky hand up toward the canopy of his bed. “That’s why I love spiders. ‘If at first you don’t succeed, try, try, try, again.’ I keep trying,” he said with great sadness. “But I brought it on myself by making a bargain some years ago, and I know I shall never be able to love anyone properly now.” The water running out of Howl’s eyes was definitely tears now. Sophie was concerned. “Now, you mustn’t cry-”

“If you come out here alone, bring your stick to test the ground with,” Howl said. “It’s full of springs and bog. And don’t go any further that way.”

As she had feared, the hard black-and-white daylight coming through the broken wall showed her that Howl had not bothered to shave or tidy his hair. His eyes were still red-rimmed and his black sleeves were torn in several places. There was not much to choose between Howl and the scarecrow. Oh, dear! Sophie thought. He must love Miss Angorian very much. “I came for Miss Angorian,” she explained. “And I thought if I arranged for your family to visit you, it would keep you quiet for once!” Howl said disgustedly. “But no-”

Howl rose up on his hands and knees with a scramble. “I can’t stay,” he said. “I’ve got to rescue that fool Sophie.” “I’m here!” Sophie said, shaking his shoulder. “But so is Miss Angorian! Get up and do something about her! Quickly!”

Howl looked a little sad, but he said, “We were both hoping you would. Neither of us wanted to end up like the Witch and Miss Angorian. Would you call your hair ginger?” “Red gold,” Sophie said. Not much had changed about Howl that she could see, now he had his heart back, except maybe that his eyes seemed a deeper color-more like eyes and less like glass marbles. “Unlike some people’s,” she said, “it’s natural.” “I’ve never seen why people put such a value on things being natural,” Howl said, and Sophie knew then that he was scarcely changed at all.

and finally…

“Sophie,” said Martha, “the spell’s off you! Did you hear?” But Sophie and Howl were holding one another’s hands and smiling and smiling, quite unable to stop. “Don’t bother me now,” said Howl. “I only did it for the money.” “Liar!” said Sophie.

howl and sophie are meant for each other! they compliment each other immensely, and it’s difficult to describe how well they do so concisely. what i can pin it down to is this: nothing is secret between them. they operate like best friends as well as they do as lovers; they never let anything slide between them! sophie refuses to take howl’s shit when he crosses a line, (and howl vice cersa, especially when sophie is putting herself down) but they also know each other well enough to truly know their intentions when they say anything. a great example of this in hmc is this whole conversation:

“Why did you pretend to run away? To deceive the Witch?” “Not likely!” Howl yelled. “I’m a coward. Only way I can do something this frightening is to tell my self I’m not doing it!” Oh, dear! Sophie thought, looking round at the swirling grit. He’s being honest! And this is a wind. The last bit of the curse has come true! The hot grit hit her thunderously and Howl’s grip hurt. “Keep running!” Howl bawled. “You’ll get hurt at this speed!” Sophie gasped and made her legs work again. She could see the mountains clearly now and a line of green below that was the flowering bushes. Even though yellow sand kept swirling in the way, the mountains seemed to grow and the green line rushed toward them until it was hedge high. “All my flanks were weak!” Howl shouted. “I was relying on Suliman being alive. Then when all that seemed to be left of him was Percival, I was so scared I had to go out and get drunk. And then you go and play into the Witch’s hands!” “I’m the eldest!” Sophie shrieked. “I’m a failure!” “Garbage!” Howl shouted. “You just never stop to think!” Howl was slowing down. Dust kicked up round them in dense clouds. Sophie only knew the bushes were quite near because she could hear the rush and rattle of the gritty wind in the leaves. They plunged in among them with a crash, still going so fast that Howl had to swerve and drag Sophie in along, skimming run across a lake. “And you’re too nice,” he added, above the lap-lap of the water and the patter of sand on the water-lily leaves. “I was relying on you being too jealous to let that demon near the place.”

sorry for the chunky quote, but this is super super important for our two silly little characters and their dynamic!!

and as for the misconception that sophie was charmed by howl:

mrs. pentsemmon actually hints when she meets sophie that she cursed the grey and scarlet suit herself (out of jealousy, though she’d never say it) and the original passage says that;

The trouble was the blue-and-silver suit seemed to have worked just the same.

Sophie knows for a fact that she felt the same about Howl when he was wearing the blue and silver suit that she did when he wore the enchanted one, and she knew from that that she most definitely wasn’t affected by the charm.

also! a little note about misconceptions in general: the first time i read hmc, the ending scene felt out of nowhere. but that’s how subtly dwj worked in the character development throughout this story! at it’s core hmc is a character based story, and howl and sophie are the most important characters (sophie especially!) but in the first read through i think we all focused on the plot a little more since we didn’t know that was what it was. every read through since, i’ve seen how howl and sophie fall in love in real time! and it’s undeniable then. :3

anyways! relationships written by a woman always win fr. thanks for listening to my rant if you made it this far. and my good friend @thatfoolsophie if you have anything to add, please do to this already crazy long post lmao :3

#hmc book #howl’s moving castle #hmc #dwj #sophie hatter #howell jenkins #howl pendragon #howls moving castle #sophie x howl #howl and sophie #long post #book analysis

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thethreeeyed-raven · 8 months

Text

first meeting

make me feel masterlist

navigation | warnings : none? | dream of the endless playlist | tags : @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom , @knight-of-flowerss , @fangsp1der-2099

“Miss Y/n!”

One of your maids entered your bedroom and had drawn the curtains. You sat up tiredly, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and shielding them from the bright sun when you opened them to look at the woman.

“Yes, Prudence?” You asked her groggily.

She gave you a small smile, placing the fresh clean clothes she had folded in her arm on the chair in front of your dresser. “Your mother wants you downstairs as soon as you're ready. Your sister, the Duchess, is here for a visit.”

You sighed, already knowing what the visit was for.

“Finally! The diamond is awake!” Violet beamed with glee, taking your hands in hers and leading you to sit next to Daphne.

“Mama, I’ve just opened my eyes.”

Violet shook her head. “No my dear, you should be excited. You're the diamond of the season!”

“Unfortunately.” You whispered under your breath, causing you to receive a whack on the arm from Daphne.

“You know, I actually quite enjoyed my time as the season’s diamond, it was wonderful!” She exclaimed cheerfully.

You rolled your eyes with exasperation. “Yes, only because you got a loving husband out of it.”

“And so will you,” Daphne took your hands in hers, squeezing them with reassurance. “You just have to try.”

But I don’t want to get married…

Morpheus awoke with a light knock on the door.

If it was any other time, he wouldn’t have heard it. But he had been awake for hours. He hadn’t slept properly in a few days, only getting a couple of hours in.

“My lord?” He heard one of his most trusted maids say through the door.

“Yes, Lucienne?” He said exhaustedly.

“Your sister, Death, is here. Would you like me to tell her-”

Morpheus cut her off, suddenly wide awake now. “No. Tell her I shall be only a few moments.”

He rose from the bed, changing into a white dress shirt, and a pair of black trousers. The shirt was half buttoned because he couldn’t be bothered.

“Death.”

Death rose from her seat on the plush black couch, giving her dear brother a smile. “Dream, I have been waiting for you.”

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting.” Morpheus suddenly felt guilty.

She embraced him in a tight hug before sitting back down, patting the space next to her.

“It’s been too long my dear brother, how have you been?”

Morpheus sighed, he hated having to tell people things about him. “Okay, I suppose.”

Death frowned, but shrugged it off. “So, I saw you the other night at the announcement ball. You were talking with the Viscount Bridgerton.”

“Indeed I was, though I did not notice you there. Were you lurking in the shadows?”

He smirked and Death chuckled. “Like you wish you were doing?”

They both shook their heads and the laughter ceased.

“Talking of the Bridgertons, one of their ladies has yet again been named the Diamond of the Season.” Death tilted her head. “Have you spoken to her yet? You are good friends with her brother.”

“Anthony and I are simply good acquaintances, I don’t-”

“Do friends.” Death shook her head and rolled her eyes in mock annoyance. “But perhaps you should put yourself out there, maybe try and catch Miss Bridgerton’s attention.”

“I don’t want to catch anyone's attention. I’m fine as I am, alone.”

You had decided that balls and galas were now the bane of your existence.

Anthony stood off to the side with Kate, Daphne and Simon. All of them watching as you would be bombarded with men asking for a dance, or asking if you wanted a drink.

“No thank you.” You rejected once again.

You walked up the the four with an angry look. “Could you please do something about these animals? They won’t leave me alone!”

“Well you are the seasons diamond, men are going to be throwing themselves at your feet.” Kate responded sympathetically.

“Well can they throw themselves out of the window instead?!” You whisper-shouted.

Anthony have you a pointed look, getting ready to scold you until Simon interrupted him.

“Ah look who it is! Lord Morpheus.” Simon reached in for a handshake.

Morpheus reciprocated. “Good evening gentlemen, Duchess, Viscountess, and the splendid Diamond. You haven’t happened to have seen my sister have you?”

Anthony shook his head. “We haven’t, why do you ask?”

Morpheus sighed and leaned in a bit so no one else but your little group could hear. “She’s saying I need to get myself on the market, she’s been watching me all night.”

The whole time he spoke you couldn’t stop looking at him. You watched the way his jawline move as he uttered secret words and the way his eyes shone slightly in amusement.

You swallowed nervously, hoping no one else noticed your ogling, but of course, Kate and Daphne notice everything.

“Well Miss Diamond of the Season here was just saying how she would like all of the men to throw themselves out of the window instead of at her feet.” Kate chuckled slightly.

Your cheeks reddened when Morpheus turned to look at you. And then you gave him a sheepish smile.

He huffed in amusement at the remark, flashing you a smirk. “I can’t say you’re wrong.”

Why did you like the way his voice sounded? Why was he holding eye contact so intensely with you?

“My dear guests.”

Once again, the interaction was cut short by another one of the Queen’s speeches.

“As you know, this is a ball to celebrate the Diamond of the Season.”

All eyes diverted to you for a few seconds before their attention went back to the Queen.

“So today, I have decided that the Diamond shall have a dance.”

Your eyes widened and Anthony laughed under his breath.

“I’m glad you find my suffering funny brother.” You glared at him from the corner of your eye.

“Come to the centre please, Miss Bridgerton.” The Queen beckoned you with her order and her hand.

You slowly made your way to the centre of the ballroom.

“The Diamond shall have a dance to celebrate their achievement, and they shall have their own choice of man to share this dance with.”

The Queen stood confidently with a smile, waiting impatiently for you to choose.

