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tiredmamaissy · 8 days

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Ralak te Sepawn ieyk’itan: Special Episode V

Something is Brewing

Masterlist ; Rut/Heat/Knotting Info

🔞 minors, do not interact 🔞

Hyperlinks are attached to specific paragraphs that when clicked on will lead you to its illustration by Ralak's insanely talented creator @zestys-stuff. Thank you so much for allowing me to play around with your characters!

Characters: Metkayina!Ralak (25) x Sully!Omaticaya!Reader (20)

Warnings: explicit pregnancy smut, pregnancy fluff, pregnancy angst [for the plot], pregnancy [this chapter is entirely about pregnancy if you haven't caught my drift, just giving you guys a proper warning], age gap, mood swings, cravings, nausea, vomiting, reader is very clumsy, intimate/invasive medical treatment, rut cycle, sexual tension, pregnant sex, p in v, titty fucking, cum eating (m and f), oral sex (m and f), masturbation, exhibitionism (kinda, not really), lactation kink

Word Count: 17.5k (this takes the cake, i apologize)

Requested: Yes || No

Author’s Note: Hey guys! Thank you all for being so patient with me as usual. I had planned to post this chapter earlier, but with the help of @zestys-stuff, we made a last minute change to the chapter. This will definitely cause some changes in the next chapter, so I’m going to work on that right away. I won’t lie, I’m really nervous to publish this one. It's been a while and I’ve ventured into some new territory where I’ve introduced a couple of new themes and -drumroll- a new character. There are parts of this chapter that can possibly cause discomfort (technically, all of this could), so I urge you guys to proceed with caution and click off if you do feel uncomfortable in any way. Aside from that, it’s good to be back (again, lol) and I hope you enjoy!

Synopsis: A timeline of your pregnancy with Ralak’s child, shown through a series of flashbacks of your most prominent milestones—some of which foreshadow something bigger to come…

<- Previous -> Next

Pregnancy is tough.

A beautiful blessing, but tough nonetheless. With its own set of hardships, uniquely tailored to your own being. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. A sore back, chest, ankles…the list is seemingly endless. The shift in moods, the fatigue. Adjusting to an entire new being growing inside you—one that sucks the nutrients straight from your bones and blood—has your body overcompensating.

At first it was a dream.

No life-changing symptoms. It was smooth sailing for the first few weeks. Life went on as usual. If anything, others were more reactive to your pregnancy than you were. Your skimwing became aggressive towards Ralak, snapping at him and whipping her tail, treating him as a threat rather than a companion. He was more than understanding, as it’s common for the protective instinct to kick in when the tsurak senses their rider is with child.

More importantly, it was an urge that Ralak shared with the beast.

—

You watch as your tendrils intertwine with your skimwing, and how they come together with a rough tug. You let out a rugged breath and the beast beneath you starts to writhe. Ralak instinctively grasps at the harness to steady you and—

Slash.

Your trsuak whips her spiked tail at your mate, who blocks it with his strake.

“Shit.” You gasp, tugging at the leather strap and patting her neck to subdue her. “I thought I was in control. Are you alright?”

Ralak nods, his hair now soaked and plastered to his chest. He simply chuckles, respectfully and cautiously approaching the beast with an open hand. Despite this, your tsurak continues to thrash, repeatedly snapping her snout open and shut. Ralak clicks melodically a few times, and her pupils blow and constrict as she calms down. He strokes her snout with one hand, and lays his other on your thigh, gripping it lightly.

“She senses that you are with child.”

“She does?”

“Yes. That is why she protects you. I understand the feeling.” His accent is thick on his tongue.

——

Then the nausea came. It was… unbearable. Insufferable. It was almost frightful, actually. Not being able to stomach anything really brought down a sense of dread upon your shoulders. Most days, you found yourself worried about the budding life inside you more than yourself.

Was he getting enough? Would he develop properly if you went another day without eating?

Ralak was more worried about you, of course. Going to great lengths to find something you could stomach. Spoon feeding you as you laid down all day from the gut churning nausea. Washing the sick out of your hair when you missed the bucket at your bedside. Detangling and braiding it for you to keep it clean and out of your face. Releasing his pheromones—your only relief—just to put you to sleep at night.

—

t.w. nausea, vomiting.

In the crisp night, a wave of nausea washes over you, waking you from your sleep. Typically, this is the only time you have a break from the nausea—your slumber. That, and the first ten minutes after throwing up.

You quickly hurl over, grabbing and heaving into your bedside bucket, something that's rightfully earned its spot at your side. Ralak jolts awake, sitting up behind you to gather your hair into his fist, rubbing your back as you retch.

“Alrigght.” He hums lengthily. “Get it up.”

Finally, you stop. You gasp and pant for air, sitting up only to collapse back into him. “I h-hate this–haah.”

“I do, too.” He grits, reaching over you for the rag at your bedside, and wiping your mouth.

He hates seeing you so sick. He’s tried it all, and though he’s found a few foods that you can stomach, nothing seems stops the nausea. Well, that’s not entirely true.

Ralak relaxes his body, focusing on opening his scent glands to release his his pheromones. They slowly become stronger, calming you down and dulling the waves of nausea. He pulls you close to his warm body, reaching behind him for his kuru.

“Tsaheylu.” He whispers yearningly, making the bond slowly. He sets a steady breathing pattern, slipping his hand over your tiny bump to caress it. The sickening feeling eases up enough for you to drift back to sleep, Ralak along with you.

——

Thankfully, Eywa lifted you of your säspxin [sickness] when you were about to come upon your third month of pregnancy. Cravings increased ten-fold almost instantly. On the occasion where you couldn’t keep it down—when the desperation was too much—you’d volunteer Ralak to eat it for you so that you could satisfy the craving vicariously through him.

—

“Eywa, that’s so good. One more bite.”

“Tanhí. Enough now.” He grumbles, feeling overly stuffed and almost queasy.

You glance down at the purple hue of your connected kurus.

“Please...” Your eyes burn as they threaten to well with tears, and your bottom lip quivers, “…last one, promise.”

Ralak sighs, shoveling in another bite of boiled squid, chewing it slowly so you can savor the taste. You keep your eyes closed as he eats, tongue swirling in your mouth to swish your pooling saliva in your cheeks. And when he swallows, you swallow too, gulping down your spit.

“Thank you.” You say shyly as you open your eyes, feeling bad for making him overeat now that you can really feel his fullness.

It is my pleasure. Never feel bad. His accented voice tickles your brain. A smile spreads across your face, just as one does on his.

——

And when you could keep it down, they were delightful when satiated. Keyword being satiated. It posed an issue when they were what Ralak called, ‘forest food’, or on a more rare occasion—‘sky people food’. Those were the insatiable ones. The ones he couldn’t just whip up for you. The times he'd come to you with his ears laid flat to his skull, admitting his defeat. Those were the moments where you felt something stronger than just disappointment.

It left you gutted.

—

You can’t stop the tears from flowing down your cheeks. They’re hot and leave a sticky film on your skin, clumping your eyelashes together. It’s stupid. They’re stupid. Stupid tears, from a stupid cause. All because you want your grandmother’s stupid soup. Another thing the blessing of pregnancy has bestowed on you—big, intense feelings.

As you soak in your bath, Ralak cooks dinner and you just know that whatever is in the pot is something that will make your stomach churn. You bury your face in the palms of your hands, trying to keep your snotty sobs to a minimum. It’s ridiculous, sobbing over something like this. It’s shameful, even. How can you be so ungrateful when this man goes to such lengths to care for you?

“Tanhì!” You hear his rough voice echo from the pod.

You quickly wipe your face clean, and scramble for your loincloth and top, slipping them back onto your body. Finally, you fix your hair and force a smile to your face. As you get up to the marui, you’re met with the sight of Ralak stirring the soup pot over the firepit. Then the smell hits you. Typically the first thing to set off your nausea to begin with. It smells like—

Grandmother’s soup.

You stare at your mate wide eyed, taking a deep breath to savour it in your lungs. Outside of Ralak’s scent, nothing has smelled this good in months. And you swear you can already taste it on your tongue, the savoury flavour with the sweet aftertaste.

“I asked your mother. Hope that is okay.” Ralak speaks casually as he serves you a bowl.

As you let out a harsh breath, your eyes burn as the tears come back with a vengeance. You sniffle once, twice—thrice, whimpering quietly as they roll down your cheeks. Ralak looks up at you, concern and honestly a smidge of confusion fixed to his face. Putting the bowl down, he stands and comes over to you, enveloping you in his arms.

“I do not like to see you cry.” He hums, kissing the crown of your head. “Is it the smell? I will make you something different.”

“N-No, no. It’s… it smells great. I’m sorry. I—I” You sputter, burying your face into his chest.

“Then what is it, tìyawn [love]? What do you need?” Ralak cups your face and gently tilts your head upwards so he can look you in the eyes. “Tell me and it is yours.”

“Thank you.” You croak, feeling your bottom lip curl over and kiss your chin. Now his facial expression is just pure confusion. He tuts in a comforting manner, pulling you back in close to his chest as he waits for you to settle, rocking side to side.

“Alright, my little one. Shh–shh.”

——

Soon after, that soup pot made quite an appearance. It became your favourite dish, your favourite craving. Ralak made it just like grandmother, for the most part. There were a few omaticayan herbs missing, but outside of that it tasted like…home. At that point, you felt like you had this pregnancy thing down pat and could return to a semi-normal life.

Everything was relatively the same, except a few obvious things—your growing bump and lack of heats. That was also a blessing, not having to go through a torturous heat every month. Though, you couldn’t say that for Ralak.

As you neared the end of your third month of pregnancy, his pheromones grew stronger, wafting by you at random times of the day. At first you thought he was just doing it for you. Or, perhaps it was your heightened sense of smell.

But the day came when his scent was so potent, it was as if it had stained your lips. There wasn’t a moment where you couldn’t smell the scent of your mate under your nose. That was the night you realised it was out of his control. That it was his rut coming. That was the night you confronted him at the bonfire.

The night he looked at you like you were something to eat.

—

Right…there.

You catch the flicker of his eyes just before he lowers his head, shifting to that deep shade of blue. He keeps stealing a glance or two. Maybe even three, or more. It’s hard to keep count when he’s looking at you like this.

is piercing eyes, sultry and alluring, tempting you to crawl through these roaring flames just to get to him quicker. His demeanour. His stance and posture. His domineering leer. Whatever he—or his body—is doing, is working.

He sits on the boulder, elbow perched on one thick thigh and a hand propped on the other. His hair covers his chestpiece, curled ends barely brushing against his defined ribcage. His bioluminescent freckles dance under the moonlight, his turquoise skin almost golden from the cast of the fire. It’s all so intimidating. He’s exuding dominance, practically looming over you despite him being seated. But there’s something about his aura, something darker.

“I can feel it, you know.” You speak casually, uncrossing your legs.

Ralak’s eyes snap up, boring into yours. He cocks a brow, keeping his eyes locked on you as you stand and walk towards him.

“Your rut. It’s close, isn’t it?”

This would be your first, real rut with him. Without the influence of your own heat. Ralak huffs a sigh, his eyes falling to the small bump that’s in his direct line of sight. Ralak watches as it seemingly grows bigger the closer you get.

“You are showing.” His hands gently rest on your lower abdomen. Holding his shoulders, you slowly straddle him.

“Answer me.” You whisper as you cup his face, tilting it upwards to make him look at you. “I want to be with you… and before you say it—” Ralak grits his teeth as he turns his head away, out of your hands.

“No.”

“Ralak. I am your mate.” You retaliate through tight lips. You knew this would pose an issue.

“Y/n.” He growls, turning his head to look you in the eyes. “You know my rut. Must I remind you that you are with child? It is final.”

“I do know, and that’s why I won’t let you go through that alone, ever again.” Though your voice is stern, he can hear the tenderness in it. That this comes from a place of concern and love.

“I will not be in control.” Ralak admits as he shakes his head firmly, flicking his gaze back down to your belly.

“Look…I made a plan.” You basically confess that you’ve been conjuring up ideas on how to endure this together all day. Although his eyes and hands remain fixed on your tummy, Ralaks ears perk up. He’s listening.

“How do you feel about…being tied up?”

Now you’ve got his attention, eyes snapping up to meet yours. The idea of being tied up isn’t entirely foreign to him. It’s something that his people use as a punishment for those who do wrong. He’s not opposed to it. Having a rut so intense is probably something to be punished for, anyways.

“Hands behind your back…bound to the marui stilt. I will be the one in control. I will take care of you.”

You take his hands from your stomach and tuck them behind his back, your face now millimeters from his. Ralak fights the urge to kiss you. To free his hands from his back to grab your hips and shove your further down onto his growing bulge.

“...feed you…water you…bathe you.” Your voice falters as you swallow your spit. “...fuck you.”

“...that so?” He whispers against your lips, heart thudding wildly behind his ribcage.

You look in his eyes, and see that they tremble with constraint. He can’t hide it, the look on his face gives it away. He’s really struggling to think straight. To keep his answer as a firm no. And it doesn’t help that he’s on the cusp of his rut. He yearns to accept. Every fibre of his being wants this–wants you. You see it in his eyes, as they flicker like the flame behind you.

He just needs a little push.

“We’ll take it slow…gently.” You roll your hips into him and feel his cock straining against his tewng. You lean in close, lips brushing against his as you speak into his mouth. “And, if anything happens… we’ll stop. No knotting.”

His ears twitch. He’s considering it. Really, actually considering this. But how could he? How could he expect this of you in your state? He squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated and conflicted. And aroused. So fucking aroused that when he feels your lips drag against his cheek, your tongue tasting the lobe of his ear…your breathy whisper, “Pänutìng [Promise].”, he lets out a heated, shaky breath of defeat. Of surrender.

That seals the deal.

—

Not now. Not yet. Ralak thinks to himself, fighting his urges.

The urge to mate—to pin you down and drive himself inside you. He must remain in control. For you. For your unborn. He sits on the floor, slumped against the stilt of the marui, bowed shoulders and a heavy, hung head. His skin, flushed, and eyes swollen—glowing a vibrant mauve. His hair haphazardly sticks to his sweltering skin as his hands lethargically twiddle with the braided twine behind his back.

Groggy, you strain to open your eyes and quickly scan your surroundings. Ralaks pheromones cloud the room, engulfing you with their overpowering scent. As you sit up, the bed creaks and Ralak lifts his head, allowing it to flump limply back into the stilt. Extra lidded eyes and tensed brows, he breathes through his mouth. He wills himself to speak, but he’s heavy and sluggish as if he were three bottles deep.

“Ralak.” Your voice is wary and full of concern. Your eyes continue to trail down his body, landing on the undeniable, taut bulge in his loincloth. His cock strains against the fabric, precum completely soaking it through. “How long have you been like this?”

“Few hours.” He croaks out a dry throat.

“And you didn’t wake me?” You hastily make your way behind him, slipping to your knees to take the twine from him.

Fuck. There it is. Your scent...driving him over the edge. Wafting past his nose and making him woozy in the head.

“Tie me.” He demands. For a moment, you’re frozen in place by his tone, unable to move your hands and fingers. “Quickly.”

The edginess in his voice startles you, causing you to fumble with the twine. You take a breath and begin tying the knot as he taught you, weaving the twine with itself, tugging at the ends to close it.

“Tighter.” He snaps at you, making your ears lay flat. You pull the ends even tauter, witnessing the twine pinch the thin skin on his wrists.

“Shit—sorry. Didthat hurt?” You go to loosen the knot, but he pulls at the restraints, making it even tighter.

“Leave it.” He grumbles, tugging yet again, ensuring it’s unyielding.

Because the closer you get, the harder he finds it to resist. He needs to know that he can’t get out—that he can’t hurt you—before he loses it completely. And with that delicious scent seeping from your neck, he feels himself slipping under.

“Are you sure? I can tie you after you drink some water and have a—”

“No...haah—now.” He growls, dropping his head causing the rest of his hair to flow forward and cover his face. “…need you now.”

Blood rushes to your cheeks, heating them up and flushing them over. You can even feel your heart pumping it harder–faster. It’s hot in here, but even hotter now that you feel yourself heating up too. It’s his rut, influencing you like some sort of drug. You can barely control your breathing, much less think straight. But you told him that you’d be the one in control, the one to care for him.

“Mawey, ma’ muntxatan [Calm, my husband].” You whisper close to his ear, giving the knot a final tug. “What kind of mate would I be if I did not care for you first? Hm?”

You shuffle to your feet, and walk away, newly widened hips swaying side to side with temptation. He’s taking in the show through the cracks of space between his clumped together strands of hair, unable to look away no matter how hard he tries. Knowing this, you bend over, lifting your tail to expose your clothed mound to him. You swear you can hear a hiss seep from his lips, and that brings a smile to yours.

Teasing him is one of your favourite things to do.

You scoop up some water into the cup, and bring it over to him. Using two fingers to his chin, you tilt his head back, revealing the famine in his inebriated eyes. They’re glossy with need and desperation, begging you to take his ache away.

“Alright, alright.” You coo softly, sinking back to your knees. “I’m going to make it go away. Now, drink for me.” You bring the cup to his lips, tilting it carefully as he gulps it down thirstily. A few drops dribble down his chin and onto his already glistening chest, rolling down his unflexed stomach.

Tossing the empty cup to the side, you bend forward and lick the beads of water up his stomach, to his throat, to his lips. His arms jerk reflexively, wanting to cup your face as your lips lock with his.

Throwing a leg over his lap, you straddle him, pressing against the bulge in his sticky tewng. You cup his face instead, deepening the kiss to have a taste of the potent desperation on his tongue.

When you pull away, your noses brush against one another and you feel woozy in the head. His rut is beginning to affect you now. Which isn’t all a bad thing if you want to be able to keep up with him for the next couple days.

Your hand smoothes over his jawbone to the nape of his neck, where you gently grip the base of his kuru. His ears immediately lay flat to his head, reddening at just the tips. Running your hand along its length, you bring the end of his kuru in front of him.

“Going to make the bond.” You warn him breathily, bringing forth your queue as well.

At this point, Ralak is huffing for air and sweating profusely. It looks as if he’s nearing his peak already. This only reaffirms that you’re making the right decision by making tsaheylu—you need the direct influence of his tìsom [heat].

When the tendrils intertwine, you come together with a sharp tug and gasp. Instantaneously, you sink into a hazy state, heating up from within. Your breath syncs with his, and suddenly you’re panting too.

“Ralak.” You moan softly, grinding into him for a bit of friction.

You can’t stop your hips from snapping, and your loincloth is almost completely soaked. He throws his head back into the wooden stilt, looking at you through lidded eyes as he lets loose subtle groans. He looks more than hungry. He looks starved.

With trembling hands, you search for the knot of his loincloth at the base of his tail. After a bit of scuffling, you untether it and shimmy his tewng down his hips and off of him. Up springs his aching cock, veiny and swollen. It’s so obviously neglected, glossy and sticky with his slick, so uncomfortably hard that it’s already pulsing as it stands firmly pressed against your clothed cunt.

“Fuck. It’s… even bigger.” You’re taken aback, unsure of how exactly you managed to take this inside you last time he was in rut. Then you notice the red tinge of colour on his cockhead, especially where his ridges stand erect. “D-Does that hurt, karyu?” Bump in the way, you shift your hips back to reveal what exactly you’re talking about. “Need your numeyu to take away the pain?”

The giant remains silent, but his cock jumps in response, oozing out another large bead of precum. Using your pointer finger, you trace the length of his cock, swollen balls to his pointed tip, collecting that fresh bead of slick on the pad of your digit. He watches intently as you pop your finger into your mouth and suckle, swallowing his semi-sweet essence. His brows knit tightly together.

You know this is nothing short of torture to him. And though you have every intention to take the ache away… when would you get another opportunity like this? Where this giant is tied down and unable to resist the pleasure you bring him. Where you’re completely… in control. Fuck, you’ve never felt like this before. It's exhilarating. It’s a feeling of power. Of dominance.

A smirk pulls at your lips.

You begin to pull yourself to your knees, brushing your swollen breasts against his lips. His tongue darts out, eager for a taste. Looking down, you cup one breast with your hand, and guide your stiff nipple into his mouth. His lips pucker over it, closing once they make contact for a vacuum seal.

Your breath hitches when you feel his tongue tickle the sensitive tip of your nipple. His teeth graze against them as he tries to do this handsfree, and you let out a low hiss. Soon his movements grow erratic, being bound to the marui stilt is starting to frustrate him.

“Ah-ah. What do you need, karyu? Just tell me.” Your voice is feigned with innocence. He breathes heavy against your chest, keeping quiet as his focus is purely on getting his fill. “You won’t get anything from them.” You tsk, tugging away little by little, until eventually you pop off his mouth.

You continue to rise to your feet, dragging his lips along your swelling tummy, until he’s eye level to the band of your tewng. You can feel his eyes pierce into you, his stare is anything but discreet. It’s intimidating. Your hand flies to the back of your loincloth, fiddling with the knot to untie it.

“Is it this?”

The cloth drops to your ankles, exposing your flushed cunt to him. It’s pink and hot to the touch, undeniably aroused. Your scent grows stronger with each passing second, filling his lungs. It’s driving him insane—being able to see and smell, but not touch. His rut is only making him more irritable. He just needs to fuck into something and spill himself inside.

His eyes glisten over an even brighter shade of purple, locking onto their meal. He wets his bottom lip with a quick swipe of his tongue as you take a step closer. You cup his jawbone, tilting it upwards to look down at him. The sight is… intoxicating. His lidded eyes, blown pupils that are threatening to roll to the back of his head. Tensed brow bones and damped, slightly parted lips—not a drop of composure left in his features.

That new feeling rushes through you again, making you take two more steps forward. Your bare cunt brushes against the tip of his nose, officially branding it with your scent. He leans into you, closing his eyes and straining his neck to indulge himself.

Your thumb smoothes over his jaw before your hand slips to the back of his head. You fist his hair and yank his head back, sending his eyes flying open. With your free hand, you spread your pussy lips, exposing your swollen clit. It’s sticky and in need of attention, throbbing occasionally as you tug your hood back.

“Now, suck.” You demand breathily, slowly guiding him by the head to bring his lips to your clit.

You clench around nothing when you feel his heated, slippery lips pucker over the stiffened nub, sucking gently. Sharp eyes bore into yours before they roll back, leaving nothing but the whites exposed. Lids finally fluttering closed, he sucks a little harder, tips of his canines accidentally nipping your supple skin.

“Ss—fuck.” You hiss, hips snapping back with force, popping off his mouth with a sharp sting. Frantic fingers rub away the tingling sensation as you grit your teeth. You shuffle your feet to ground yourself as you tighten your grip on his hair and hold his head still.

“I know you’re in rut, but be good to your muntxate [wife].” You warn through your teeth before shoving his face back into your cunt.

This time he feasts with greed, groaning like a starved man. Eating, like a starved man. He’s slurping and sucking, lapping up your slick as it coats his tongue and lips, enjoying every second of your reign.

“Oh—oh shit. Fuck. Right there—” You moan breathlessly, free hand flying to his head to fist his hair, using it as leverage to keep him just where he is.

Before you know it your hips are moving on their own, humping at his face as you hold him tightly with both hands. With each thrust you shove him further back into the stilt, until the back of your hand is repeatedly hitting its surface.

Until you’re hunched over him, looking him deep in the eyes as you grind into whatever part of him your clit is rubbing against. He expertly holds his breath as he allows you full control to fuck his face as if you were the one in heat.

Because with each roll of your hips he feels it too.

He feels the jolt of pleasure that shoots through you when his tongue hits your clit in that special spot. When the tips of his canines graze your swollen folds. The feeling is all consuming and he’s whining into your cunt from the over—and under—stimulation. His cock shifts to a shade of purple, jumping each time you thrust into his mouth.

‘Sorry, Ralak. ‘m sorry.’ You think to him through tsaheylu, feeling the burn in your own lungs now.

“Haa—ah, fuck. Thrust. Fuck. Thrust. F-Fuck! I’m gonna cum—in your—ngh!” Your voice quavers as you come suddenly undone in his mouth, holding him firm and still as you rock your body into him.

His eyes slam shut and his brows knit tightly together as he grunts repeatedly into your cunt. He tugs harshly at his restraints and his heels dig into the woven floor. Yet still, you hold onto him even tighter until your pussy stops fluttering.

With a loud, shaky gasp, you yank him away, letting go of his hair to grab the marui stilt to stop your trembling legs from giving out beneath you. Ralak wheezes loudly, shoulders heaving harshly as he frantically pants for air. His face is bright pink, flushed and glazed in a layer of sweat. He opens his eyes but they’re so heavy that you can barely see the colour in them.

“Rutxe [please].” Ralak begs through a desperate groan, flicking his stare downwards. And when you look, you’re met with the sight of his still-throbbing cock, covered in his sticky, thick cum. Shiney beads still ooze out and dribble down his length and onto his swollen, firm balls.

His first word was a plea of help.

Your heart aches in your chest. How could you let yourself go so far with your little bit of power? To be so selfish. And here he was, in so much discomfort and yet you put your needs first. Leaving him so neglected to the point his body makes the release for him. Is this how he felt after he unleashed six pent up years on you in a couple days?

Pent up years of suffering.

“Shh. You’re okay, my love. You’re okay.” You whisper as you slowly squat down. “I got you. I’m going to make it…” you hold eye contact with him as you lower yourself onto his cock, aligning his tip with your sopping entrance, “…all better now.”

You wince when his cock slowly penetrates you, mewling a little higher with every inch you manage to take. The stretch is almost unbearable. This is the first rut you’ve spent with him without being in heat.

No foggy haze to dull the ache.

No emptiness to be filled.

And it doesn’t help that your womb is already so full.

Your mewl quickly turns into a whimper when your bodies become flush to one another. Ralaks head slumps back into the marui stilt and he heaves a loud, lengthy moan of relief from being buried deep inside your warm cunt. You feel so good around him, making his cock heat up and twitch inside of you.

Snaking your arms around his neck, you hold onto him as you frantically try to adjust to his size. It’s dawning on you exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into, and that you’ve seriously underestimated his rut. A sense of uncertainty begins to tighten your stomach but it quickly dissipates when you hear Ralak’s second plea.

“Rutxe, ma’ tanhì..” Ralak mutters with a pained, gravelly voice.

Without another word, you move your hips up and down, dragging his length along your gummy, slick walls. Your movements are sloppy and uncoordinated, you’re not used to doing most of the work much less all of it. With his hands tied behind his back, you can already feel the burn in your thighs and the throb in the tips of your toes.

Regardless, you keep moving your hips.

Bouncing up and down on his cock, pressing your forehead into his in a poor attempt to steady your position. That little sting slowly morphs into something of pleasure the more your hips meet his with a slap. And soon all you can hear is smack, after smack, after smack. The noises that split his lips tell you all you need to know. He’s feeling good and that’s all that matters.

But exhaustion hits you quickly—unexpectedly. His cock is buried to the hilt inside you, and the more tired your legs get, the deeper it drills inside you, pressing harshly into your cervix. Your legs are trembling uncontrollably and you can barely catch your breath, leaving you no choice but to lazily rock back and forth on his cock.

Ralak lets out a grunt and bucks his hips.

“Haah!” You yelp.

Ralaks ears lay flat, lips pursed tightly into a thin line. He can’t hold back his frustration any longer. He’s growing impatient. If he didn’t get his real release soon he may really lose it. He’s grunting through his nose and tugging at his restraints, bruising his wrists. You feel him shift his hips up and shove his cock as far as he can inside you.

“Ngh! I-It won’t go any deeper!” Your voice strains as you try to lift yourself up. But he just keeps pushing until his feet are grounded. And then his hips drop, pulling his cock half way out of you.

Thrust.

Ralak slams his cock back inside you, drilling deeper than he was before. Your mouth falls open as all the air is forcefully expelled from your lungs. As you suck in a gasp of air he thrusts inside you again. And again. And again. Until he’s rutting into you in a feverish frenzy, chasing his climax as if it were prey. His thrusts turn relentless, leaving you breathless with each buck of his hips.

“Fuck—fuck—fu—” Your voice bounces with his thrusts.

You look down, met with eyes that are empty yet heavy with appetite. He’s in the thick of it and he’s no longer all there. He’s purely instinct now and the only thing holding him back from pinning you down and having his way with you is the twine wrapped around his wrists.

You can’t lie and say that you aren’t enjoying the look on his face and the break from the burn in your thighs. Stars sprinkle your vision as you’re overwhelmed with the immense pleasure he’s slamming into you. He’s fucking you into submission and you’re mind is borderline blank. His groans are primal and guttural, and they grow louder with each hysteric thrust.

“Want to knot.” He huffs suddenly—desperately. You can feel his thick knot poke and prod at your entrance, his thrusts now sloppy and erratic.

“Fuck, I—” You know you shouldn’t, no matter how hazy his rut is making you feel. “W-We can’t. I’m still ea—rly.” But he’s too busy watching himself fuck you in a daze, drenched with sweat. “Ralak…” You grab his face, tilting his chin upwards so he looks you in the face. His gaze is hollow yet his features are tense. “…are y–ou hear–ing me, la–k?”

“Need to breed.” He growls as he fights against his restraints. He doesn’t ease up on his tussle with the twine, sweating and panting as he desperately tries to force his knot inside you.

“Shit.” You mutter, coming to the quick realisation that he can’t stop himself. “Wait, wait, wait—”

Your hands fall from his face to his stomach, pushing down in a panicky attempt to lift yourself off him. But his rut is making you sluggish and weak, so you make the quick decision to sever the bond with a rough yank.

Snap.

“Oh, fuck.” You curse under your breath.

The twine breaks, and his arms fly forward, hands making impact with your hips, fingernails digging into the thin skin. His grip is unyielding as he holds you down firmly on his cock. You feel him throb inside you as he attempts to plug you full with his knot.

