#the tag says it likes sunlight and less water in winter | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

loveaffaire · 3 years

Text

Seasons

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings/tags: a bit of angst, fluff, cheating (not by Peter/reader), Pete being a hopeless romantic as always

Word Count: 1.3k, I swear these blurb requests are turning into full one shots because I love Peter being completely whipped by the reader :(

A/N: @spiderholland101 I’ll be honest, I’ve never heard any of those songs so I picked a bunch of lyrics and built a story around it, just 1.3k words of Peter being desperately in love with the reader! Enjoy <3

🤍JOIN MY SLEEPOVER🤍

Summer - Heaven help a fool who falls in love

Peter tried not to stare at you but it was hard when you were sitting two seats away from him in chemistry class. Your skin looked as soft as cotton, lips plump and covered in strawberry chapstick, hair softly shining in the sunlight coming through the window.

His heart would beat a little faster every time you’d laugh, his breath would hitch each time you’d run to him in a crowded room, a smile would find its way on his lips the second his phone would light up with a text message from you.

It’s gonna get messy so don’t fall in love with your best friend, you fool, he’d tell himself.

❥ ‑‑‑‑

Autumn - You've been on my mind girl like a drug

Peter stood still in the middle of the school entrance as he watched you kiss Harry, his hands in your hands, a smile on your lips. It was like getting shot in the head and no, he wasn’t exaggerating, that is exactly how it felt to see your best friend that you are in love with be in love with someone else.

He pulled himself out of his daydream of repeatedly punching Harry in the face and rushed towards you. You pulled away from your boyfriend as soon as you heard footsteps approaching you, a smile settled on your lips when you saw Peter.

“Ready to go?” Peter asked, completely ignoring Harry and you nodded. To his dismay, Harry didn’t let go of your hand without giving you a very steamy kiss right in front of him.

You made small talk on the way to his house and Peter tried to focus on anything other than the kiss you and Harry shared just a few minutes ago. And when you sat on his bed, eyebrows frowned in concentration over chemistry, Peter’s eyebrows were frowned for a whole other reason. Thoughts of you getting too busy in your love life and forgetting him creeped up on his mind and you noticed.

“What’s wrong, Pete?”

“Uh… can’t understand this question”

“You weren’t even looking at the question, you were looking at me” your voice low as you scanned his face, “did I do something?”

Peter’s eyes widened, “no, y-you didn’t do anything, nothing”

“Okay so what is it?”

Peter sighed, biting on his lip because he was nervous and too afraid to say something wrong but he decided to be honest, “just scared you’ll get too busy with Harry and stop hanging out with me, it’s just a thought”

You were taken by surprise by this but soon, the sound of your soft laughter filled the room, “forget about you? We’ve been friends since forever, no boy is ever going to come between us Peter”

Peter’s eyes glimmered at your words, his cheeks turning rosy as he processed your words.

“Anyway, I’m too scared that you’ll forget about me because I saw you hanging out with all those smart science kids earlier today” you teased, your forefinger wiggling in his face as he shook his head, smiling.

How can I forget about you when you’ve been on my mind like a drug, he thought to himself.

❥ ‑‑‑‑

Winter - I wonder what it's like to be loved by you

The cold came and the days turned ugly, one text message to Peter and he was running to your house in the middle of the night.

You saw Peter through your window and opened the door, running into his arms. The impact was so hard that he almost fell back as your hands clutched on his jacket.

“He cheated on me” you cried, voice strained from the previous screaming match with Harry over call.

Peter held you close, walking back inside your house and closing the door behind. As soon as he let go of you, you fell down to your knees and he got down right in front of you as he wiped your tears with his sleeves.

“He doesn’t deserve you, Y/N” he said sincerely. His hands holding the back of your head to make you look at him and he almost kissed you that night. But he didn’t because what if you push him away, one heartbreak was enough for tonight anyway.

As he watched you weep on his shoulder for a boy who clearly didn’t deserve you, he wondered how it felt to be loved by you and if he’ll ever get to be loved by you at all.

❥ ‑‑‑‑

Spring - Wouldn't it be nice to live inside a world that isn't black and white

The colours were a bit brighter than before, the leaves and the flowers blooming again in the soft spring wind. Just like them, you were blooming too. You were the old Y/N again, the same old Y/N who was there before Harry came along and ruined it.

The glow in your eyes was visible, your smile felt more real now and you felt more comfortable in your skin than you did 2 months ago. Peter even helped you pack a box of all the things that your ex-boyfriend left at your place and you later sold those things at a thrift store.

Peter started seeing more of you, he would either be at your place after school or you’d be at his and sometimes, you’d go to the ice cream place near his place on a hot day.