You looked desperately towards Anthony and your eyes frantically looked around the room.

You didn’t want to dance with any of these men, in fact you didn’t want to dance at all!

Morpheus’ eyes danced around the room, finding his sister.

Death looked at him and then nodded in your direction, clearly telling him that he should make himself known.

He simply looked away trying to ignore her, when his eyes locked with yours.

You raised your brows, silently asking him if you could dance with him.

He nodded once, letting you know that it was okay.

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding, and stalked towards Morpheus apprehensively.

“Might I share a dance with you my lord?”

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luvworld1889-blog · 11 months

Text

This is from my old deviant art!! I think I wrote it in like 2016 or so!

Jealousy games (Law x reader)

“You guys can not seriously think this is a good idea? Right? Bepo, tell them.” You looked pleadingly at the white bear. In response the bear simply looked from the two men and back to you before muttering out a single, “sorry.”

“Come on _____, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that the captain treats you differently from the rest of the crew. We just want to test our theory is all.” Shachi said with a shit-eating grin.

You looked at him with a half hearted glare before replying, “Yeah, he treats me differently because I’m not a complete moron like you two!”

Penguin shot you an offended look before chiming in, “What’s the worst that’s going to happen? If he doesn’t have feelings for you then it won’t bother him or anyone else and if he does…. Well that’s a problem for future us” He paled slightly thinking of what could happen before giving Shachi a nervous look.

To which the red haired man simply rolled his eyes and said, “Man up bro! Ok here’s the plan….” he trailed off before tapping his chin in thought. “....Ok there is no plan, but basically we’ll all flirt with _____ until captain reacts or until we get bored and fuck around with something else.”

You groaned at the hope bubbling up in your chest, maybe just maybe, this insane plan would cause your stoic captain to reveal some hidden feelings. You made a noise imitating a beached whale before finally agreeing.

Attempt one.

You were sitting in the kitchen with the raven haired captain by your side, reading up on the latest medical technologies on an island named Isola. You then heard a loud bang of the door slamming open and blinked as you watched Shachi saunter in. He sidled close to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders as he feigned interest in your book.

“What’cha reading?” He spoke lowly in your ear. You blushed brightly not being used to the close contact and stuttered out an explanation. Cursing yourself you glanced over at the tattooed male who did not look the slightest bit concerned. You watched as the captain abruptly got up and made a hasty exit. You looked at Shachi accusingly to which he just gave you a grin.

Attempt two

You were struggling to get something to eat from the top shelf of the pantry and groaned as your fingers just brushed the out of reach cereal box. You suddenly felt a body behind you and a hand reach up to grab the box. You jumped in surprise and turned to see Penguin with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Thanks Penguin!” You smiled brightly at him to which he replied “No problem.” Law had been walking down the hallway and walked into the kitchen to witness the whole exchange. He felt a stab of annoyance when he saw your smile directed at someone other than him. He walked towards the fridge and slammed the door open with an expression that gave nothing away. You and Penguin jumped at the loud noise created by the pirate captain and looked at each other in question. Law simply grabbed an apple and brushed by Penguin harshly almost knocking him to the ground.

Attempt three

Bepo gave a smile as you cuddled into his fur.

“Bepo, you’re the softest, best cuddler in the whole entire world.” You sighed happily rubbing your face against him.

Law came up on this scene and before he could stop himself, barked “What are you two doing? If you have time to be cuddling, you’re wrong. Get back to work.”

You looked at him with a shocked expression as he normally never raised his voice at you or Bepo. You awkwardly cleared your throat and left the room quickly leaving Law and Bepo alone.

“Ok, this isn’t working. Maybe we were wrong and captain doesn’t have feelings for you after all. If anything I think we just made him grumpier than usual.” Penguin said sadly. Shachi sighed and nodded in defeat. Bepo just sighed and went to take a seat before bumping into you with enough force to send you flying into Shachi. He watched in horror as Law walked in and just in time to see you fall and slam your lips into the red haired man’s on accident.

“What is going on here?” Law had a terrifying look on his face as he saw you still in Shachi’s arms. You didn’t get a chance to explain as you heard “Room.” You closed your eyes waiting for the slice of Kikoku and the loss of body parts before landing softly in well muscled arms. You gasped as you opened your eyes and found a pair of silver eyes boring into your own. He growled lowly in your ear, “I’ll deal with you later.” Without another word he tilted your head and attaching his lips to your neck. You let out a soft whimper as he sucked harshly on the skin leaving a large purple and red bruise. The trio of Heart Pirates looked on in shock not knowing exactly what to do as they watched the scene unfold in front of them.

“You three, get out.” Law growled out. And without another word the three of them fought their way to the door to escape the former warlord’s wrath. You gulped as he set you down on the table. He let out a huge sigh and leaned his forehead against yours.

“You are driving me insane. I hate it when other men touch you.” The messy haired man begrudgingly said. “I thought my feelings for you were clear but let me make absolutely sure.”

He looked at you earnestly with intense silver eyes. “I’ve lost everyone I cared about and I’m not about to lose you. So ____, I love you and have loved you for quite some time. Will you be mine?”

You beamed at him and wrapped your arms around the tall man and replied with a simple, “always.”

#law x reader #one piece x reader #one piece #trafalgar d law x reader

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amazon160 · 11 months

Text

The Spot/Ohnn x Reader

Reader’s long lost bf just walks up to her apartment after a few months of being announced dead :)

Knock, knock.

Your feet pitter-pattered to the apartment door. It was almost midnight. Something had to be up; no one showed up at your place at midnight. You slid your body against the door to peak through the door viewer. And you have to get a double take of what you’re seeing.

A white man-no, not like racially a white man, A LEGIT PURE BLEACH WHITE MAN-stood just outside your door. He had a pear of sweats, a long sleeve tie dye shirt and a funky looking hat that did a lousy job at covering his lack of a face. The replacement for this lack of face was a large, black, lonely dot. You stared. And you felt that you had a right to stare for this guy thinking to come to your door out of all doors. Why couldn’t the neighbors handle this?? Why’d he have to pick out your door?

At this point, costumed people running around Brooklyn to cause problems was a common sight. Luckily, the problems never occurred, or at least escalated, because of the new Spider-Man. You had mixed feelings on the man after leaving the Spider-hater society that was Alchemax. But, hey, as long as he doesn’t come down to bother you like this loser you were chill.

Speaking of.

The loser was fidgeting with his hands. His whole body radiated awkwardness and anxiety. The black spot on his face seemed to match his mannerisms as it got bigger and smaller. He would straighten up, turn around to see if anyone was coming, then look back at your door and resume his anxious posture as the spot shrank once again.

As intriguing as it was to watch, you had to get this guy out. You wondered if Spider-Man had some kind of “bat signal”, but you quickly discarded the thought. Maybe if you went to bed and ignored the guy, he’d leave you alone.

. . .

He did not.

He kept knocking at your door for half an hour straight. You covered your head with your pillow, fighting the urge to go up to him in person and smack the spot off his “face”. Then it stopped altogether. It puzzled you. But then you heard the floorboards outside your bedroom creak.

You kept yourself perfectly still to try and pretend you were asleep. Not that it would help you, anyway. Maybe if he was there to rob you, and you didn’t witness the crime, he wouldn’t hurt you. But if he was there to hurt you…well, he was already at your room’s only exit. Even if you had the guts to run, you wouldn’t make it.

The man seemed to creep closer and closer to your bed. Your heart beat picked up, your breathing stuttering some. You creased your eyebrows, just a tad, like how--at least in your experience--you’d see someone do when they were in a nightmare. The floorboards stopped making any noise, which indicated that he had stopped. But he stopped right next to your back. You could feel him lean over you and you tried your very hardest not to break into a sprint right then and there. Or just sock him cold. Unexpected.

“I’m sorry, Y/N…” he whispered. Your heart dropped. Was he going to hurt you…?

Nothing happened still. He walked away. How did he know your name? There was something familiar about his voice, but you couldn’t put it together.

“I’m sorry that I wasn’t there--er, here. I missed you so, so much.” Did he know you were awake? “I know you can’t hear me, but…,” that answered your question. “…I don’t care, I’d like to apologize. I miss you. I miss spending time with you. Not just on the Friday nights, but even just taking a walk around the block. It always made my day just to see you. Even for only an hour or so. I miss the comfort in your voice, the way you stutter when you get angry with me, the times that you just jumped up on me from behind to scare the crap out of me, just for the heck of it. I know I always said I hated it, but. Well, yeah, I did. But now I…kind of miss it. It’s just part of the experience, I suppose. And as much as I miss that experience, I would rather have you think I’m dead than have to see me like this. I would rather have you think we had no chance to begin with than to be stuck thinking we had the chance, but it was taken away.

I miss you, and I love you, Y/N. Maybe I’ll…maybe I’ll see you around…” you heard him approach your bed, then stop. He paused. Then you heard a pop next to the bedroom entrance, perfectly in sync with your realization. As he began to walk towards the exit, you shuffled over in your bed. You couldn’t let this opportunity pass.

“Wait,” you choked out nervously. The man jumped up and his soul left his body momentarily. He yelped and covered his mouth, or where it would be. He stood there, completely still. The only movement coming from him was his hyperventilating you could hear even from your bed. Behind the man was a black…splotch? Just hanging there in the air? You didn’t question it. You shifted again and slipped out of the covers. The man squeaked and started running for the splotch.

“Johnny!!” You blurted out. The man stopped. He turned around slowly. The black dot on his face was runny, in a way. Like it had water droplets mixing in and dripping down his face, like tears.

“What…?”

“Is it..you? Jonathon Ohnn?” Man, that name was such a pain to pull out of your throat. You started getting choked up over your words just from uttering it. “You came over every Friday night and…and-and we set up a-a pillow fort with my iPad in the corner over there for movie nights.” You held up your shaky hand to the corner of your bedroom where there was now a new desk to fill the space.

“A-And you insisted on watching Revenge of The Sith almost every time, but I would..I-I would..”

“You always said that I should watch The Phantom Menace first.”

“Because I’d never let anyone skip to the end of a trilogy. You know how I felt about you skipping the second How to Train Your Dragon.” His voice was low, quiet. It sounded strained beyond relief, but it finally broke into a sad chuckle after hairs last remark.

“JOHNNY!!!” You broke. You had shattered into pieces. You didn’t care how, and you didn’t care why. That man was Jonathon Ohnn. You sobbed and ran to your “deceased” partner, practically tripping over yourself as you wrapped your arms around his torso. His long, lanky arms wrapped around you tightly. Luckily, the man still towered over you. He bent down and curled on top of you, pulling your head into his chest. You tightened your hold and felt your legs start to buckle in. Jon bent down alongside you and suddenly, you two were sobbing messes on the floor.