“Lak! Ralak, h-hold on!” As much as you actually want to, you can barely take what’s inside you as it is.

“Submit.” He rasps, top lip curled tight to his teeth, baring his canines.

“I—I’m pregnant.” You whisper quickly, voice hoarse and strained.

Immediately, his movements cease and his eyes flick down to your tiny bump, then widen when he finally realises. In one swift, sudden move, he lifts you off him and uses your swollen pussy lips to hug his cock and finish himself off. He rocks you back and forth like a rag doll at the mercy of undying grip, growling and grunting.

His head drops forward when he outright howls. You look down and witness his mushroomy head pulsating feverishly, spurting out his load in thick ropes, all over his stomach and chest. All whilst his engorged, throbbing knot pulses against your slit as he cums, earning some well deserved comfort and warmth.

Ralak sputters as he tries to catch his breath, hands still glued to your hips. The fog still clouds his mind but it’s less blinding now. He’s just about capable of acknowledging what just happened. To acknowledge that this was risky, and could’ve ended badly. That, if you hadn’t said something to him, he would have knotted you without mercy.

An uncomfortable silence passes between you, where you’re both breathing heavily and staring at one another. You both share the same thought—the same realisation. His rut is too aggressive for you to handle right now.

“I must go.” Ralak looks away as he breaks the silence, wanting to take advantage of his release before the pressure builds yet again. He’s clear headed enough to leave without turning back and pouncing on you.

“No, don’t… we can try again.” You say softly, hand cupping his jawbone, turning him to face you. You feel terrible that he may have to spend this rut alone, that you couldn’t fulfil your promise—your duty as his mate.

“I almost knotted you, y/n.” His eyes gloss over with guilt, his hands finally peeling away your bruised hips.

“But… you didn’t. You stopped yourself—”

“And if I do not leave now… I will.” Ralak growls inches away from your face.

You’re a little taken aback by his bluntness, but you know it’s the truth. And it’s final. No matter what you say. No matter how it makes the flesh between your legs throb a little more. You nod, keeping yourself quiet.

“I will see you in a couple days. I love you both.” Your lips meet briefly before he carries you to bed and readies himself to leave. You watch in silence, murmuring an “I love you, too” under your breath when he exits the marui.

—

As time passed you grew more angsty, unable to keep in one spot or focus on a single task. All that ran on your mind was Ralak and how he was probably suffering all alone. All because you failed to do your duty as his mate. The guilt was almost sickening, having you dry heaving into your bedside bucket a few times for the rest of the day.

Until later that night.

You rub in the thick, oily concoction on your belly, getting ready for bed. The sound of the marui door flapping open startles you, making you jump in your skin and clutch your stomach. You’re not expecting Ralaks return so soon.

A silhouette stands tall at the door, his bioluminescent star pattern unmistakable.

“Ralak? Oh, Ralak. Eywa. You’re back. I should have made dinner. I thought you'd be gone for a while longer. You must be so hungry. You—” You speak urgently, eyes flicking down to his tewng, which is seemingly damp, “—was it too much? …are you alright? Let me help you, lak.”

“Tanhì.” Ralaks cuts you short, voice trembling slightly, yet full of relief. “It is done.”

“…what?” The question is breathy.

“My rut.” Ralak says as he makes his way towards you, scooping up a glob of your special concoction. He sits next to you, and begins massaging it into your back. “You have fixed me.”

You come to the realization that he's talking about his rut finishing earlier than usual—like that of an average na'vi.

“You were never broken, my love.” You moan softly, closing your eyes to enjoy the massage.

Ralak then rests his chin on your shoulder, smoothing his hands down your back and around your abdomen—rubbing what's left on his hands onto your swelling belly. His touch prickles your skin, sending the tip of your tail swishing.

“I live for you.” He mutters with a thick accent, nuzzling his face into your neck. “I will die for you.”

Your heart skips a beat when you hear his words, he must have really been suffering for the past six years. You feel your face heat up, and you try to fight the smile balling your cheeks. You opt to drop your head and hide your face instead, resting a hand on his thigh.

“Well. We won’t have you doing that.” You giggle, rubbing his upper thigh as you turn your head to glance at him. “…the last part, that is.”

But he just looks at you, face still as stone. He speaks sternly.

“I will.” He speaks sternly.

You swallow your spit, tempted to drop your head again as you take in the gravity of his two words. You nod, searching his eyes with yours as you close the space between you. You hover open mouthed against his lips.

“Me too.”

——

Time waits for no one.

At least that’s how it felt. You had ballooned overnight, round and a little heavier as you embarked on your sixth month of pregnancy. His kicks grew stronger and more uncomfortable. But it was Ralaks favourite thing to feel before bed.

You found yourself spending most of your days bouncing between your marui and your family’s marui—paying your family visits more often. They grew fond of the idea that there would be an addition to the family and it became a regular thing for you to seek refuge there when Ralak was roped in for his ‘duties’. Which seemed to increase in number the further along you progressed.

Ralak had his daily duties—tending to the ilus, a few lessons, fishing... These were just the simpler tasks that you could say you knew for certain he did. But there were his ‘fkxaranga’ [stressful] duties’, as you liked to call them.

The ones where Tonowari would summon him with nothing else but a simple nudge or glance. The duties that were spontaneous. That stole precious hours of his time. Duties that left Ralak spent and on edge, reaching for his top shelf when he came home. Those were the ones you dreaded the most.

The ones like last night.

——

With a huff, Ralak chucks his gear onto the floor and roughly unclips his chest piece. His pointed tools are covered in some sort of thick, iridescent muck, shifting from green to orange as they rock side to side on the floor. It’s something you’ve been seeing recently with no idea as to what it is.

Ralak grunts, bringing your attention to his lips, which are slightly downturned. The more you take in the sight before you the more it occurs to you how exhausted this man is. His eyes are hollow, ears droopy, tail dragging heavily behind him. His muscles are seized up despite the bow of his shoulders—he looks as if he could use a massage.

“Manga [Hey, you].” You get up to meet him at the door, taking the chest piece out of his hands to hang up on the wooden stand. “Tonowari is working your tail off. Do I need to have a word with that man?”

He only works up a grumble as you lead him over to the bed. “That bad? What is he making you do? Hunt akulas? Eywa.”

Ralak sits down, face sinking into his hands before two fingers slip down to pinch the bridge of his nose. You climb up and settle behind him, huffing and puffing along the way. Your hands smooth over his back, thumbs pressing firmly into his muscles, kneading the flesh until you feel him loosen up.

Though the question sounded rhetorical, he knew it wasn’t. He knows you’re awaiting a response, the silence is loud and clear. You always want to know more about his day, fine details and all. And he’s usually reluctant to speak of it, but insisting it’s nothing for you to worry your head over. But recently, your inquisitivity is… well founded. And he knows it.

“Not quite.” He mumbles wearily into his palm, ears laid flat to his skull–although it wasn’t uncommon for him to encounter an akula or two whilst fulfilling the olo’eyktan’s orders.

You open your mouth to question him further, but you can tell that he’s more than tired. And it didn’t help that you were constantly needing his help, especially now that you’re growing heavier.

Going down the stairs is a struggle considering you can no longer see your own feet or keep your balance. You had been waking him up almost twice a night to help you down the marui stairs just to pee. He’d always be happy to help, though. He understands that this is what comes with the changes that are happening to your body that’s giving life to his child.

“Rest. Please.” You say softly, tugging at him to lie down in bed with you.

To your surprise, he actually lays down, assuming his typical position before dozing off for the night—on his back with a hand on your belly. You expected him to resist a little, insisting something or another.

He really, really must be tired. Your heart fills with something heavy. Something that makes you almost feel sick. Your brows pinch as you look beside you to see his tensed face relax into something of tranquility.

And a smile pulls at your lips when his eyes fall shut.

Dinner’s over the firepit—his favourite stew with extra mushrooms. The sound of it bubbling becomes louder as it thickens. With a quick, final stir, you take it off the fire and cover it to let it sit. You hope that this will help lift his mood when he wakes. You look over to him as he lays stockstill with softened features, breathing tidally.

Holding onto a supporting beam of the marui, you bring yourself to your feet and waddle your way over to him. You extend a hand to wake him for dinner but you hesitate. He needs this. And that’s when you make the decision to allow him however long it takes to rest. Even if it means that you speak to Tonowari yourself.

Night falls and the temperature falls with it. The glowing firepit keeps the stew and marui warm for the time being as you prepare for bed. You draw the curtains and glance over to your mate, who still remains in a deep sleep, tucked cozily under the blanket you covered him with. You drape the shawl he wove you over your shoulders, and make your way to the door.

A silent yawn splits your lips just before you lift away the flap. Your eyelids are heavy and the drowsiness is weighing on you tenfold. You have one last step of your nightly routine before you can crawl into bed next to your husband. And that's emptying the bladder that your son uses as a footrest. Plus, if you didn’t do it now, it would just be an additional trip in the middle of the night.

As you make your way to the door, the need to go becomes urgent. Perhaps it was all the water you thirstily chugged whilst eating, or maybe it's just the fact that you're already on your way there. Either way, you can’t seem to get there quick enough. Your movements turn hasty the second you get to the top step, hands clutching on the only thing available—your bulging belly. You’re looking down despite the fact that you can’t even see your feet.

Leaning forward slightly, you try to shift your stomach to the side to see your next step. You step down and feel your bare foot make contact with the slippery wood. Your toes press into its surface to ground you as you take your next step. You wobble when you get to the last step, and sigh in relief when you feel the cold, wet sand spill between your toes.

After wasting no time and doing what you came to do, you quickly make your way back to the marui. The tips of your ears and tails are just going numb from how cold it is and the night dew is beginning to form. You get to the bottom step, fixing your shawl so that it’s out the way. You make your way up the first, second and third step, but when you get to the fourth your shawl falls forward.

And so do you.

A blood curdling shriek rips from your throat when you feel your feet give out beneath you. Your hands splay out to grab onto whatever’s around you to break your fall but before you know it you're tumbling back down the stairs at a frightening rate. You keep on your side as best you can, landing into the sand with a muffled thump.

“Fuck. Shit—oh, great mother—” You mutter as you hyperventilate, clutching your stomach as you wait for your son to kick—to show you some sign of life. Your eyes well with tears as you rub your bump vigorously. Your heart is slamming violenting against your rib cage, so hard you can hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Please, please, please.”

…but nothing.

“Y/n?!” You hear Ralaks worried voice boom behind you, then his hurried footsteps down the stairs.

Maybe it’s his fathers voice, but your unborn son gives you one of the biggest kicks yet. You sob out a laugh, rubbing your stomach as relief flows through your body. You take a few deep breaths through your mouth to calm down, feeling another reassuring kick.

“Y/n. Y/n.” Ralak chants your name, eyes rapidly darting side to side to assess you as he kneels beside you. Concern’s etched deeply into his features as he lifts your arms and legs, searching for injuries.

“I’m alright. I’m alright.” You repeat urgently, but he continues to look, even taking off your shawl. His eyes are wide and he seems to be in some level of shock, especially after coming straight out of a deep sleep. “Ralak. Really. I’m fine. We’re okay.”

Ralaks features soften at your two final words. His stare falls to your swollen belly, hands taking the place of yours as he waits. After a few seconds of stillness, his eyes snap up to yours—refilling with worry. He begins to shake his head, and you reassure him with a hand to his face.

“Talk to him.” You whisper with trembling lungs. Ralak looks back down to your stomach.

“Maitan [My son].” Your mate says in a low, steady voice, ensuring not to allow even a hint of fright slip through. Just then, he feels a little nudge against the palm of his hand. Ralaks gaze snaps up to you and his expression relaxes, hands rubbing your belly gently. “How did this happen, tanhì?”

“I…needed to pee.” You say shamefully, avoiding eye contact. “…and I tripped going up the steps.” You glance up at him to see what you perceive to be a face of disappointment. “I’m sorry. I know, I’m so stupid.”

“No. Do not say that.” He interjects, tensing his jaw. “...you are heavy with child—why did you not wake me?”

“You were so, so tired. You needed to rest, and I did not want to disturb you.” You turn to your side to get up, wincing when a sharp pain shoots down your back.

“Careful.” He clears his throat, stopping you from trying to get up on your own. He watches your contorted face relax, but the heart wrenching guilt just gets worse. “You should have. Wake me for anything.” He says sternly, snaking his arms underneath you to lift you up. “Everything.”

“You really don’t have to—” Ralak continues, scooping you in his arms and holding you close to his chest. “I can walk. I’m all right, Ralak.”

You try to reassure him, shuffling in his arms to get down. But he only muffles out a sigh, glancing down at you with downturned brows and droopy ears. He then walks away from the marui stairs, to the direction of the water.

“Where are we going?” You ask quickly when you realise that you’re walking away from home. Ralak clicks for his tsurak, taking his time as he mounts it with you tucked to his chest. “Ralak.”

“To tsahìk.” He states, making the bond with his beast.

“Ronal?” You sound almost panicked as the idea of everyone knowing you fell up the stairs clouds your mind. It’s almost mortifying to think about. “We don’t need to do that, it’s really late too, and—”

Commanding his beast to go, you both take off at full speed. It doesn’t take long to arrive at the tsahìk’s healing pod. Many healers gather at the door when they hear the sound of Ralak’s low pitched call. And they rush out to meet him as he carries you towards them in a hurried manner. They usher you in, hushed murmurs growing louder and clearer as they bring you to Ronal.

You didn’t even notice the burning pain in your lower back until you were about half way here.

The Tsahìk stands upon your entrance, her crystal blue eyes widening when she sees Ralak with you in his arms. You wince as he lays you down where the healers instruct him to. She strides over to a woven basket filled with an array of herbs and needle-like wooden sticks, and quickly props it on her hip—just out of the way of her own bump. She settles herself beside you, feeling your stomach as she channels Eywa.

Ronal throws a look to Ralak, whose hands are on his hips as he waits patiently for the verdict.

“She fell.” He says, only for Ronal to cock an eyebrow. “Stairs.” He finishes. Then both her eyebrows raise, and she reaches for a jar of a ground up, purplish herb. She pours half of it into a wooden bowl, and activates it with a few drops of water from the spirit tree.

“Baby is strong. Very strong.” The Tsahìk announces, and both you and Ralak heave a loud sigh of relief. “But—” Ronal props your legs up on the makeshift table, spreading them slightly. Embarrassment flushes your cheeks as you look over to Ralak. “You are still at risk.”

Ralak moves closer to you, taking your hand in his to keep you calm. You both watch as Ronal rolls the fabric tightly into a small cylindrical shape. You swallow your spit when you realise exactly where that’s going.

“This ensures he stays. It will also help with the pain.” She states, glancing at Ralak to see the glare he’s trying to hold back. She shakes her head slightly and hands you the precautionary apparatus. “Insert. Rest…and remove at sunrise.” Ronal continues, drawing back the curtain to give you some privacy.

“Sunrise?” You whisper to yourself as you watch her step out.

Your eyes dart up to Ralak who is clearly concerned, staring down at you with worry in his eyes. Embarrassment heats up your cheeks and your nerves fray. Why are you so shy all of a sudden? He’s your mate. Your husband.

You sit up a bit more and try to see over your stomach to get the task done with shaky hands. You fumble and struggle with the flimsy cloth, blindly doing your best. But each time you lean forward the pain in your back burns hotter.

Ralak’s supporting you with a hand on your upper back, patiently waiting for you, noticing your trembling fingers and little grunts. He uses his free hand to cup yours, stilling your hurried movements.

“Mawey [calm]. Breathe.” He hums, gently taking it from you and helping you lay down.

You look him in the eyes as he inserts it carefully, wincing when the concoction stings a bit. Ralak gives your hand a light squeeze, speaking as if he had access to your thoughts. You nod, trying to smile through the burning sensation, but he picks up on your discomfort.

“What is it? Is it your back?" His voice quavers with worry.

“No… just burns a little.” You say quietly. You watch his jaw flutter and his shoulders droop as he huffs out a sigh. “Not to worry. It’s going away now.”

As he’s about to speak, the curtain is drawn to the side and Ronal comes in and stands at the arched entrance, hand on her hip. Ralak averts his attention to her, his eyes glancing down at her unborn moving in her belly. Although you were both six months pregnant, you were noticeably bigger than her.

“A word.” Her serious tone of voice brings him out of deep thought, and her nudging head tells him that it’s something urgent.

Ralak looks at you, not wanting to leave you alone but you smile and reassure him with a light nod. He clenches his jaw but you give him a gentle push towards Ronal. He squeezes your hand before letting go and leans in to plant a firm kiss on your forehead. You watch as he leaves, laying back and taking in the ripples in the curtain as you strain to hear their hushed conversation.

“Ronal. Oe irayo si ngaru. [Thank you]” Ralak begins, bowing before the shorter na’vi.

“I worry for your mate.” Ronal cuts to the chase, using her hand to guide him further away from the curtain.

“For what reason?” He asks, keeping his head hung to hear what she has to say. They walk until they’re nearly at the entrance of the healing pod.

“Your son is fast growing.” She speaks calmly but quickly.

Ralak is a little puzzled, although he doesn’t show it. Is that such a bad thing? He continues to look down at her with the same expression, listening intently to what the tsahìk speaks of.

“Her body will struggle. Birth will be hard. Very long and painful.” Now Ralak is having a hard time keeping his emotions concealed as they chisel themselves into his features. Yet he remains silent. “You must warn her about mun’i [the cut].”

“Pxasìk [no way/fuck that]” Ralak curses through a hiss in his native tongue as he stands at full height, figuratively and literally taken aback. How dare she call that upon his mate? Ronal returns a low hiss as Ralak moves away from her, staring down at her with a mixture of emotions.

Concern. Surprise. Fear.

Mun’i [the cut] is rare and risky. Only three have been performed since the birth of this clan, all done in desperation when hope was gone. The last one was performed by Ronal's mother herself. It is an extremely invasive procedure where the mother is cut and the infant is removed. It’s only done in dire situations, where the mother is incapable of giving birth to their young naturally, and risks dying in the process.

Ralak can’t help but feel a burning anger amongst the sea of emotions flooding him at once. How could she suggest such a thing to him? Something so dangerous and grave? All because you will give birth to ‘a different kind’. He’s more than confident that you’re capable of this, despite the murmurs circulating the clan.

He has always been aware of Ronal's perception of you, and her opinion about the mating. It was no secret, though she never outwardly told Ralak as he is like a son to her. She often insisted that you two were not compatible in more ways than one, and always saw you as the forest girl who needed special training. But to know that Ronal doubts your capabilities to give life ignites a flame in his chest.

One that he must quickly put out.

“Ralak!”

He hears you call out for him, prompting him to quell the flame and shoot Ronal a glare of displeasure. “She is stronger than you know.” Ralak speaks through his teeth before turning his heel to tend to you.

Heart pounding, he makes his way through the curtain to be met with the joyous sight of you cradling your stomach with a smile plastered to your face. That only further calms the flicker of the flame in his chest, making a smile tug at his lips. He sees you glance up at him, pearly teeth glistening in the luminosity of the night.

“Sorry if I startled you, it’s just—he’s kicking so hard. Come, come feel!” You blubber excitedly, reaching out for his hand to place it on your belly. He slowly takes a knee, staying still as stone to soak up each movement. “He is so strong, Ralak. Like you.” You whisper, looking down at your mate doting on your bump.

Though he should be proud of your words, he can’t help but feel a little nervous by them. If this child is really like him, then what Ronal said may have some truth to it. Yet he smiles, smoothing his thumb over your protruding belly button.

“He is strong like his sa’nu [mummy].” He says softly, perhaps in attempts to reassure himself and calm his own nerves. Your smile only grows and you place your hand on top of his.

“What did Ronal say?” Ralaks eyes snap up to yours, wide and almost panicked, wiping the smile off your face instantly. “Oh, no. Is it bad? Is something wrong?”

“No, no. She says…” He drops his head, watching his unborn move as he contemplates telling you. You need rest, and this would further stress your mind and body. Ralak urges himself to smile—to create a new mask—one of feigned happiness. “…you must rest. Wait until sunrise.”

“Oh, okay.” You exhale a sigh of relief, “Good. I—I can do that.”

——

After such an eventful night, sleep found you easily. Ralak carried you up the marui stairs, tucked you into bed and watched as your eyes fluttered shut. And even so, he remained at your side for some time, ensuring you were deep in sleep before embarking on his new task.

It began with a ‘quick’ trip inland for the right kind of wood. The kind that holds up well against the elements and the saltiness of the water. The kind that doesn’t have a slip to it when it's been wet for more than a few hours. It took a few trips to get it all back to the beach but it was more of an irritable task than a difficult one.

Ralak tried to keep as quiet as possible, spending the rest of the night—until sunrise—cutting and carving the wood, binding them together with twine, sap and wooden pins. And by the time the first few rays of sunlight beamed in, he was engraving his finishing touches.

—

Ralak chucks down the tool and it lands into the sand with a muffled thud. Using the back of his strake to wipe his forehead clean of sweat, he looks up at his work for a final time—railings for the marui stairs. Then the bright ray of sun shines before his eyes, standing between his two new creations.

You.

You’re surprised to see him out this early, still in his gear from last night. The realisation dawns on you that he’s been up all night, doing this. You can actually feel your chest warm up as your heart pumps the blood through your veins at an insane rate. It rushes to your cheeks, making them hot and flushed.

“Is this what you’ve been doing all night?” You ask the question under your breath, dragging a hand along the railing. It’s smooth under the pads of your fingers, and warm to the touch, as if they’ve just been filed down. You notice a small carving on the side of the railing—your son’s initial.

“Mm.” He grunts, not that he could have slept anyways. He glances at the initial that you’re staring at. “I should have done it long ago.” The shame in his voice is loud and clear. You look down at your feet, unsure of what to say, noticing that he’s redone the steps too.

“Ralak—”

“You must still wake me. Understand?” He cuts you off, already knowing what you’re about to say.

You take a step down, holding tightly onto the railing with one hand and the other tucked under your bump. He rushes up the stairs and supports you by the arm. You lean into him for a hug, nuzzling your face into his chest. “… thank you, my love.”

“Kea tìkin [no need (for thanks)].” He presses his lips onto the crown of your head, words muffled by your hair. His hand slips down your arm and rests on your lower back. “Still feeling pain?”

“No. I feel good. Like new.” You smile, watching his features soften and his lips pull into a subtle smile. “Your son, too. He kicked me all night.”

“Is that so, young one?” He leans down to speak to your belly as you watch intently, “you must be gentle with your sa’nu [mummy].”

As he looks back up to you, your eyes follow his every move. And suddenly it’s just the two of you, before the orange glow of the sunrise, sharing this intimate gaze with one another.

“Ralak… I see you.” You say softly, witnessing his pupils blow until there’s nothing but thin rings of blue.

He swallows, you see the lump in his throat undulate, and the balls of his cheeks stain a light pink. He blinks a few times, leaning in until his lips brush against yours. He lingers there for a bit, jaw fluttering as he grits his teeth a few times. He can’t help but feel a pang in his chest.

How could he keep this from you?

“Oel ngat kame, ma’ muntxate.” He husks the words before locking his lips with yours.

But as he pulls away, you see the glint in his eye. When he sees your lowered brows and inquisitive eyes, he attempts to fix his mask of indifference—no, happiness. But you see right through it—

The glint of guilt.

“What is it?” You ask, reaching behind him for his kuru. It’s your way of saying, 'no secrets'. He’s quiet. Uncomfortably quiet. Unsure of how to say what he should say. You urge him with a light tug to his queue, creating a little more distance between you to look him dead in the eye. “Ralak.”

“Ronal doubts…you.” He says plainly, trying hard to rid himself of the thought of childbirth taking you away from him.

“I don’t understand. What—what does that mean?” You ask, confused and worried.

“I should have told you about it when you asked.” Ralak says, shaking his head. “But…you were already under so much stress. In pain. Our son—”

“Ralak. Tell me about what?” You whisper quietly—quickly. Ralak looks at you, allowing a few seconds of silence to pass before he speaks.

“Mun’i [the cut].” Ralak’s voice cracks with pain as the dreaded thought floods his mind.

Ralak goes on to explain mun'i, giving you a brief lesson on its history and typical…outcome. He explains why Ronal urged him to warn you about it. And exactly what he told her in return. That he is confident that you are more capable of doing this.

It ends with a comforting embrace and the both of you coming to the conclusion that a conservation with Jake is needed. If the cut were to happen, the sky people’s medical advancements would be…useful.

——

Since then, Ralak adapted a very strict agenda when it came to the preparation of the birth. In some ways, it reminded you of the beginning of your relationship with him as teacher and student. Karyu and Numeyu. A revision of previous lessons, such as breathing lessons.

—

“Deeper breaths, tanhì. Slow.” Ralak instructs you with his hand on your round belly.

“It’s hard…” your voice is strained, “when his feet are in my lungs.”

Ralak chuckles, nodding in understanding. “Right. Do your best.”

You attempt to follow his demonstration a fifth time, inhaling deeply through your nose, holding it, and then slowly letting it out through your mouth. “Light headed now.”

“You did well.” Ralak praises you, snaking an arm around you as he lowers you onto your back. “You all right?”

“Just fine.” You mutter, grateful for the new position.

Ralak looks at you for a while, taking in a sight that may be similar to the one of you giving birth—giving life. The reality that you will soon be a family quickly dawns on him. The reality that… Ronal's words still weigh heavy on his heart.

“And when you bear down…” Ralak pulls your leg back, your knee now grazing against your cheek as they flush with embarrassment. “…shallow, fast breaths. Do not hold it.”

He then demonstrates, emphasising the sound of the breathing technique to ensure you’re doing it properly.

'…hee—hee—hoo…'

You mimic his sounds, looking down to see nothing but your protruding bump. It may be strange to some that Ralak is teaching you a lesson on something such as childbirth. But with his mother-figure being the tsahìk, there were just certain things he grew to have knowledge of.

“Ronal says there are times where it is best to allow your body to take over. Focus on breathing him out. Let your body do the work for you…” You nod slowly as you practice deep breathing in this new position, “…she will show you some positions in your lesson tomorrow.”

"What?" Your ears perk up. For some reason one on one interactions with Ronal always make you nervous.

“The other expecting women of the clan will be there.”

Your ears relax, and you feel a little more at ease knowing you won’t be alone, even if it’s a sea of gossiping women. At least they were more discreet about it.

——

As you neared the final months of your pregnancy, Ralak was called out more frequently. The aches and pains that came along with being so big were just as frequent, it seemed. They’d hit you at the strangest times, during your sleep or whilst on your tsurak.

But when the pain spread to your abdomen is when Ralak urged you to take things easy. But they didn’t stop him from going anywhere. No matter how badly he wanted to stay home and tend to you. It was more complicated than that. Something that you were blissfully unaware of. Something he wanted to keep that way until it was the right time to tell you.

—

“Must you go?” You ask hopefully, tugging at his bicep. “You just got back.”

“Tono will have my head, tahnì.” He states, buckling his chest gear yet another time for today.

“It’s not fair. Not even the warriors back at home tree were called out so much. Especially if their mate was this far along.” You huff, letting go off his bicep to clutch your protruding belly. He cups a hand over yours, leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Ah. I know, I know. I want to stay, I do—” He’s cut off by your sudden gasp, and your face screwing with discomfort. “Are you alright?” His voice turns fills with concern, head tilting even more so that he can look you in the face. It felt as if your back set ablaze and your stomach hardened into rock. It eases up within a few seconds and you take a quick breath before answering.

“Yeah, I think so.” You feel around your bump, taking note of how it’s softened and back to normal. “…that’s the second one today.”

“Hm. It is. See Ronal while I am gone.” Ralak insists, tucking a couple loose braids behind your ear. You nod in response, gritting your teeth from the reminder that he’s leaving again. “I will speak with Tonowari today.”

He’s quick to kiss you, lingering longer than he should. You savor his tender touch, breathing him in until you’ve gotten your fill to last you until he’s back. He pulls away, a grimace fixed to his face as it’s almost painful to do. He rubs your belly a final time, clicking for his beast. Reluctantly, he leaves, and so do you.

—

‘Practice Contractions.’

Ronal’s diagnosis of your pains.

You’re not entirely unfamiliar with the concept. Mom calls them something different, but it all means the same thing at the end of the day. The body’s way of preparing to give birth. The constriction of your stomach, accompanied by intense pain, at random times with no rhythm.

It’s normal, and expected. Ronal was particularly pleased to see your body do this early in your pregnancy. It typically occurs a couple weeks prior to birth, and both of you weren’t due for another month.

They’re nothing to worry about, but she advises to rest if they get too intense. You waddle home with your tail dragging behind you, unhappy to see no sign of your mates return.

—

“You are late.” Tonowari speaks monotonously, back turned to Ralak as he keeps his eyes on his task—forging a new tool. Ralak has to swallow his frustration and maintain his confidence.

“It will happen soon.” He responds in a similar tone, his eyes following as the olo’eyktan stands. “I must be with her.”

“I understand. I do. But—” Tonowari finishes up the last touches, giving the tool its final inspection. “This is your duty, son.”

“She, is my duty.” Ralak snaps, his frustration slipping through.

Feeling challenged, Tonowari turns to face him, now eye level with Ralak as he slowly nears his subordinate—chest to chest. But with a pregnant mate of his own, and the fact that Ralak is like his own son, Tonowari huffs a sigh and gives this a pass.

“This is for her, too. For the people of the clan. You know what we are about to face. You will do this.” The olo’eyktan states sternly. “When the horn sounds… you come. And that…” he shoves the tool into Ralak’s chest, “…is an order.”