As he watched you munch on your ice cream cone, the vanilla on your lip looked a bit more appetising then it did when it was on the cone and he almost leaned in to have a taste.

“Is there something on my face”

“No”

“Why are you staring then?” you smiled and raised your eyebrows at him.

“Oh, shut up” he rolled his eyes, “come on, let me walk you home before it gets dark”

With you walking by his side and the way your knuckles gently brushed against his made him realise how much brighter his world looked now. How wonderful it was to live in a world which wasn’t black and white anymore and it was all because of you.

❥ ‑‑‑‑

Summer - Honey I love you

The sun was setting, both of you returning from the summer fair and he finally gained the courage to hold your hand on the way back home. The hot weather was making your palm sweaty but Peter couldn’t care less. You were literally here, holding his hand in yours and he didn’t want to let go.

“Peter”

“Yes?”

“Will you say it?”

Peter frowned in confusion, “say what?”

“You know what” you bit your lips, a bit of sadness in your eyes.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about” Peter stuttered.

Peter was clueless. For a straight A grade student, he was pretty dumb when it came to love and you.

“So you will just never tell me that you are in love with me?”

Peter halted in his step and that halted you in yours. His hand slightly loosened its hold on yours in horror but you were quick to tighten your hold on his hand, even tugging him closer to yourself so you both were face to face.

“You know?” He finally spoke up, voice in a whisper and mouth agape in shock.

“It’s hard to miss when you’re right there staring at me with your big brown doe eyes” you softly giggled, feeling a bit shy now, “and how you get flustered when I compliment you, how you always have my back and how you always pick me up, it’s obvious that it’s more than just… friendship”

Yes, you knew. You have been waiting for him to say something, anything at all to show you that he loved you but as time passed and still no word from Peter, you finally took matters in your own hands.

Peter was speechless and you have had enough, you sighed and let go of his hand. Peter almost collapsed when you placed your hands on either side of his face and pulled him in.

You filled the gap between you both as you pressed a soft peck to his lips and his eyes fluttered like butterfly wings, savouring in the feeling of the airy kiss. Your lips felt like a light feather, barely there but just enough to make him feel lightheaded for a second.

You pulled away quickly but then pressed your forehead to his and closed your eyes tightly, “honey, I love you”

You said it like a promise, your chest felt a little lighter when the words were finally out and Peter’s heart started racing in his chest again. When he finally processed what had happened, he didn’t waste another moment as he pulled you back in for a kiss.

“I love you” he whispered, words muffled with his lips never leaving yours, “I love you, Y/N”

He repeated the words multiple times, telling you ‘I love you’ for every single time he couldn’t in the past and your eyes watered at the intensity of emotions soaring in your chest.

As he stood there kissing you, his mind went back to last winter and how he wondered how it would feel to be loved by you but now he didn’t have to wonder anymore. He knew how it felt to be loved by you and it felt like heaven.

Anyway, hopeless romantic Peter, my beloved🥰

420 notes · View notes

jackrrabbit · 4 years

Text

Sleepless /// Tanjiro x f!reader (18+)

Request: Hi!! I'm not entirely sure on how to request since this is my first time EVER requesting something here on tumblr 😳😳 so im not sure if im doing this right,,,but um,,,,could you do a soft dom! tanjiro kamado x reader nsfw??? (he's aged up of course)

A/N: Y’all I’ve been working on this practically since I made this gd blog…idk why it took so long since I LOVE the concept. Reader is a traumatized bby who just needs her kitty licked ✊😔 and honestly same

Tags/warnings: soft dom, daddy vibes but without the ‘daddy’ (onii-chan vibes?), brief mentions of past demon violence & PTSD, fluff?, historical inaccuracies probably, reader is implied to be inexperienced, mild overstimulation, lowkey yandere lowkey romantic who knows, all characters are adults

It starts out with little things. Harmless things. Tanjiro sees you barely ate anything at dinner, and later that night he comes to your bedroom with a plate of food for you. “You should eat,” he tells you.

“I’m not hungry,” you say, almost a little petulantly. The food looks good and you know he’s trying to be nice, but you’re not a child. You can take care of yourself, and even when you can’t it’s not his job to do it for you.

“Eat,” he says again softly. It’s not a command. It’s like he already knows you’re going to eat, and he’s just patiently waiting for you to give in.

You pick up the chopsticks and eat the food he prepared for you. All of it. Tanjiro sits there and watches and then when you’re done, he smiles at you and pats your head and takes the plate away. You think it’s weird, but the next morning you don’t question it. He’s a big brother to everyone—doesn’t it make sense that he would want to make sure you’re eating enough?