You laid in Jon’s lap until your sobbing finally calmed down a bit. It was a miracle it did. I mean. The man who was once the love of your life. Had come back from the dead. It wasn’t an everyday truth to be told, but you were grateful for it. You gripped onto Jon as if you’d be ripped part again if you dared to let go.

Eventually, you took up the courage to take your head off of his chest and look up at him. He tried his best to look away, but you grabbed his cheeks and kept him in place for you. You stared at what Jon had become…he seemed so shameful of it, it broke your heart.

“I-I’m a f-frea-eak..” Jon’s voice broke hundreds of times over as he tried to force out those three words. Your face felt hot and steamy from your sobbing, but you brushed it off. You put on the best angry face you could.

“Do you think I give a shit, Jonathon?” You kept a steady grip on the man’s face and tugged him closer to you. “I fell in love with you because of how much of an adorable nerd you were. You were so SWEET. And you are so KIND, and nerdy, and hilariously sassy and awkward. You listen to me in my most annoying hours. You are the one person I feel safe to be around and to truest express myself. I loved your hair. I loved your face. But those were just the bonuses. I love you for your damn personality, Jonathon, and you shouldn’t sell yourself any shorter th-than, you! Than y-you a-a-a-r-rre…” your voice broke once again and Jon gave you another hug.

“I-I thought you-ou w-w-were…GONE..!!” You choked out. Your throat burned. You didn’t want to talk. But you needed to make a point.

You broke the hug once again and kissed Jon’s face just below his inky spot. He jerked back a second then just sat there, taken back at your gesture until he wrapped his arms around you once again. His hands found their way to feel around your back.

“You know I can’t exactly kiss you anymore, right?” Jon coughed up a laugh. You remembered humor being a coping mechanism of his and pulled barely an inch away from his face.

“Does it look like I give a shit, Jon?”

#spiderman atsv #atsv #the spot x reader #the spot #atsv the spot #jonathon ohnn x reader #jonathon ohnn #x reader #atsv x reader #across the spiderverse

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letters2won · 4 months

Text

GOOD 4 U!

06; is he bothering you queen?

- 702 wc, half written and smau, small genshin slander

Never have you thought that you would be walking into school hand in hand with Jungwon. You were used to having eyes on you but this felt a little overwhelming.

Jungwon felt you tensed up and gave your hands a light squeeze. You gave him a small smile, “Well.. let’s get this show on the road shall we?”

A lighthearted laugh came out, “We shall my lady.”

The two of you proudly walked the halls, ignoring preying eyes and the soft whisperers being formed around. Nearing your locker, your friends are there chatting amongst themselves about who knows what.

Yunjin was the first to noticed you two approaching as she offers Jungwon a welcoming smile, “So your y/n newest boyfriend lover boy?” she teased out. Jungwon tried to contain his excitement by nodding his head quickly before looking at you.

All your friends can see the cloud of hearts forming above his head as if he’s from a cartoon show.

More footsteps could be heard appearing behind you guys, but before you got the chance to turn around, another teasing voice popped up.

“See! I told you the Wikihow steps could work! Now look at you all grown up. I might cry again.. hold me Jay!”

Jungwon’s shoulders deflated at the sound of Sunghoon’s dramatic performance. He turned around with his arms crossed with a disappointed look, “Please stop lying on my name… you make it look like i don’t know how to talk to women!”

“That’s because you don’t!” Sunoo chipped in quickly with a raised eyebrow. You let out a chuckle causing Jungwon to glare at you making you fake a cough.

Sunwoo stomach growled and he groaned in embarrassment, “Can we go get breakfast now?” and Soul gave him a comforting pat on the back, nodding as he did so.

Walking towards the cafeteria was noisy but sitting in the cafeteria was worst.. anyone can hear you and Niki going back and forth on the best genshin character.

“OF COURSE YOU A DILUC FAN!! Jungwon i hate to break it to you man but your girlfriend is a walking red flag,” Niki sadly said.

You look at him offended, “THERE IS NOTHING WRONG HIM!! YOU’RE THE RED FLAG HERE… how could you pick Kokomi OVER THEEE Raiden Shogun?!” and Niki decided to stick his tongue out.

“Genshin fans are the worst..” Heeseung mumbled out to himself. You and Niki would’ve lashed out on him but a voice you knew all to well appeared.

“Oh? didn’t think you would manage to move on from me.. let alone move on to..” Your ex, Ricky, trailed off, eyeing Jungwon up and down with a frown, “Him..”

Your shoulder stiffens as the sudden weight of silence takes over. The memories of you losing your mind on your bathroom floor and crying coming back to you as you tried to hold the tears in. Jungwon noticed your discomfort and wrapped his arm around your shoulder.

“Got a problem with that?”

Your teary eyes snapped up to Jungwon, surprised he would even speak up. “She moved on to a better guy, aka ME!” he stated proudly as he pointed to himself.

Ricky eyes visible twitched as he grips his new girlfriend, “You think so? Wait til she starts crawling back to me… THEN we’ll see who the better guy, yea?”

“As if she crawl back to a dirt bag like you” Jungwon scoffed out. Ricky was going to throw another hissy fit til his girlfriend dragged him away.

Jungwon let out a sigh of relief, “Oh my god.. my heart is pounding so fast, that was the scariest thing i’ve ever done!”

He turned around and wiped your tears away. His heart felt like exploding even more looking at your swollen eyes as he whispered to you, “Don’t waste your tears on jerks like him anymore, okay? i’m all you need right now..”

You looked at him awed, slowly nodding your head with him.

“UGH GROSSED! Can yall be love birds somewhere else?!” Jake joked out, covering his eyes. You flicked him off and took Jungwon by the hand.

“Let’s just hurry up and get this day over with.. i have commissions to do later!”

PREV ✩ MASTERLIST ✩ NEXT

╰┈➤ Ricky was the only name i could think of SORRY LMAOO

SYNOPSIS in which you’re DEFINITELY not upset that your ex moved on really easily (spoiler alert: you are!). Yang Jungwon, the student council president is glad your ex moved on because it’s time for him to shoot his shot (just not in the way he wanted.. a win is a win in his book!)

TAGLIST < open > @firstclassjaylee @sincerelyrki @w0nslvr @poollabug @mrchweeee @nanuer @jwonistic @nyfwyeonjun @jiamini @woninluv

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acourtofmenandthirst · 2 years

Text

A New Male (Part I of II)

Rhysand’s Sister!Reader x Eris

So this is as canon as possible, but I already blurred the Rhys’s sister & mother and Mor storyline - so just go with it! This takes place pre-Feyre, so just some Night Court family drama :) I know I’ve been absent, it’s been hard to find time to write, but I wanted to share the first half of what I have so far!

Thank you to the anon(s) who requested this, I really like the storyline, it’s just been taking me a long time to put together and I had a long plot, so need a part two (was just too excited to make anyone wait any longer!) & thank you to my sister for getting me to sit down and write it lol

Part II Here

Warnings: None, mother’s death, controlling family (what else is new for both of these families)

Word Count: 5.6K

“Be careful, (Y/N),” your mother yelled as you flung open the balcony doors. “Don’t leave the court and be back before sunset - ”

“I will!” You call back, not even turning back down the hall to where she stood in the kitchen doorway, drying a copper pot. She rolled her eyes, unable to hide the small smile playing on her lips as you leapt off the balcony with a dive, holding your arms straight in front of you as you twisted through the air. The rocks slid past, blurring in your vision, before you threw your wings out, catching yourself halfway down the fall.

The wind captured you, letting you sail over the racing river and coast amongst the clouds. The wind bit at you, and you almost cursed yourself for not grabbing a jacket before you left. But you let the cool air swirl through your hair and dance across your rosy cheeks, swallowing in the fresh air after you let out a long breath.

Freedom - the rush of the air, the vapors dancing over the whirling river, the dark pine trees littering the bank. It had been too long since you’d flown over the city of Velaris. The citizens below you were none the wiser, staring up at you from so far below that they thought you were merely a bird.

Your brother often berated you for flying so high, so far from home.

“You’re not High Lord, Rhysand,” you grumbled, pushing past him as he followed you inside from the terrace. “Stop acting like father.”

Rhys rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his black hair. The insult hurt him more than he thought it should. “I’m not acting like father - I’m just worried about your safety.” He winnowed two steps in front of you, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom, arms crossed over his chest. His own wings were drawn out, flayed in the arch. “Besides, I will be High Lord someday, so you better start listening to me now.”

You huffed a breath but offered your older brother a smile. “You don’t know that - maybe the powers will call to me,” you offered simply, propping your hands on your hips. “The first female High Lord?”

Rhys laughed, barking out a chase breath. “I would entertain the idea if I didn’t already know how much stronger I am than you.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes, scoffing at your annoying brother as you pushed past him into the hallway.

You smiled at the memory, heart clenching a bit as you thought of him, away in the Illyrian mountains. He’d been gone with your father, tending to whatever court duties your father felt was too dirty to bother you with. As his daughter, you weren’t allowed in the war camps, couldn’t visit your mother’s family or train with the young males. You barely knew Rhysand’s friends - those he considered his brothers - as you weren’t permitted to intermingle with that side of your family. Your father had a soft spot for you, though, one that caused him to keep you nearly hidden from Illyrian life, your wings had been the only Illyrian relic for you to keep.

You soared over the trees and cluttered forest, along the cliffs of the mountain as you flew past the mountain and neared the Winter Court. The air was just as bitter as it was in Night, burning your lungs as you gasped for air. You hadn't flown that fast in a long while, only being allowed to fly alone when your father was gone. Otherwise, he demanded that your mother or brother went with you.

“You don’t know what kind of savages lie beyond these borders,” he had told you, dark eyes not peering up from the book he had propped on his desk.

“I know all about the Attors and the Naga and the - ”

“It is not just about the creatures, (Y/N),” he interrupted, turning the page, eyes skimming the material, tone unwavering. “What you fail to understand is that there are Fae that want to hurt you, too. The males you don’t think twice about have been waiting their whole lives for an opportunity to hurt you.” You bit back whatever response you had waiting. Instead, you simply turned on your heel and made your way out of the office. His voice called down the stony hall: “you’ll thank me someday.”

Past the snowy tree tops and icy river in the Winter Court, you found yourself crossing the border once more, this time into Autumn. The haze swirled around the orange and red trees, murky fog gathering through the forest, hiding all of the secrets Autumn had to offer. You met the harsh smell of the bonfire as you neared the clearing, flapping your wings to keep you up higher and avoid the smoke. You curled your arms around yourself, wishing you had that jacket afterall.