Holding the tool against his own chest, Ralak looks away from Tonowari, grinding his back teeth hard enough to file them flat. He breathes heavily, attempting to recenter himself and stamp out the flame flickering in his chest. Tonowari gives him space, going ahead and mounting his skimwing, readying himself to embark on their journey. Whilst Ralak is left behind to let out a sluggish, shaky breath, closing his eyes when it dawns on him...

…what he must do, where he must go and who he must see.

All before coming home this evening.

—

“Zu’té.”

Ralak calls his name outside of the secluded, dim marui pod. It’s familiar, yet so unknown. It’s an eerie feeling to be standing here. It’s as if no one’s home. Not a single flame burning, nor the residual heat of a smothered fire pit. But Ralak can sense his presence. It’s thick. Aggressive. Just as it’s always been. It’s only intensified since the incident.

The silence is deafening now. A message loud enough to have Ralak reconsidering his actions—rethinking his feelings. No part of him really desired to ask anything of this man, much less this. But in the case Tonowari really doesn’t budge with his decision, it is something he must do. No matter how many years have passed. Ralak has moved on…come to terms with what’s happened, and is in a much better place in his life now. Because of you.

You.

He’s doing this for you. Or is he? The fact he’s fathered a child has a major influence on his decision to be standing here to begin with… perhaps it’s something within him driven by nature—by instinct. The further you’ve progressed, the more he’s thought about rekindling this relationship. But he always brushed off these passing thoughts, until they were no longer just thoughts that passed. They became thoughts that lingered and kept him awake some nights.

Showing their faces the most when Tonowari reminds him of the imminent danger the clan may face.

They reminded him of the good times when they were children. Teasing the ilus when no one was looking, sneaking off to the reef where the adults went to hunt just to see what it was like. But it also reminded him of the more unfortunate moments they shared. Those that will forever leave a scar on their souls, branded by pain and suffering. Since then, Ralak took an oath to never allow his own family to suffer the way he did.

If this is what he must do, he’ll do it.

“I am in need of a favour.” Ralak finally admits, witnessing a tall, thick silhouette emerge from the marui.

At this angle, its darkness looms over Ralak ominously. Green glowing eyes peer down at Ralak as the figure's hands cross defensively over his chest. He steps out of the darkness, revealing his inked face and intricately up-kept hair. He looks as if he’s been disturbed or rudely interrupted, evident in the way his eyes pierce fearlessly into Ralak. But Ralak simply returns the leer.

“Zu’té.” Ralak speaks his name again, a little more sternly this time.

“Brother. To what do I owe this visit?” His tone is sarcastic with undertones of hostility.

Ralak sighs, turning his head away from his older brother, fixating his gaze elsewhere. His jawbone flutters as he struggles to figure out what words to string together next. This isn’t easy for him—being here with his tail tucked between his legs.

“It is no way easy for me to ask you of this…I know we have not spoken for some time.”

“Really? You think so? I would say it has been a little more than ‘some time’, no?” Zu’té’s irritation is shining through now.

“Agreed.” Ralak speaks sharply, dropping his head, gaze piercing into his own feet. He swallows and sighs once more, finally lifting his head to look his brother in the face. "I need your help, brother."

“Hm.” Zu’té scoffs, meeting his stare flagrantly. “Let me get this right. You come here, wake me out my sleep, speak to me like this for the first time in over forty-eight seasons…and demand my help?”

“You are the only one I trust with this.” Ralak grinds out the words, they are hard to admit.

This quietens Zu’té, causing his features to soften and his fixed stare to falter. To hear this after twelve years, straight from his brother’s mouth has him a little taken aback. There’s only one thing that it could mean—that could bring the golden child before him, begging for a favour.

War.

“What does our ‘mighty’ olo’eyktan have you up to now, baby brother?” Zu’té’s tone is especially sardonic when speaking of their father-figure.

“Plenty.” Ralak chuckles quietly, shaking his head in amusement. His curved lips fade into a thin line, returning his grim expression when he’s reminded yet again of his exact reason for being here. “Look…” Ralak exhales, “...it is nowhere likeable for me to show my face like this. Trust me, I have thought of every possible solution. But…" he shakes his head, hesitant to share what he must say next. "My mate...she is pregnant."

Zu’té’ sighs when he realizes the gravity of the situation, eyes narrowing as they look behind Ralak to scan his surroundings. He’s far from all of the neighbouring marui pods, being the last pod along the mangroves. But if someone were nearby, they could eavesdrop with ease.

Zu’té lightly nudges his head, giving Ralak the silent signal to enter his marui. Ralak moves slowly, a little surprised by his change in...heart. Annoyed with Ralak's sluggish movement, Zu’té rolls his eyes.

“What? You expect an invitation?" Zu’té asks the rhetorical question loud and clear, watching in awe as his not-so-little brother stands almost eye to eye with him. "...you've grown."

"Surprised?" Ralak mutters, ears spasming from his brother's comment—shuffling past him.

"Don't get smart with me, little brother." Zu’té snaps with his ears pinned to his skull, automatically slipping back into disciplining his younger brother like he once used to. Ralak fights the smirk pulling at his lips, making his way further into the neat, well-decorated marui.

——

Ralak came home that night, as he does most nights nowadays with a heavy tail and tensed muscles. That night he broke the news that he had no luck with Tonowari. That he remained tied to his duties as a warrior, teacher, hunter and evidently more…that you had no knowledge of.

But he made it clear that none of them came before you—his most important duty of all. He promised not only to your father, but also to you, to put you first, no matter what. That he will do whatever he needs to ensure your safety is never compromised. Even if it means putting his pride aside, and asking for help, as he did that night.

The desire to prepare for your son's arrival grew with each passing day, making you nest like an expecting ikran. You smoked enough meat to last for the next couple months, and gathered as many herbs and fruits that you could manage.

Weaving has been one of your more frequent tasks, making a couple slings and a few more blankets. Ralak was quick to build the cot when he got into a nesting frenzy, too.

But regardless of what your next task was, it was always a little bit harder…a little bit more tiring. Until you were so round and heavy that most of them became unachievable. Your size started to affect you in more ways than just physical. It started to affect you mentally, too. Playing tricks on your mind, making you think negatively about yourself.

And Ralak picked up on that very quickly.

——

As you wait for his return, you give the marui another deep clean. You take small breaks often, sitting down whenever you become short of breath.

Whilst you sweep the patio, you see your mate trudge up the stairs, ears pinned back and exhaustion wrinkled into his forehead. Ralak sees you and wastes no time to take the broom from you and pull you into his chest.

He holds you in silence. Comfortable silence. Savouring how you feel against his body. The thud of your heartbeat, the warmth of your skin. You’re his safe place. His home. As he is yours. His embrace is what you look forward to the most after a long day apart.

Perhaps this is what you both need. A moment of peace and quiet, where your focus is purely on the person in front of you. A break from the mayhem that life can entail, from the pull and push of the rough tides. Serenity. All to be interrupted by Ralak pulling away, holding you by the arms to create some distance between you two.

Furrowed brows and beaded eyes stare back at you when you look at him. He’s staring at you, but not at you. His eyes pierce into your chest, and then peel away to flick down at his stomach. A smile creeps on his face, and a huff of air through his nostrils as he chuckles softly. His gaze finally meets yours, and he lets go of your arms.

“Your milk is in.” He almost whispers, his fingertips grazing against your stomach.

“What?” You breathe, caught off guard to say the least. Your head snaps down, eyes searching every inch of your shawl to find two large, growing wet spots on it. “O-Oh.” You stutter, looking back up at him, catching sight of the glistening liquid on his stomach. “Oh.”

Your cheeks grow hot when blood rushes to them from embarrassment. Just another thing pregnancy has bestowed upon you. “Sorry, Lak.” You turn to reach for the nearby cloth that hangs by the window.

“What for?” He asks innocently—a little confused.

He watches as you wipe him down in an almost frantic manner. He stills your movements by grasping your wrists, causing you to drop the cloth. He brings your hands to his lips.

“Mawey [Calm]. Nothing to be ashamed of.” He speaks into the palm of your hands. You hear his words, but you still can’t bring yourself to look at him. “Hey.”

He lets go, and cups your cheek, urging you to look at him. When you finally do, he’s smiling down at you, allowing his hand to slip down to the bow of your shoulder—his fingers hooking underneath the hem of your shawl. “Let me clean you up, hm?”

“Oh—okay.” You stutter shyly, feeling his fingers slip under the woven fabric to slip it off your shoulders. “W-Wait.”

And when the material hits the floor, a shiver shakes your spine. Your breasts are exposed to the cool air, sticky nipples hardened into peaks for him to see. They’ve darkened in colour, and are even a little more puffy too.

Honestly, you weren’t the biggest fan of them anymore. You wore thicker tops or shawls to conceal them, just as you did your stomach with your new…stripes. But Ralak loves them, always stealing a glance at every given chance.

But to know that they’re full with milk makes him feel…on edge.

His eyes bore into them, unapologetically taking in every detail. His smile falls into a slight smirk, which then droops into a thin line. His jaw flutters as he grits his teeth, biting back his urges.

“Don’t stare.” You whisper shyly, covering your chest with one arm and your belly with the other. He looks at you, and reaches for your arms, peeling them away from your body.

“Beautiful.” He states as a fact, intertwining his fingers with yours. “So beautiful, carrying my child.”

“‘m really not.” You mumble, looking away in shame. You feel his hand move to your face, two fingers tugging at your jaw to have you look up at him. When you finally give in to his nudges, you see the look on his face. It was as if you had deeply and personally offended him.

“You are.” He insists softly.

You simply shake your head, arms instinctively wrapping around your chest and belly once more. “I don’t feel it. I don’t even know how you can look at me and say that.”

Ralak almost feels angered by your words. It hurts him to hear you speak of yourself in such a way, especially when it’s far from the truth. If anything, he’s even more attracted to you. Knowing that this is what your body is going through to bring his child into the world has made him even more appreciative of you.

“Never say such things.” He husks firmly, removing your hands from your body and keeping them in his grasp. “Do not hide.”

“You have barely touched me.” You retaliate, voice cracking with hurt.

“Not for that reason.” He’s quick to cut you short, making sure you know that the last thing stopping him from pouncing on you every chance he gets is the way you look. Absolutely not.

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself, then—”

Frustrated, Ralak shoves your hand onto his loincloth, pressing it firmly against the bulge that strains against the material. “You feel that?”

You do, you feel every inch of it, hard and warm against your palm. Your face heats up even more, cheeks staining a bright red. Your breath turns raggedy as you struggle to find the words to say.

“Hm?” He grunts as he presses himself even harder against the palm of your hand.

“Y-Yes.” You stutter. Ralak turns you around, pressing himself into you from behind. His heated lips are flush against your ear, hot breath prickling your skin.

“This is what you do to me.” Ralak husks into the shell of your ear, grinding his bulge into the swell of your ass. “Day after day.” He groans almost painfully, filled with all sorts of emotions. He holds you firm against his body, grazing his bottom teeth against the lobe of your ear. “All it takes is a single glance.” His words have your clit pulsing under your tewng and your thighs rubbing against one another. “The sight of you…of your swollen breasts… your swollen womb…” he hisses, on edge and high strung as he caresses your belly, “…it makes me lose myself.”

“Fuck.” You breathe, reaching behind you to tug his loincloth down in a frantic manner. You feel his lips nibble and nip at the skin behind your ear, making their way down the back of your neck. You can’t help but moan from the feeling, your already stiff nipples tingling from his gentle touches.

You feel his hands wander over your stomach and under your tewng, his fingers fondling your folds as he gently parts them. He grunts against your neck, inhaling your scent deep in his lungs as his hips stutter into you. Your stickiness coats his fingers as they slip and slide over your hardened nub.

You tug even harder at his loincloth, struggling to get the annoying thing off him. You let out a frustrated grunt, and he lets loose an amused chuckle, peppering soft kisses down to the bow of your shoulder.

“What is it? Need me to take you right here?” He husks low, voice muffled by his continuous kisses. “…where someone may see?”

Right, you’re on the patio.

Out in the open, under the light of the moon. Ralaks marui pod is far from the village on a cul de sac. The only thing further than here is sand, open water and a couple smaller islands off in the distance. However, there' is's always the slim chance of a na’vi or two going for a late night swim or on a romantic adventure far from the village.

But you simply didn’t care.

If anything it only riles you up more—the riskiness of it all, the thought of being caught. The need to be sneaky and quiet, when all you want to do is moan his name until your voice goes dim. It seems that Ralak feels similarly as you feel him throb against you, excited to take you where you stand.

“I don’t mind.” You huff shakily, finally tugging the cloth down enough for his cock to spring out. “Do you?”

You feel him smile against your shoulder when you grip it in your hand, smooth teeth bumping into your skin as his free hand cups your full breast.

“Not at all, my tanhì.” He breathes, gently kneading the soft flesh, feeling the trickle of your milk flow over the back of his hand.

“Good.” Your lungs tremble beneath his touch, hand desperately stroking his length. Yet he remains gentle with his touches, pinning your clit between his two fingers as he rubs you slowly. “Then hurry…I need you inside.”

Ralak quickly moves his kisses back up your neck, and you feel the tip of his tongue tickle the lobe of your ear before he suckles on it lightly. Tingles ripple up your spine, sending your head into a shiver as you lean into his mouth. His fingers dip into your soaking core just as he rolls your tender nipple between his other two digits.

It’s all too much. All-consuming. Making you gasp for air in lungs that won’t seem to fill. Fog clouds your head. How did you get here? How did this happen? Fuck, it doesn’t matter. Not when you feel like this.

You’re already so sensitive as it is, so tender and delicate, like silk under his fingers. He pushes his two fingers even deeper inside your aching pussy, curling them and earning a whimper from your lips and quiver of your tail.

“Not too loud, oeyä sevin muntxate [my pretty/beautiful wife]”. Ralak whispers the hushed praise, knowing it’s what you need to hear.

You’re so much warmer around his fingers than usual, so much softer. Wetter. With each curl of his digits comes out a squelch as he works you open for his cock that he’s been dying to plunge inside you.

You wrap your leg around his, perching your heel on the side of thigh as you lean all your weight back into him. He steadies his knees, supporting you with ease. Your head slumps back into his shoulder, opening up your neck to his hot breaths, an arm reaching behind you to fist his hair.

His brows are tense and his breath is heavy. He’s overcome with arousal and he can’t keep his composure as your scent grows stronger now your throat is directly under his nose. Truthfully it’s been too long, he knows that. He knows he’s been too protective, too cautious. Depriving you and him of the touch that’s necessary between a mated pair.

His fingers slip out of you, now expertly unravelling the loose knot just barely keeping your tewng on you. As it drops to the floor his fingers are back where they were, rubbing sloppy circles into your clit before spreading your pussylips apart. His hips stutter as he attempts to align the crown of his cock with your slit and finally buck forward when he senses your little, exposed hole.

His cock sinks inside you at an achingly slow pace—inch by inch. You let loose a lengthy moan when you feel him fill you completely, no longer caring if anyone hears you.

“Hnng—I missed you.” The gruff words slip out as he bottoms out inside your cunt. He has longed to feel your gummy walls squeeze oh-so tightly around his cock. “You alright?” He checks on you in a daze, voice thick with want—with the desire to pummel your little pussy until your voice is hoarse. But the last thing he wants is to hurt his heavily pregnant mate.

“Mhm, ple-ase.” You purr with need, closing your eyes and relaxing completely into him. Trusting someone this much feels too good. Ralak moves slowly, pumping his cock in and out of you in a languid haze, tickling your sensitive clit with just the tips of his fingers.

“Tanhì—haah—you are squeezing me so tight.” Ralak moans as his strokes grow with intent. His hips roll deep, shoving and forcing his cock inside your sensitive cunt until his swollen balls kiss your clit.

He’s unapologetically coaxing out the orgasm you’ve been denied for so long with only a few lazy thrusts. And he knows it. He can feel it from the way you clench around him. From the way your thighs tremble a little more after each deep stroke…from the sweet, filthy noises that shamelessly drip from your lips.

“Oh my—Ralak! I-I’m gonna—” You sputter the words between choked sounds, eyes welling with tears from the burn between your legs.

“I know, I know.” He huffs, dragging his hot tongue along the length of your throat. The truth is, he’s close too. But he can’t allow himself to finish inside you. He can’t risk letting himself go and pounding recklessly into your poor, tender pussy. He’s already had a long day. “Let it out, tìyawn [love].”

Its almost cathartic.

Weeks of pent up frustration released in a few minutes, leaving you near convulsing in his grip. You can’t stop the flutter of your pussy walls if you try, it’s out of your control, much like the surge of white fire going right through you. Your legs fight to stay open and you hold onto your mate to keep you standing. Gurgled noises spill from your lips as your body shudders under him. His hips still, keeping his cock buried to the hilt inside your quivering cunt as he holds you tight, supporting you until you finish riding out your high.

“Good girl. Good girl.” He praises you in a hushed, shaky voice, extremely wound up from feeling you flourish so beautifully under his touch. It's a miracle that he didn't empty himself inside you right then and there.

“But you—but you haven’t—” You sputter, collapsing into him as your legs give out.

“I know. It is alright..” He hums, carefully leading you inside the marui to lay you on the bed.

“Thought you were c-cleaning me u-up. Not mak-king m-more of a mess.” Your breath is relentlessly hitching as you watch him hastily remove his tewng that’s been digging into his thighs. A reminder of exactly how quickly things happened.

“You are right.” Ralak tsks, cocking a brow as he stares down at you with a predatory leer. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

Ralak situates himself between your legs, crouching over you, ensuring there’s plenty of space between him and your stomach. His cock presses between your sticky folds as his lips press against your clammy neck. He tastes the faint saltiness of the thin film of sweat on your skin as he drags his lips down your chest—between your breasts.

“Lak…” You whisper, back bowing against the bed.

You’re way too sensitive right now, like an exposed nerve. His eyes snap up and lock with yours, responding to you moaning his name. His tongue darts out, sampling a taste of the spilled milk on your breast. Then his eyes slam shut, tensed brows and scrunched nose telling you that he’s unsure of the flavour in his mouth.

Eyes widening, you’re taken aback by his actions, feelings of shyness and embarrassment creeping back in. Fisting his hair, you pull gently at his head to pry him off your chest, only for him to resist your tugs.

“You shouldn’t have done—why’d you do—” You struggle to find the right words at this moment, flustered and nervous that he’d do that.

But what leaves you even more speechless is when he opens his eyes to reveal dots for pupils, a look you only see when he’s high strung. And then he eagerly takes your nipple into his mouth, latching on and ensuring the suction is airtight. The tip of his tongue flicks at your hardened nipple a few times before he gently suckles at your breast.

A tingling sensation radiates your chest and you feel it in the pit of your stomach. Your breath catches in your throat, a little surprised by his lewd behaviour. And soon, all you can hear are the repeated, muffled gulps of your warm milk flowing down his throat.

“W-What are yo-ou d-doing, my love?” You mewl, squirming underneath him from the strange feeling. He unlatches harshly with an audible pop, leaving your pointed nipple misshapened and exposed.

“Cleaning you.” He huffs quickly as he catches his breath, diving back in to lap up the milk leaking from your other neglected breast. Your head throws back in what is undeniably pleasure now, legs tightening around his waist. You look down in a daze, watching him feast greedily, feeling his hips begin to stammer against you.

“Fuck—I didn’t know this i-is what you meant.” You’re finally calming down from your orgasm now, already feeling your body gearing up to have another. His desperation is pungent. Evident in the way his cock grinds between your soft, slippery folds, scenting your cunt with it.

He pulls off you with yet another pop, his tongue swiping his bottom lip so not to let the bead of milk dripping off of it go to waste. He’s huffing and puffing against you, trailing his wet kisses down your curved stomach as he tucks your legs back. You feel his hot breath against your thighs and your legs tremble in anticipation.

“Kalin, kalin [sweet, sweet].” He mumbles, kissing your pulsing clit. “Oeyä kalin [My sweet].”

“Oh shit.” You let loose the breathy curse when you feel his lips pucker around your over sensitive nub, and squeal when he begins to suck on it too. Your hands fly to his head, grasping at his hair to shove his face further into your cunt. He devours you with exhilaration, lapping at your leaking slit to savour your sweetness.

His cock is aching now. He’s so hard it’s painful. He can’t stop throbbing and his cock strains so hard it’s swollen. He wants to shove himself back inside you— your warmth—and hump at you until his marked you with his essence.

He can’t help but touch himself as he pleasures you. Stroking his cock with every lick of your pussy. Thrusting into his hand when he feels you throb against his tongue. He’s groaning and grunting into your cunt, urgently chasing his own release as he sucks on you for his own pleasure.

Too busy to realise that you’ve been begging him to slow down a bit. That you’re too sensitive. That you feel like you may explode if he continues.

“Ralak! I just came! F-Fuck—” You yank his head away, hurriedly rubbing at your sore pussy.

Ralak pants for air, pulling back into a standing position to reveal that he’s been fucking his hand this entire time. It’s glossy with his precum as it dribbles down his strake. He’s frantically stroking himself, staring brazenly down at your pussy—taking in how it’s flushed and swollen, glistening with his spit and your slick. It’s a delicious sight, tempting him to go in for another taste.

He’s close and you can tell, his hips are stuttering erratically and he’s groaning like a dying man. You sit up slowly, bringing yourself to your knees as you shuffle your way closer to him. Your chest is level to his cock and you cup your full breasts with both hands, pushing them together only inches away from him.

He seems a little confused, unsure of what your next move may be. Fuck, you aren’t even sure of what your next move is. But you’re going with your instinct, pinching your nipples until they begin to leak milk. His brows jump, the sight of that sends his hips stammering into his hand. With each huff and thrust sends his cock a little closer to you, until his swollen cockhead is poking at your breasts.

You shuffle a little closer, moaning softly from watching him get off like this. Then you feel his sticky cock slip in between your breasts, and his hand falls to your shoulders.

Now he’s fucking your tits in a frenzy, his leaking tip prodding at your lips. You stick your tongue out for a taste, allowing his cockhead to slip and slide against it. He’s groaning and moaning, eyes fixed in the sight beneath him. The pressure from his fat cock between your breasts only makes you leak even more, and that’s when he loses it completely.

“Oh, fuck.” He growls, thrusting hard enough to shove his cockhead into your mouth. You feel him throb violently against your tongue, his thick, hot load coating your cheeks until they're full to the brim. He pulls out as soon as he realises what he’s down, immediately reaching for your bedside bucket to spit in.

But you shake your head, glossy eyes staring up at him as you swallow his cum with a singular, loud gulp. His eyes bulge, his hands flying to cup your cheeks as he quickly searches your eyes. You simply smile, using a thumb to swipe the single bead of cum on your chin and pop it into your mouth.

Features softening, he returns the smile, chest heaving wildly as it swells with pride.

——

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90s-html-lesbians · 1 year

Note

About the immortal roommates au, it's a well-documented fact that the average human height has gradually increased over time, with ancient people actually being on the short side and viewing tall people as rare, special, and/or unnatural. Alba is 5'3", but Lorena is taller for a woman at 5'7", so for most of the time they've been alive, Ava would be considered normal height while Lilith would be looked at as a giantess. She would constantly have to duck her head under doorways and buy extra fabric to lengthen her clothes.

Ava teases her ENDLESSLY about her height, she's got jokes in languages and cultural contexts that don't even exist anymore, and it drives Lilith nuts!

But then! People mysteriously start getting taller... until the average person on the street is at least an inch or two taller than Ava... And people suddenly don't think Lilith is some freak of nature anymore, she's just tall for a woman. Then suddenly society is built for tall people, with high shelves and long clothes, and the number of short jokes skyrockets while tall jokes dwindle to almost nothing.

So who's laughing now, Ava? (It’s your girlfriend. She's towering over you and laughing in your short, little baby face.)

lmao i’m cackling

making me realize there’s probably a lot of holdovers from past millenias and stuff they’re all “back in my day over”

ava being the oldest has the most amount of “back in my day” stuff but she’s also the least self aware of it because she usually fits in the best as “one of the fellow kids”/young adult of the current generation and the stuff she’s all “back in my day” is mostly about obscure stuff and/or stuff that doesn’t usually come up in conversation, like the most popular way of tying a rope knot now vs back in the 15th century or something

also this isn’t related but i’m hcing ava as having several lives. they’re not infinite though and once all those lives are used up, she’s dead as a doornail. she’s at least used two or three by now, some from when she was first getting used to the “coming back from the dead and finding out you have more than one life.” and was kinda clumsy and careless

she’s super careful now though and plays that knowledge close to the chest i think in large part because it’s all ??? for her, she knows jack about it including how many lives she has left, which means every time she dies she’s very aware of the fact that the life she had up until now might’ve been the last and this could be the one to stick

(Or maybe she doesn’t even remember her previous lives and/or she only has limited memories, and the muscle memory from them and stuff like “avoid cliffs at all costs” ((because that’s how she died last time)) that she chalks up to “very strong instinct”)

toying with lilith having a bit of blood bending when she’s in a close vicinity to someone just for funsies

lilith won’t admit it but she’s lowkey a very hopeless romantic (is it really hopeless if she’s literally been in a steady relationship with ava for millennia?), and she’ll often get stuff like “this thing is stupid but it reminded me of our partnership over the ages and you like stupid, so 🤷, here it is”

kinda cat bringing dead animals to someone to express affection energy

she’ll also often get literature centered around close friends (literally close friends, because lilith and ava “reluctantly” consider each other their bff along side being their partner ((and later on same for beatrice ofc)) so they also like stories about very close friends) or romance stuff and be like “this reminds me of us but if i/we were in this situation i/we’d be significantly less stupid”

they’re all kinda sappy useless romantics but lilith especially, their apartment is littered with stuff that lilith’s got because it reminded her of them

both of them would be such critics of religion (not in a “anti any and all religion itself” way), especially given they’ve literally seen the birth of several religions including christianity into it becoming the big religion it is today)

both of them are really wary of religious figures and of immortals who have very little to no non human or supernatural aspects to them aside from their immortality/long lived/hard to kill, because they’ve usually done or are doing some shady shit to get and retain that

which is part of why lilith was initially very wary of ava, especially as she’s had personal bad experience with immortals pretending to be nice or helpful but actually being manipulative

the millenia of being alive has absolutely given ava & lilith such a weird and nerdy concept of fun which is made worse by their competitiveness, like one time they spent their time counting literally all the pebbles on the shore of some lake or beach, and another time building a whole home from scratch after the place they had been staying at was torn down, including the tools they used

i think they probably like trivia quizzes both because learning like what’s considered current pop culture is helpful for them to fit in, and it also helps them sharpen and exercise their memory, which is good because between the amount of years they’ve been alive, it’d be harder for them to realize if they’re forgetting or misremembering stuff, and they especially don’t want to forget the important stuff like stuff about each other and friends and family they’ve had over the millenia

they probably like crossword puzzles and sudoku and bingo too 😭, they really got the grandparent tastes and behaviors at times

#warrior nun #ava silva #sister lilith #fallenhalo #immortal roommates au #lilith villaumbrosia #wn #au #apologies for the late response but this week had me a bit busy and tired #the-darkness-not-bargain #ask #thx for the ask!! This au really living in my head rent free rn sjsjs

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thefanficmonster · 3 years

Text

Hidden Powers

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: Abuse allegations, Swearing, Mild melancholy

Genre: Humor, SLIGHT Angst, Fluff, RPF (Real Person Fic) - Sorry the genres are all over the place

Summary: A misconception or misunderstanding turned rumor threatens to bring down Corpse’s entire career, but luckily, Y/N knows better than to stand aside and let it happen.

Requested by Anon. Hi darling! Thank you so much for your request and I’m so sorry for the long wait but here it finally is and I hope you enjoy the fic if you happen to come across it. Love, Vy ❤

“Fuck this game!“ Y/N yells out in frustration as she is met with the screen informing her of her failure - aka death - for the fifth time in the past hour. “Has anyone ever even passed night four? I’m sure the king of FNAF Markiplier has but I’m also sure he hasn’t done it one a livestream! And my big mouth really had to go ahead and swear not to end this stream until I pass this God forsaken night, ughhh!“

Typically, Y/N’s quite the fearful rat when playing horror games, especially when home alone like right now, but this FNAF game has gradually turned her into a raging gamer instead. Not raging as in kicking ass at the game but as in the game kicking the ass of her sanity. She’s been struggling with this specific night for a while - the better half of her previous stream and an hour into today’s. Well, seeing how little progress she’s making with each try, it’s gonna be way more than an hour into today’s livestream as well. She’ll be lucky if she manages to get past it before hitting the three hour mark or just rage quitting which she’s bound to do eventually if her gameplay keeps going at this rate.

Another try later, she’s once again jumpscared into a failure screen that’s practically mocking her at this point. Throwing her arms above her head, Y/N sighs heavily, the frustration she’s harboring becoming more and more evident in her body language. “You know what, I need a break. Lemme see what you guys are saying in the chat.”

Scrolling through comments upon comments greeting her, sending her compliments and some trolling her with some hateful remarks she comes across a question which makes her brows furrow. That same question is repeated by a few other people but they fly by so quickly she doesn’t manage to catch the people’s usernames.

“A bruise on my arm? Where?“ She says out loud as she inspects both her arms, looking for what her chat had been talking about. That’s when her eyes eyes land on the purple mark on the skin just above her right elbow. She laughs, “Oh this? I know I’m a clumsy person but Corpse is to blame for this one.“

Little does the girl know, her boyfriend, who’s currently in his own apartment instead of camping out at hers, is watching this very stream, laughing his ass off remembering how that bruise came to be.

His laughter is cut short though when he catches glimpse of Y/N’s chat which suddenly floods with concern from her fans - assumptions and allegations of him being an abusive boyfriend starting to pollute the previously cheerful comment section. His stomach turns, for many reasons, each reason making it tighten in a worse and more painful knot.