He probably can’t help it.

You decide you’re going to let it slide, until a few days later after breakfast with him and the others when Tanjiro pulls you aside and holds your face in his hands and tells you you’re looking a little tired lately—are you getting enough sleep?

The truth is that you aren’t. You want to deny it, but somehow you have a hard time lying to him. “I used to sleep with my siblings in our bed, so it’s hard to fall asleep since…” since the demon who made you an orphan murdered them. “And, you know. Nightmares.”

Tanjiro understands. Of course he understands! He used to have five younger siblings, did you know that? Now Nezuko has her own room and the rest…well, you’ve heard the story. It’s hard to fall asleep when you’re by yourself, isn’t it? He’s been there.

“How many hours are you sleeping every night? On average?”

You’re trying too hard to ignore the brush of his callused fingertips over your cheekbones, so you tell him the truth without meaning to. “Um, like four hours? On a good day?”

His eyes go wide and suddenly both of his hands are wrapped around one of yours and squeezing, maybe a little too tight. “Is that the truth, (Y/N)? Four hours is too little. Sleep deprivation isn’t good for you.”

“I know, but—”

“No. The next time you have trouble getting to sleep, I want you to come to my room.” You open your mouth to mount a denial, but he frowns and cuts you off. “Promise me. Okay? It’s really bad for your health, so promise.”

And once again, you say yes even though you don’t want to.

It’s fine. It’ll be fine, you think. You’ll just pretend you’re sleeping better. Tonight you’ll lay in bed with your eyes open and stare at the ceiling and try to listen to your own breathing, in and out and in and out, and hope it drowns out the memories that stick fast in your head whenever you’re by yourself. Then when you’ve been laying in the dark for a few hours, you’ll finally fall asleep and all your nightmares will play out in technicolor and you’ll do your best to be quiet so you don’t wake anyone else up and in the morning you’ll splash cold water on your face to make your eyes less puffy and pinch your cheeks to get some color in them and it’ll be fine.

You can take care of yourself. You have to, since everyone else is gone. So you’re not sure why, when the sun goes down and you’re looking into the face of another sleepless night, you find yourself knocking on the door of Tanjiro’s bedroom.

Maybe it’s just that he made you promise. You hate breaking your promises.

He lets you in, the half-asleep affect mixing with the same caring, serene look as always (and it’s a little insulting that he’s not surprised at all). Tanjiro sits on the bed first and you can’t help staring at him in the flickering orange lamplight. He’s more muscular than you remembered, and taller than when you first met. He can play the role of a big brother all he likes, but he’s still an adult. A man. And he’s not family.

“I don’t know if this is a good idea,” you say, fidgeting with the sleeve of your shirt.

“It’s okay, (Y/N),” Tanjiro murmurs as he lies down, his voice still scratchy with sleep. Somehow it relaxes you. He just has that way about him—when he says it’s okay, it feels okay.

Tanjiro pats the spot on the bed next to him. It looks really warm, and there’s a winter chill in the air even though it’s only September. It’s a bed made for one person, but Tanjiro—ever considerate—has moved over to one side to make space for you.

“Come on. Come sleep,” he instructs in that soft, non-demanding way of his. So you sit down on the edge of the bed and (carefully, carefully, like you’re making your way into a hot bath) fold your legs and pull the covers over you so you’re lying next to him. The bed is even warmer than you thought it’d be. Tanjiro radiates heat—he’s so warm, you think, how fitting—and then before you know it you’re drifting into the first dreamless sleep you’ve been afforded in a very long time.

That first night, you sleep with a good six inches of space between the two of you. You don’t want to touch him, don’t want to cross that invisible boundary—at first. But it doesn’t matter, because every time you wake up next to him, you’re curled up to his side like a puppy seeking warmth. It’s not like he minds. Judging from the gentle smile on his face when he wakes you up in the morning (and tells you that you should go back to your room before anyone notices you’re not there) he likes it.

Never again, you think. No way. But you haven’t had a good night’s sleep in so long, and it’s nice to be well-rested for once, and the next evening you only lie in your bed for fifteen minutes before you’re knocking on Tanjiro’s door again, silently asking if you can take advantage of his kind nature for just one more night.

He says yes. Of course he does. So you sleep next to Tanjiro again, you keep half a foot of space between you again, and you wake up hugging him. Again. And then you do it the next night, and the next night, sleeping beside Tanjiro over and over until you no longer bother trying to leave room between your body and his.