But the warmth of the fire was so inviting, the smell of the smoke that reminded you only of the sweet cinnamon spice and crunch of a freshly harvested apple.

You bit your lip, arms running over your frigid skin. You narrowed your eyes as you dropped altitude, hovering just above the trees. You recognized that fiery red hair from a mile away - the tall male playing with the fire swirling it in his hands, flames dancing in his eyes.

Eris Vanserra.

The Autumn Court male sat perched on a fallen tree, the dying bark stiff and dark. He looked so relaxed - and if you squinted, you could make out the slight curve of his shoulders, slouched. You almost smiled, remembering the last time you saw him at one of the Court of Nightmares’ balls.

Beron had brought all of his sons. There had been only three at that time. Three rowdy males, itching to escape the tight pressed suits with stiff collars, unable to stop themselves from making smart remarks and flashing their teeth at any Night Court female wearing less than their Autumn counterparts.

Beron stood proud in the center, flanked by Eris and his wife, then the two remaining sons. They all stood straight, shoulders back and chins held high, as if they owned the room. And the people in it.

Your father was fond of Beron, perhaps it was their innate coldness to the world, their matching thirst for power. Despite their friendship, it was Rhysand who permitted you from fraternizing with them. “Stay away from them,” he spat through gritted teeth, staring at the tallest one, who, unsurprisingly, was glaring back with just as much fervor.

Though shivers ran down your spine. You watched as his light lips pulled up ever so slightly at the corner, his dark red brows held straight. His eyes burned, a caged animal who knew his escape, waiting for just the right moment to pounce.

A smirk that was positively feral.

And Rhys didn’t miss how those fiery eyes flitted to you.

He broke his own trance only to demand your attention, hoping you hadn’t met that damned Vanserra stare, the one that held the promise of Eris marking his territory. You snapped at your brother as he grabbed your forearm under the table, pulling you towards him. But Rhys continued: “I mean it, (Y/N), he’s not here to make friends.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the crowd, eyes scanning for where Cassian stood guard at the door. It took you longer to find Azriel, lurking in the shadows - the only thing visible in the dark coverage were those bright eyes. You’d overheard your brother requesting their help. He had his own plans for taking over the court, already forming plans and handing out responsibility to his makeshift brothers. Tonight, they had been ordered to watch you.

Or - watch those watching you.

“It’s a ball, Rhysand.” Your eyes flitted to his midnight-colored ones, narrowed at you. “I can entertain my guests.”

“Not. That. One.”

What he didn’t tell you was that your father and Eris’s father had struck up a deal. A plan Rhys was also not too fond of, and had done all but begged his father to decline. In a deceptive attempt to tie the two courts together, Beron and your father had betrothed the two of you. But Rhys had a lengthy meeting with his father, lasting days during their last trip to one of the Illyrian warcamps, convincing him that tying you to Beron, dropping you in the midst of Autumn - wings and all - would not be so kind.

And even though all The High Lord of the Night Court wanted was power and territory, you were still his favorite child. His most prized possession, not one he would easily pass off into foreign hands, into the burning flames of the barely mature Autumn male.

Your father had some pent up feelings about it, taking it out of Rhys and the poor Illyrians. He’d dealt with it though, able to relish in his one small victory.

It was rumored Kier’s wife was carrying a daughter, though.

You circled around the treetops, dancing around the burrowing smoke from the bonfire, grey swirling against the colorful trees. Eris hadn’t moved much, legs outstretched in front of him, lazily throwing knives into a plump pumpkin in front of the fire. As he flicked the last one, it flew past, burying itself in the burning hit logs, cracking red with sparks and dancing embers.

The male pushed himself from his seat, stalking over to the fire and rummaging through the flames for his knife. Your eyebrows knitted together as you watched him manhandle to logs, digging around for his probably favored knife.

He rose steadily, standing just as tall as you remembered, holding the knife in a fist full of fire. Your mouth went dry as the red curled up his arm, tendrils crawling up his arm, licking all the way to his shoulders. The breath was pulled from your lungs, but you forced down a gulp of air, blinking in disbelief.

His eyes mirrored the glossy flames, wicked with pleasure. You almost hoped he smiled - smirked at the very least. Flashed that predatory smile that had your stomach fluttering.

As he threw the fire, far off in the distance to some pile of wet leaves, extinguishing the fire by the time it met the foliage, you felt the air scraping past you.

Fuck.

You flapped your wings, big, slow, broad strokes that had you catching yourself as you dropped in altitude. You cursed yourself, knowing how your brother would chastise you - not only for being here, watching that particular male - but for becoming so distracted you nearly fell from the sky.

With a few more powerful pushes, you lifted, raising only until you were far enough to go undetected.

Or so you thought.

Those red eyes lifted to the sky, a large pale hand drawn through his air in locks.

His gaze met yours.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You turned immediately, rising even higher and building up speed to race home in record speed. Your heart was thumping even before you fully took off back toward Winter.

Perhaps it was the fear of trespassing, or getting caught. It could have been the exhilaration running through your veins. Maybe the fact that you were fighting against all of your desires to drop down beside him.

You didn’t know Eris shared that last desire.

_________________________

“You can’t keep me here!”

It was all you said - yelled - screeched - as you pushed through the front door, not caring that they rattled against the stone walls, nearly snapping at the hinges. Your steps were hard as you found yourself approaching the office, where you easily found Rhysand buried in a book, not bothered by your yelling or sudden intrusion.

He had become so much like your father.

Buried in books, growing his power - for what, you didn’t know. You’d already given up on your hopes of claiming the throne, knowing that all the pushing your father had done to Rhys, for him to strengthen his powers, already promised him the apparent role.

Your mother’s death hit the both of you too hard. Unprepared. Never having lost anything or anyone in your life. You stayed awake at night thinking of her, of her midnight black hair and soft wings. Of how she cared for you, running a hand down your back to lull you to sleep.

You’d spent a few years apart from her, while she returned home to live in the cabin while Rhysand trained as a young male in the Illyrian Mountains. There, she tended to him and his newfound brothers.

You remained in your father’s estate in the true Night Court, carved in the mountainside, swirling with darkness and shadows. Cold, hidden, alone. None of your mother’s kindness, not the smell of her homemade pies. Not your brother, play fighting with wooden swords or flying down the grand staircase. You only lived in Velaris when your mother was home. Without her, it was just you and the High Lord.

A mother’s love for her son would always outweigh that of a father’s for his daughter.

“Let me fly,” you seethed, having to hold yourself back from strangling him from across the desk.

His eyes didn’t look up from where they were fixated on the book in front of him. His black hair curled over his forehead, nose buried in work. He reminded you so much of your father that it almost made you wince. “You can fly -”

“Outside. Of. Velaris.” Venom clinched each word as you spat through gritted teeth.

He did sit back, though, against that broad wooden chair. His wings nowhere in sight. “It’s not safe for you beyond Velaris.”

For you.

“I’m not one of your precious warriors you can order around. Or one of father’s caged subjects in the Court of Nightmares -”

Rhys almost smiled. “Why are you asking me for permission to fly, instead of him?”

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest. “Because it was Azriel standing in my way, not any of the guards.” Then Rhys did smile, pleased with himself and his friend. Future spymaster of the Night Court, indeed. “Order him to stand down. I don’t need you - or him, for that matter - following me around.”

“It’s for your own protection,” he stated, dark eyes leveling yours. “What happened to mother -”

“It’s been years and don’t use that as some kind of excuse, Rhysand. You know as well as I do that keeping me here won’t fix anything.” Your eyes narrowed at him, as you stepped closer and stood over him, still sitting at the desk that reminded you so much of your fathers.

Rhysand watched as you pivoted on your heel and left the study, wings flaring out behind you. “You’ll thank me someday.” It was all he called out to you as you stormed out - exactly what your father always said to you.

Gods save whatever female ended up mated to him.

It was easy to lock yourself in your room, skipping dinner without so much as an excuse to your father or brother. One of the wraiths came to your room with a tray of soup and meat, to which you turned her away, informing her that you’d like to spend the rest of the evening alone.

You flopped yourself on your wide bed, dark sheets and plush blankets welcoming you home from the cold halls. Nothing had been the same since your mother died. Your father had become unhinged, burning his relationship with the Illyrians even further, torturing and working them harder than he ever had. Rhysand was blind to it, despite those two full-blooded warriors that hung around him. All the pain and suffering would be handled by Cassian once he was officially appointed as General. Azriel spent his days lurking around the court on behalf of the males in your family, offering secrets and tracking every movement. Every one of your movements, too, it seemed.

When you were sure the rest of the estate was asleep, you threw your wide balcony doors open, curtains flailing on either side. The cold chill of night bit your flesh, and you opted to throw a slotted jacket on before you jumped off the cliff.

Your wings splayed immediately, catching you on the stiff wind. You jerked up in the air, flapping your wings powerfully to build momentum.

You had to cross the border.

You raced against the wind, the cold air burning your lungs as you steadied your breath, building up stamina. Nearly out of breath from working against the winter air, you gritted your teeth, huffing out each breath. You cursed your brother, your father, everyone who was keeping you in the court.

You slipped between the mountaintops, banking to dip low in the valley, flying through the shadows to escape. Luckily, you weren’t met with the shadow singer, who was waiting along the tree line earlier to bring you back to Rhys. Cassian wasn’t there either, bulky arms crossed in disappointment, despite the small smirk pulled at his lips.

You soared close to the shimmering tree tops, shaking in the wind. Night blurred into Winter, the dreary landscape fell into a blanket of white, plush pillows of snow fell between the trees and stained the leaves. You longed to drop, to tuck your wings in and fall into the icy piles, to slide down the hills and lay in the snow.

But the cold nipped at you, cascading through your hair and biting the tips of your ears. You soared far enough that the snow began to melt, disappearing towards the Autumn border. You continued toward the orange trees, the smell of fall spice and misty air.

You dropped toward a clearing, boots hitting the stiff mud, cracking underneath your landing. You stretched your wings, twisting your back until you felt your vertebrae pop. With a few rolls of your shoulders, you turned on your heel, observing the surroundings. Mist curled around the tree trunks, moonlight bouncing off the water droplets.

The smell of oak and cinnamon hit your nose, smoke and burning embers sending shivers down your spine. Despite being deep in the Autumn woods, you searched for the source - for who was wandering this forest with you.