The first blow comes from people actually coming up with such a thing. How could they even allow their minds to wander to such a dark and disgusting place where he’d be even remotely an abuser.

The second blow to his heart is delivered by the fact that people believed it. How and why could people believe such an absurd idea?! How low did these people think of him? What kind of piece of shit did he come off as to some people?

And the third is the mental image the idea gives him. It’s such a fucked up scene, he can’t even conjure it up, he can’t mentally picture it. Hell, he could and would never even raise his voice at Y/N. He’d never dare upset her or hurt her feelings let alone hurt her....like that!

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!“ Y/N’s gasp reaches him as though it was meant to fish him out of the downward spiral he started going down with these overwhelmingly dark thoughts, “What’s with this nonsense some of y’all are spewing in the chat?!“ She sounds downright angry and irritated, ready to fight whoever will continue spreading these rumors about her lovely boyfriend whom she absolutely adores. “Guys, I mean, seriously?! Do you have any idea what you’re talking about and WHO you’re talking about? Do we have the same Corpse in mind here? I doubt we do - you have some villainized, abusive version, and I have the loving boyfriend who tried to teach me how to handle a lightsaber so we can have a lightsaber fight and my dumbass used my own weapon against me. Yeah, I was pretty salty Corpse laughed his heart out while I was cringing in pain, but man, you guys take it farther than the farthest.“ Seeing his sweet, kind and non-confrontational girlfriend who always avoids conflict at all costs turn into this protective lioness because someone is talking shit about him is heartwarming and scary at the same time. “Y’all better shut the hole where these fucked up rumors surfaced from before you get one of the most innocent, loving and caring individuals in hot water for the BS you came up with! Copy? You better.“

Corpse has never in his entire life seen the topic of a stream chat change so quickly, the rumor never once getting brought up again.

That’s some serious power right there - power he never knew Y/N possessed because of her cute and soft exterior. Now he knows what kinda beast of a woman he’s dating - one prepared to do anything to protect him, no matter who from. And damn does that make him feel emotional and loved despite the shit that just happened. She can make him forget all the bad within the blink of an eye - that too is another superpower of hers, but this one he’s known about from the very start.

@maat-the-prescriptive @simonsbluee @save-the-sky @itsminniekat @hacker-ghost @bi-andready-tocry @imtiredaffff @jazzkaurtheglorious @hereforbeebo @fandomgirl17 @chrysanthykios @maehemscorpyus @loraleiix @letsloveimagines @annshit @i-cant-choose-a-username-help @enigmaticmaze @divine-artemis @waterlilypat @idontknowwhatthisisfam @evi-ka @classyandfabulous00 @redperson58 @lilysdaydreams @solowheein @mythicalamphitrite @axen-gers @luckygirl144 @nj01 @buddyemily @the-albino-lioness @stardream14 @gdhdkfnn @nomadicgypsyy @preciousskye @fluffysuicideunicornsworld @o-kaelin @manacharlotte @awkward-youtube-trash @lolalee24 @bonky-beerns @meme-lord-and-savior-sebastian @strawbrinkofdeath @teenloves @tams0527 @browneyespinkhair @starstruckllamapuppy @daisychains012 @y0ulooked @tinytacosuitcaseflap @supernatural-is-my-only-life @jula-pauline @melodykitty @just-that-bi-girl @crazybutconfidentaf @lowellshade @alphakees @bellero @weallneednamjesus @starryhanji @boiled-onionrings @husherstan @fockingwhore @melaningoddessthings @prettypastelpetals @haleypearce @godwhyamiawkward @y-napotat @daisychainyoonmin @little-miss-rebel3 @free-wheelin-bi-sexual @redmoon261 @darkacademic2 @wiseflamingoqueen @into-the-end @namikhai-i @nastiablr @thelittleplantlover @mirktuan @dont-hyuck @jjk-bunny @vintagegothlover @easygoingtheatre @itsrandombooklover @miiaivi @emmybaybee @befourgolden @jjk-is-my-shit @eternalteaaars @spacebadgerx @princesslunalight @acequinn14 @samm48 @misselsbells06 @simp-lykawa @fo-love @marishimomura-blog @therealglenncoco @cinnamonbun332 @killtherandomness @sanshinexxxsan @fee-btheweeb @press-lay @cathleenpotgieter16 @jazzydoesstuff @moonlxghtbay @forestrain2000 @hyunjinhugs @blood-of-fandoms @lovellylies @ukiyolixx @simpforhpcharacters @chrisdylan17 @parkerjisung @pedernille @theodonyous @wineandionysus @malfoystilinskii05 @morbid-x @coryisagee @jessewa26 @scoobydooluver97 @mindintheskies365 @raeanneinwonderland @indecisive-empanada @gluttonypalace @loriane2503 @btsiguess-kpop @khaoticbunny @lucidlycactus @smiithys @rottenroyalebooks @kpopgirlbtssvt @fangirl-tc27 @fr0z3n-1 @notmesimpingfortechno @shotarosleftpinky @kunoi-chan @idk-whats-wrong-with-me @yikeroonie @goldenstarofthunderclan @poetry-and-tea @ama-do-writing-stuff @wishbonewolf @emeraldxhope @t0xick1tty @kusuinko @speakyourselfloveyourself @sophia902103 @lo-manburg @classsykittykat @dmgama @depressedpuppythatneedscoffee @btsiguess-kpop @akaashi-baby @gun-jong-simp @geschichtenfee @yerapotato-wp @browneyedgirl365 @thysagclub @sparklycloudnight @helloatomicshadow @queentorresstuff @vtte @val-gal @lucy-bunny17 @aaliyahh0 @katluckybear @boyleanti @straybids @franchesca-791 @cosmicstorm19 @averyisbackinthetrashcan @aomi-nabi @xlanawriter @allensimpsforcorpse @sunnyrae-cessh @ladykxxx08 @meowiemari @renupf @booklover76 @sra-verissimo

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death2normalcy · 2 years

Text

This post is part of a series I’m going to call ‘Why I Love Stray Kids’. Each post is going to be dedicated to a different member and is just going to be ramblings of things I love about them, because I just really love making lists and sometimes, I get bored.

Previous Posts: I.N. | Seungmin | Felix

This post is about Han Jisung!

Songs I Personally Love Him In:

Hellevator; District 9; Chronosaurus; Beware/Grr; My Pace; Maze of Memories; I’ll Be Your Man (Cover); Alien; I Got It; Gone Away

Music Videos I Love Him In:

Hellevator; District 9; My Pace; 24 to 25; Maniac; Venom; Gone Away; Double Knot; Freeze; Cheese

10 Random Things I Love:

He’s so skilled at song writing. So good. I know he’s considered an ace and he’s skilled at everything, but it was his song writing that fully lured me in with him. (And let’s not even talk about how I think he’s a witch that gets me to like songs I would normally not be a fan of).

Honestly, just the way his mind works in general. I love seeing clips of his vlives and seeing how he thinks. Those more introspective moments are my favorite moments from him. Or even just how quickly he can put things together in his head, like how he can write an amazing song super quick.

The fact that his anxiety isn’t some kind of secret. I know it was kind of forced out in a way, because he had to take that hiatus, but still. The way the other members clearly understand that he deals with it and are there for him when he needs it. It’s important to me that someone like Jisung is open about something like that.

I know he’s the ‘ace’ and a lot of fan’s talk about how talented he is, and he is, don’t get me wrong, but I’m also very vocal about how talent like that takes hard work too. Like, sure, some people are a little more gifted, but Jisung would have had to still put in a lot of work to get to where he’s at, and it shows.

How ungraceful he is. It’s nice to see someone who is trying to present a certain image to the world, as all idols have to, just be naturally clumsy as hell. This man probably trips over air sometimes, and I appreciate that.

How he’s introverted, but he’s the mood maker of the group, how he’s always the comedian, always trying to make people laugh. It’s great when people can see that being introverted has very little to do with how you are as a person, and more with what recharges you and whatnot.

To tie into that one a little, the fact that he also has a big heart. (Definitely going to be a point I make for all of them). It’s one of the ones that isn’t super obvious, but it’s the little things. Like when he goes to a member immediately when they’ve fallen, or when he cried during their first win for ‘Miroh’ or the way he will try and include a member in an interview if they’re clearly having an off day or something, and he’s trying to cheer them up. It’s subtle, but it’s there.

And to tie into the introverted thing one more time, the fact that he just really enjoys a day at home, relaxing, and doing nothing when he can. I relate to that, I’m sure a lot of people do. His vlog of his day at home is one of my favorite things that he’s done solo.

The way he always wants kisses from everyone in the group. I appreciate that, even if he turns away at the last minute. We all know he would go for the kiss if he wasn’t on camera, it’s okay. Nothing wrong with a kiss between friends, honestly.

His obvious curiosity and love for learning new things. I don’t know if it’s discussed directly or not, but it’s heavily shown in a lot of things, like how he enjoys watching random youtube videos about random stuff, or how, in that one vlog, he was watching behind the scenes stuff on Harry Potter.

Let Me Be Superficial For A Moment: This one was tricky for me, I had a couple things in mind, but I’m going to go with a very specific thing, and its his face when he’s laughing. Not just his smile, his whole entire face. It’s adorable.

*If you are the original owner of this gif, and you want me to delete it, please let me know, and I will.

Two Dynamics Of His That I’m Fond Of: Lee Know and Hyunjin. This one was the easiest. I love all the dynamics, as I’ve said, but Jisung with these two is *chefs kiss*. And if all three are together? I love them.

#Han #Han Jisung #Jisung #Stray Kids #skz #skz thoughts #Han's was the easiest so far #but figuring out how to word things was difficult #I'd say a lot of the things I listed for him #tend to lean towards a specific side of him #but i'm fond of the more introverted quiet jisung #i don't know

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highsviolets · 4 years

Text

breathless, chapter 3: an obi-wan x 90s!reader au

summary: in which you and Ben discover that nothing is like the first time, but maybe time is a construct anyway

word count: 3.2k+

cw: kissing. light references to smoking, a lil angst, some language

A/N: this could not have happened without @afogocado. Thank you for encouraging me to continue this lil fic and an endless supply of ewan pics and listening to me ramble and omg ilysm

references // previous // next // series masterlist

“my curfew’s at midnight.”

Ben doesn’t look at you when he speaks. Well, he does. Just not right now. He’s busy at the moment, tinkering with something in the hood of his car. hunter green t-shirt — auburn hair — something out of goddamn salinger novel ((or maybe dos passos))

you look up at him. you’re settled on a skateboard ((he’s far too trusting of your ability to remain upright)). listless currents from a fan — somewhere, in the garage, you think — ripple in that nomadic space between his t-shirt and your skin.

remarks are so curious a thing, and you watch yours descend upon him. not quite a cascade. not quite a pittance of cleansing summer rains. it’s something other — but not ethereal — it’s here, it’s now, it’s taking you, too, holding you in thrall — words bump into skin ((sinew and sin)).

“it’s about doing the right thing.” the grind of one metal locking its relatives, corollaries, corrosions, into place has ceased. or maybe only paused. you’re not sure the car is done. but Ben looks at you, and you know he’s done. done explaining himself.

the skateboard’s wheels squeak and cry out against the pavement when you adjust. legs stretched out — ragged vans pointing above ((wherever that is)) — violet tipped hands clutching the back edges — knees exposed — just kissing the faintness of tangible ((affection or affectations, what’s the difference?))

“i know.” freckles gaze into the sun, his eyes, reflections. he expects your explanation to be plaintive. institutional. it’s not. “i just wanted to know why.”

Ben shakes his head, once, twice, thrice — face still half-soaked in the shadow of the hood — astonishment is plain to see in the flatness of his cheeks — the waltzing of his tongue on his upper lip.

Two seconds later he is right there, crouching ((muscles straining)) next to you, the leather tips of air jordans exotic and smooth against the external lateral bone of your left knee. His eyes, screwed up at the invasion of the sun against their tranquility, stare at the meeting of his shoes and your body and then he is gazing at you.

angels manipulate his mouth into a smile — Ben’s yours, now — hands are clasped — battles halt in the ceasefire. “I should really stop underestimating you.”

Ben reaches out. Two fingers ride the length of your cheekbone. They still as skin morphs into frizzled, sun-bleached hair at the crown of your head, in that space between your ear and eyebrow. your head nudges into his terms of surrender. “That would probably be best,” you say. The pause between conditional tense and adverb is like the space between you and him, an assured hesitancy, caught between becoming and being, trapped in an interstitial existence.

it’s so fucking americana it hurts.

hair , secured by a scrunchie the same shade as your fingertips, is given a light tug. let’s get you home, he says, and your presence wilts in upon itself , he senses the rush of photosynthesis exiting your body and brings your lips to caress his.

it doesn’t feel like the first time — nothing ever does — familiar in semantics — murky in meaning — singeing and sweet — a transfusion of significance between you and him.

the breaking away comes with a solemn sigh. he’s rising and bringing you with him. you resist the urge to stage a coup and use the skateboard to rocket yourself into his arms ((a safehouse you’ve found)).

___

time: a nebulous concept for you. it’s pages dogeared and how many days until the next cd is shipped to the store and how many t-shirts you’ve accosted from oaken drawers.

it’s a far more solid object for him. a tangible weave of textures and patterns that he notices in the scrunchies now in the car’s island of misfits ((he still hasn’t told you the make and model)) and how many times you guide his hand around your waist while you eat ice cream ((vanilla in a cone with sprinkles)) and the pens he’s busted through since you first met ((he knows the number , they’re immortalized in a tin cup on his shelf))

Ben’s holding one that has yet to join its brothers in the tin graveyard. The clicker rests against his teeth. It looks seductive in his mouth. Like he can make you keen with just an imitation of the real thing, with words and ideas. Words twirled around the air have power. You both know this.

You’re the one who’s twirling, though. spinning around his bedroom — boombox emitting a Billy Joel song at least ten years mature — mouth forming words you have yet to possess the courage to blare — so much like your kisses.

((the words come through in the translation , the body moves but he hears the soul))

he watches you and he is transfixed. he knows you do not know how much you are revealing to him. at least not consciously. but you want him to crawl into your soul and never leave. he does not see it or hear it or feel it as much as he experiences truth, the clumsy trio dotting patterns across his extremities and seeping into his essence ((what it means to be human)) like an antibiotic ointment. he is scared you will stick to things for which you are not designed. but it’s too late and he’s covered in the stuff, slick with you. unleashed in a trigonometric function of three sides ((him / you , other)). sins and signs and echoing sunlight.

your smile mimics his as you edge toward the bed where he’s sprawled out. you laugh and he matches you, shaking his head in rare & unguarded ((unabashed , unembarrassed)) regard. you are in harmony.

skin meets skin — heels arched into the carpet — he’s too strong too stubborn — and you fail and fall and spill over him — tumbling over his torso, legs mashed — the heat of his victorious grin burns the atmospheric bubble arching over the two of you.

You’re not sure if the record stops or if you’ve just ceased hearing it. he arranges you ((like a bouquet, like a song)) on the bed. he stares down at you. the eyes are stormy again, like before he kissed you the first time ((but nothing’s ever like the first time)). they say eyes are the window to the soul. Your hands whisk the hair that’s dangling there, like you can quiet him by quelling his independently-minded locks. it seems to work. he blinks and when you see the sun again it’s brighter, bluer, but maybe that’s because he’s so still now.

he does not move. He may not have danced but his soul is pressing into you like a dagger ((did you fall on a sword)). Ben cuts off your impending speech with conciliatory kiss. “i know , darling” , and the words etch themselves into reality against your body.

—-

Ben is distant and he is near to you all at once. There are corners of his being that you want to slide and drag and push to the surface. maybe if you do he will start to make sense. form follows function, he tells you, and the words feel as yellow as the pages on which they’re inked.

it doesn’t make sense to you — “you have too much sense, dear one” — elinor and marianne — but for all his purity he does not dance — no ricochets in his lever and pulley soul.

you are glass and flannel and he is steel and silk. he is not quite your sun, or your moon, or your stars, and not even your world. but you are rapidly terraforming to his sundry heights and arid permafrost and the devil’s sun that makes a home in his fingers, in his mouth ((yet he is not lucifer, nor abdiel perhaps he is raphael)).

Ben watches you soak in him. He takes note, n.b., nota bene, notes well, excellently, the stillness of your hands ((the tremors have lessened, but have they learned?)). your words are teal and vermillion and ecru and weeping with tannins. Ben deduces ease, easel, paint, art as you furrow into his chest. His mind infers souls through their bodies. Form follows function. Function follows form. Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t.

Through your mirror he sees himself with you but he does not comprehend. He is bewildered.

nails boards cones sheets — teeth fingers knees breath — swerving form yielding function clutching grasping — all so very , sine qua non — aspectu sine logos — why does the latin transform into Greek

Morpheus, he thinks, nods sagely. he hurls ticket stubs and lipstick napkins and sense ((you)) into shoeboxes and mailboxes and shadowboxes. he refuses a photo of you, with you, for you and takes your knotted eyes and throws them, too, into the nearest body of water. you are close but you are not near ((droplets on tanned skin, drowning in the water)) and it is all he can do to obey his life and he does not know that sartre laughs at him and de beauvoir pokes her lover.

you are not at the middle of your life and neither is he. the path is still obscured by the trees. is charon delivering you to this threshold of the styx ((stones, bones, death)) or the tip of the world where the stars scrape into the heavens with a different edge? he is rising: he brings you with him. so it was in the past, but does the past presage the future? if he is raphael then he is virgil ((Maybe it’s all the same, and Maybe It Isn’t))

epic firestorm of righteous creation myths — empirical histories — imperial truths. but no. dante, where is dante, is he off in firenze, dancing in florid colors? no. dante is in exile, civitas ex nihilo : in need of virgil. guide him to transcendence.

____

you do not see him for several days. maybe it is weeks. you aren’t sure. time is not empirical, Ben has told you, it’s something you have to feel through its measuring ((sometimes vibrancy tips out of his ridges)). but you wish he had let you take a picture of the two of you. you are more like him than you realize , the truest truths are the ones you can touch.

it is the longest you have not seen him, and it is very hot. the pool, the lake, they’re not the same when you can’t thread sand through his hair and be abducted by his gaze as you read ((spirited away from his bookshelf)).

you’re running out of books — running out of time? — but time is not statistical — multidimensionality of you and him — there is no space where he does not compress himself to exist with you.

“it’s not a phase, mom,” you say, and take another bite of cereal.

“you need to make up your mind.” the crunch is effective at blocking out the noise, and your mind continues on its path. you wonder if DJ Tanner ever felt like this. hair surfaces in your bowl, and you pluck it out, grimacing. Maybe you should cut your hair. it’s hot out. DJ had short hair.

a rap on the table — spoon? knuckle? you can’t tell — strikes you. the words reality and wake up and decisions and wasteful are abrasions on your knees, still sore from too many tries on Ben’s skateboard ((he had smiled at your earnestness and kissed away the latent tears , let your body do its healing)).

you do not speak words so much as you give birth to emotions, agonizing and cruel and hideous. you do not know what you say or if you even say it ((dissociation)). but it is metallic in your mouth and turncoat shaking fingers and the sinking sound of unharnessed emotion in your ears.

it is hot and stifling and too much when you leave. nothing is feeling right — that stillness has lodged in your diaphragm again — opaque skies mock you — rain comes and you are colliding with nature and you are losing

Ben is standing underneath the overhang at the library ((it always comes back to the library)) and you wonder if you’re finally hallucinating. you voice forms itself to his name and he turns, damp hair following a few seconds later, and he drops his cigarette at the sight of you.

Exhilaration delivers specks of mud on your legs and arms but it is no matter. the time and space continuum has rectified and he is in front of you, giving you a cigarette, gray t-shirt abstracting to his muscles as much as your vans cling languidly to soggy toes.

he exhales smoke the way he says your name. it is precise and pious and it blooms over you like pink and purple hydrangeas.

Ben sees the gouges in your eyes and chastises your traitorous hands and absorbs you. cigarettes slump, abandoned, as he presses your cheek to his heart ((the conjunction of your logic and heat meeting his fervent center)). you cling to him and he does not resist but molds himself to you. time stops ((it’s an illusion)). rain continues. Ben’s kisses glide along your hairline, your forehead. it tickles and you laugh and his smile takes shape against your frontal cortex.

you pull him into the rain even as he protests ((but he’s laughing and the clouds pause, time takes a breath , are you time)) and you kiss him. it is like something breaks in him or perhaps the rain has induced erosion or maybe he is like you and there is a filigree thread connecting his head with his heart and constructing a railway through his body. Ben is all the lightning — the sky has crowned a new Zeus — you hold him as the thunder in his soul cracks and pulls

((maybe kant was wrong about time and heidegger was right about dwelling and nothing crystallizes in his soul like you do))

the two of you alight to his car ((still unknown yet cordial, native)) and when you reach his building he opens your door and scoops you up in his arms and it is like that first time by the pool ((but nothing is ever like the first time)).

your hand makes a fist in his soggy shirt and his hair is pasted to his forehead and you cannot censor the searing, violent, desideratum swooping over you ((nor can you pause the absurd laugh that gushes out of your heart at his display of exorbitant chivalry)).

“i can walk,” you say as he wades through water that’s now folding over his skin, lapping up his electrolytes.

“yes, dearest, but you can’t swim, can you?” he likes to respond with questions, but this one’s an answer. Ben’s clutching you so tightly that you can’t see his face but you feel the contentment in his tone—it dashes into you like the rain currently encompassing the Earth, hesitant with the effort of exertion, with the weight of metal souls. “I’m just preemptively forbidding a disaster, darling.” there’s a tenderness bridging Ben’s raw power and mischievousness — the network protrudes — extracorporeal ((does he know?))

He cherishes the rain, Ben tells you later, when existence reduces to you and him and incandescent petrichor and the pasticcio of kisses, heartbeats, palms on skin.

___

Ben is not carefree, but he is not serious. it is like he has learned that he can take up space ((empirical)). there is less constriction, tension, stenosis in his body ((the filigree is stretching his limbs)). movements are not languid but nor are they demonstrations of correctness. not slouching — just not strictly upright.

your hair gets tangled, like his sheets, like his legs in yours, and you tell him you want to cut it. An auburn eyebrow lifts archly, and he runs a finger down the length of your arm, tracing the veins ((your life)). “how will I teach you how to swim if you chop off your legs, darling?” Ben’s voice is charcoal. gray, yellow red orange burning, glowing at the edges. He draws up blueprints for cities in your open palm.

You make a quip about the ship of state and he snorts. When he shakes his head, his other hand — the one not serving as an architect on your body — shags through his hair, tanned skin meeting with copper effervescence in a ragged tryst. “i like its hows” he murmurs against your lips and you cannot protest, not when his caustic tongue ices, soothes, pacifies your conflagration.

The two of you are at the pool, again. He’s on his break. The air’s circulation is viscous, shoving over your skins. It straps you in — like the fanny pack around his waist. Ben’s donned his lifeguard pack for work, swapping out his array of gauche accessories for the traditional red and white accoutrement now fastened at his hips.

the most important things in his life, Ben thinks as he inhales the light spice of a Malboro, start with “l”. learning, lady, library, liberty, lake, logos, love. he doesn’t know from where last word originates; he must learn ((connaître ou savoir?)). in his experience, there’s no such thing as luck. He feels like a character in one of those war movies filmed right before he was born, smoking lucky strikes in a foxhole and just trying to stay alive, goddamnit, just trying to get through the war.

The two of you are always watching each each other. The obtuse phenomenology plays out like a courtly masquerade. veritas, quid est veritas, for here both object and deception are degrees of truth. He smirks around the cigarette and you blush but your eyes hold his and you catch his approval and stuff it inside your heart.

Ben takes your hand and places it on his thigh as you speak. the two of you are straddling a lacquered yellow beach chair, offensive in its self-confidence. he leans forward and touches his forehead to yours. he likes to take initiative — he is making use of his knowledge, he told you once, mumbled and sleepy, when you had whispered the question against his shoulder late one night.

Ben brings himself nearer to you. sweat — splashes — dangling exertions — smoke — sunscreen. it all plays about your lips and in your blood and in his hands that keep yours pressed against his flesh. someone yells at him to get his ass back to work and Ben rolls his eyes.

“duty calls.” his actions, the chair: they embolden you to dip your voice, your thoughts, mayhap you actions to a lower register.

He ducks his head to peer at your face, like that first time when you were falling over ((but nothing is like the first time)). as he passes the remainder of the cigarette to you, the words he speak sound like him, carry his weight, refracted starlight from coal. “we all have a duty. even you.” Ben doesn’t need to say his duties; they are his life, his schedule, the notebooks in haphazard stacks under the bed, his tin cups of pens. you wonder if you are part of his list ((if the cables have let you traverse the journey from his heart to his head)).

when you tell him that he is diamond but you a like one of those new gems they make in labs — what are they called — moissanite, he shakes his head. “you are not so scientific, darling.” fingers squeeze yours. “you are burning skies and delimitations and biting stars — the most natural things that exist.”

((you are not sure if you believe him, because nothing is like the first time)).

#obi-wan x reader #obi wan x reader #obi-wan x you #obi wan x you #obi-wan imagine #usernobie #fic: breathless #afogocado #i had so much fun writing this #am v emo for ben kenobi #can he pls kiss me in the rain #(that's all i want)#is this an idfic?#idec #cris writes

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years

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Written In The Stars LIX (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: This is almost the same as in the book only I added some stuff about Mel’s parents ig lmao -Danny

Words: 2,181

Warnings: This is all drama.

Series’ Masterlist

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Chapter Eighteen: The Animagi.

"You're both mental." Ron said in disbelief.

"Ridiculous!" said Hermione.

"Peter Pettigrew's dead! He killed him twelve years ago!" Harry pointed at Black.

"I meant to, but little Peter got the better of me... not this time, though!"

Black threw himself over the bed to reach for Scabbers, hurting Ron in the process. Mel pushed him away yelling.

"Don't touch him!"

A small wave shot off of her then, strong enough to move Black to the other side of the raggedy mattress.

"Sirius, NO!" Lupin yelled, reaching for his friend and sitting him up. Black was looking at her with curiosity. "WAIT! You can't do it just like that — they need to understand — we've got to explain —"

"We can explain afterwards!" Black snapped back, turning to face him.

"They've — got — a — right — to — know — everything! Ron's kept him as a pet! There are parts of it even I don't understand! And Harry — you owe Harry and Mel the truth, Sirius!"

Black's eyes moved from the rat to her face, briefly meeting her gaze. There was something in the way he looked at her, something close to recognition.

"All right, then. Tell them whatever you like. But make it quick, Remus. I want to commit the murder I was imprisoned for..."

"You're nutters, both of you," said Ron holding Scabbers tightly against his chest. "I've had enough of this. I'm off."

"Don't be stupid," Mel replied, turning to face him. "You can't move."

Ron ignored her, he tried to get up on his own, but Lupin raised his wand again, pointing it at Scabbers. Mel was quick to raise her wand at him.

"You said you weren't going to hurt us."

"I won't. You're going to hear me out," He said quietly. "Just keep a tight hold on Peter while you listen, Ron."

"HE'S NOT PETER, HE'S SCABBERS!" Ron yelled in exasperation. He lost his balance and Harry caught him, helping him back on the bed.

"There were witnesses who saw Pettigrew die," Harry said calmly. "A whole street full of them..."

"They didn't see what they thought they saw!" Black exclaimed, with the remnants of his old insanity showing up.

"Everyone thought Sirius killed Peter. I believed it myself — until I saw the map tonight. Because the Marauder's map never lies. Peter's alive. Ron's holding him, Harry."

Mel wasn't looking at her friends, her wand still pointing at her uncle. She was starting to feel a bit drained after her boost of energy. She knew that if she had to, she wouldn't be able to hurt her uncle. She still saw him as her family, the only man that had made his part as some sort of fatherly figure. Yet, he was helping the one that had caused her to live without a father in the first place, and the deafening silence behind her let her know that the boys weren't believing even a bit of the man's story.

"But Professor Lupin... Scabbers can't be Pettigrew... it just can't be true, you know it can't..." Hermione started.

"Why can't it be true?" Lupin asked.

"Because... because people would know if Peter Pettigrew had been an Animagus. We did Animagi in class with Professor McGonagall. And I looked them up when I did my homework — the Ministry of Magic keeps tabs on witches and wizards who can become animals; there's a register showing what animal they become, and their markings and things... and I went and looked Professor McGonagall up on the register, and there have been only seven Animagi this century, and Pettigrew's name wasn't on the list —"

"Right again, Hermione!" Lupin said through a chuckle. "But the Ministry never knew that there used to be four unregistered Animagi running around Hogwarts."

"If you're going to tell them the story, get a move on, Remus," Black growled. "I've waited twelve years, I'm not going to wait much longer."

"All right, but you'll need to help me, Sirius," said Lupin, "I only know how it began..."

The bedroom door opened. Lupin got nearer and looked out into the landing.

"No one there..."

"This place is haunted!" said Ron.

"It's not," The man replied casually. "The Shrieking Shack was never haunted... The screams and howls the villagers used to hear were made by me."

Mel blinked in surprise, her hand slowly lowering on its own while her uncle continued his story. He'd mentioned it before, the Willow had been planted on the year he arrived at school, and it was right above the passageway that led to this place... a place to hide and avoid hurting others.

"My transformations in those days were — were terrible. It is very painful to turn into a werewolf. I was separated from humans to bite, so I bit and scratched myself instead. The villagers heard the noise and the screaming and thought they were hearing particularly violent spirits. Dumbledore encouraged the rumor... Even now, when the house has been silent for years, the villagers don't dare approach it... But apart from my transformations, I was happier than I had ever been in my life. For the first time ever, I had friends, five great friends. Sirius Black... Peter Pettigrew... and, of course, your parents — James, Matthew, and Emily."