Is this okay? you wonder sometime around the two-week mark. It’s the longest you’ve gone without having nightmares since the demon came. Sometimes you think you’re betraying your loved ones by trying not to think about their deaths; letting yourself off easy while they suffered. You tell this to Tanjiro while the two of you are lying back to back under his blanket, quietly enough that (you hope) if he’s already sleeping you won’t wake him.

He hears you, and he turns around and lays his arm around your waist. “Don’t be silly…of course they wouldn’t want you to be unhappy.”

“But how do you know?”

“I know.” Tanjiro’s voice is half muffled by your hair, but it’s steady. “You believe me, don’t you.”

You do.

“Don’t think about that anymore.” His hold on your waist gets a little bit tighter, arms a little bit less forgiving.

“I won’t,” you say, hoping that the promise will be enough. The two of you fall asleep like that, and when you wake up in the morning it’s the first time ever that you haven’t moved in the night.

As if it wasn’t enough to be spending every night together, at some point you start to dream about him too. Usually it’ll just be a flash or a snippet that you barely remember once you wake—the reassuring tone of his voice, a smell like a campfire, or a few notes of laughter—but tonight you’re watching him train in the courtyard. In the dream, he moves through his forms with inhuman grace, position to position to position, balanced with perfect agility like he’s a dancer and not a swordsman. With how beautiful it is, you can almost forget the raw power behind his movement, the strength that has subjugated more demons than you care to know.

He pauses to stretch, rolling his shoulders back, and you notice that he’s shirtless (which is how you know it’s a dream). Tanjiro’s arms flex as he raises the blade into position, and the sun shimmers over the thin sheen of sweat on his chest. He looks ethereal like this, and as you sit on the porch and watch him, you feel heat stir inside of you that has nothing to do with the sunlight.

Tanjiro, you call out softly. He looks around to you, deep red eyes resting on yours, and whips the blade down to replace it in its sheath.

Can I come closer? The grass is cool and wet under your bare feet as you pad lightly into the courtyard toward him. You can taste the humid summer air in your mouth. Fingers tangle themselves in your hair, tilting your head up to meet his.

Tanjiro…

“(Y/N)?”

Tanjiro’s voice cuts through the dream and you scrunch your eyes shut, reluctant to leave the dream world where he wants to touch you, not out of pity or because he thinks it’s his duty to take care of you but because he wants to. But it’s too late—his hand is on your shoulder, gently shaking you out of your slumber. “(Y/N)? You said my name.”

“Sorry, I…sorry.”

“What were you dreaming about?”

He kissed you, in your dream. Now that you’re looking at the real version, your cheeks feel warm…and so does that same spot below your belly. Suddenly the room feels uncomfortably hot, and you wish you weren’t trapped under the covers with Tanjiro. You shift your legs to try and get a little more air between the two of you, but the heat persists.

“I think I should go back to my room.” You must be sweating—you feel damp for some reason. He’s too close.

Tanjiro ignores you. “Can you tell me what you were dreaming about?”

“I—you,” you admit. “You were training.”

“And?”

“And…I don’t know. It’s kind of warm in here, isn’t it? I think I’ll just…” You push the cover aside and sit up, but before you can get yourself off the bed, Tanjiro is tugging you back down, holding to the mattress so he can hover over you in that way he likes.

“Tell me,” he says to you, voice as firm as it is gentle. Sleep-mussed locks of red hair flop over his forehead but his face is serious, and you can’t look away.

“You kissed me,” you whisper.

That takes him by surprise. You can tell by the way his eyes widen, but his hold on you doesn’t ease up. You want to die. Why did you say that? He’ll think you’re disgusting, sleeping next to him in his bed and having perverted dreams about him. Why couldn’t you have just lied? Why can’t you ever lie to him?

“I’m going back to my bedroom.” You try to project more confidence than you actually feel, but there’s no use. Tanjiro doesn’t seem like he’s going to let you get away from him any time soon.

He’s straddling your body carefully, one elbow folded next to your head while his other hand comes up to stroke your cheek. “Your face is all red.”

“You’re…you’re too close.”

“I don’t think I’m close enough. You have goosebumps, look...” Tanjiro folds up the sleeve of your sleep shirt, exposing your arms to view. “…here…and here, too…”

His hands are wandering further down to the hem of the shirt, pushing it up so slowly and gently that you’re not even sure it’s happening until you feel him stroking over your belly. It’s true, you do have goosebumps. It feels like every hair on your body is standing on end. “Tanjiro…?”

“I guess you haven’t been able to touch yourself, since we’ve been sleeping together. That kind of repression is bad for your health. Even I’ve been a little…frustrated.”