“Far from home?” The voice called, low and quiet. Your eyes caught the flash of red hair, as the male stepped out from behind a large tree trunk, emerging from the shadows.

He approached slowly, one hand pressed against his abdomen, where his suit was fastened together with golden buttons, the other, small blade in hand, casually at his side. He stood taller than you - taller than your brother and all of his friends, too - you turned your neck up to meet his amber eyes.

The darkness did not dim his light, the fire that danced in those eyes. His stark cheekbones grew more pronounced as he smiled, that same sly smirk that he’d given you years before in the Court of Nightmares. As his gaze raked over you, you were suddenly hyper-aware of your red stained cheeks and near frost-bitten ears.

But Eris loved the sight of your cold stained skin - red was his favorite color, after all.

“Lost?” He continued, the blade twisting in his long fingers.

You shook your head, turning your chin up higher, as if that would make you any taller, any less intimidated by the heir apparent. “Just out for a late night flight.”

He nodded, biting his lower lip, flashing his sharp white teeth. “I don’t think we ever met, that night at the ball.” You nodded, hands running down your front to smooth out the winkles. “I’m Eris Vanserra.”

I know.

“(Y/N),” you replied before cocking your head to the side. “Do you always greet your guests in such a welcoming manner?”

Your eyes flitted down to where he turned the knife in his hand, then back up to his eyes. He almost laughed, but instead huffed out a louder-than-normal breath. He pocketed the tool, flexing his fingers with a soft crack of his knuckles. “Caught me at the wrong time.”

“My apologies,” you breathed, daring yourself to look anywhere other than those alluring red eyes. “I just have always wanted to see the trees up close.” You turned your head up, glancing at the colorful leaves, darkened by the moonlight.

Don’t expose your neck.

Your brother’s voice rang in your head, the memory of him training you once many years ago. He’d demanded to show you how to defend yourself, should you end up in a situation like this one.

Exactly like this one, actually.

How am I to make friends if I am to treat everyone as my enemy?

He almost laughed at that - at your feigned innocence. You don’t need any more friends, was what he replied with. Especially ones outside of this court.

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the memory, instead kicking your feet at the piles of leaves, at the clumps of dirt littering the forest floor, now caked to the bottom of your boots. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I can leave - ”

“No,” Eris interrupted, almost too quickly. He cursed himself inwardly, stopping himself from blurting out the next sentence that nearly rolled off his tongue. Instead, he took a breath before he continued. He gestured to dried tree stump with a base wider than your own wing-span. “Please join me.”

You smiled, pointy ears perking up as you couldn’t help but cock a brow at the male. With all the warnings and stories from your brother and father about the Autumn male, you were sure they had to have fabricated the tall tales. Eris shoved his hands in his pockets nervously, waiting for your response. You didn’t try to hide the smirk, the pull at your lips as you chuckled, the jittery male about ready to jump out of his own skin.

You nodded in thanks, gathering your skirts above your ankle to shift through the squishy dirt. You plopped down, huffing a breath of relief as you rolled your shoulders again, twisting your back, willing it to crack. Eris’s eyes traveled the length of your leathery wings, held high and folded nearly behind you.

“Have you been carving pumpkins?” You asked, eyes drawn at the sliced rotting pumpkin and squash across the clearing. Seeds and stringy guts littered the ground, slashes and markings stabbed into the tough skin.

He let out a shaky laugh, running a hand through his red hair, curling through the end of his palm. “Letting out a little pent up stress,” he replied, fingertips brushing the heavy blade in his pocket, feeling the hot metal through the fabric of his pants.

You raised your brows, and nodded in understanding. “I know how that goes.” Your eyes were stuck on the mess in front of you.

Eris was a blur by your side, walking over to where you sat perched on the tree trunk. Again, he had to restrain himself from rushing over and plopping down next to you - just to smell the cool night on your skin, the flowery and loamy scent. In his palm, he held out the small dark blade, a sharp contrast against his pale skin. “Give it a go.”

He peered down at you, eyes soft, eyebrows raised in earnest, not preening down his nose at you, as the males in your household so often did. He wasn’t fully smiling, but you noticed how the corners of his pink lips turned up just enough in friendly greeting.

As you took the knife, your fingers brushed against his palm, and the soft touch sent shivers down his spine.

He blew out a shaky breath, thanking the Mother that his skin did not burn you. He lowered his hand and instinctively pulled the edges of his sleeves down, keeping the winding scars across his wrists hidden from view. “Not afraid of giving an Illyrian a blade?”

Eris watched as you laughed slightly, perhaps just to break the tension. He couldn’t break the seriousness that had been beaten down his spine. “I’m not afraid of you.”

And in that moment, you felt seen. You felt the warmth of those red eyes in your soul, the heat that lurched in your stomach. His gaze washed over your face, taking in every feature, the red splotches on your cheeks and wind-blown hair, the arch of your brow and curve of your lips. He committed you to memory, in case he was never allowed the chance to be so close to you again. He wanted nothing more than to lean in closer, until your breaths twisted together in the air, until your smells merged into a sweet smoke or perhaps a laden copper.

At last, his stare fell to your wings, the broad, black leather matte against the moonlight. You felt the blush crawl up your cheeks, an inadvertent dip of your head that had him dying to grab your face, to hold your cheek in his hand and tilt your head back up. “I like your wings,” he offered simply, slouching a bit and dropping his head, until you looked up to meet his eyes, then level with your own. “I like that you don’t hide them.”

Your breath nearly caught in your throat, heart stopping as he spoke. Did he know of Rhysand’s wings? Those he kept hidden from everyone outside of the Night Court. It had to be a guess.

Your terror only filled half of you, though, as the other half glowed at his words, at his acknowledgement of your wings. The only thing that truly made you you. His eyes washed over them with grace, with a softness that you know would be mirrored in his touch, should he reach out to run his finger over them. The thought alone made your stomach twist.

You smiled in thanks, twirling the knife in your hands, pulling yourself from the trance he held you in. His gaze was a storm of emotion, strong and swirling with the fire that danced in his veins. You had to snap yourself out of it, wholly unsure of what you’d do if you remained that close to him.

Eris followed your lead, straightening and turning straight ahead, nodding his head toward the mess of vegetables in front of him. “Sometimes I need to get away from the noise,” he offered, unsure of where he was actually going with the story.

“I hear you have another brother,” you replied, holding the knife just over your shoulder. “Congratulations to you and your family.”

Eris stifled a laugh - poorly. With a hum, he offered a quiet, reluctant thanks.

You threw the knife straight ahead, letting out a satisfied breath as the sharp blade twirled from your fingers, launching straight ahead and landing in the harsh flesh. “I know the exact feeling.” You turned to catch Eris’s eye, displeasure laced across his features. “Though I suppose I only have one,” you added, trying to break the tension.

The corner of his mouth lifted up, catching your sideways glance. “Is that what drove you to my cold woods in the dead of night?”

You rolled your eyes, huffing out a sigh at the subject. “How obvious was it?”

Eris shrugged. “I know family drama when I see it.”

You met that with a firm nod. “He’s a little overbearing,” you offered, not wanting to get into the full argument, unsure of how trustworthy the male beside you really could be.

“I noticed at the ball,” he replied. Eris knew of the bad blood between the two eldest heirs - hell, he was half of it. Despite the friendship - or the apparent camaraderie, at least - between their two fathers, Eris and Rhys had always held a certain animosity towards each other.

“Yeah that’s part of it,” you said, kicking your legs out in front of you, the hem of your dress riddled with mud. “Sometimes I just need to get out.” You gestured to the open air, to the wide forest and vast expanse of trees surrounding you. “The Night Court can feel stuffy sometimes.”

Eris watched you, watched as those bright eyes shimmered under the moonlight, taking in the different colors and sounds around you. Eris had only been to your home court a few times, never had he been glad to cross the border, knowing he’d be met with nothing but darkness and despair.

Since that night at the ball, though, he’d been itching to find an excuse to return.

If only to be able to catch just a glance at you from across the room.

“You didn’t stop by,” Eris said, seemingly out of the blue. “Last time you were here.”

You nearly choked. “Sorry for - I didn’t mean to…” you trailed off, trying - and failing - to buy yourself a minute to come up with an excuse. You didn’t think he actually saw you that day. Saw something, sure - a bird, maybe. But not you.

Eris let out a low chuckle, a rumble deep in his chest that traveled through your bones, landing deep in your stomach. “I didn’t mean it like that.” He turned his head, the loose red curls shifting over his forehead as he moved. “I saw you flying, right before you sprang for the mountains.”

“I didn’t want to intrude,” you replied, wanting to shrink down and disappear.

“Trespass,” he corrected, mostly joking. You smiled, eyes flitting over his every feature. The moon cast shadows along those cheekbones, casting a dark shadow over his neck, blocking the view of the delicate pale skin, tucked away behind a turtleneck. His dark brows raised, revealing his casualness.

“Trespass,” you repeated, testing the word. “I needed some time away from Night,” you confessed, running a hand through your hair. “It was the first fire I saw that day. And it was so gods-damned cold.”

He smiled. “Almost as cold as tonight.”

He wanted so desperately to give you his jacket, to drape the heavy brown fabric over your shoulders, to see you in his court colors, his clothes.

The air behind you stirred, a flash of cold that sent shivers down your spine.

You would have turned to investigate, to see what had appeared behind you. You would have, had it not been for the shadows curling around your ankles.

Before Eris could speak, before he could register the Shadowsinger in his Court, you cut him off. “Azriel.” It was more of a warning than anything else, ordering him to remain where he stood, to not take a step closer.

Eris only stood, poised in front of the Illyrian. His knife was too far away, the one you’d thrown across the clearing into the makeshift target. You didn’t know about the one hidden in the waistband on his pressed pants, nor the larger one, buried in a pile of leaves just to your left. He was ready to jump, to wedge himself in between Rhysand’s dog and you, if need be.

You stood, too, just a moment later, facing the black-haired male. “You didn’t need to come here.”

You were surprised he responded, only having heard the male speak a few times, just around your brother. “You said you wouldn’t leave the court.”

Your jaw set, watching as his expression did not change one bit. He didn’t offer you a blink, not a dip of the head or a raise of his brow. You turned to Eris, who was simply staring daggers at the Illyrian. “Eris, I - ” you cut yourself off, unsure of even what to say.

But he would have bowed to you then and there just for you to repeat his name.

He nodded toward you, then toward the Shadowsinger, no animosity towards each other, other than that by their mutual connection: Rhysand. Azriel, calmest of the three of the Illyrians, by far the most rational, waited for you where he had winnowed in, not moving except to flare his wings behind him. He knew he was in Eris’s Court, outside of his own territory. He was cautious to make a wrong move, to make any at all. He spread those large wings, taking up more space, intimidating and warning Eris to not take a step closer to you.