She knew it by now, how close all of them were. Yet, she felt like it was all dream, that soon someone would wake her and say she was imagining things, that she and Harry had nothing in common and those secrets were all product of her imagination. She was tired of all the secrets. When Mel had asked him how'd he gotten his scars her uncle had said 'I was really clumsy as a child'. She had laughed at that, thinking all kinds of fun adventures involving him, now thinking of what really entailed those scars, her heart felt heavy.

"Now, my friends could hardly fail to notice that I disappeared once a month. I made up all sorts of stories. I told them my mother was ill, and that I had to go home to see her. I was terrified they would desert me the moment they found out what I was. But of course, they, like you, worked out the truth... Your parents were quite clever, Mel. They could sense a lie from miles away, but the really impressive thing was that they didn't desert me at all. Instead, they did something for me that would make my transformations not only bearable, but the best times of my life. They became Animagi."

"My dad too?" asked Harry in amazement.

"Yes, indeed," said Lupin. "Your mother didn't, Mel. Emily decided to stay out of it, she wasn't eager to turn into a bunny –She always joked about how she was sure that she'd turn into one of those fluffy white ones..." Lupin laughed quietly. "It took them the best part of three years but your fathers and Sirius were the cleverest students in the school, and lucky they were, because the Animagus transformation can go horribly wrong — one reason the Ministry keeps a close watch on those attempting to do it. Peter needed all the help he could get from James, Matt, and Sirius. Finally, in our fifth year, they managed it. They could each turn into a different animal at will."

"But how did that help you?" said Hermione.

"They couldn't keep me company as humans, so they kept me company as animals," said Lupin. "A werewolf is only a danger to people. They sneaked out of the castle every month under James's Invisibility Cloak. They transformed... Peter, or Matt, as the smallest of our group, could slip beneath the Willow's attacking branches and touch the knot that freezes it. They would then slip down the tunnel and join me. Under their influence, I became less dangerous. My body was still wolfish, but my mind seemed to become less so while I was with them."

"Hurry up, Remus."

"I'm getting there, Sirius, I'm getting there... well, highly exciting possibilities were open to us now that we could all transform. Soon we were leaving the Shrieking Shack and roaming the school grounds and the village by night. Sirius and James transformed into such large animals, they were able to keep a werewolf in check. Matt's had sharp claws and a strong beak, he could hurt if he wanted to. I doubt whether any Hogwarts students ever found out more about the Hogwarts grounds and Hogsmeade than we did... And that's how we came to write the Marauder's Map, and sign it with our nicknames. Sirius is Padfoot. Peter is Wormtail. James was Prongs and Ruddy..."

"My dad," Mel frowned. "Why?"

Lupin smiled.

"The bird he turned into was covered in Scarlet feathers– we thought it was funny, back then many things seemed funny to us."

"What sort of animal — ?" Hermione cut Harry's question.

"That was still really dangerous! Running around in the dark with a werewolf! What if you'd given the others the slip, and bitten somebody?"

"A thought that still haunts me, and there were near misses, many of them. We laughed about them afterwards. We were young, thoughtless — carried away with our own cleverness. Matt and I sometimes felt guilty about betraying Dumbledore's trust, of course... he had admitted me to Hogwarts when no other headmaster would have done so, and Matt had been almost a son to him, and he had no idea that we were breaking the rules he had set down for my own and others' safety. He never knew I had led four fellow students into becoming Animagi illegally. But I always managed to forget my guilty feelings every time we sat down to plan our next month's adventure. And I haven't changed..."

Her father was an animagi and he felt just as guilty as her for betraying Dumbledore's trust, she thought that maybe all of the Dumbledores would always feel a burden to carry out their name proudly, even if they didn't have anything special.

"All this year, I have been battling with myself, wondering whether I should tell Dumbledore that Sirius was an Animagus. But I didn't do it. Why? Because I was too cowardly. It would have meant admitting that I'd betrayed his trust while I was at school, admitting that I'd led others along with me... and Dumbledore's trust has meant everything to me. He let me into Hogwarts as a boy, and he gave me a job when I have been shunned all my adult life, unable to find paid work because of what I am. And so I convinced myself that Sirius was getting into the school using dark arts he learned from Voldemort, that being an Animagus had nothing to do with it... so, in a way, Snape's been right about me all along."

"Snape?" said Black, suddenly he was just as interested in the story as the rest of the kids. "What's Snape got to do with it?"

"He's here, Sirius. He's teaching here as well." He turned to the children. "Professor Snape was at school with us. He fought very hard against my appointment to the Defense Against the Dark Arts job. He has been telling Dumbledore all year that I am not to be trusted. He has his reasons you see, Sirius here played a trick on him which nearly killed him, a trick which involved me —"

Black scoffed.

"It served him right," He replied dryly. "Sneaking around, trying to find out what we were up to, hoping he could get us expelled..."

"Severus was very interested in where I went every month. We were in the same year, you know, and we — er — didn't like each other very much. He especially disliked James. Jealous, I think, of James's talent on the Quidditch field... anyway, Snape had seen me crossing the grounds with Madam Pomfrey one evening as she led me toward the Whomping Willow to transform. Sirius thought it would be — er — amusing, to tell Snape all he had to do was prod the knot on the tree trunk with a long stick, and he'd be able to get in after me. Well, of course, Snape tried it — if he'd got as far as this house, he'd have met a fully grown werewolf — but your father, who'd heard what Sirius had done, went after Snape and pulled him back, at great risk to his life... Snape glimpsed me, though, at the end of the tunnel. He was forbidden by Dumbledore to tell anybody, but from that time on he knew what I was..."

"So that's why Snape doesn't like you," said Harry. "because he thought you were in on the joke?"

"And that's why he treats us like rubbish?" Mel asked bitterly. "We just remind him too much of his old bullies?"

"That's right," A cold voice said behind Lupin.

Severus Snape was pulling off the Invisibility Cloak, his wand pointing directly at Lupin.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@tiphareth2018 @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @celestialhayi @mikariell95 @omiwashere @thesuitelifeofafangirl @reverse-hxlland @steve-thotgers @kylosleftbuttcheek @tomshollandz

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter xoc #harry potter fanfiction #Sirius Black #Remus Lupin #hermione granger #ron weasley #severus snape #WITT fic

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ikesenlemonadestandstories · 6 years

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Lightning In Her Soul

Good afternoon party people! Here is part three of the Retrograde Spell story. For previous installments and all my other Ikesen works click the here for the master list! Enjoy the read!! I may or may not have been listening to some super intense music while I was typing this (o.o) so ya know...

xoxo

Admin T~

[YN]

You were fuming when your brother came on over the system “Way to not escalate that situation idiot. I know you’re not super good with your words but what was that?”

You huffed “I couldn’t help it. You heard them. Absolutely incredulous lot of men. You’re sure I had to go with them?”

“Yes now stop talking, someone’s coming.” you had to resist the urge to answer your brother but you managed as Ishida Mitsunari glided up behind you.

“Excuse me Karasu-san, would you allow me to show you to your room?” He was polite, always had been. If not a little confused but it was a weird situation. You gave him a smile since he was the only one that seemed to treat you with any shred of respect.

“Please. Also we’re about the same age and while I appreciate the formality, I would like it if you called me (YN).” His eyes went wide, and you noticed they were a beautiful swirl of amethyst.

“If you insist, but then please feel free to refer to me as Mitsunari.” he had a soft smile, one that made your heart flutter. I’m sure he was quite popular around here with the maids.

“Alright, thanks. Mitsunari. Now, which way to this room?”

It had been almost a month now and while you were slowly warming up to the others Mitsunari was the only one you ever really sought out for company. Every so often Mitsuhide or Masamune would drop by, but Mitsuhide was clearly still trying to figure out what your objective in staying with people you disliked so much was and Masamune wanted in your proverbial pants...so you had started avoiding being alone with them as much as possible.

You had been told to do whatever girly things you wanted so in a show of defiance you had started cleaning the halls, rearranging the flowers, dusting the rooms, doing laundry, and all other manner of household chores. Mitsunari had tried to help you several times but it was clear that for as smart as he was, he was equally as clumsy with these sorts of things. Though nothing quite compared to his general inability to make and pour tea...how had he even managed up until now.

One day you were dusting the book shelves in the library when you stumbled upon Mitsunari at a table in the back reading. You hadn’t seen him today yet, so this is where he had been? He had seated himself by a small window probably for natural light, but the sun was setting.

“How can you possibly see anything in this low light?” though you hadn’t thought you were being quiet he didn’t respond. Curious. I guess he wants me to leave him alone. Shrugging your shoulders you headed to the Main Hall feeling a little disappointed.

Dinner came and went, and you never did see him drop by to join everyone...I wonder if he’s still reading. Overhearing Hideyoshi and Masamune's conversation a few spaces down the table, you headed off on a new mission.

“This is the third dinner he’s missed this week...what are we going to do with him?” Hideyoshi commented.

“I’ve found the most effective tactic is to just take off his glasses, that usually breaks him from that spell he puts himself in.” Masamune explained

Quietly excusing yourself, you made for the library, sure enough he was still in the back cornerwhere you had left him. You weren’t even sure he had moved, if it wasn’t for the now lit candle he could easily have been mistaken for a statue.

…

[Mitsunari]

Something was very clearly wrong. I had stopped not to long ago to illuminate the space so I could continue reading but now all the characters on the page were blurring together. I looked up and my eyes focused in on (YN) holding a tray of food and my glasses. Oh.

“Is it time to eat already?”

“No, you missed dinner. I overheard something and figured you hadn’t moved all day though, so I talked the kitchen staff into letting me make you something.”

Trying not to let the surprise show too much I thanked her for the meal and started eating.

“This is very good, usually Masamune is the one that feeds me.”

She giggled and the room seemed to sparkle, I wonder why.

“Dork, you really should pay more attention to stuff like this. Weren’t you getting hungry?”

Now that I think about it, I was.

Before I knew it (YN) was bringing me food almost every time she found me in that library corner. It was something I now greatly looked forward to. I began realizing I was much less focused as the natural light in the library began to fade, I’m sure it had something to do with knowing she would be arriving soon with something delicious she had made.

I had been waiting for her for a bit now, completely unable to concentrate on the tactical book I was reading. I had already lit the candle and my stomach was audibly complaining. This was unlike her, but then again, something may have come up...she had become very diligent in running the castle after all. Making my way out of the library, leaving a note behind in the event we missed each other, I went to go look for her.

Searching for what seemed like a lifetime, only to have everyone tell me they hadn’t seen her today, which was discouraging and a little concerning. There was a knot forming in my stomach, something was not right. The sun had set hours ago and it was raining, a thunderstorm disturbing the warm summer night. I would try her room one last time, but I may need to notify the others at this rate.

As I traveled the halls to her room, a group of five or six maids scurried past soaking wet. Why had they been outside in this weather. They bowed to me, and went on there way. As they were rounding the corner I heard a snippet of their conversation, in a panic I took off for (YN)’s room.

Sure enough there was a candle lit, and it sounded like she was talking with someone. Knocking just enough to let her know I was coming in I slid the door open. She was in the middle of her room, black hair slick and dripping from the rain, water was running in rivulets down the expanse of her bare back, puddling on the tatami below her. Wait. Bare back? Oh no. My entire face went hot but I was too shocked to move. She turned her head around at my mumbling an apology, her eyes were dangerous at first, a deep orange that held me frozen in place. Something had happened. Before she turned her head away the storm lifted and friendly honey colored pools danced in the fire light.

“If you’re going to stand there, at least shut the door.”

She pulled her hair in front of her to wring it out and my eyes locked onto her back as I slid the door behind me. Covering the expanse of her pale porcelain skin was a stark black design mimicking a wing and talons. Oh I get it, Karasu means crow, that must be a family emblem. Unthinking and enchanted by the intricate lines, I moved behind her, my fingers tracing the complexities of the design, only stopping when she shuddered under my touch.

“Ah, I’m sorry!” I bowed deeply. Why had I done that? “I didn’t...I didn’t mean to intrude. I’ll wait out in the hallway.”

Backing away quickly I headed straight for the door. As my hand reached the soft wooden handle she grabbed my shoulder and squeezed.

“Wait,” her eyes were darting around the room, looking at everything but me, as a soft rose color decorated her cheeks. “I could actually use the help.” flashing her very bloody arm at me.

...

[YN]

You had been out in town running errands, along the way picking up food here and there that you could use for your meal with Mitsunari tonight. He had become increasingly aware of your presence and it was getting harder and harder to sneak up on him while he was reading. Just the other day he actually caught your wrist as you made for his glasses before smiling the brightest smile you had ever seen. He had you seeing stars ever since, but he seemed so oblivious to the entire thing so you would just have to continue to swoon with the rest of the female castle staff.

Speaking of castle staff, a few of the women who worked the kitchen were over by one of the food stalls, presumably picking out ingredients for tonight's meal. You walked over to join them for the rest of the afternoon’s shopping adventure.

It was the last stall before you started getting into ‘sketchy’ territory and the sky looked like it could open up any minute. Just as you though the green color to the sky was a tad ominous you brother spoke up over the communication system. You ducked into the neares alley so you could have a quick conversation with him.

“I hate to ruin your shopping trip.”

“So don’t” you replied before he could finish. With a deep sigh, you laughed imagining the face he was making right now, he continued.

“I’m picking up a signal on the outskirts of Azuchi, I want to ask you to check it out but I’m a little concerned it’s a trap to lure you away from the castle.”

“Glad I’m not the only one…” you replied to Yuuto.

He had been right, the blip he had been picking up had been a diversion, and because of that you were now stuck out in the rain protecting a flock of kitchen maids from four QA grunts. It’s not like they were hard to manage, but with all of these people to protect you attention wasn’t exactly where you needed it to be.

The last of them lunged for one of the girls towards the back, without thinking you stepped in front blocking as best you could. A searing pain shot through your left arm as you behead the monster immediately.

“Lady (YN), are you alright!” the girls behind you screamed. One of them grabbed your now bleeding arm to examine it, sucking in a breath through your teeth to keep from yelping.

“I’m fine thank you, I’ve had much worse.” they looked horrified “See I’m not actually a princess, but shhh, Nobunaga doesn’t want anyone to know. I was raised in a Samurai family and my father thought it important for his daughters to be able to protect themselves from the evils of this world.” You came up with the most believable excuse you could on the fly hoping they would buy into it.

“Oh that makes sense! As thanks for saving us we won’t tell a sole!” They bowed deeply to you.

“Ahh, no need to be so formal, what do you say we get out of the rain before we all catch colds?” and with that you headed back to the castle.

Parting with the maids in front of your room, lighting a candle and shutting the door behind you Yuuto spoke up. “You know...you don’t do a very good job of blending in.”

“What did you want me to do...just let them get attacked.” You started working off your soaked kimono

“I mean no...but you should at least be more careful. You could have put on your armor in places not visible...you know...like on your arm...I’m not there to fix you. When you do stuff like that it makes me worry plus it would have saved you a lot of clean up.”

“I know, I know, but thanks for worrying...I’ll do better next time.” with one last response for the evening you slide the fabric past your shoulders down your back. As it stuck to your rear you heard a wrap on your door, and before you could answer you heard it slide open. Great...please don’t be Masamune…

Looking over your shoulder you saw Mitsunari, his normally opalescent amethyst eyes now clouded to reflect a dark violet, reminiscent of a byzantine tapestry. No sooner did he flush red clearly frozen in shock. Blushing would only make this worse so you calmed your now racing heart and with a hint of casual, albeit forced, indifference you asked him to at least shut the door. A soft shifting noise let you know the door had been shut, taking the opportunity to wring out your hair. Concentrated on the slight burning in your forearm when you made a fist you hadn’t noticed him creep closer until he was tracing the outlines of your tattoo, you shuddered involuntarily when he reached the sensitive part of your back right along your spine. Lightning coursing through your veins as your heart rate picked up to match the pace of the storm raging outside.

He had tried to leave the room apologising for touching you, but he had made you feel warm and you weren’t quite ready to give that up yet. Thinking of an excuse to keep him in the room with you, you grabbed his shoulder and flashed your wounded arm.

“Wait, I could use the help.”

Since that incident the idea was to just keep a low profile and discreetly fight the Quandom Army when they popped up. You had been relatively successful, minus the fan club of maids you were starting to attract, until today...when they showed up in the hallway.

You had never been delicate. Never, and you were not about to start now. There had to be about eight small fries and another exceptionally large ogre of an experiment blocking the hall.

“You guys new? Haven’t seen you around, either way...I can’t really let you past here. Private party going on inside and all.” Knowing that the six warlords were currently in the Main Hall beyond you finishing up a late night war counsel.

“Why do you insist on talking to them...you know they don’t understand you (YN)” Yuuto chimed in. You brother had been assisting you throughout these last few weeks in building plans with your sister to help you two keep history on track, plus it was nice to have someone to talk to during the day.

“I don’t know...I’m an enigma. Besides how come you only ever speak up when I’m in trouble...don’t feel like just talking.” you drew you blade, waiting for them to advance.

“Can we focus please...that last one is massive! You’re exasperating.”

…

[Mitsunari]

We had spent the back half of the war counsel after everyone else had been dismissed talking about the princess, or (YN) rather. It was clear everyone here trusted her now, even Hideyoshi couldn’t deny her efforts in the castle. Nobody out to get the lord of a palace would go to such lengths to see a hallway shine like that. Especially an enemy’s hallway.

About a week into her stay with us she had started running errands for the maids and pages when Nobunaga gave assignments, especially in dangerous parts of the city or in the evenings.

She showed no fear in dancing with Mitsuhide in a battle of wits, every so often she would surprise us with a win.

(YN) had been dropping off herbs and medicines at Ieyasu’s manor and had played a large part in assisting the injured soldiers who had returned from the field after we arrived back at the castle last week.

Masamune would sit in the kitchen’s and watch her make her own food, she had stopped humoring his flirting long ago, but he was still following her around hoping to get a taste of whatever smelled so wonderful.

I also found the little breaks she offered me by visiting while I was in the library quite wonderful. She always had food or tea with her, and she never talked too much. She had terrific people reading skills. I wanted to know more about her, I wanted to know why she had come back soaking wet and bleeding two weeks ago, I wanted to know where she came from, why did she have a sword, who was she always talking to, what had she been doing before we found her?

I found myself wishing her mind were the open pages of a book, and while they were closed off now, I wanted to figure out how to gain access to the library behind her eyes, those bright amber eyes that flickered and danced like a fire.

“Hello, anyone home?” Masamune’s hand was waving in front of my face bringing me out of my thoughts.

“I apologise what is it you were asking me?”

“You seem to be the closest to her. Do you have any idea why the kitchen maids seem to be smitten with the young princess? They fawn over her the way they do for Hideyoshi...it’s...different” Mitsuhide spoke.

He had to be talking about the maids that I saw coming back the same night (YN) was injured, but even I wasn’t sure what had gone down that evening. Without anything concrete to go off of I responded the best I could without tipping anyone off. “I cannot fathom a reason, unfortunately.”

There was a creak followed by a loud pop and we had part of an answer, as (YN) came bursting through the paneling of the shogi door. She appeared to have been thrown across the room, slamming hard against the back wall as three creatures, ones I recognized from the night someone tried to assassinate Nobunaga, lumbered in.

Her eyes were like a prism, sparkling with flashes of vibrant oranges and yellows, like a sun-set playing out in the sky above the clouds before a storm. Paying no heed to anything else in the room. She stood with remarkable grace squaring her shoulders to the beasts, taking a strong stance sword drawn. It was clear to everyone in the room now she hadn’t lied about being well versed in warfare.

“Well guess that’s that. Yuuto, my cover has officially been blown...can I please just decimate these things?”

Yuuto? Who was she talking to. There was no verbal reply from anyone in the room but her eyes shined and a terrifying smile graced her normally sweet features.

“Fantastic.”

The air around her shuddered momentarily and as if I had blinked she was now standing before the room covered head to toe in soul swallowing black. Clad in what appeared to be lightweight armor glowing the same radiant orange as her eyes where the plates met.

Masamune was standing urging everyone back to give space, this had to be serious if even he wasn’t looking to engage. Hideyoshi turned to him “These look like the men that attacked us at Honnoji, how did you manage to defeat them that night?”

He said four words and my heart sank to my stomach, thundering in my chest. “I didn’t...she did.”

Shouting as her blade sliced through one, it disappearing in a fog of thick purples and gray. “Wasn’t me, hrk” she grunted as she perried a monsterous swing. “I was dealing with Nobunaga...it was probably my sister.”

She moved much faster than anyone I had ever seen. Racing at them, an unfamiliar, shrill hollow clang echoed through the hall as their swords continued to meet. Seeing an opening she kicked up hard connecting her foot right underneath it’s jaw, it teetered. Taking the opportunity she drove her sword forward through the center of it, and it burst into a kaleidoscope of fragments dark as the night.

A heavy silence filled the room, the only thing to hear was her heavy breathing. The floor was littered with remnants of clothing and weapons but not a single body could be seen, there was no blood except for the drops flowing from her injuries. Everything had just vanished in a blast of smoke. I would call it a fever dream if not for the five other witnesses in the room, or the fact that it seemed to fill in the last gap of the puzzle. Now it made sense why her body had been littered with small scars, presumably from old battles. These creatures were the reason she appeared to be a walking tapestry of near-misses and fights we could never dream of.

Sheathing her sword she tapped the gemstone attached to her choker. As the black armor disappeared so did her strength. She sank to her knees, closing her eyes letting her head roll back as she exhaled deeply. We made eye contact befor she offered me a bright and familiar smile.

“So who wants to go first?”

Tagging @little-mini-me-world have a blast!

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikésen #ikémen sengoku #ikesen mitsunari #cybird #fanfic #short story #my story #angry music was involved in the making of this fic #part 30

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lavalampelfchild · 6 years

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Sins of the Father?

Cyrion had tried to keep his reservations to himself, at first. He had tried to keep quiet as Adaia had begun to teach little Ila the skills and tricks with her knives and swords and all those other things Adaia had taken with her from her previous life.

At first, he had even tried to watch, because it was his daughter, and he had wanted to support her as she learned.

That hadn’t lasted long. Watching Adaia methodically go about laying the foundation that would destroy their child’s innocence, that would stamp out that inquisitive nature of hers he loved so much, dampen her spirit and crush her imagination… Cyrion had been unable to continue watching for long, so he had left. Seeing it had only made him irrationally angry, and he should never be angry with his wife, not for trying to help their child.

He had prayed to the Maker, to Andraste, reflected by the Vhenedahl, but the anger had not left him.

He knew Adaia’s fiery nature, knew that she was enraged by the injustices the elves faced daily from the humans, and he had thought himself remarkably patient for having tolerated it as long as he had.

It seemed he was not so patient as he’d thought.

So the frustration built, and the anger with it, until one day, Cyrion saw Ila burst through the door of their home, boasting of the techniques her mother had taught her, and he could no longer stand it.

“I just don’t see why she needs to learn these things,” he said in a low voice as Adaia entered the house after Ila, proud smile on her face.

The smile fell as soon as Cyrion spoke. Luckily, Ila had moved away from them both, distracted with practicing the movements her mother had taught her. She’d taken up their broom and was using it as a sword. The anger clenched in Cyrion’s chest, mixed with sadness.

Adaia looked from her daughter to her husband, drawing a guarded expression over her features.

“We’ve talked about this, Cyrion,” she replied, careful to match the quiet tone of Cyrion’s voice.

At least she has some control, Cyrion thought cruelly. He winced in shame as soon as the thought finished.

“You agreed that it would be a good idea to teach her a means to defend herself—” Adaia continued, frustratingly rational, and that angered Cyrion further.

“I know!” he hissed. “But it’s—I didn’t think—” He turned his attention back to Ila, avoiding Adaia’s gaze. Their young daughter danced about with the broom, narrating a romantic yarn about a heroic elven princess – her favorite to tell and hear – using her mother’s skills to save the alienage castle from the evil mage bandits.

Cyrion shook his head, brow furrowing. He turned to Adaia, gesturing tersely at Ila.

“She thinks it’s no different from dancing, Adaia,” he exclaimed, voice quivering with the effort to keep quiet. Adaia stiffened. Cyrion kept on, “She doesn’t understand what you’re trying to teach her, she doesn’t understand that you’re teaching her to hurt people!”

“I’m not teaching her to hurt people, I’m teaching her to defend herself!” Adaia hissed back.

“She doesn’t need to be defended when she’s here!” Cyrion’s voice rose for just a moment, and all it took for him to correct himself was a single flicker of Adaia’s eyes over to Ila and back.

Adaia’s eyes narrowed and her nostrils flared. “Tell me you’re not that naïve.”

“I—” Cyrion began, helplessly waving his hand. “I just want her to have a chance to live her life without needing to—to…” Adaia let him run out of words, silent and still, and Cyrion hated it, felt patronized and embarrassed. The frustrated and furious sadness only pulled a tighter knot in his stomach, roiling in its own helplessness.

“I know,” Adaia replied, suddenly sounding tired. “I know what you want for her, and I want it too. But I’m not willing to lie to either one of us about it. The world isn’t kind to people like us, Cyrion, but that doesn’t mean we should try to hide from it.”

“Why are you yelling?”

Cyrion jumped and whirled to see Ila facing them across the room, no longer dancing, broom still in hand. She looked between them both, and Cyrion was struck by her in that moment, a sharp girl with sharp eyes, so like her mother. He forced a smile onto his features.

“It’s nothing, princess,” he answered brightly. Ila’s eyes continued to flit between him and Adaia. Cyrion reached for her hand and began to lead her outside. “Come. Let’s go find Shianni, shall we? I’m sure she’d love to see how much better you’ve gotten.” He leaned down conspiratorially. “Do you think she’s practiced as much as you?”

Ila puffed out her chest.

“No, she probably just kept falling over. She’s so clumsy on her feet.”

Ila began to pull Cyrion toward the door, newfound goal in mind, showing no sign she’d ever heard her parents arguing. As he reached the door, Cyrion turned back to glance at Adaia. His heart clenched at the look on her face.

He knew she was right about the world, he knew that. The elves were kept down because the humans declared it, and it wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair. And no amount of quiet resistance would change that.

But why did it always have to be fighting instead? Why did his little girl have to give up her fantasies and dreams to learn the truth? Cyrion just wanted her to be happy, to have her place in the world, one that she deserved, without having to spill blood to get there.

Cyrion didn’t know if that made him naïve or not.

Turning his attention back to his daughter, Cyrion allowed her to lead him out of their home and into the blinding sunlight outside.

A/N: I love writing backstory stuff for my Wardens. So much love for the families and friends of their prologues, and Cyrion was no different. I headcanon that he and Adaia disagreed about whether or not to teach Ila all of Adaia’s rogue (my Tabris was a duel-wielding rogue) skills, and they never really resolved any of it before Adaia was killed. And after humans killed Adaia for her defiance, Cyrion was scared that he would lose his daughter too if she turned out too much like her mother, so he discouraged her from using those skills too much, and rarely spoke of Adaia.

It also just hurt to speak of her, and Cyrion couldn’t bear to bring her up in front of his daughter, and eventually years passed without him ever having mentioned her more than a few times to his child. There is so much potential for growth and struggle in Cyrion, and I love it.

I have some follow-up ideas floating around for this piece too, as well as maybe a piece from Adaia’s perspective, but this is definitely one I think would be fun to continue, if only because Cyrion’s individual dynamic and potential development is so interesting to me.

#dragon age origins #Ilhenan tabris #ila tabris #female tabris #cyrion tabris #adaia tabris #My writing #just a little something I wanted to write about my Tabris as a child #mostly Cyrion actually #i love him dearly #I have many headcanons for him

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rosaceablues · 6 years

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Convenient pt 2 - a reddie fanfic

(a/n- I am so glad you guys enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed @sparklytoziers original post this is based on, all creative credits to them. As always, feedback is SO appreciated. Enjoy!)

part one

After that encounter, Richie Tozier’s life would never be the same. Well, maybe that’s a tad hyperbolic; Rich always had “a flare for the dramatic” as his mother liked to put it. All he knew was that this pretty boy put knots in his stomach- knots he had no intention of resolving any time in the near future, knots he quite frankly would like to reproduce again soon. He reached his apartment 2 cigarettes later, threw his chips on the kitchen counter, and landed on his mattress, ready to contemplate the day’s events as he did every night. Soon enough Richie was far away and fast asleep.

Since the Derry Community College’s courses for the fall didn’t begin until Tuesday, Richie had resolved to do a whole lot of nothing that fine Monday. However, as he began to brew what he called coffee (the rest of the world would affectionately label it sludge), Rich noticed a neatly folded slip of paper had been passed under his door. In loose cursive were the words “Skate park around the corner. I’ll be there all day. - Bev” This was an offer he could not refuse. Skating was never his forte, but he liked to hang around skaters so this invitation suited him just fine. Due to his late sleep in, he left the apartment at around 2 pm, board in hand and a boy on his mind.

When he reached the dry pool known as Derry Sk8 Zone, Richie spotted his neighbor on the side, looking as comfortable as ever in the loud, warm, crowded area. Beverly perked up and waved when she saw him approaching but remained seated for him to come to her. She was totally in her element here, that was crystal clear.

“I’m so glad you could make it!” she called out as he approached her, gesturing for him to sit on the pavement with her. “Figured we could use some neighborly bonding, see if you pass the evaluation for possible friendship. Cigarette?” Beverly offered her pack, but Rich pulled out his own and lit one, happy to not be thrust into the pool to demonstrate his (lack of) skating skills.

Of course, the two began to talk about the getting to know you basic facts: how many siblings do you have, why are you in Derry, what’s your major, do you like frozen yogurt, the essentials. As the conversation lulled, Richie couldn’t help but to bring up what hadn’t left his mind since the previous night.