“Thank you for stopping by.” It was all Eris said, the warm male you were speaking with just a moment ago, replaced with the cold courtier, diffusing the situation. He aligned much more with the Eris your brother had warned you about, perhaps playing the role since the Shadowsinger had shown up.

Azriel waited until you stepped over the tree trunk you’d once been sitting on, for him to hold his hand out to you. You didn’t take it, instead stopping at his side and turning around once more to Eris. He stared at you firmly, not surprised, not shocked, not irritated at the other male for entering his woods. It simply was, and Eris could do nothing except escalate the situation.

Azriel grabbed your forearm, not caring to warn you before winnowing out immediately. Eris held your gaze, his eyes not leaving yours until you were fully gone. His jaw set and head tilted back in a curse towards your brother, for sending his friend to take you home.

You also cursed your brother, promising yourself that you’d berate him as soon as Azriel took you back to the Night Court estate. You’d spend the rest of your night wondering when - and how - you’d be able to see Eris again. Surely, you’d be able to come up with a plan, a time when you’d be able to visit him next.

Eris spent the rest of the evening in the same way.

#eris/reader #eris vanserra/reader #eris x reader #eris/you #eris vanserra/you #eris x you #eris vanserra #eris fanfic #eris fanfiction #eris oneshot #eris vanserra oneshot #acotar

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dayurno · 5 months

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recently reread ur de-aged kevin fic and in the end notes you said you were thinking of doing a sequel w neilandrew being de-aged and just wanted to throw my hat in the ring to say yes pls! you genuinely have such incredible writing and characterization and would LOVE to see your take on it!

wawawa i plan to write it!!!!! i did start a little bit after finishing de-aged kevin and had to scrap it off because i didn't like it, so it might take a little longer. nonetheless i feel like i have no reason not to share it so i'll attach under the cut the scrapped version of kevin with de-aged andreil for your enjoyment :=) if its a little wonky i ask that you bear with me theres a reason why i didnt keep this version

There is a little garden behind Fox Tower where you could fit a dead body without any real effort.

Not that Kevin would know, of course. But he is sure that he has never seen anyone besides himself tend to the ground there — perhaps once in the past there was another athlete who enjoyed gardening, but such a character has not been around for at least a few years. It took Kevin almost an entire week to entirely weed out the square of dirt between Fox Tower’s backdoors and the fence where Palmetto State University property ends and Fox Perimeter starts.

Despite the loneliness of it, the ground is quite fertile; as patches of earth left alone by humankind often are. No one ever comes with Kevin when he gardens — Andrew finding it too soft a hobby and Neil, too pointless —, so there is no worry about someone else intervening with his flowers. Worlds apart from Evermore, Kevin quite enjoys the alone time tending to this garden provides, so he makes a habit out of it.

He’s not sure how well he is doing. His first attempt had been to plant daylilies, because the name had amused him and they were considered beginner plants, offending as the thought is. Daylilies, Kevin’s come to find, are low-maintenance, highly resistant and pest-free — three things Kevin cannot relate to, despite them sharing a surname. Those turned out fine, but one cannot go wrong with daylilies; they’re too easy. The only way Kevin could’ve killed them is if he was an absolute moron.

His second attempt — and the one he is currently keeping a close watch on — were tulips. They’re harder to care for than their predecessors, and take up more of Kevin’s time than he had previously imagined, though he doesn’t fault them for it. He’d gotten seeds from a shop a few blocks down to where Andrew usually buys his cigarettes in Columbia, and hadn’t bothered to ask for more information; Kevin’s first mistake, he realizes.

His tulips have… multiplied. Perhaps too much — hopeless, Kevin sits amidst the rows and rows of golden ladies, dainty-looking but quite surely outnumbering him, and wonders how many more of them could cause a natural imbalance in the area. For how they spread over the garden, Kevin is not sure he wants the answer. Their yellow bulbs seem to mock him.

Deciding this is now above him, Kevin wipes the dirt from his knees and springs up. He breaks the stem of a few tulips that have already bloomed, mindful that they must reserve their energy for a future reblooming, and checks for rotten bulbs before leaving. Surely, with time, his little garden will recover well enough so that it is not fully covered in tulips. Surely he’ll be able to plant something else, then.

If anything, Kevin is at least happy they don’t have thorns. Gathering the handful of flowers he’d cut off, he returns to his dorm, mindlessly wondering to himself if they have a vase wide enough to fit all of these tulips. When their whiny door pushes open under his weight, Kevin announces his arrival by calling out, “Do we still have that big vase from last year?”

No reply. Frowning, Kevin settles his flowers on the kitchen counter and glances over to where Andrew’s wallet and keys sit at their coffee table, even his half-finished pack of cigarettes left untouched. It is highly unlikely for Andrew to leave without at least one of those three items, creature of habit he is. How weird.

Grabbing for his phone, Kevin sees a flash of motion from the corner of his eye, and is just quick enough to sidestep a little body hiding behind the back of their sofa. The idea of something as small as this just hanging around their dorm is so baffling Kevin can hardly compute it, communication between his eyes and his brain coming to a screeching stop as he takes in the sight in front of him.

There’s a child. There’s a — there’s a child.

He is quite small. His hair, a gentle wheat-like thing, curls softly over his forehead, leading down to big, round brown eyes and a thin mouth. The child’s face is very tender, his cheeks flushed from exertion, but he does not meet Kevin’s stare with any such feeling — instead, his eyes widen slightly, and he stumbles back like he’s been hit.

For a moment, Kevin even worries he hasn’t sidestepped as well as he thought and indeed had hit this child on accident. Taking a few steps back himself, Kevin asks, “Who are you?”

It seems like the kind of question the child should ask him, instead of the opposite. The little boy tilts his head back to look at Kevin — and he does have to tilt it very far —, before steeling himself to answer, “I’m—I think I live here now?”

“That…” Kevin hesitates, “can’t be right.” The child’s eyes water slightly. Growing more and more panicked by the minute, Kevin immediately retracts it. “But I’m sure it is, if you’re saying it.”

The tears don’t fall, but they don’t quite recede either; the little boy's face is so fair it starts to look splotchy soon enough, red dusting his nose and cheeks. “Are you my new brother?” He asks, with all the certainty of someone who’s had many new brothers before. A nagging chill runs up Kevin’s spine.

“I don’t believe I am, since I don’t have any siblings,” Kevin limits himself to replying. He crouches down to meet the child’s stare, eyeing his tulips from above his head. Kevin really needs to get that vase soon; it’s not good for them to be out in the open like this. “Can you tell me your name? Why are you here? Where are your parents?”

The little boy eyes him suspiciously. He answers none of Kevin’s questions, but he informs, “There was another little boy too.”

“Right. Well,” Kevin stumbles a bit, unsure of what to say — and what to believe in, even. Children often see things that aren’t there for adults; he does not want to see any manner of spirit today. Or any other day. “Can you go get him for me? Then I can help you figure out what you’re doing here.”

“What else… can I be doing here?” The child asks, frowning lightly. “This is a new home. They—at the last one, they didn’t want me. And I have to be somewhere.”

Recognition shivers through Kevin. “I see,” he replies past the lump in his throat. “I think I might understand. The—the little boy that you mentioned, did he have blue eyes? And, and red hair?”

Andrew crinkles his little nose. “Was orange, not red.”

Oh. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. “I understand it now.” Kevin’s thighs tremble too much for him to hold his crouch, so he sits back on his heels, kneeling at Andrew’s height. “How old are you? If you don’t mind.”

Andrew blinks at him for a moment too long before showing Kevin his spread palm — it is unbearably small, chubby, and quite pale, too. “I’m five,” he says.

And he is. He is five years old. He is very five years old by the looks of it, which is not the age Andrew Minyard should be, because before Kevin left for his garden, he was pretty sure the Andrew he left behind was twenty-one.

“You’re five. Okay. That makes sense. Of course,” Kevin babbles, having gone half-stupid from shock. That this could be happening to him — that it could be happening to them again, after Kevin had spent a week of last month being six years old and with no recollection of it. What kind of rotten cosmic joke is this? “I see. Okay, well, let me just—” He rubs a hand across his face. “Hello, I’m Kevin. I am a collegiate athlete. That means I play Exy for a university. Have you heard of it?”

“Exy is on the TV all the time,” Andrew counters, but it seems to be all that he knows. He looks a little hesitant before he nods; tight and anxious. “Hi. I’m Andrew Doe.”

Without a surname makes one a John Doe. Kevin’s heart squeezes. “Hello, Andrew,” he greets, trying to work his face into something gentler. “I understand what you mean now. You called it a new home, correct? It’s not like that. I think what happened here is…”

“Do you work for my father?” A small voice cuts Kevin’s sentence short. He whips his head around to meet a boy a good few inches taller than Andrew leaning against the doorway of their bedroom, his hair a light ginger. When Kevin’s eyes meet his, Neil — Nathaniel? — hunches in on himself in self-reproach, placing little hands in front of his head. “Sorry. I spoke out of turn.”

Kevin blinks. “No,” he answers, softening his voice. This is—this is not the time to doubt whether gentleness is achievable or not; this is the time to force it until it breaks, or until it gives. “I don’t work for your father. I’ve never even met him before.”

Neil pales. Perhaps the idea that someone does not know his father seems outlandish when Neil has been raised under his dominion — Kevin is sure it feels that way, for Neil to look so stricken. Often when you are this small and your parents are the overlords of your world, it feels strange to learn that they are not the end-all-be-all of everyone else’s.

Like a little tour guide, Andrew steps forward to explain, “I think you might be here because your mom and dad went away and children have to live somewhere.”

…Of course, being five years old, his understanding of the situation is about as good as Kevin had expected. Andrew’s explanation of the foster system is fairly good, all things considered, but too realistic for a child his age. He should, at least, still believe that they mean to find him a family instead of sending him from home to home because there is nowhere else for him to be.

Neil pales even further. “Is that true?”

“Is true. Is what happened to me.”

“Alright, alright,” Kevin intervenes at last, and two pairs of eyes turn to him; both hesitant in their own way. He coughs into his fist, deciding that honesty is the easiest route. “To be frank with both of you, I’m not sure why you’re here, either. But… thank you, Andrew, for trying to explain it.”

The little Andrew’s face does something unguarded and surprised before he looks away, blushing lightly.

Kevin keeps his eyes trained to his tulips. “I don’t know what happened for you to get here, but you’re welcome to stay until we can figure this out.”