“I met this person. Well, I saw them. Met implies we had some introduction,” he started, then took a drag off his dying smoke.

“What does she look like? I probably know her. Did you see her here?”

“Him.”

This was met with a quiet “Ohhh...” from Bev.

This was followed with a “No, no I go both ways. Anyway, he works at that 24 hour convenience store and-” he was interrupted by his new friend not being able to hold in raucous laughter, clutching the sides of the pool so she wouldn’t fall in.

“That BOY is Eddie Kaspbrak and he is the absolute princess of Derry. Listen-” another giggle, “I can help you-” more laughter, then a clearing of the throat as she got a hold of herself once more. “I can help you find another pretty boy because Eddie is the epitome of emotionally unavailable.”

Richie struggled to counter this point, find a reason he alone could get with Eddie, but he had barely encountered the boy, much less knew about their compatibility. “Has he been hurt before or....is he in the closet.... or-”

She interrupted again with “He’s just full of himself, so full he can’t let anyone in.” Another long drag from her dying Menthol. “Sounds like someone else I know pretty well.” Richie could only assume she meant another friend of hers but of course she was ragging on herself. Beverly’s 2 biggest vices were there in that moment: cigarettes and self loathing. Coincidentally, the pair sounded like a kick-ass album name. She filed that away for later use, stretching out on the warm pavement that lined the area as Richie reached for his unused board.

“I think I’m gonna head out. Grab a bite!” This last sentence was said in a Dracula voice, accompanied by a hiss and baring of invisible fangs. It received a small chuckle from the receiving end which Richie counted as a successful land. “Wanna tag along? I sure could use some recommendations for local grubs.”

Beverly flicked her hair off one shoulder and looked back over the kids and teens diving in and out of the pool, contemplating the offer. “Nah. My one day a week off work, I’d rather not spend it in Dixie Diner. That’s the only sort of restaurant you can get in Derry besides the greasy fast food stuff.”

“Hey I happen to like greasy fast food stuff!”

She swatted him away, adding “Get lost, grease-ball!” and sent him off with a kiss blown his way. He caught it and pressed his hand to his cheek, pretending to swoon as he went.

After a hearty meal at what was sure to be a regular stop for him in Dixie Diner, Richie headed home and resolved to watch movies for the rest of the day. The term film junkie was an understatement: the boy was addicted. His major in college was film itself, because, whether he knew it at the time or not, Richie had always wanted to entertain others and bring joy, as cheesy as it was. Sure he had his voices he put on but that was child’s play. He was ready for next level.

Somewhere between The Godfather Part II and Part III he had dozed off on the couch and woke at 11 pm starving and out of cigarettes. Looks like he had to make a little trip down to the local convenience store to grab some grub....

Trying to downplay his excitement of the possibility of seeing Eddie again, he meticulously tied his shoes and locked his door with care, holding back a little skip in his step as he made his way to the store. Richie was overconfident in his ability to procure a date with the so called “princess of Derry,” he thought there was no way in hell he could say no. He just had to muster up the damn courage to ask is all.

Once again, as he entered the little store, no one else was in sight. Richie went to grab some of the nuggets warming under a light, carefully select a soda from the cooler, and- just then Eddie emerged from the back, just as before. However, this time Richie did not drop his drink, but clutched it hard as he attempted to barrel towards the register, knocking over a gum display on the way. Smooth.

The clumsy teen lurched to place his items on the counter before attempting to replace the small display. He chuckled to himself, lifted up a pack of the gum and said, “Guess I just got a little stuck, huh?” with a sheepish grin. Eddie offered a deep sigh and dug his hands into the pocket of his worn jean jacket as he watched the stranger try to clear his mess for the second time. Eddie couldn’t help but smile at the (kinda cute) boy livening up his nighttime shift on a Monday.

He finally rose up from the floor, dusted off his jeans and added “After that sticky situation...” Richie paused for a laugh that was never offered up. “... can I get a pack of green Marlboro's?” This, Eddie remembered from the night before too. He set them on the counter, rang up the items, and received the payment.

“Thanks, Eddie.”

“Wait, how do you know my name...?”

Richie just winked and exited too quickly for the flustered, blushing Eddie to ask his own name in return. Eddie silently prayed that he’d see that dorky, cute stranger every day of his life or never again.

TAG LIST:

@dandeliontozier @sparklytoziers @richietoaster @rrichiettozier

#reddie #it #it 2017 #eddie kaspbrak #richie tozier #fanfiction #it fanfiction

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frostedpuffs · 7 years

Text

A Simple Suggestion - Ch.3

A Simple Suggestion Summary: Breaks from patrol often allow time for Ladybug and Chat Noir to talk and be themselves. But when a silly joke starts to seem all that…well, not silly, the two find themselves considering something neither of them had ever before: moving in together. The tricky part is still keeping their identities a secret. Rated: T+ Pairing(s): Ladybug/Chat Noir

Chapter 3 - A Bad Idea Word count: 5,849 Also read on: ao3

<< Previous Chapter | Next Chapter >>

"You're what!?"

Marinette winced at the loud tone of her best friend's voice. Smiling meekly at Alya's face on the screen of her laptop, she nodded. "Yep. I'm...I'm moving out. Soon, actually."

"How soon?" Alya asked. She sat in her and Nino's little bedroom in the apartment they rented in southern California clad in orange fox pajamas, stuffing a bite of her breakfast into her mouth. Marinette chuckled at the sight of her best friend with her curly hair up in a bun and a half-eaten omelet sitting on the desk in front of her. While it was only eight A.M. in California, it was already dinner time in Paris.

"Probably in less than a month," Marinette replied. Pausing to add lace to a design she was sketching, she smiled, listening to Alya congratulate her from miles and miles away. "I think I've decided on the place, too. It's a little away from central Paris but it's roomy and-"

Alya grinned through a mouthful of food. "Do you have any pictures?"

Marinette nodded and opened up her web browser. "Yeah, I've got the website right here. Want me to send it?"

"Duh."

Sending the link over Skype, Marinette blew her bangs out of her face and leaned back in her chair, lifting her sketchbook up to look over the design. It was supposed to be a ladybug-patterned sundress she would wear around the house, but something was off... "Let me know what you think."

Alya went quiet for a moment. Marinette could see on her screen that her friend was looking at something on her own computer, and after about a minute of scrutinizing, Alya's eyes widened comically.

"What?" Marinette asked.

Continue reading on ao3 or under the cut! ↓

"Um…well, for starters, it's a super cute place. Suits you. I could totally see you living in an apartment like that." Alya sat back in her rolling chair and offered an uncomfortable frown. "But, no offense, Mars...nearly three thousand euros a month just for rent? How in the hell are you going to afford that along with utilities and food and stuff?"

Marinette looked away. Right. She'd forgotten to mention that she might be living with someone else.

(Oh god, Alya was going to kill her when she found out that she was going to live with a guy she'd never met!)

"Well…" Marinette said, twirling a loose strand of hair around her finger. "I've already found myself a roommate."

Alya nearly choked on the last bite of her omelet. "What? Who is it?"

Marinette blanked.

How in the world would a person go about explaining her situation? She couldn't just say, "I don't know, he's Chat Noir and his identity eludes me, oh by the way I'm Ladybug so I trust him," could she?

"Um." Marinette blinked. "A friend."

Both girls went completely silent. It reminded Marinette of the old "pin dropping in a room" cliché. Her cheeks flushed involuntarily and she wasn't even sure why. What was the reason for feeling embarrassed?

Alya leaned closer to the screen and gripped the sides of her laptop. Her eyes burned with questions, and her face was frozen in a serious expression—one that made Marinette slightly frightened of her fate. "Girl," Alya said, voice calm. "In the past year I've been away did you get a secret boyfriend that you haven't told me a single thing about? Because if you did oh my god I don't know what I'd do-"

Marinette's jaw dropped. "N-no!" she squeaked. "No, Alya, I'm single. He's not my boyfriend! He's just a friend and I-"

"So it is a he?"

"What does that matter? You know I'm not straight!"

"Well-!" Alya held up a finger and paused. "You're bi. So it could still be a secret boyfriend."

Marinette buried her face within her palm and snorted. "Alya, oh my god. I do not have a secret boyfriend or girlfriend or datefriend or anything. He's just...he's just a friend I've known for a while. You don't know him."

At least, Marinette assumed she didn't. How could she? It was Chat Noir, not a friend from collége or something. Just Chat. Her other best friend. The one person she trusted with her life and the only person she could imagine herself one hundred percent comfortable living with. Besides Alya and her parents, of course.

"I'm offended I haven't heard anything about him," Alya said. She rested her back against the chair and crossed her arms, a playful smile on her face. "What's his name?"

"Cha-" Marinette clamped her teeth down on her bottom lip before she let "Chat Noir" slip from her clumsy mouth. "Chaaaaa….Shhhaaaa...Chad."

Alya cocked her head to the side. "That's an odd name. Is he American?"

"Yes," Marinette answered without any second thought whatsoever. "Moved here...last year."

God, if this ever got back to Chat he'd never stop laughing. It would be a mix of both hilarity and humiliation. At least him "moving to Paris a year ago" was a valid excuse for Alya not to have met him.

"What's he look like?" Alya asked. She stood from her chair to get dressed and threw her pajama shirt onto her and Nino's bed—who was conveniently out of the room—and Marinette was met with an eyeful of her best friend's bare chest.

"Alya!" Marinette laughed. She cupped a hand over her mouth and shut her eyes. "What are you doing?"

Alya's voice rang distantly through the laptop speakers. "Um, I'm getting dressed? Nino and I are actually going to spend the day together for once since he's not working. He's gonna be home any minute and I wanna look cute. Why are your eyes closed? You've seen me naked before. Need I remind you that we've been best friends for six years and have undressed in front of each other plenty of times?"

Marinette chuckled, eyes still shut. "I'm trying to be polite here."

"Yeah, yeah. Girl's polite and all, whatever."

After a few minutes of shuffling and other related noises, Alya plopped herself back down into her computer chair and Marinette finally opened her eyes to see her friend in a red flannel and jeans. She watched as Alya friend ran a brush through her curly red hair, and grinned when she tugged on a knot. A giggle bubbled from her lips as Alya cursed at the hair brush as if it was at fault for the discomfort.

Once the monster of her hair had been tamed, Alya set the brush down on her desk and scooted the dirtied plate from breakfast to the side. "You didn't answer my question, Mars."

Marinette resumed her sketching. It was best to act nonchalant. "What question?"

"I asked what M. Mysterious Roommate looked like."

"Oh."

Well that was certainly a question Marinette hadn't been prepared to answer. Chat Noir was…hm.

Chat was something. Blond with green eyes, tannish skin, tall and skinny like a professional model; skin-tight suit as black as the night; perfect white teeth and a smile as wide as the sun.

Ugh, but that all sounded so fake. What features could she possibly describe without sounding like she was talking about a character from a young adult novel or a celebrity, for crying out loud?

Glancing up at her laptop screen, Marinette ripped the failed design out of her sketchbook and crumpled it within her hand. So much for that dress. It would get redone later. "He's, um...blond. Green eyes. Wears a lot of black? Pretty skinny…"

"Sounds kinda emo," Alya said.

Marinette squawked out a surprised laugh and began a new sketch on a clean page. "He's not emo!"

"How old is he?"

"Twenty." It was one of the only pieces of personal information Marinette had learned about her partner.

"Aw, same age," Alya cooed.

Marinette gave a playful roll of her eyes. It was always like Alya to tease. That was just how she showed her love.

"What kinda stuff does he like?" Alya asked.

The lead of her pencil snapped, and Marinette cursed. "The same kind of stuff I do, I guess? Video games, art, staying up late…he really likes puns, and cats. Oh god, he loves cats. They're like his whole life. He's practically obsessed."

"So he's a furry?"

"No! Oh my god, Alya-"

Alya turned her head to the side as the sound of keys jingling in a door came from another room. "Nino's home," she said, enthusiasm in her voice. "I'll talk to you later, okay Mari? Love you!"

Giving a wave, Marinette returned the sentiment and went to end the call, but-

"Oh!" Alya exclaimed as she threw her purse over her shoulder. Marinette's hand stilled atop her mouse. "I forgot to tell you! Nino and I are coming back to Paris for a visit next month! I can meet your roomie. He sounds cute. We should all hang out and get drinks or something."

Excitement flared up within Marinette's chest before she froze.

Oh, shit, she thought, mind reeling, heart pounding, eyes the size of the moon. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit! We can't do that!

How in the world would she break the news to Alya that she couldn't meet her roommate because he was, dunno, Chat Noir? Savior of Paris? The number one flirt in the whole city (she assumed)? Ladybug's most trusted partner and friend?

"Uh…" Marinette blanched. Blinking, she shook her head and forced a toothy grin to her face, nodding a bit too vigorously to be entirely convincing. "S-sure, Alya! Sounds fun. I'm so looking forward to see you again!"

"Kisses!" Blowing a kiss to the screen, Alya reached out and ended the call. The screen switched back to the text chat they'd started up an hour ago.

Well.

This was bad.

Marinette's heart felt like it was about to burst from her chest. While she was beyond elated to see her best friend in person again, the fact that Alya wanted to hang out with her and her roommate—Chat Noir—was immeasurably concerning. After all, nobody could find out Marinette was Ladybug, just like nobody could find out Ladybug was Marinette, and the thought that the whole idea altogether was spiralling into an absolute mess made her want to run and hide and- and- she didn't know!

"Tikki," she breathed after a moment. Her head felt heavy and her stomach felt sick. Grabbing a pillow from her side, Marinette stuffed her face within it and screamed. "We're so screwed."

"I'm beginning to think this is a bad idea."

Adrien snapped up from the roof he'd been lying on and regarded his partner with a startled frown. Her face was scrunched up with worry under the low light of the evening sun, and her gaze was thoughtful as wisps of black hair kissed her cheeks in the faint breeze. He raised a brow as she nibbled on her lower lip. She appeared to be nervous...but why? What was causing her to be so distraught?

"Bad idea?" Adrien asked. "What's a bad idea?"

Ladybug loosened her messy hair from her ponytail before fixing it and attempting to put it up again. It took her a few tries, which was unusual; it wasn't like Ladybug to have trouble with such a simple task unless something was really bothering her. "Us. Moving in together," she said, voice quiet. "It might not be too great of an idea."

Adrien's heart sank like a brick hitting the bottom of the Seine. Ouch. Okay, so...they weren't doing this now? The past three days of planning and talking and figuring it all out had been for nothing? But they'd both been so excited! He'd been so happy to think about the possibility of moving out...being on his own...away from his father's eye...

After a moment of internal deliberation, "Oh," was all he could say.

"Don't get me wrong," Ladybug said, laying a hand on his shoulder. "I want to more than anything. But everything right now is looking so...difficult. And I'm starting to think it might not work out."

"It's not like you to give up so easily," Adrien said. He turned to face his Lady and cocked his head to the side, hoping the hurt didn't show on his face. "What's worrying you? You can talk to me about it, Buginette."

A chilly gust of wind blew past them, giving the air an icy tinge to it. A minute passed, then two, and Adrien was beginning to think Ladybug was going to leave his question unanswered before she finally found the courage to speak.

"I'm just fretting over stuff that doesn't need to be fretted about," she said, sounding defeated. Lowering her head, Ladybug examined her fingers, as if she was trying to find something other than the current subject to focus on. "You know how I get sometimes…"

Adrien hummed thoughtfully. There had to be something rooted within her that was causing her to feel anxiety over the notion of them moving in together. Something was bothering her, something recent, and he wanted to find out what. A calm Ladybug was a happy Ladybug. Poor 'Bug got stressed out so easily these days and he wished he knew why.

Giving his partner a reassuring smile, Adrien patted her back. "Tell me what's bothering you, L.B."

Ladybug was silent for what felt like ages—which in reality was only a minute tops—before she let out a breath she'd been holding and submitted. "I had a Skype call with a friend in America today. She's flying in next month for a visit and wants to meet you."

Oh. Well, that was definitely a problem. Adrien could see why something like that would bother her.

"But she can't," he said. Ladybug nodded in agreement.

"No, she can't. And she's not the only one who will want to meet you. I mean, I don't know how my parents would react to learning they'll never see you—probably not well—and I have other friends who'll want to visit." She laid back against the roof and stared up at the sky. "I'm scared we won't be able to work around that and someone, someday, is going to find out who we are. On accident. And it'll be a huge mess."

Ah. Ladybug was worried about people discovering her identity. That's what this was all about.

"Don't worry, 'Bug," Adrien said as he lay back with her. Their shoulders brushed, and he allowed himself a twinge of delight at the touch. "We've kept our identities safe for six years now. We're good with that stuff. I'm sure our friends won't find out so easily, not if I have anything to say about it."

"How do you know for sure?" Ladybug asked. She fiddled with her gloves and nibbled on her bottom lip in a way that shouldn't have been absolutely endearing.

Feeling his lips curl upwards into a smile, Adrien reached out and placed a hand over her own, hoping to calm her nerves. He gave her knuckles a squeeze, and Ladybug responded with a turn of her head. Her eyes sparkled curiously.

"What's on your mind, Chat?" she asked, allowing him to hold her hand for longer than he'd anticipated.

Adrien grinned. What was on his mind?

Even when she was lost in her anxieties, Ladybug was beautiful. There was no denying that. Her bluebell eyes, the way her dark hair had grown down to her lower back, her voice and freckles and how she always knew what to do. Her bravery, her stubbornness, her fiery personality and her absolute everything…

Ugh. He was so far gone. So gone to the point that he'd drowned in Ladybug and never felt the need to breach for air.

"Nothing about how you're the most gorgeous person I've ever met," he said. Ladybug clicked her tongue and pulled her hand away; Adrien mourned the loss of her warmth. "And I was absolutely not thinking about how I'd love to spend the rest of my life with you."

Sitting up, Ladybug sighed restlessly. "Not now, Chat Noir. Stop flirting."

Oh, well. It was worth a shot. Didn't stop him from loving her. Her feelings were more important at the moment however, just like they always were to him, so the compliments and affections could wait for a better time.

"You okay?" Adrien asked, sitting up with her. "You seem really on edge."

"I'm just so worried," Ladybug whimpered. Her voice cracked, and Adrien felt a deep pang of sympathy. "I'm scared we're going to screw up really bad, like what if one of us sleepwalks when another is awake and we're not wearing masks or we come home at the same time or accidentally see each other when we do, or if something terrible happens to either of us-"

Adrien sat down in front of his Lady and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Woah, hey," he said, tone calm; soothing. "It's okay, Ladybug. We'll be alright. There are plenty of ways to prevent accidental reveals, okay? Trust me. We're gonna be extra careful, and we're gonna be okay. I know that. We're gonna be okay."

"I don't know if I can go through with this."

Scratching at the back of his neck, Adrien frowned. Ladybug had a tendency to be overdramatic and blow things out of proportion from time to time, but hopefully she wasn't saying that she wanted to eradicate the idea altogether. It had already been three days since they had decided they would be officially moving in together...which was plenty of time for them both to think things through and make a decision.

(Well, enough time for Adrien specifically to think about how much he couldn't wait to be closer to his partner.)

"Okay," he breathed, black ears drooping against his hair. He sat back beside her and his tail twitched in tune with his nerves. "If you're not comfortable with it, we can totally call it off-"

Ladybug shook her head. "It's not that I'm not comfortable with it," she said, her blue, blue eyes meeting Adrien's, "I'm more than okay with the thought of us living in the same space. The problem is how we're going to get to that stage. We've still got so much to figure out, and the whole 'can't reveal ourselves' thing is going to make it a whole lot harder."

With a thoughtful hum, Adrien nodded. Things were going to be incredibly tedious. They had a lot to discuss, and even more to think about. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, you're right..."

A heavy feeling of sadness washed over him.

Who were they kidding, thinking they could move in together at the drop of a hat? Both he and Ladybug knew that there would be trouble behind the idea, and a plethora of difficulties to overcome. At first, it had admittedly been a nice thought, living under the same roof as the girl he loved...but Adrien knew better. He didn't get that lucky.

No, luck was reserved for the Lady herself. But in this case it seemed that even she was getting the short end of the stick.

Still, it didn't stop Adrien from believing.

"We can figure it out," he said, voice full of what he hoped didn't sound like faux confidence. "If we can defeat akuma on a near daily basis, then we can find a way to get this to work, right? We're a team in and out of the masks."

"I hope so, Chat Noir," Ladybug said. She hugged her knees to her chest and rested her head upon them, eyes cast wistfully at the city below. "I haven't told anyone besides my parents and one friend that I plan on moving out yet. I don't know how I'm going to tell my other friends, because they're going to want to visit, and, well...they don't know I'm Ladybug."

Adrien hadn't really given any thought about friends visiting. What would he do if Nino randomly turned up to hang out and he and Ladybug were both home? Would she have to hide in her room the entire time—pretend she wasn't there? That would be tough, and unfair to his partner. It would be her place too, and Adrien didn't want to force her to stay locked in one room just because he had a guest.

"Maybe we can plan around it?" he offered, voice cracking slightly at the end of his question. "You know, make a day where I can hang out with my friends at our place, you can hang with yours...whichever one of us has company gets a few hours alone at the apartment and the other can have a day out or something. I dunno."

A groan rose from beside him. Adrien looked over to see Ladybug throwing herself backwards against the panels of the roof with a soft clunk. "This is so hard," she whined, draping her forearm over her face. "Why can't stuff like this be easier? I just want to move in with my best friend. That's all I want."

Adrien smiled at his partner's dramatics and reached over to pat her on the shoulder with a chuckle in his throat. "We could just disobey our kwamis and drop the transformations right now and be done with it."

"Chat." Ladybug's expression flattened. She glowered at him from underneath her arm. "No way."

"Hey," he laughed with a shrug, "it was just a simple suggestion." Standing up, he brushed his suit off and stretched, mouth opening in a wide yawn before he placed his hands on his hips and let his gaze fall down to the world below. Cars flowed down the street like a river of red and yellow beams. People walked along the sidewalk, entering and exiting shops left and right. In the distance, Adrien could see the Eiffel Tower's lights switch on just as the sky grew dark, and the sound of a jet zooming above caused his ears to twitch.

He needed to be heading home soon. He had a dinner with his father to attend to within an hour. The news of his leave had to be broken somehow, and he'd thought a peaceful dinner would be a nice way to ease into it. He'd admittedly been surprised his father had accepted his invitation for a "family dinner" on such short notice.

"You know," Adrien began. "I think we'll be okay, Ladybug. I know we have quite a bit of legal stuff to figure out, but what's a few signatures and adult conversations? In the end, it'll be worth it. We'll have our own place and be able to do whatever we want. I could eat cereal at four in the morning and nobody would judge me."

"I would," Ladybug snorted. She kicked her legs over the edge of the building and as her eyes met his, she blessed him with a smile. "I think we'll be okay, too. But I have this feeling that even though I am an adult, I'm not-" she paused to laugh, "-I'm definitely not ready to be one. I mean, learning how to do my taxes was hard enough. How do I take care of a place that's mine? How do I handle that responsibility?"

"Same way you do now, I guess," Adrien said as he sat back down. "Wash the dishes after you use them, take out the trash every night, clean your room once a week and don't leave the oven on while you're out. That's what you do to keep a place clean and safe, right?"

Not that he would know. He'd had people to clean up after him all of his life.

(He was too embarrassed to admit that he had no idea how to use a washing machine.)

"I'm warning you now," Ladybug cautioned. "I'm going to set the apartment on fire. Whichever one we choose, it's going down in flames because of me. That or I'll flood the place."

Cocking one of his felt ears, Adrien laughed. So much for reassuring her. "Jeez, Buginette. Have some faith in yourself, okay? Also in me. I can totally keep you from igniting the kitchen or something."

"How? You have no idea how clumsy I am at times."

"I seem to recall that the first time we met, you called yourself maladroit after nearly giving me a concussion with your yo-yo."

Ladybug grinned as she playfully punched him in the side. "You shut your mouth."

"Meowch," Adrien snickered as he rubbed the spot she'd assaulted. Despite her best efforts to be gentle, it still hurt. "You know, I change my mind. I think living with you is gonna be unbearfurble. Absolutely catastrophic. Pawful. A hissterical-"

Ladybug buried her head within her palms and groaned. "Oh my god, one more pun and I'm going to punt you across the city, Chat Noir, I swear to god-"

"Wait," he pleaded, laughter in his voice, "one more, one more. It'll be appawling-"

Adrien squawked as Ladybug began to push him off of the edge of the roof. Oh, now he'd done it. He'd punned too much. He had punned one pun too many. Somehow, he had always known this was the way he would die: from puns. His fate was sealed. Done. Completed. Do not pass go, do not collect the twenty euro reward.

"Imagine the headlines," Adrien said, clapping a hand over his head dramatically as his partner attempted to throw him off of the music shop they'd been resting upon. "Paris' most beloved hero, Chat Noir, was murdered to death last night by renowned super-heroine Ladybug. He was thrown off a building around seven P.M.-"

"Murdered to death," Ladybug guffawed. She paused her attempts at homicide and placed her hands on her hips to squint up at him, chest heaving with laughter. "I'm pretty sure murder and death aren't mutually exclusive!"

"You would know," Adrien retorted with a toothy grin. "You're about to murder me."

(As if Ladybug would ever purposefully harm him.)

"Chat, this is only a two story building," Ladybug deadpanned. "Besides, you have your baton to break your fall. Also your fat ego."

"I take offense to that."

The heel of Adrien's boot slipped on the edge of the roof and he wobbled, teetering over the edge with his arms flailing. His heart leaped and he gasped, but just as he was about to fall Ladybug caught him by his bell. Adrien smirked down at her and felt a flutter in her chest as she returned the expression almost just as flirtatiously.

"How many times am I gonna save your ass, chaton?" Ladybug asked, slowly pulling him down by his bell so she could look him in the eye. "Isn't this the third time this week?"

Adrien's Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. He loved how she teased. Their faces were so close he could practically taste her breath on his lips.

Leaving her question unanswered, Adrien instead chose to grin as his reply. "To be fair, you were the one who attempted to murder me over too many puns."

Ladybug snickered. "I only dislike them because they're terrible. Now, if they were good puns, maybe I'd have a different mindset."

"You know," he said as Ladybug grasped what was essentially the zipper to his suit, "when we finally move into our place, I'm gonna get those magnetic fridge letters and wake up every morning around five A.M. to make a horrible cat pun out of them, just so you get to wake up to a new one every. Single. Day."

"You evil, evil boy," Ladybug snorted. She let go of his bell—which jingled merrily—and crossed her arms, sticking her tongue out in a very mature fashion. "I'll just take those puns and rearrange the letters to make bad words."

"Of course you would," Adrien said, to which Ladybug nodded proudly. "That's why I love you so much."

"Because I would make bad words out of other words?"

He booped her nose with the tip of his finger. "Because you're so creative."

"Stop." Ladybug waved his hand away. She feigned annoyance, but the smile on her face convinced Adrien she felt otherwise. "Shouldn't you be getting home? I thought you told me you had an important dinner with your dad to get to."

"I do," he admitted. "But can't I just enjoy my Lady's company for a moment longer?" Reaching out for her hand, he grabbed it within his own and nuzzled his face against her palm. Even through the fabric of her suit he could feel how warm her skin was. It felt so nice against his cheek…if only he could keep it there.

Ladybug pulled her hand back, pink lips stretched into a sweet smile. "Go on, kitty. Can't be late for dinner."

"Beautiful and punctual. You're out to steal my heart."

Ladybug rolled her eyes. "Leave already, fuzzbutt."

"I'm going, I'm going." Adrien blew her a kiss and stood, walking to the edge of the roof as he made to leave. He hopped onto the ledge, did an exuberant pose just to get some giggles out of his Lady, and extended his baton to his full height before bounding into the air.

Landing on the roof adjacent, he paused mid-crouch and froze as he remembered he'd had a very important question to ask before he left.

"Wait!" he called. He did a one-eighty and leaped right back next to Ladybug, who raised her brow at his speedy return. "I forgot to ask: did you decide between the two apartments yet?"

"Sort of," Ladybug said. She placed her yo-yo back on her waist, which she'd produced as soon as Adrien had left.

"Well?" Adrien asked. One of his black ears twitched with interest.

Ladybug's gaze fell downcast. "I know which one I want, but really, I don't want you paying more per month than I am, Chat-"

"Your happiness is important."

"I'd be happier if you weren't covering most of the rent."

"I honestly don't mind," Adrien assured her. "Look, if it makes you feel any better, I prefer the bigger place too. I've kind of lived in a big house all of my life and to be honest, I would feel super cramped in the cheaper apartment." He reached up to rub at the back of his neck. "But ultimately what I care about most is you being comfortable. If you feel you would be better off in the small place, then-"

"I don't like the small place," Ladybug admitted, quite stubbornly. "Well, I mean I do, but it's just...we would have no room. And since we can't reveal ourselves we really need the space…"

"You've got your pouty face on," Adrien said. He smiled, offering a hand to help his Lady up onto the ledge. She took it and climbed up, but crossed her arms as soon as she righted herself and looked away with her lower lip jutted out.

"I am not pouty," she pouted.

Adrien poked her cheek. "C'mon, Mlle. Pouty Face...tell me the truth. What is it you really want?"

"Food," she muttered, not meeting his gaze. "It's past dinner time and you should be home with your dad."

Adrien laughed. Was she avoiding the subject?

"Besides food," he said. "Which apartment can you see yourself being happier in?"

Ladybug murmured something under her breath. She kicked a stray pebble off of the roof and turned her back to him.

"What was that?" Adrien asked.

She mumbled the same unintelligible reply as before. Her lips were sealed and the brow of her mask was lowered in irritation, and Adrien had to resist the urge to squeal at how absolutely adorable she was in that moment.

Oh, she was too damn cute. She was so cute when she pouted and she was so cute when she wanted something but was too embarrassed to say it.