He is eyed with suspicion from both sides. “I,” Neil shakily starts, the beginning of a meltdown creeping into his voice, “I want my mama. Where is she?”

“I’m sorry,” Kevin replies, and finds that he means it, “I don’t know. If I knew, I’d take you to her.”

He would do no such thing, but it is important to say it, anyway.

Springing upwards before Neil can bring out the waterworks, Kevin takes a few steps next to where he’d put aside his tulips and returns with one in each hand. “Here,” he says, kneeling to their height again. “Want a flower? I just got them from the garden.”

Andrew’s hand reaches for it, but does not bridge the distance, hesitant. Neil doesn’t even try to get it. “Flowers are for girls,” he tells Kevin.

“Hm. Do I look like a girl to you?”

“Yes.”

Kevin supposes that was a mistake on his part. It’s always the hair with children. “Well, I’m not,” he argues — argues! — with five-year-old Neil. “It’s very rude to not accept a gift.”

Neil eyes him, squinting quietly. He takes a few steps closer, looking more relaxed now that he’s figured Kevin is not working for his father. Coaxingly, Kevin offers one of the tulips in his direction — the bigger one, standing proud and yellow and delicate. It took a great effort for them to look this healthy. “These are called golden ladies. They’re perennials — that means they grow no matter the season. I plant them myself.”

A little hand curls around the stem of the smallest of Kevin’s tulips, catching it with all the clumsy delicacy of children who have yet to learn a finer touch. Letting Andrew take it, Kevin's mouth twitches. “Don’t worry about thorns, there’s none.”

He doesn’t mention the eco-system smasher Kevin had accidentally become in the process. Hopefully, no one notices the terrifying increase of tulips in Palmetto for the upcoming springs.

Andrew doesn’t answer him, eyes trained to the tulip. The yellow of the inner petals matches the pale of his hair; makes him look more flower than child. Sweet, sweet boy.

Kevin turns back to Neil. “Won’t you take it even if you don’t like them? I don’t have a vase yet. I’m afraid they’ll just rot if you don’t take them.” This is a lie — but it’s a fair one. Children shouldn’t be so restrained.

The idea of imminent destruction seems to convince Neil to walk the distance between himself and Kevin to take the flower in his little hand. He says nothing. Kevin can’t tell if he likes it at all — he’s so put-upon.

A little hand flutters in the general direction of Kevin’s head. “Why is your hair…” Andrew asks.

“What? Long?” The child nods. “What’s wrong about it?”

“It shouldn’t be like this.”

Well, that’s rude. Kevin huffs softly under his breath, absent-mindedly combing his fingers through his hair. “When I was a little over your age, I had a friend — a brother — who liked my hair like this. I think I just grew used to it.”

It’s not the full story, of course. He can’t tell them about Riko, and how much of his preferences Kevin had taken as law out of admiration, at first, then fear, later on. He can’t explain, either, that his hair staying this way is his own way of mourning — a childhood left unfinished, a little boy abused into the insanity of Riko’s final years, brotherhood yet to be tainted by blood and jealousy. Children this young can’t tell Kevin carries all the marks of the grieving.

“Oh,” Andrew replies. He looks like he wants to ask some more, but he doesn’t.

“I can teach you how to braid it later, if you want,” Kevin offers. He has not even a sliver of a clue about what children should do in their free time. In his time, his mother took him all around the world during her trips, which didn’t usually leave Kevin much time for playing; then, after she died, Exy consumed most of his time between little league and Tetsuji’s endurance bootcamp. “It’s a useful skill. You can impress your future wife with it.”

He knows well enough that Andrew is never, ever going to get a wife; still, Kevin knows no other way to frame the importance — or, rather, mask the lack thereof — of this to him.

Andrew nods politely. He, for one, is taking this much better than Neil seems to be — for good reason, Kevin imagines. Already registered in the foster system, Andrew must be used to adapting to new homes, new siblings, new adults with an eccentric knack for gardening and haircare. He’s indulging Kevin. A five-year-old!

“Well,” Kevin clears his throat, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Are you hungry? It should be almost lunchtime.”

No answer. It’s almost like dealing with the adults Andrew and Neil again.

Lunch is bland and unimaginative; Kevin follows the recipe obsessively, unwilling to make children choke down trash. It’s one thing for their adult selves to indulge Kevin in his lack of culinary talent, but children don’t yet have the taste buds for experimental food, nor the desire to put up with their caretakers’ inability to cook. More than once he resists the urge to add more spice — or even more salt.

While he cooks, Kevin allows Andrew and Neil to get acquainted with each other. They talk quietly, eyeing the other with no less suspicion they eyed Kevin with, and seem happy to do their own thing. Skittish, for sure: but can they be blamed for it? Kevin doesn’t expect them to hit it off immediately, especially with Neil’s under-socialization. In the week or so Kevin should have them, it is likely they’ll progress on that front.

Polite like a trained dog, Andrew waits by the kitchen doorway to help Kevin with setting the table. He’s far too small for such a task — he’ll drop any glassware Kevin gives him. Still, unwilling to let the child feel useless, Kevin asks him to set some napkins and cutlery out. Yes, that should be enough.

“Thank you, Andrew,” he says when he is done finishing up on their plates. Looking at the portions, Kevin is inclined to think they are far too much for someone of their size, but he doubts either have had access to an unrestricted meal in quite a while. At their age, Kevin knows he hadn’t. “It is very kind of you to help with the table.”

Andrew tilts his head towards his food without comment. He is almost unnervingly polite. It’s not the Andrew Kevin knows, and the contrast feels scathing.

Despite the children’s best efforts, their meal is not quiet. Kevin is not good with children, but he likes to think he is good with Andrew and Neil — as good as one can be, anyway. He prompts them into conversation by asking questions about their interests, their lives, their routines; half of it is trying to figure out how to care for these two, and the other half is emulating a chewed-out memory of how Kayleigh used to talk to him.

She was never the kind of parent who baby-talked to Kevin. As soon as he was able to, she tried to engage him in conversation — however loose that concept can be for a five-year-old. Kayleigh, from what he remembers of her, had the ability to make anyone feel listened to; Kevin doesn’t remember ever doubting she cared for his childish babbling about toys and daycare, even if nostalgia had colored the memory a soft mouth-pink. He only wishes he would’ve gotten at least half of her social adeptness. From Kayleigh, all Kevin got was green eyes, a gaping hunger for success and an inescapable attraction to troubled men.

“I play Exy and I like books,” Kevin offers in trade for information. It’s — well, he doesn’t have many hobbies. The gardening and the cooking are a late product of much of Dr. Betsy Dobson’s insistence that Kevin must make something out of himself that isn’t Exy-related. “I like cooking but I’m not good at it. And I like gardening but it takes a lot of work so I don’t do it all the time.”

“It’s not that bad,” Andrew tells him, motioning to his food with small movements. He finished his plate in record time, inhaling Kevin’s poor attempt at a caesar salad like it’s a five stars meal. On the other hand, Neil is halfway through with his and looks done already. “Your food.”

“Not that bad?” Kevin tilts his head slightly, amused. He’ll take it, he supposes. “Thank you, Andrew.”

Hesitant, like perhaps he fears Kevin will be angry at him for it, Neil picks up the conversation where he left off to say, “I like… horses. But, um, like toys.”

“Horses, I see,” Kevin repeats, a bit hopeless. Children’s interests are so loose. “And what else?”

Neil flicks him a suspicious glare. “What else?”

“I gave you four of my interests. A conversation has to be equal.”

Looking as if Kevin had sprouted a second head right in front of him, Neil does not do as he is asked so much as he stares at Kevin, mouth open in a little o. Has no one asked this child what he likes before? It feels out of character for the Butcher of Baltimore, sure, but Neil’s mother had seemed to care for him, at least from what little Kevin had heard about her.

“No?” Kevin tries after a few moments of silence. “I’m just trying to be friends.”

“Why would you be my friend?” Neil asks, putting down his fork with surprising care; as if to ensure it makes no noise. Even his voice is small and unobtrusive, despite the words. “Adults and children aren’t friends. Adults want children to be quiet.”

Kevin hides a wince. He hadn’t imagined the Butcher of Baltimore, in all his serial killer glory, would have indulged his child in conversation — and by the way Neil acts, he could’ve guessed for himself that most of Neil’s childhood had been trying to stay out of his father’s way. But no one ever wants to assume the worst out of a loved one’s suffering; Kevin had held out hope there’d be at least a silver lining in Neil’s horror stories.

It is not unlike how Kevin and Riko were raised in the Nest, anyway. Their private tutors were stern, and despite much of their trying, there was no place for childhood in Evermore: they were told to keep quiet or else. The Master would often say that they were not to act like children — it hadn’t occurred to him up until now how cruel it is to forbid a child from being childish.

“Well, if I’m asking you, don’t you think I want to know?” Kevin argues. “Not all adults think the same thing. Do you think the same thing as every other child?”

A pause. Neil shakes his head, looking somewhat green, as if he had just realized what he said. From Kevin’s other side, Andrew stares anxiously.

Rubbing a hand through his face, Kevin slowly puts out, trying to enunciate his words as gentle as he can make them, “I am not angry that you spoke your mind. It makes sense, what you said.” He shakes his head a little. Only a few minutes in, and he’s already ruining it — Kevin’s no good for anything that doesn’t involve a racquet. “But I would not have asked if I didn’t want to know. Do you understand?”

A small, careful nod. Kevin will take whatever he can get.

“Good.” Kevin starts to gather the empty plates — his and Andrew’s —, and motions towards Neil’s half-finished one. “Do you not like it? I can make you something else, if you want.”

The sudden shift in conversation visibly vexes Neil, but, politely, he replies, “...Not hungry.”

From beside Kevin, Andrew flinches. Hurrying to dispel it, Kevin says, “It’ll be in the fridge in case you want it later.” Piling the plates into one of his hands, Kevin offers the other one to Andrew. “Come on, you didn’t get to tell me what you like during lunch.”

The child watches Kevin’s hand — the right one, smooth and unscarred if a little crooked from the years of gripping racquets — warily before accepting it, threading his little fingers through Kevin’s. His hand feels unimaginably small; so fragile it is a wonder it even exists. Kevin is reminded of the first time he saw a baby bird, back in Dublin: he’d told his mom he couldn’t tell if it was super ugly or super cute. She’d laughed for what felt like an eternity after.

Still sitting politely at the table, Neil watches their joined hands, frowning. Kevin can’t tell what he’s thinking — wouldn’t be able to even with an adult Neil —, but the face he makes claws at his heart. “N—” not his name, “ah, do you want to come with?”

Thus invited, Neil follows them into the kitchen. Kevin washes the dishes and listens as Andrew tells him, a little shyly, that he likes Sesame Street, street cats (“Really?” Kevin asks. “Aren’t their claws a little scary?” to which Andrew seems to lose some respect for him on the spot), chocolate and amusement parks, when he is allowed to go. It's a fairly common list — Kevin didn’t know what he expected a five-year-old version of Andrew to like. Something a little more unorthodox, perhaps.

But children are the same everywhere, at any point. Andrew soaks up the attention Kevin gives him, happy to answer all questions, if a little insecure on why Kevin would be asking them. Knowing where Andrew was at this age, he doesn’t doubt it’s been a while an adult has actually spoken to him with some level of care for what he has to say: when was the last time Andrew has actually felt companionship? Someone who hears what he says and asks questions about it?

It feels sacrilegious to stop now. Already out of dishes to clean, Kevin scrubs and re-scrubs their plates until his hands ache as he asks Andrew questions, not unaware of Neil’s watching eyes.

“And how is it? California?” Kevin asks. The next thing he says is a bold-faced lie, because he’s visited Jean before, but he still says it. “I’ve never been. I heard it’s beautiful.”

He’s heard no such thing. Jean seems to think California is where meaningful art goes to die, but he can’t tell Andrew that.

“Is okay,” Andrew tells him, propped up on a stool next to Kevin. His little legs swing mindlessly. “The traffic — there’s traffic. And Disneyland.”

“You’ve been?” He asks again.

“Oh, um, no.”

It’s expected. “I have not either,” Kevin relates, making it sound like a bigger woe than it really is. His hands are rubbed raw at this point, and the soap pricks at the skin of his palms — soon, he’ll have to stop. Just a little more. “I don’t think I’d like it, either way.”

Andrew watches him curiously. “Why?”

“I don’t like crowds.” It’s not as easy as that, but Kevin leaves it as it is. The prickling sensation of the soap starts to crawl up his wrist, and he decides it is time to stop. Drying his hands off on a nearby cloth, Kevin prompts, “How about some dessert?”

It is the first time he’s ever said those words, and they horrify him, but the quickly-hidden flash of interest in Andrew’s face is worth breaking his streak for. From the stool beside Andrew, Neil frowns lightly. This child is too serious — Kevin tries to remember if he was like this back in little league, but his memory is not the best after so many hits to the head.

He rummages through their freezer. Andrew’s adult self is fond of indulging — there are a few half-eaten ice cream cartons tucked beneath frozen peas and other such vegetables, though most of them are flavored a cherry liqueur Kevin will most certainly not feed to children. Scavenging further he is able to retain a sealed chocolate carton, the frost covering it making his fingertips tingle.

This has to be too frozen to eat. Helpless, Kevin turns to look at the two five-year-olds as if they have a better idea. It’s weird, now, to be the person Andrew and Neil look to for answers — Kevin is used to it being the other way around. He is caught thinking that he’ll probably struggle in the coming days, without his two little shadows making life easier for him.

“I think if I microwave it a little bit, nothing’s going to happen,” Kevin mumbles to himself, aware that he is not inspiring much respect as an authority figure. He’s no Andrew, after all: Kevin’s still himself, despite all his best efforts to be someone else.

The ice cream loses some of its original texture in the microwave, but, if anything, Andrew seems to enjoy it as Kevin passes him a bowl. Neil does not accept one himself, politely saying he doesn't like sweets, and the lack of attitude from him is disturbing. Kevin is used to Neil being a force of nature — seeing him this quiet, this contained, is not easy. It makes him think of the iron-shaped scar on his adult self’s chest. All that dead skin.

Unwilling to let him be left out, Kevin cuts some slices of apple for him, which Neil takes with some degree of gratefulness. The little boys settle in front of the TV while Kevin manages to find a children’s channel, looking small on their ratty dorm carpet. Kevin isn’t sure children should be this small in the first place — he’s not sure if they are little because of genetics, or neglect. How much can you hurt a child until they disappear?

Kevin sits himself with them, cross-legged. He is too old to see the appeal of children’s television, so most of it is watching them from the corner of his eye and finding out what to say to Aaron to get him to come and help.

You 14:36

Hello. I think whatever happened to me last month just happened to Andrew and Neil.

As in, they have turned into five-year-olds. If you’ve forgotten.

When there is no immediate response, Kevin huffs to himself and snatches a picture of their two little heads pending towards each other, deep in conversation about the show they are watching. Kevin is, at least, relieved to see them interacting at all: Andrew might have been to kindergarten already, but Neil has always been undersocialized, all tutors and nannies. If Kevin can’t be his friend, then at least Andrew can.

The picture gets him a quicker answer.

Aaron 14:45

what the fuck what the fuck what the ufck

why doe sthis keep fucking happening to you

Like it’s his fault!

You 14:45

This is not the kind of thing I can control.

They are good children. Polite. Easier to deal with than I was, I wager. But I need you to come and help.

Aaron 14:47

why should i

what makes you think i could help you

You 14:49

Because he is your brother.

Before Kevin can read Aaron’s answer, something hooks on his hair. Looking down, he finds Andrew’s hand hanging a few inches away from it, alarmed and wide-eyed at being caught. Behind him, Neil looks just as queasy, as if this had been their joint effort.

“Can I help you?” Kevin asks, raising his eyebrow a little. When he gets no response, he concedes, "You can touch. Don’t tug or pull. And keep it away from your mouth.”

No response. Kevin doubles down, “It’s really fine. Here.” He pulls his hair out of its low ponytail, letting it curtain down his shoulders and back. It’s not often he lets his hair down like this — it can be too much of a hassle. Kevin ought to cut it one day, but the thought still makes him a little sick to think of. “As long as you’re careful.”

An hesitant little hand inches closer and closer, still warily watching out for Kevin’s reaction. When Andrew finds no resistance, he combs little fingers down the length of Kevin’s hair, faint and amazed. He’s not very gentle — children are too clumsy for it, still, and there is some tugging. It doesn’t hurt, though. Kevin allows it.

Resigning himself to being played with, Kevin gives them his back, leaning his elbow against the couch. Another pair of little hands clutches at a chunk of hair, and he knows Andrew has convinced Neil to get in on their impromptu hairdresser salon. At least they’re playing, Kevin consoles himself as he feels a pull on his scalp. At least they’re getting along.

“I have hair ribbons on my desk,” he offers, knowing what he is setting himself up to and still going through with it. “Colorful ones. Satin. Would you like to see them?”

A pause on the tugging. “Really?” That was Neil.

“Yes. But I’ll have to get up to get them.”

“I can do it,” Andrew tells him, the ever-helpful little waiter. He’s so polite — Kevin wonders if they taught him there is a higher chance of getting adopted if you treat the foster parents with subservience. Probably. “Where is it?”

“Andrew, it’s fine—”

“I’ll do it. He’s still playing, so I’ll do it.”

So kind, giving Neil time to play by himself. Kevin, helplessly charmed, would allow him anything. “Okay. Thank you.” Motioning vaguely in the direction of their desks, he says, “It’s the one with the shelves on top of it. Yes, that one, with the books. Be careful not to hit your head!” Watching Andrew narrowly duck under a shelf gives Kevin half an aneurysm, but the child seems no less interested in his quest. “First drawer. There. Did you find it?”

“Yes,” Andrew replies, shoving a chubby fist into the drawer and pulling out a handful of hair ribbons, all different colors and sizes. There was an organization system to it, and his careless pulling has clearly ruined it. A little disheartened, Kevin doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “This?”

“Yes. Please keep the drawer closed.”

The drawer snaps shut, and Andrew makes his way back to them, freshly acquired ribbons falling over his fingers and wrist in colorful flops. Kevin doesn’t see him sit back down, but he feels Andrew’s hand on his hair again. “Why do you have shelves?” Neil asks after a few moments of silence, their hands working ribbons in his hair via extremely clumsy braiding. “Um, just you, I mean. The others are empty.”

That he’s asking anything seems like a blessing, when the child is so quiet. “My—” Kevin hesitates. How to even describe it? “My… friend built them for me. The shelves. He got annoyed at me for leaving my books everywhere.”

It’s true. Just as Kevin loathes Andrew’s habit of leaving his cigarettes anywhere, so does Andrew loathe Kevin’s astray book piles across the living room, left half-read or unfinished in his haste to get to class or practice. The shelves had been less of a compromise and more of a surprise: one day, they were simply sitting above his desk like they’ve always been there. Kevin never asked Andrew if he built them, but he figured the wood splinters on his fingers were reason enough. It took a lot of arguing for Andrew to take them out the right way, instead of just letting the splinters break on their own.

“Oh,” Andrew says, entirely unaware of the story being about his older self and focused on tying a bow on Kevin’s hair. “Where is he?”

“There’s two of them, actually. They’re away for work.” Kevin leans his head closer when the tugging starts to get a little painful. “What are you doing back there, anyway?”

“It’s pretty,” Neil murmurs, defending his work. Kevin doubts it is, but he’s happy to even have the little Neil’s attention at all.

“You know how to braid?” He asks, trying to steal a look and getting his head gently moved back by Andrew. “By the way, what’s your name? You haven’t said.”

Neil hesitates, hands freezing. Kevin keeps talking, “Whatever you want to be called.”

“Um,” Neil thinks on it for a moment. He seems to be rolling Kevin’s hair nervously around his fingers now; a nervous fidget. “My—my dad calls me Junior, but my mom calls me Nat—Nathaniel.”

He doesn’t say it like he enjoys being called either.

“Hello, Nathaniel,” Kevin tilts his head in acknowledgement, because he wasn’t raised in a barn. “I’m Kevin. It’s nice to meet you.”

Shy little thing he is, Nathaniel doesn’t answer.

The children play with Kevin’s hair for a few more minutes before losing interest, leaving him a mess of ribbons and tangles he decides not to deal with for now. He imagines they should be put to sleep soon — children this small sleep in the afternoon, do they not? At their age, Kevin is sure he had to be made to nap one way or another, what with his mother’s hectic schedule. It’s a bit of a parenting cop-out, he is aware, but… Kevin could use a nap himself. Sure the children do, too.

He makes a show out of yawning behind his palm. Two pairs of eyes turn to him, neither particularly moved by his display. Tough crowd.

“Maybe we can all take a nap,” Kevin suggests. Nothing.

#asks #kandreil #my writing #thisis very scuffed i did some minor editing but its seriously not good. dont perceive me

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