Was it that hard to admit that she liked the spacious apartment more than the other? Because it was pretty easy for him. If only he could get it out of her.

"Bug-Bug," Adrien whined. He wrapped his arms around her from behind and rested his chin upon her shoulder, head butting into her jaw. "Come on, you can tell me."

"Okayyyy," she admitted with a huff and a stomp of her foot. "Okay, okay. I like the expensive place better, okay? I just feel really bad because if I can't contribute as much as you can, then I-"

Walking around to face her, Adrien pressed a clawed finger to her lips and leaned down to her eye level. "Hey," he said. "Don't you worry your pretty little head, Ladybug. If it's really bugging you that much-" he snorted as her expression soured at his pun, "-then we can figure something out. But have you made your decision? Because I've made mine."

Ladybug hesitated. She blinked, her gaze lowering to the floor...before she met his eyes and smiled. "Yeah. Yeah, I have."

"Good." Grabbing her hand, Adrien placed a kiss to her knuckles. "I've gotta go now, but tomorrow we can meet at the Tower and talk some more, okay? No matter what, the only thing that's important to me is your happiness. Even if we end up in a cramped, one-bedroom apartment with no heat, I'll be happy so long as you are."

Much to his delight, Ladybug blushed. "Fine," she said, looking away. "But we're meeting at six P.M. tomorrow on the dot, and we're going to figure this out. We're a team no matter what, right? Akuma fighting, apartment hunting...both deadly, deadly forces." Her lips quirked upwards into a smile. "I'm actually really excited."

"Me too, 'Bug," Adrien said. "Me too."

Ladybug pulled away from him and gave him a lighthearted shove. "Now go on," she said, grinning. "Go meet your dad and have some father-son bonding time. Talk about cats or Camembert or whatever it is you do."

"Wow," Adrien laughed. He grabbed his baton and gave her a wave. "I'll have you know that the Camembert isn't for me or my dad. It's for Plagg, and you know that."

"Tell Plagg I think he's gross."

"He'd take that as a compliment, Ladybug! You'll inflate his ego-filled head with that talk!"

Ladybug threw her head back with a chortle. "Go already! Your dad's gonna be sitting at wherever it is you live waiting on your slow butt!"

"Fine, fine." With a salute, Adrien extended his baton and prepared to leap. "Goodnight, my Lady. I'll see you tomorrow."

Smiling, Ladybug waved. "Get outta here, you silly cat."

"I'm going," Adrien chuckled. With one last kiss to her hand, he was off into the night, mind already reeling with fantasies about what living with his Lady would bring. The only thing that spoiled those wonderful thoughts was what events would occur during dinner with his father. Cold stares, an entirely one-sided conversation...the possibilities were endless.

His heart, however, pulled him towards the hope that the evening would go well, and that breaking the news would be as easy as pie.

#ladynoir #miraculous ladybug #ml #ladybug #chat noir #ml fic #ml fanfiction #a simple suggestion #my writing #my fics #my writings #im gonna start doing links to continue reading on ao3 #bc the readmores here get annoying #dont Like Em #my fic

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perpetually-jungshook · 7 years

Text

Goldilocks || 08

Rated T (language and light smut)

Warnings: a sprinkle of MM smut, and just general cringe worthy stuff

Summary: After getting evicted, your two best friends Jimin and Taehyung offer you a place to stay until you get back on your feet. Needless to say, with a part time job and a mountain of student debt, that’s not happening any time soon. Eventually, they DO become really fond of having you around, helping with chores and even splitting rent. So when you come home one day to find someone has been sleeping in your couch-bed, well… it’s something you won’t take lightly.

Word Count: 5k

Out of context Goldilocks quote: “Well, you’ve got a nice butt so why not be a booty call?”

Links to: Goldilocks Masterlist || Previous || Next Part

not my gif, credit to owner

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

Part 8:

He doesn’t break eye contact. Far from it. The golden haired stranger standing across the kitchen cockily keeps your gaze and honestly? Why would you look away? He’s attractive, you’ll give him that. No, don’t lie. He’s panty-dropping gorgeous.

Bracing your ego for possible rejection, you try to remind yourself that he’s just another person.

Just another person…

Just another…

Your palms get clammy and for some reason, your feet stop moving. Halfway across the room now, you haven’t dropped his curious stare. His head tilts slightly at your hesitation. Another invitation. You don’t move.

“____! I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Jimin seems unusually chipper as his arm suddenly encircles your shoulders, giving you a welcome excuse to break the intense eye contact.

“Chim, the apartment’s not that big.”

“Yeah, but I bumped into Tae and he didn’t know where you- by the way, have you seen his pants anywhere? He’s lost them again.”

You shake your head, a laugh bubbling up in your stomach, “I honestly think he does it on purpose.”

Jimin’s eyes narrow thoughtfully as he releases you to set down his empty beer bottle, “Knowing him? Probably.”

The pause in the conversation allows your eyes to wander. The golden haired stranger has disappeared, much to your disappointment, but also an observation tinted with slight relief. You turn back to Jimin.

“So… you were looking for me?”

“Right! There’s actually someone here I want you to meet. His name is Jungkook. I’ve known him for a couple years from my… one of my classes. And he's a really cool guy,” Jimin grabs your wrist, leading you out of the kitchen. “We just have to find him-”

You are ripped from Jimin’s grasp as you trip over someone’s foot and slam knees first into the side of the couch. Pain blossoms in your legs and you let out a string of curses, retreating a few steps just to back into something solid. It’s not quite clear as you turn around whether you’re about to apologize or tell the person off, but all potential words lock in your throat as the feeling of something cold and wet trickles down the front of your dress.

Your new dress. The really expensive one. The really expensive one your family sent you for your birthday. Yeah, that family that you never talk to anymore. It had been a small glimmer of hope that maybe they still care. And now look at it.

Mystery alcohol all down the front. Smells like beer.

Now facing the culprit, you’re about to (without question) unleash a slew of impromptu curses. But then your gaze travels to his face and all you can see is the golden hair and the lipstick stain on his mouth. Had that been there before? The kitchen was dark and there had been a few people in the way, but wouldn’t you have seen it? And how could he have…so fast…?

“Oh, this is awkward. ____, this is Jungkook-”

Almost of its own accord, your hand comes up and connects with Jungkook’s cheek.

You manage to finish the card game, take a shower, fend off Taehyung’s next attempt at persuading you to let him eat you out, and get to sleep without any further incident. You decide that figuring out Jungkook’s life is, while intriguing, not your top priority. If the opportunity to ask him presents itself, by all means, you’ll take it. But why press him for information he clearly doesn’t want to share? Especially if there’s a possibility Jimin could overhear.

So, keeping your friend in mind, you push down your curiosity, deciding to let the inkling of mistrust fester at the edges of your thoughts.

The next morning, you wake up to an empty bed. Because Taehyung’s classes don’t start until around noon, he usually doesn’t reanimate (lord knows that boy sleeps like death) until nine or ten o’clock. It’s eight right now. So where is he?

You hoist yourself out of bed and shuffle the short distance to the kitchen where you find Jimin perched at the counter with a cup of coffee in hand. Even though he lifts the rim up to his lips, you can still see the small smirk.

“What’s that look for?” your question sounds tart and gravely from sleep, but because he’s been your friend for so long, you know Jimin can sense the humor behind it.

He shrugs, resting the bottom of the cup in his palm just above his stomach, “I had an interesting conversation with Tae this morning.”

To hide the slight anxiety that rushes through your veins, you clear your throat and head for the coffee machine, deciding to make your own suggestive jab, “Oh? Did this conversation have anything to do with tongue fucking Jungkook last night?”

Jimin’s cheeks instantly turn pink, “N-no.”

At this point, you can safely assume that the maknae is not in the apartment.

“How did that happen so fast anyway?” you playfully decide to push the topic, intent on enjoying the small amount of power you have in the conversation while it lasts.

“I… well we’ve been texting. A lot,” Jimin sounds nervous, but in that giddy “everything is going so great I’m just a little afraid to believe it” way. “After I came out to you and Tae- and both of you reacted so well- I figured why the hell not say something?”

You laugh, ignoring a strange pinching feeling in your chest as you reply, “I mean, there’s a little bit of a difference between telling your best friends and your crush who might not even be interested in men, right?”

“Are you being heteronormative?” he narrows his eyes, but purses his lips comically.

“Yep,” you shoot back without hesitation and step forward to haphazardly tap the rim of your cup to his with a clumsy, porcelain ‘clink.’

“Well all in all, I guess it turned out okay,” Jimin gives one of his chirpy laughs. “I mean, he kissed me.”

“Wait, wait, wait. Did I hear that right? He kissed you?”

Jimin bobs his head, fighting a ridiculously large smile. The pinching in your chest gets tighter, but you manage to mirror his expression.

“I just never thought he’d…” Jimin lets out a long, breathy laugh, raking his fingers through his hair. “____, holy shit.”

“I’m so happy for you, Chim,” you can only hope your response doesn’t sound as forced as it feels.

He squeals a little, “Would I be a hoe if I just let him fuck me-? Wait, speaking of which, what I was going to say earlier before you so rudely distracted me with man candy… I had an interesting conversation with Tae before he left-”

“Speak of the devil, where did he go?’’

“He went to a friend’s to take a shower and avoid the spider, but stop changing the subject.”

A knot forms in your stomach and you lick your lips to buy time, putting on a mask of aloof confidence, “Alright, I’ll bite. What did you and Taehyung talk about?”

“Nothing much…” Jimin’s coy smile makes you sick with anxious anticipation. “Just that you got each other off.”

And there it is.

The heat that burns across your cheeks and up to the tips of your ears leaves you floundering for a response. The only thing that saves you from gaping like a fish is the fact that you’ve taken your lips between your teeth.

“Pick up the phone because I called it,” Jimin squeals, lunging forward to stab a finger playfully into your shoulder.

As he doesn’t seem to be particularly offended or disgusted, you relax a little, but the thought haunts your mind that maybe Jimin is simply acting comfortable. He loves making other people happy, sometimes even at the cost of his own. Really, you don’t believe there’s anything about this that would be particularly upsetting to him. Jimin likes Jungkook, not you or Tae. And while all three of you are friends, it’s not like casually hooking up with the latter would change anything. Still, you decide to be careful until you’re sure you know how he feels.

“There’s nothing to call, Chim. It was a one time thing.”

“Don’t lie. I know about the hand job too.”

Too? That means he knows about both times, he knows about the movie. And then it occurs to you. Taehyung told him.

“I’m gonna kill him,” the words slip from your mouth before you are even aware you want to say them. “That asshole is gonna die.”

“You planning on choking him?” Jimin winks, conveniently forcing you to recall the conversation that took place at the beginning of this story when he threatened your friend and you made fun of his comment with a simple “kinky.” “I mean, is he into that kind of thing?”

“Do you want to die too?”

“____, I just want to know the details. And, yknow, if I’m going to need to start wearing earbuds before I go to sleep or something.”

“We get each other off occasionally, that’s it,” you shake your head. “For shits and giggles when we’re bored. Or to distract ourselves when you and Jinglekook are sucking face.”

Jimin sticks out his tongue cheekily, giving you an excuse to walk over and give him a good smack on the bum. He yelps and scampers away, laughing and shouting over his shoulder, “I’m just happy we’ve both finally found someone to fool around with. Took long enough!”

He’s right. For the decade you’ve known Jimin and Tae, the latter was the only one who ever got his dick wet- not that you… have a dick to wet, but you get the idea. Both you and Jimin are still virgins. You think.

“Hey Chim,” you shout down the hall. “I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Does a gay guy lose his virginity when he sticks or gets stuck?”

“What?”

“Like, do you have to stick your dick in a butt or have a dick get stuck in yours? Does it matter? Is it an opinion?”

“What the hell kind of question is that?”

“I’m just curious, okay?”

You come home from school later that day to find Jungkook on the couch, studying from a rather raggedy textbook. He ignores you and you ignore him, a sharp prickle of what you diagnose as “irritation” running through your chest. Going directly to Taehyung’s room, you throw down your backpack.

Happy, you try to remind yourself. You should be happy because Jimin is happy. You slump onto Taehyung’s bed. You should feel that way. So why don’t you?

A few weeks pass. Mixed in somewhere are midterms and a couple essays. You pass everything, even if by just a little. Things start looking up from there. Jungkook is getting easier to ignore, you have sex with Taehyung for the first time, and Jimin gets a promotion at work. So even if the golden haired boy seems to be a more permanent fixture in the apartment with every passing day, he’s also getting tolerable and all of those confusing feelings and sensations start to pass to the back of your mind. Until.

You are no stranger to coming home and finding Jungkook pinning Jimin to the couch, tongue thrust into the older boy’s mouth, the disgustingly wet sounds of their kissing permeating through the apartment. But today is different. Today, the apartment is quiet, suspiciously so.

Taehyung is away at some art show (for god knows what reason), but Jungkook should be home from school already and Jimin’s car is outside. You are especially confused after noting that Jungkook is not in his usual place on your couch in the living room. And then:

“Don’t you dare touch it,” the maknae’s voice causes your attention to snap toward the hall, toward Jimin’s room.

“But Kookie-”

“Hands on the bed.”

You freeze, ears suddenly ringing. They couldn’t be…? No. Your mind is just in dirty places. They’re probably playing cards or something and Jimin is trying to cheat. Why do you always assume the worst? It’s likely just an innocent-

“If you touch your dick, I will pull out and go back to studying.”

Your stomach twists. Okay, that’s definitely not a card game. You should say something, namely because you don’t want to repeat that little porn escapade. Not that Jimin and Jungkook would react the way Taehyung did. Your friend stood there and continued masturbating. Jimin would probably turn tomato red and lock himself in the bathroom for all eternity. Jungkook would probably… what would Jungkook do? He probably would not give two shits. He would look you straight in the eye as he continued fucking Jimin.

And now you’re thinking about it, Jingleshit shoved balls deep inside one of your best friends as he’s apparently trying to stroke himself. No surprise. The evil maknae tops. He’d probably be sweaty, toned chest heaving with every panting breath, thigh muscles flexing with every roll of his hips, jaw clenched in concentration, gaze focused on the point where his body meets Jimin’s. The older boy would probably be bent over the edge of the mattress, either that or kneeling on the bed and in much worse condition. Hair plastered to his forehead, arms trembling, Jimin would be clenching hard around Jungkook’s cock because it’s so much better than getting himself off with that monster of a dildo. And he would let out a breathy, high pitched-

A sound cuts your train of thought, knocking the breath from your body. This has to be a bad joke, some awful romantic comedy book in which the character ironically, conveniently conjures the very thing they are thinking about because that sound, the one that snips your thoughts like sharpened scissors, is a moan. A breathy, high pitched whine that could’ve come from only Jimin.

You immediately steer yourself into Taehyung’s room, closing the door quietly.

Good things. Think of good things. At least you hadn’t walked in on them in the living room. There is a closed door between you and whatever’s going on and you didn’t do the stupid thing of going to look. Positivity. Yes. Okay. Jimin is also fucking with his crush right now. That’s got to mean something nice for him, right? Heck, it even sounds like he’s having fun. You can just pull out some headphones, turn up your music, and wait patiently until Taehyung gets home. Or until they’re done. Whichever comes first.

An hour. A solid fucking hour passes before the noises finally stop. Not that you’re listening.

All you can say is “poor Jimin” (to yourself) as you hear his bedroom door open and the shower turn on. At this point, you’re stuck in another “rock vs. hard place” situation. Dick jokes aside, you can either admit to having been in the apartment the whole time or somehow sneak outside and pretend you just arrived. It only takes a few seconds of contemplation.

Instead of rehashing the porn fiasco, you decide to quietly make your way to the front door, backpack in hand, slip on your shoes, and take a seat on the steps just outside. You get in two rounds of solitaire on your phone before deciding that it’s been long enough.

Making an entrance loud enough to impress Taehyung (if he were here), you call into the void, “Chim, I’m home.”

His voice sounds breathy, but his reply is immediate, “____, can you come to my room please?”

As you pass by the bathroom, you can still hear the water running, which obviously means Jungkook is in the shower. You grimace as you realize you’ll have to eventually look him in the eyes, knowing he fucked your best friend’s brains out.

“____?”

“Coming Chim,” you turn to face the closed door, pausing to knock.

“It- it’s open,” Jimin’s voice is small, but contented.

Figuring you can’t find anything too bad behind the barrier if he knows you’re coming in, you only hesitate for a moment. As soon as you see him, you force a smile, “What’s up?”

Jimin is lying on his bed, shirt visibly off, though you can’t see if he’s completely naked because his lower half is covered haphazardly by his blanket. Eyes half lidded, a blissful smile on his lips, he motions for you to come closer and you take a stiff seat on the edge of his bed.

“Can I tell you something personal?”

The question sits in your stomach like a sludgy lump, making you slightly queasy as you reply, “You tell me everything. I mean, to the point where I think I know how many times you poop on average-”

“Jungkook and I just had sex.”

You almost choke, swallowing around the instinctual, stupid “I know” that wants to worm it’s way up your throat. Instead, you manage an awkward, “Was it… good?”

For a moment, your thoughts wander back to Jungkook, his house, the fact that he’d lied to you.

“My parents walked in on me fucking some random girl in their bed again and didn’t like it,” is what he had said. Was that “girl” he fucked possibly a boy? You don’t see why that would matter enough to lie about it, especially when he seemed pretty unabashed making out with Jimin in front of you. Still, you don’t want to rule it out.

“I came like three times,” Jimin looks like he’s glowing. Having heard it happen all three times, you choke back another “I know.” He continues, “So of course it was good. It was great.”

Your first, immediate reaction is wanting to vomit. Why? You’re not entirely sure. But before you can figure that out, the second wave of visceral reaction hits you. Sadness. This one is even more confusing. True to your inclination toward avoidance, you push everything to the back of your mind.

“I’m so happy for you, Jimin,” you use his full name, aiming at sincerity. “Does this mean you guys are an item now?”

Your friend lets out a small sigh that has a tinge of sickeningly sweet happiness, “We haven’t talked about it much, but I’m going to err on the side of ‘no.’ Jungkookie doesn’t really do… relationships?”

“And you’re okay with that?”

Jimin shrugs, “I kind of have to be, if I want to be with him at all. I know I won’t be able to change him or anything like that. I’m not dumb-”

“No, you’re not.”

“Right, so I think I can stomach being a… booty call,” he laughs and you can hear the subtle edge of nervousness hidden behind humor. After all, you’re an expert.

You give him a playful shove, “Well, you’ve got a nice butt so why not be a booty call?”

“A nice butt?” he snorts, obviously humored.

“Yes. Ten out of ten, would spank again.”

“You’ve never spanked me.”

“Well if I didn’t include the ‘again’ it wouldn’t have rhymed.”

Jimin pouts comically, holding back a laugh (though mostly failing), “Is that all I am to you? A nice piece of ass?”

“Yes, exactly,” you pull him closer by wrapping your arm around his shoulders, giving him a friendly kiss on the temple, tasting the slight saltiness of sweat on your lips after pulling away.

Your collective laughter peters out, leaving the room in awkward silence, save the static white noise of the shower. It’s odd, because things are hardly ever uncomfortable between Jimin and you. What changed?

When you walk into class the next day, Yoongi seems more grumpy than normal, which is saying something. Because he’s usually very grumpy. The circles under his eyes are darker than normal and his lips are turned just a smidgen more downward. He also looks pale. And like he wants to kill someone. But that last one is nothing new.

“Yoongles,” you try to get a reaction with the nickname you know he hates, but he doesn’t even spare you a glance. Yup. There is definitely something wrong. Usually, he’d at least try to verbally filet you. But he gives you nothing. You take a seat, elbowing him, “You feeling alright? You’re kinda quiet today.”

“This was the second night in a row I’ve slept in my car,” Yoongi’s reply is tart, voice gravely with clear exhaustion. “Not much leg room. Very cold.”

“In your car? Why?”

“My girlf- my ex girlfriend kicked me out,” he says, slumping forward to rest his chin on his arms, scowling.

“That sucks,” you comment as you slip into your seat\.

He pauses for a beat before responding, turning to you with a cynical smile, “Thanks for giving me none of the ‘I’m sorry to hear about that’ bullshit.”

“It’s been coming for months, right? And you were always pissed off when talking about her. She was making you unhappy. Why would I be sorry?” you ask this genuinely, but also rhetorically.

Instead of replying, Yoongi simply lets out an amused, acknowledging hum.

You’d like to think this is another reason you get along so well with Yoongi. Both of you can appreciate bluntness, skipping those tiresome social pleasantries that are often all fluff with no weight behind them.

Because really, you’re not sorry to hear they broke up. He deserves someone worth his time.

“Did you find another place to stay?” you ask as soon as it gets too quiet for your liking. Sure, there’s mumbling and quiet conversation floating around the classroom, but it’s not the same as the cynical banter the two of you usually exchange.

“No.”

“Yoongi, seriously, if you need a place to crash-”

He snorts, “What? I can sleep on the ground at your apartment?”

You smack his shoulder, “Technically it’s not mine, but we can work something out.”

“____, I know there’s like four people already living there and there’s, what? Two bedrooms? You were complaining about having to sleep in a bed with what’s-his-face.”

“Taehyung.”

“Yeah that guy. Plus Jinkook-”

“Jungkook.”

“Plus Jungkook, who is… sleeping on the couch?”

“Yes, but I will gladly kick his ass off of it for you.”

Yoongi smirks, “Deal. Still, talk to them first. I don’t want to just randomly show up.”

“Hey, I pay rent so I have every right to invite you over,” you laugh as he deadpans. “Fine! Fine. I’ll call them and let you know before you get out of your last class.”

Two hours later, you open the door to greet a scowling Yoongi and step aside to let him into the hastily cleaned apartment.

“So, ah, bathroom is down the hall on the right. Tae is in his room if you want to meet him. Jungkook and Jimin should be home in less than an hour-”

“Jimin? The other guy who lives here?”

It occurs to you then that you actually don’t talk about the older of your two friends much, at least to Yoongi. You spend so much time bitching about school, asking for advice about sex with Taehyung, or complaining about how much you hate Jungkook that you probably have neglected to mention Jimin. Your relationship with him has always been easy though. You tease each other all the time, but at the end of the day he is someone you can trust with everything.

You never felt uneasy with Jimin.

Your train of thought pauses for a moment because you notice a small problem: you had used past tense, “felt.”

Something changed yesterday, and not for the better. For the first time, you felt… jealous? It doesn’t make sense. Jimin is happy. You should be happy for him. There is nothing to even be jealous about.

Except maybe his good looks and his well paying job. But he’s had those for a while. So what could possibly be bothering you? Furthermore, why are the most important relationships in your life abruptly subtly changing? First you have sex with Taehyung- yes, Taehyung of all people- after over a decade of knowing him and always declining his advances. Then this… this thing with Jimin. What changed?

“Yeah, Jimin is the other guy that lives here,” your answer sounds a bit more haunted than you intend. “I’ll… go get Tae. Make yourself at home.”

You can hear Yoongi drop his backpack and collapse onto the couch. Your couch. At least this time you’re giving it up voluntarily. And forcing Jungkook off of it is merely a bonus. Granted, he hadn’t exactly agreed, but Jimin said Yoongi could stay and that was green-light enough. Right?

With a light knock on Tae’s door yet with less than a second’s hesitation, you enter (because it’s doubtful there’s anything he could be doing that would fluster either of you at this point), announcing, “Tae, Yoongi is here-”

Two hands wrap clamp down on your shoulders, dragging you into the room, the door slamming shut behind you. You’re spun around to face a very worried looking Taehyung, eyebrows pinched and raised, voice a whisper, “Baby, I need you to be honest with me. Is Yoongi your boyfriend?”

The absurdity of the question shocks you into silence for a few seconds.

Boyfriend? You’d never even thought of Yoongi like that. Then again, you hadn’t thought of Taehyung as a fuck buddy a few months ago either. Still, maybe you should’ve been more specific when you told him someone was coming to spend the night.

“No, babe, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s a friend from school.”

Taehyung lets out the biggest sigh of relief you’ve ever heard, “Thank god. For a hot second, I thought I’d made you into a cheater.”

You smack him fondly upside the head, “Are you implying I’m a slut?”

“Never,” he pushes out his lower lip, but then winks, whispering, “I just like fucking you a little too much to share.”

Again, you pause at the absurdity of the statement. “Too much to share?” Does that mean he wants to be…? No. No, no, no. Taehyung is your fuck buddy, your friend with benefits. He is uncomplicated and easy and simple and oh god now you’re being redundant. But that doesn’t matter because the point is you don’t want to date Taehyung. Is he looking for exclusivity? Obviously, you can kind of provide that, but what is he implying? Maybe you should just put a stop to this now.

“Look, Tae-”

“I’m kidding, baby. Fuck whoever you want,” Taehyung laughs, turning you around to face the door.

You are about to start screaming, but it’s too late. The door is open and he’s now steering you into the living room. Without wasting time, you introduce the two boys and take a seat on the couch next to Yoongi’s feet. Tae plops down on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table, doing enough pleasantry-talking for the three of you. Yoongi probably hates it, disliking idle chatter, but you sure as hell appreciate the fact that your friend is a social butterfly and is saving you from awkward silence.

Ten minutes. Yoongi stares, grunting acknowledgement. You chime in every thirty seconds or so. Taehyung talks like an auction announcer. And then you hear the telltale, yet notably haphazard jingling of keys.

You prepare your body to face him, the bane of your existence. Maybe Jimin had told Jungkook about Yoongi on the way home. Or maybe you’d get that pleasure all to yourself. You’d like to see the look on his face when you tell him he’s either sleeping in Jimin’s room or on the floor.

The two boys walk in- well, it’s less of a “walking” action and more of a stumble as the golden haired demon shoves Jimin inside and uses the older boys shoulders to shut the door. Pressing Jimin against the barrier, Jungkook slams their lips together. And their hips, the maknae rolling his with uncanny fluidity against Jimin’s crotch.

The sight makes you swallow in order to keep the bile in your stomach.

Jimin lets out a high pitched whine and you can see a flash of pink as Jungkook stabs his tongue his mouth. Oddly enough, you aren’t the first one to say something.

“Yah, why do I even pay for porn anymore?”

Classic Taehyung.

Jimin’s eyelids snap open and he has to push Jungkook away, because apparently the younger boy is unfazed by everyone’s presence.

“S-sorry, I forgot we were expecting company,” Jimin laughs breathily, obviously nervous, lips pink and swollen, breathing labored. He looks from you, to Tae, to Yoongi. “Hi, you must be ____’s friend, Yoongi-”

“Introductions later,” Jungkook suddenly growls, impatiently tugging at Jimin’s wrist.

The older boy lets out another, more genuine laugh, increasing his volume the further down the hall he’s dragged, “Well I’m Jimin. Nice to meet you! We’ll talk soon!”

You wait a beat before whisper-yelling.

“Do you see what I have to deal with?” you gesture wildly to where the golden haired demon disappeared, addressing Yoongi or Taehyung or the universe. You’re neither sure nor picky.

Taehyung simply giggles, but Yoongi looks like someone just shit in his cereal. At first, you think the latter is upset because of the very explicit public display of affection, but after following Jikook’s little procession with narrowed eyes, he turns to you and asks quietly, “Jimin… right? That’s what you said his name was?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Yoongi only shrugs, then turns to Taehyung, “Now, the real question is: why do you still pay for porn?”

Taehyung hums thoughtfully, “Because I can’t find anything good for free?”

The older boy rolls his eyes, “Go get your laptop.”

You would like to think you would’ve stayed, either for science or to poke fun at Taehyung’s choice of spank bank material. But for some reason, something twists in your stomach as you hear a loud, excited squeal from down the hall.

You excuse yourself to take a walk.

✩✩✩♔✩✩✩

EOPQ 19: Yoongi is now at the apartment. What do you think will happen?

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flyswhumpcenter · 4 years

Text

Nurse Café - Chapter 3/6: “Brain in a Daze, Stars in Your Eyes“

PREVIOUS CHAPTER / NEXT CHAPTER

Fic Summary: Life could have honesty been simpler than that for Hokuto, a second-year Liteature major. There’s, however, someone out there willing to just make it easier on him.

Fandom: Ensemble Stars! (College/Coffeeshop AU) Ships: HokuAn (Anzu/Hokuto)

AO3 version available here.

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Chapter Summary: In a haze, Hokuto realizes a few things and makes a few conclusions based on said things.

Chapter Wordcount: 1.5K words

Chapter Notes: Yes, this contains that good shit we're all here for: pinning Hokke. Kind out of nowhere too, but hey, I really wanted to write about that for some reason lol. I'll blame it on the absolute goodness that is "sir, you're buying too many flowers". That'll do, yeah. This fic was meant to end with chapter 3 and, while I do have the final chapter already in the works, I decided to add shippier chunks like this one and the next chapter. I guess Enstars came back for my inspiration, haha. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this unplanned chapter of Nurse Café, and come around for more! I promise I know where I'm going with this, lol.

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A vague memory reached in his brain in a moment of half-consciousness. A vague, hazy memory of childhood times, of a past illness. His parents’ muffled voices, his grandmother’s smile warming back his heart left shivering. A day spent in bed, because getting up was impossible and he just felt too dizzy as soon as he tried looking up. Dad was there a lot more than usual, so was Mom, and it was weird and odd: he wasn’t used to having them near his bed so much, their hands cold against his skin, their words here to soothe him. For once, he hadn’t felt alone. The vague memory was sweet, despite its bitter undertones.

A tear was falling down Hokuto’s cheek when he eventually woke up from the daze.

Growing back to consciousness was like reaching the surface and emerging out of the water after a long, comatose dive into a warm pool. It wasn’t exactly the worst feeling in the world, even if his head felt hot and stuffed, heavy on his neck. Even then, he still felt slightly less terrible than before, as he could actually sit up, yawning. Not the most gracious way to go about with it, but that’d have to do: he could honestly not stir more energy inside of him to be less disgraceful than that.

The place was still less than familiar, but now, he could at least put a name on it: Anzu’s flat, in the college dorms. Quickly glancing around, almost getting himself dizzy from the sudden move, she was nowhere to be found: most likely gone to attend class, like a model student. Like he should have been doing, in fact, if he wasn’t stuck there with an unfinished presentation waiting for him in his flat and… wait. Those weren’t his clothes.

Confused yet again, he started looking around even more for answers. The curtains of the window were closed, but sunlight still sipped through them: it was daytime. On the bedside table right next to him, the precise answer figured on her alarm clock: it was already past eleven in the morning. The class he had the presentation in? Eight o’clock. Not only had he not completed his slideshow for it, he had actually somehow missed the entire thing altogether.

He glanced at his clothing. Those were cute pyjamas, sure, but they clearly didn’t belong to him. Not to mention, considering how they stuck to his skin, he’d have to wash them and give them to whomever they belonged to: Isara, he presumed, considering Anzu had been with him when he had almost woken up enough to go back home.

Go back home. That was what he needed to do.

Too bad his legs didn’t agree and let him fall pitifully on the floor after a long moment spent contemplating his own predicament.

Still, he rose back to his feet thanks to a chair that happened to be nearby and sat down on the bed, blinking away black spots. Okay, bad idea, he got it: there was no way he’d be able to drag himself out of this without the threat of passing out in the middle of the campus. He was also just realizing he didn’t have his phone on him: he had, in fact, left it before getting his cup of coffee on the day before. Talk about a terrible decision. Well, not that the migraine he was currently afflicted with was going to make it any easy to actually read something on said phone’s screen.

Maybe he should go take a shower… but he needed to ask for Anzu’s permission before doing so, didn’t he? He was already sleeping in her bed, that was more than enough amenities of hers he was using more or less against his will. Ah, that was inconvenient… At least, there was one relief to be found: there was still a glass, a bottle of water and some pills on the bedside table, left there, catching his stinging eye.

This was the one thing he could do, now. Even then, his limbs were still heavily lethargic, so he was slow and clumsy with his hands. Downing a couple pills was absurdly difficult for him, despite how simplistic the gesture seemed in his mind. He was pathetic, this much was clear, but falling back on the bed after just drinking a glass of water was absolutely pitiful for someone his age and constitution. He may have just woken up and tried doing something with his day, and yet, all he wanted to do was going back to sleep…

Still, he should get moving… He felt uneasy staying here for much longer, as close as he was to giving up and falling back asleep. The bitter aftertaste lingering in his mouth made him miss konpeito and, at this point, he’d rather have passed out than having to bear tears coming to his eyes. Why was he feeling so lonely, all of a sudden? He had been alone for so long, he didn’t need to cry like a child over being left on his own for legitimate reasons and—

“Ah, good morning, Hokuto! Are you feeling any better?”

His throat immediately went dry, knotting. He wiped his eyes as quickly as possible and went back to sitting somewhat properly.

“G-good morning, Anzu,” barely managed to make it out of his throat.

He observed her, vaguely following along, when the world was spinning all around her smiling self as she went to pick some things from another room (the bathroom, he assumed. He had never been to her place before this whole fiasco happened, it was difficult to tell which room was which or even how many rooms there were). Her presence made his mind feel better, soothing the sudden affliction he got hit with merely minutes before.

Time’s course was also severely disturbed and hindered by the heat in his head, so he couldn’t truly give an estimate of how little time she had spent in another room before coming back, sitting on the chair while humming a familiar song. If he didn’t know any better, he’d have assumed she found this stuff fun. That made no sense, though, considering he was noting but disgusting at the moment, so he brushed it off as his fever messing up with him.

Which, in itself, was a convenient thought to have right as she took it again, putting a hand under his bangs. Her palm was cold, like Grandma’s had been all those years ago; and, just like Grandma, Anzu didn’t seem bothered in the slightest by how soaked they were. Just realizing this made him want to bawl in his grandmother’s arms again, but he needed to keep at least a tiny bit of his dignity and, as such, opted to swallow his pride instead.

“Thirty-nine point one…” Anzu whispered to herself as she stared at the thermometer. “You’re far less warm than yesterday, but it’s still not good either. At least, your fever’s broken, that’s a relief already.”

He missed her hand as soon as it was gone from his forehead, yet didn’t feel like adding anything to the conversation: he had, honestly, very little energy to begin with and didn’t feel like wasting her time listening to some feverish rambling about whatever his brain was still in a decent condition to emit.

“You should stay here for another day, don’t you think? Maybe just this evening, if you get better during the day. You still look really tired.”

It was odd to let her do all the talking, considering how quiet she usually was, but this he didn’t mind: in fact, her voice was the one sound that didn’t grate against his pounding head, not unlike a cushion whenever everything else was there to worsen it. To be fair, she was purposely keeping it low; or so she seemed, to him, at least.

“Mao had the idea yesterday, but we still wanted to ask you. Can I go to your place and get some of your stuff? I’m sure you’d like to have your own clothes around!”

“Sure…”

Anzu went back to her feet, grabbing something lying on a nearby table. Most likely his flat key, but his unfocused eyes couldn’t really tell from this distance. At least, the world had stopped spinning all around him, it was enough of a satisfaction for now.

“Ah, before I leave you for a couple minutes,” she turned back to him, still smiling, “do yourself a home. I’ll be at work this afternoon, but I should be back by six. See you later, Hokuto.”

“I…” In the end, his resolve to leave had crumbled away again. “See you later…”

As the door closed behind her, he was left dumbfounded. The balm on his heart had started to go cold once again, leaving him melancholic and teary-eyed. He knew about how moody he could get whenever he was tired or sick, but being both at the same time was making nothing easier, and he decided he’d finally give this shower a shot.

It was that or falling back into bed and contemplating his own boggling, confused feelings anyway; and he wasn’t ready just yet to admit to have fallen for someone this way.

#enstars #hokuan #hidaka hokuto #anzu (enstars)#sickfic #hurt comfort #au: coffeeshop #au: college #overwork #fever #otp: konpeito chou cream #fic: nurse cafe

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thatsthepan · 7 years

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Whatever Your Heart Desires

Summary: Dan’s always been a huge advocate of surprises, and Phil could never guess the extremities of them. These birthday surprises in particular, however, took the cake.

Word Count: 5016

Warnings: fluff, a mild birthday drinking scene, mentions of sex, and a whole lot of feels

Notes: Happy Birthday to our beloved son, sun, and angel bean Phil Lester! The universe blessed us with this man thirty years ago, and hopefully it will bless us with him for many more. Here is my contribution to the montage of birthday gifts for Phil-we love you!

This fic was edited by the lovely @victorianhowell, and this beautiful cover art edit was made by my good friend @the-phil-to-your-dan! Thank you both!:)

I really hope y’all enjoy this, and if you do, feel free to shoot me a message or ask-feedback is always appreciated!

Phil

“Can you at least give me a hint where we’re going?”

One way people don’t expect to spend the day before their birthday is blindfolded in the back of a taxi, I could testify to as much. Dan was sat next to me, and I could hear him clicking away on his phone, “sorting some things out”, as he’d said.

“I already told you no. It’s not your birthday yet so you get no special privileges.”

I heard the cab driver chuckle, probably looking at us in the rearview mirror like we were insane. I had an actual blindfold covering my eyes-Dan had a lot of random stuff like that, I had learned-and Dan was being the most secretive he had been in years. I had to give it to him, no one kept secrets better than Daniel James Howell.

“What if I guess?” I asked pleadingly, hearing a smile at my whining tone in Dan’s reply.

“Nooooo,” he sang back, his typing not even pausing.

I gave up for the rest of the taxi ride, which had to take close to half an hour, but as soon as we stopped I tried again.

“Okay, I have no idea where we are. Can I look now?”

I assumed Dan was paying the driver, as he took a few moments to respond.

“Nope.”

“But I can’t see to walk!” I protested, both Dan and the cab driver laughing in response.

“I’ll handle that. You trust me, right?”

“Not at the moment,” I mumbled, receiving another round of laughter as Dan gently pushed me out of the taxi. Despite my previous statement, I grabbed his hand as soon as I could, letting him pull me along to wherever we were heading.

We walked up an incline for a few moments, which was tricky as I kept tripping every other step. Dan didn’t scold me for my clumsiness, for once, quietly following behind me so he could guide me through what had to be a door. I allowed him to pull me to what felt like a sofa before letting go of his hand.

“I’ll be right back, okay?”

My heart jumping told me I had briefly panicked, even though my mind was mostly calm if a bit baffled. “Um, okay?”

“Promise you won’t peek?”

The sincere plea in Dan’s voice was the only thing keeping me from doing just that as soon as he left the room. “I promise.”

Silence filled the room, and I leant back, wondering what on earth was happening. Dan had clearly been planning his birthday present to me for a while now since there were more details and secrets involved than I could count. I had texted a few of our close friends yesterday, subtly asking if anyone knew anything about this little trip, but no one had fessed up to knowing anything. They were all such good liars that I couldn’t tell if they were being genuine or not.

I wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Dan returned, but when he did I heard a door shut, some rustling, and felt Dan sit down beside me.

“Can I take the blindfold off now?”

Dan seemed to ponder my request for a moment, but I could tell he was playing around by the humour in his tone when he answered.

“Fine. But only because we’re going to be here for awhile.”

I was intrigued, turning around so Dan could untie the knot he had secured earlier today. He removed it, and I was surprised that I wasn’t immediately blinded by light. Instead, there were only a few small, softly lit lamps clicked on in the small room, and I studied my surroundings as I felt the room vibrate around us.

“No,” I looked at Dan, who was smirking amusedly at my astonishment. “We are not on a plane.”

Dan shrugged as I felt the engine kickstart, the propellers outside causing the cabin to shake as we prepared for takeoff.

“Might want to buckle up,” Dan smirked again, clicking the sofa’s seat belt into place around his middle. I did the same, staring at the side of his face as the plane rocked violently, bringing us into the much smoother air above.

“You rented a private jet for this birthday present? Are you insane?”

Dan finally fully grinned, his eyes lit up and dancing as he met my amazed stare. “Maybe a little. But I think this will be worth a brief lapse of sanity.”

I shook my head, laughing in disbelief. “Where are we going? You said we’d be here a while?”

The sneaky look was back on his face. “But what’s my definition of ‘a while’? You’ll never know.”

I half-sighed, half-groaned and Dan pulled me over to lean on his shoulder. “I promise, it’s worth the wait”, he whispered against the side of my head, and I sighed, preparing myself to be in the air for ‘a while’. Whatever length of time that was.

It turned out that length of time was twelve hours. I ended up falling asleep for about three hours, which was an awful length of time for what was supposed to be a nap. I woke up groggy and confused with my arms wrapped around Dan’s middle, my head in the middle of his chest. I don’t remember how I got into the position, but I was surprised it wasn’t more uncomfortable for Dan, who was also dozing. I didn’t dare move, for fear of waking him up, but I didn’t mind at all-Dan was warm, and Dan was solid, stabilizing my motion sickness that sometimes hit on long plane rides.

I was perfectly content to continue my nap, but Dan’s hands on my back startled me into full consciousness again.

“Hey, it’s just me. I thought you were already awake; I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

Dan didn’t move his hands, trailing his fingers up and down my spine, and I shivered. “You didn’t wake me up. I was already half-awake.”

Humming a response, Dan slid his hands under my shirt, his fingertips gliding over my shoulder blades, my sides, and eventually to my angular hips.

“Uh, Dan?” I asked, my breath hitching when his hands pressed gently into my hips, massaging them with slow, circular motions. “What’re you trying to do?”

I felt the rumble of a barely-contained laugh in his chest, but he portrayed the innocent tone in his voice rather well. He had taken acting classes, after all-I tended to forget that little detail.

“I’m not trying to do anything but make you relax. Planes generally freak you out, whether you realize it or not.”

I rolled my eyes. He was probably right, but I knew Dan, and he sometimes liked to get a bit frisky at times like these.

“Still not my birthday yet. Just remember that before you get any ideas.”

Dan snickered, not moving his hands from my hips. “Hey, Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna hear a joke?”

I sighed exaggeratedly, smiling into his jumper. “Sure, hit me.”

“You know the movie Snakes on a Plane?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, wondering where this was going. “Yeah…”

“We could make our version of that, only we could call it Sex on a-”

I smacked his shoulder, causing him to erupt into a fit of giggles.

“Behave!” I teased, pulling his hands up to my shoulders. “Besides, I’m pretty sure there’s porn with that title, so absolutely not.”

“You’re mean,” Dan mock-pouted, rubbing my shoulders instead.

“I have standards,” I corrected, sighing as he continued to massage the tense knots out of my muscles, most of which I hadn’t even known were there.

“Mmhmm.”

I could tell he was smiling, but I didn’t move, way too comfortable to bother. I started drifting to sleep again, and Dan stayed quiet this time, letting me have my rest even though it was almost three in the afternoon. Apparently, we were scheduled to land at around eleven tonight, so I had all the time in the world.

When Dan woke me up this time, it was for dinner, and I was definitely well-rested now. It was almost eight.

“What do you want to eat?” he asked, clicking around on a fancy ordering menu screen.

“I don’t know. What’re my options?”

“Pasta, pizza, soup, sandwiches, Japanese…”

“Japanese,” I yawned, standing up to stretch. My back actually felt a lot better, which meant Dan had continued to work the knots out after I’d fallen asleep. How he did it without me noticing I didn’t know, but I appreciated it nonetheless.

“What are you getting?” I asked, turning to see Dan smiling down at the screen. Something about his smile seemed suspicious, but I couldn’t place what it was.

“Japanese sounds good to me.”

I nodded, sitting back down to wait for the food. We ate as soon as it arrived, and as we were quietly enjoying the meal, I thought of something.

“How much did all this cost you?”

Dan’s chewing paused, but only briefly, the mischievous look that had been present in his eyes all day sparkling.

“This part? Not too much. But as we keep reminding each other, it’s not your birthday yet.”

I groaned, trying to figure out what he was plotting. What he had plotted. Because Dan wasn’t the kind of person who up and rented a private plane to an exotic country-Dan thought things through, planned the details months in advance, and definitely made sure everything would work out beforehand. I was the spontaneous one, always buying houseplants and expensive candles and the like.

And now that I really thought about it, Dan hadn’t bought any absurdly expensive clothes in a while, either. Which means he had definitely been budgeting for this little trip.

“On a scale of one to ten, how surprised am I going to be?”

Dan mulled the question over, choosing his words carefully before answering, a smirk on his face. But I heard a genuine tone in his voice, which meant he wasn’t lying. Or he was doing so very well.

“Well, it’s in parts. So probably like an eight, and then a six, and maybe a seven, and then quite possibly a nine.”

I blinked at him in shock, overwhelmed by the complexity of this ‘gift’.

“Why no ten?” I decided to ask, which Dan knew I would.

“Because that little part of your brain that thinks over the ‘impossible’? Well, all this has probably been thought over in that part at some point.”

“So this is impossible?” I grinned, already running through the craziest possibilities in my mind, and by the look on Dan’s face, he knew it.

“Clearly not, since I’m doing it.”

He’d given me a clue, but half an hour later, I couldn’t decide which crazy thing Dan had done. He was very extravagant and dramatic, and some may call him extra, but Dan knew what he was doing. And if there were at least four more parts to this gift, literally anything was possible.

When we landed, the blindfold went back on, despite my most sincere efforts against the choice.

“Does it matter if I know where we are? We’re staying here so can’t I just see?”

Dan was quiet for a moment, and the pause was so long I wondered if he was even paying attention to me. But when he responded there was amusement laced in his words, and I could tell something had happened.

“Just a few more seconds. Get ready for surprises rank 8 and 6.”

My heart started beating just a tad bit faster, and I behaved and went along with Dan for a few more steps until he positioned me facing something, his hands hovering near my face.

“Ready?”

“Probably not but yes.”

Dan snickered, removing the blindfold and allowing me to finally see two out of four surprises. The first thing I registered were cherry blossoms, and the second thing was two people standing under them who yelled “Happy Birthday!!” My brain didn’t register who they were or where I was until I had gaped at them for a few stunned seconds, way too shocked to even comprehend the scene in front of me.

Duncan and Mimei both hugged me at the same time, causing our last trip to Japan to come flooding into my mind all at once. I hugged them back, hard because I hadn’t seen them in so long and I hadn’t thought I’d see them for a long time to come. But here they were, under Japan’s famous cherry blossoms, and I was grinning so broadly my face hurt a little.

I finally let go of them, stepping back and turning to give Dan and incredulous look. “This was the eight and six? This is already a ten for me!”

All three of them laughed, but Dan was smiling fondly at me, his eyes flooded with affection and something more.

“I told you. Just wait for the rest.”

That sentence alone both excited me to no end and scared me profoundly. But that was Dan, and as he smiled at me admiring the trees and the scenery he knew I loved so much, I wondered if we were going to go back to London as different as we had last time.

The next surprise was the restaurant Dan chose, or so I thought. When we pulled up to the building in Duncan and Mimei’s car, I was once again shocked beyond belief.

“Dan. I’m going to throw up if I think about how much planning and money and time this took.” Dan waved me off, just like I knew he would, but our two friends exchanged a loaded look in the front seat as if they knew what Dan had planned. Which made my heart jump and fill with gratitude for Dan-he had already done so much, and for what? Me? Just for my birthday? He didn’t have to, and he knew it, and that made me love him even more despite my not thinking that was possible. I realized as we were about to walk through the door that I didn’t look nearly fancy enough for this place, and tugged Dan’s sleeve, stopping him just outside the door. “I’m not dressed for this occasion.” Dan rolled his eyes. “You look beautiful, so hush. We’re both wearing button downs, which is more than fine, and besides, we’re tourists. We bring the fun.” I smiled, partially blushing because Dan had called me beautiful and partially because the lady at the counter gave our linked hands an amused look. “Table for two?” she asked kindly, in a very heavy accent. She must have known we spoke English. “Actually four, I believe our friends already check in, the Pains?” Dan grinned, seeing her expression as well. The hostess nodded, leading us to our table and handing us two menus before bowing slightly at the waist.

“Drinks for you gentlemen?” she asked, already having taken Duncan and Mimei’s orders. “I’ll have an Amazake,” Dan answered immediately, and I studied the drinks on the side of the menu, picking solely based off of the picture rather than the words I couldn’t read. “An Awamori for me, please,” I finally answered, and received a slight lift of the hostess’s eyebrow in return. “I’ll be back soon,” she smiled, and as soon as she was out of earshot Duncan snorted. “What?” I finally had to ask, clearly not knowing what I’d gotten myself into. “That’s the most heavily alcohol-based drink they have,” Mimei explained, trying to hide her amused smile but failing. Duncan was giving Dan a wide-eyed look before grinning at me. “Just don’t have more than three.” Of course, having a bad experience with heeding warnings, I had had four before Dan leaned in close to me, his lips brushing over my ear. “You need to slow down. And happy birthday, as of exactly now.” I looked at the time on my phone. 12:00am on January 30th. “Hey guys,” I started, much too loudly. I was well into being a bit too drunk for only having four of the Awamori. “I’m 30.” “I’ll be 31 in two days,” Duncan chuckled, at my state or at the thought of getting older, I didn’t know. Things were really bright and a bit fuzzy, and yet, when the waitress brought me another drink, I immediately took a sip. Dan was shaking his head and smiling in fond disapproval, but it was my birthday now, and he wasn’t about to tell me when to stop drinking. “It’s really good,” I tried to defend myself, pushing the drink too quickly to Dan. “Try it.” Dan shook his head but didn’t push the drink back. “I think we should wrap this up before you start stripping or something.” That caused everyone in the vicinity to laugh, and me to grin, poking my tongue between my teeth and leaning on Dan as we stood. “You know how much I love you?” I whispered loudly, hearing Mimei giggle behind us. “I love you too you silly bastard.” Dan kissed the top of my head, helping me into the car and holding my hand on the way to the hotel, which was apparently the real third surprise. It was five-star, we were on the top floor suite, and somehow we’d gotten free room service as well. I wasn’t able to appreciate it fully, however, since everything was fuzzy and glowing. I promised myself I would when I woke up, though. The elevator ride made my head spin, but as Dan unlocked the door and a lobby assistant wheeled the cart with our bags on it past us, it dawned on me that something big was going to happen tomorrow. Dan didn’t rank many things as nines, so I knew it was going to blow my mind for sure. You can’t dwell on these things for long when you’re drunk, however, and as soon as the man shut the door behind him, I was pushing Dan onto the bed. Whether it was the alcohol, this entire birthday trip so far, or the fact that Dan was simply angelic in the lighting, I couldn’t keep my hands off of him. And he went along with it for a while, kissing me back and letting me tug on his hair and whatnot until he eventually laughed as he placed his hands on my chest, his sign for me to stop. And I did, even in my hazy state; I wasn’t drunk enough to try and push Dan farther than he wanted to go. “This is to be continued,” he smiled at my immediate pout, “as soon as I get out of the shower. Can you wait that long?” My whiny groan answering his question, Dan laughed again, kissing me before he walked into the bathroom. I heard the shower turn on, and sighed, changing into pyjama pants and taking my contacts out while I waited. I couldn’t focus on one train of thought for very long, so my mind skipped around until eventually, I had to flop onto the bed with my face in a pillow to try and stop the whirling of my mind.

Dan’s hands on my shoulders didn’t make me jump, as they probably would have if I’d been completely alert, but instead caused me to relax. “Phil,” he murmured, his hands kneading the tense muscles in my shoulders, much like they had earlier today on the plane. “It’s your birthday. Relax; you can have whatever you want.” I rolled over, pulling at one of the damp, curly strands of hair stuck to his forehead. “Whatever?” “Whatever,” Dan smirked, and we somehow switched places without me remembering how, with him laying on his back and looking up at me hovering over him. “You spoil me,” I mumbled, kissing along his jaw instead of his mouth so he could speak. “Mmhmm,” he hummed, his fingers dancing up and down my back. He could never keep them still, no matter what was going on. “Why?” I whispered, moving down to his neck. I heard his breathing flutter, but his voice was fairly calm when he answered. “Because I love you, and I know you want this. And besides, I’m usually the problem when it comes to this.” My kisses paused, and I propped myself up so I could see his face. “You’re not.” I frowned, not sure what I wanted anymore. “I don’t want to do this if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want anything as much as I want you to be happy.” Apparently, the reasonability in my statement surprised Dan because he thought it over, his eyebrows slightly raised. “I’m comfortable. I’m okay. I promise.” I gave him a look, which must have seemed funnier since I was the drunk one and Dan was completely sober. Why was I the one making sure he wasn’t doing something he’d regret? Dan smiled, his eyes sparkling despite the relative darkness in the room. “I’ve made you wait for six years and you’re giving me an out? You really are a good person.” I huffed out a half-laugh, leaning on an elbow as we continued to talk it out. “Yeah. Because I know you think things through, and if you don’t you hate being pressured into things. So did you expect this? Plan for it?” Dan’s bashful smirk was enough to make me genuinely grin again. “Yeah. Surprises stress you out and stress makes you drink, also it’s your birthday. You think me, of all people, would deprive you of a true birthday night on a majorly important year? Please.” I rolled my eyes, which was a bad idea and just flooded my head with dizziness. “Alright then, Dan Howell. What do you want me to do?” Dan smirked, sly now. “Whatever your heart desires. Obliterate me, Phil Lester.” Thirtieth birthdays? In my personal opinion and experience, one of the best birthdays to be had.

To my surprise, my hangover wasn’t as bad as I expected it to be the next morning. The sunlight flooding in the room through the curtains was a bit too bright, but everything was quiet and peaceful, the loudest thing in the room being Dan’s quiet snores.

I was lying on my back, Dan practically laying on my chest, and his warmth was almost too much paired with the comforter that was haphazardly draped over us. I shifted just a bit, to try and stick my leg out from under the blanket, but Dan was instantly awake.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Dan’s voice was barely a whisper as if he knew that loud sounds were not what I needed right now. I smiled, and he kissed the tip of my nose, whispering something about going to order room service. I let him do that, getting up myself to go take a shower.

The water was a bit too loud for my liking, but it helped clear the grogginess from my head, and I felt cleaner, cooler, and a lot better than I had when I woke up. Although the plethora of controls and settings confused me as much as they had last time. I changed into a jumper and some jeans, not really thinking we were doing anything fancy today, and combed through my hair before walking out of the bathroom into the aroma of pancakes.

“Happy birthday,” Dan was smirking triumphantly, seeing my expression of surprise at the heaps of food set up at the dining table by the window. I hadn’t even noticed the table last night, and now that I was relatively sober, I could appreciate all the perks and details that apparently came with a Japanese penthouse.

My favorite part was the cherry blossoms blooming on the roof, right outside our window.

“I’m still in shock that you did all of this, just for me,” I mumbled around a bite of pancake, knowing cream was on my chin and not bothering to wipe it off, making Dan giggle.

“Hey, I’m quite enjoying this little trip as well. Also you haven’t even seen the nine yet, so…”

I raised an eyebrow at Dan’s vague, mysterious statement, and asked, “So when do I get to see that?”

“Oh, in a little while. Just be patient.”

After we ate breakfast, we watched a few animes (which was very stereotypical of us, we knew), and at around two or so, Dan finally rolled off the bed and pulled me into a sitting position.

“So, where do you want to go first today?”

I thought it over, finally deciding on my favorite part about Japan last time and in general. “Will the cherry blossoms be blooming well at this time of year? I mean I know they’re out there but…”

Dan’s eyes lit up. “They have a park that’s the most popular place they’re blooming. Okinawa has the earliest cherry blossom season.”

So we made our way to a park that was so covered in the light pink of the cherry blossoms that we really didn’t have to even enter it to get the full view, but Dan insisted, paying the fee at the gate and everything. Again, as if he had planned ahead.

We hadn’t taken ten steps before Dan linked his hand with mine, swinging our arms between us and leading the way all over the park. He seemed nervous for some reason, fidgety, and I was utterly confused as to why. We’d done something similar to this last time we visited Japan, and Dan was fine then, in his element surrounded by the culture we both loved so much.

“Hey Phil?”

I glanced at Dan, who was staring at the ground, his face looking a bit too red for the temperature.

“Yeah?”

“What do you think my last surprise is?”

I took a while to respond, because I honestly had no idea. “Did you buy me something? Because that’s absolutely not allowed after all of this.”

Dan smiled, still studying the fallen flowers on the path that created a pastel carpet under our feet. “You’re not wrong, I guess. Is there any other guess you want to take?”

Again I considered it, but ended up shaking my head. I was really bad at these guessing games, and especially with Dan, who kept secrets so well.

“Close your eyes.”

I did as he said, not protesting because he seemed a different type of serious this time. I felt him let go of my hand, and when I heard him breathe out my cue to open my eyes, he was on one knee, his hands behind his back.

“Phil Lester…”

I clasped my hands over my mouth, unable to breathe, to move, to do anything but stare into the beautiful eyes of Dan, my boyfriend, my best friend. The man I’d known for almost eight years now, who never ceased to surprise me.

“I’m bad at words, that’s always been your thing. But hear me out-you’re thirty years old, we’re both not getting any younger, and if we’re being honest? I’ve been waiting to do this since 2009. We’ve had our ups and downs, mostly because I’m an ignorant asshole, but I think we’ve been consistently in an upward spiral for a long time now. We’ve done so much in general, so much together, and we’ve got our whole lives to do so much more.”

I didn’t register the tears streaming down my face until they touched my lips, salty and warm and full of happiness. I still couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t know how Dan could be this calm all of the sudden.

He had been planning this for a while.

“So, Phil, will you spend the rest of your life with me so we can see just how much we can do before the universe decides our time is up?”

And with that statement, Dan pulled the small box from behind his back, opening it to reveal a ring that, through my blurry, tear-flooded vision, appeared to be a cherry blossom branch that was designed to wrap around your finger. It was gold, with small pink gems and diamonds, but I looked at Dan when I choked out an answer. He was the more beautiful of the two, anyway.

“And you say words aren’t your thing,” I hiccuped, seeing Dan flush red and smile. “Of course I will.”

Dan slid the ring onto my finger, and I finally became aware that people were around us when they started applauding. A few were taking pictures, and there was even a professional photographer, who Dan must have somehow hired to photograph and film this moment.

“You realize this is going to break the internet?”

Dan smiled at a few of the people, linking his hand with mine again. “Yep. It’s about damn time-let’s see if people believe this.”

They didn’t. We returned to the hotel, eating dinner in the room and relaxing. Our forms of relaxing were different-Dan flitted through the tweets and comments and Tumblr posts, while I simply admired the ring he’d somehow managed to pick out and buy without my knowledge whatsoever.

“How’s it looking?” I asked at around midnight, both exhausted and too excited to sleep.

“People have run it through editing softwares by now, so they know it’s real. A few have linked me to pictures of them crying. Shitty Watercolour has already made two pieces, one of your ugly cry and one of me dropping the ring. Also Tyler is pissed he didn’t know.”

I snickered, twisting the ring around my finger. “I can’t believe you.”

Dan’s smile have away his happiness, but his shrug was nonchalant. “I’m very extra. I wanted this to be the most iconic proposal this year, since Viktor and Yuri took it last month.”

I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t help but laugh.

“I love you-”

We’d both said it at the same time, and we burst out laughing, knowing we were cheesy and gross and in love. We were perfectly okay with it, too.

#phils birthday #birthdays #drinking #phan #Dan and Phil #fanfic #Phanfic #phanfiction #my phanfics #whatever your heart desires #happy birthday phil

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