Your mind has to work overtime to understand what he’s telling you as he strokes over your stomach and onto the sensitive skin of your sides, and then up to the flesh covering your ribs. His thumb teases over the underside of one of your breasts for a second, but the shock must have shown on your face because he retreats immediately.

“I’m not. I’m not frustrated,” you say, knowing he won’t believe you.

Tanjiro shakes his head in dismissal. “I don’t think that’s true, (Y/N).”

What are you supposed to say? Of course it’s not true. But admitting that you’ve been feeling heated around him lately would ruin everything, so refuse to say it. “I…I don’t know what to say…”

“You don’t have to say it. Can I prove it to you?”

What does he mean? Your head jerks up and down in acquiescence. You barely have to wait a moment before Tanjiro’s hands are slipping down your sides to the waistband of your pants and tugging them down over your hips. A tap on your hipbones prompts you to lift your hips and let him remove the clothing, not that you know why you’re complying so blindly.

Just like you always do.

Is he still trying to take care of you? Putting himself in a caretaker’s role because he thinks you need him? This is going a little far, too far maybe, but you can’t deny you want this. The heat of his body is no longer stifling—instead, it feels like it’s pulling you into him.

When your pants are out of the way, Tanjiro reaches into your underwear and dabs against your slit. It’s not until you feel his finger sliding between the puffy lips of your cunt that you realize how wet you are…and of course he can feel it too. Your knees jerk together to try and push him away from you but he’s unfazed, his touch steadily becoming more intrusive as he seeks out the syrupy dampness from your pussy.

“What am I feeling right now? I want you to tell me.”

“You’re—you’re touching me?” you gasp out.

“And you’re all wet. You can’t tell me you haven’t been frustrated when you’re getting this wet with just my fingers.” At this, you feel him prodding deeper into your pussy and stretching you open.

“Nn—okay, fine! Fine!” The words come out of you in a rapid burst, and you finally muster up the resolve to push Tanjiro away from you by his shoulders. “I’ll go back to my room and deal with it, okay? You don’t have to do it for me.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I can trust you to take care of this problem by yourself. You’ve been lying to me about your needs.”

You wish he wasn’t able to be so calm while you feel like your entire face is on fire. He pulls his hand out of your panties and backs up on the bed so his torso is framed between your legs. “Can you let me help you, (Y/N)? Let me take care of you.”

You lick your lips without realizing you’re doing it, and Tanjiro’s eyes follow the motion. You can barely comprehend what he’s asking. You want it. You want his hands on you; you want to be taken care of in the way he’s offering. But whether or not you can actually ask for it is another story. “Tanjiro…”

“You need this. I know you do.” He skims his palm over your bare thigh in a soothing motion that, oddly enough, puts your barbed nerves a fraction at ease. “I want you to be honest with me about what you need.”

It’s too much. The warmth of his body so tantalizingly close to yours, his shadowed eyes searching yours for a response you don’t know how to give him…and the sticky mess in your panties. Tanjiro’s giving you a free pass to get something you’ve wanted for longer than you can comfortably admit to yourself, and you’re not sure you could deny him if you tried. What can you tell him except the truth? “I want you. I need you.”

“Good girl. See how good it feels to be honest?” Tanjiro bows down and mouths over your pussy through the wet spot on your panties.

It’s not the honesty that feels good, you think as his tongue pads at you through the fabric.

Too impatient to wait another second to taste you, Tanjiro nudges your rear up and slides your panties down your legs. As soon as you kick the undergarment off your feet, he’s pulling your thighs back apart and curling his thickly-muscled arms around them to hold you securely as his head dips back down to your bare pussy. He wastes no time in laving his tongue over your slit and up to the button at the top.

The sensation of this hot, wet muscle pressing up against your most private area is…weird, to say the least. You’ve never felt anything like this—to be honest, you don’t even know exactly what Tanjiro’s doing. When you think about what’s actually happening on this bed—your (friend? partner? bedmate? crush?) ally has his mouth angled between your legs and is licking your pussy—you think you might spontaneously combust. You’ve never felt anything like this before, and however strange the feeling is, you’re more than aware of your hips grinding up toward Tanjiro just so you can feel more of it.

“Here, let me help…” Tanjiro effortlessly lifts you to place a pillow under your lower back, and then moves back down to continue his relentless licking, this time at a new angle that allows him full access to every millimeter of your raw cunt. He’s eating you out like your pussy is the last meal he’ll ever have.

And how can he help it? You taste so good, so sweet on his lips and over his tongue. You must have been in so much pain lying next to him every night with your desire leaking out between your thighs. Just thinking about is making heat rise low in his groin, and his grip on you is getting tighter by the second. How awful that you tried to keep this to yourself…it was remiss of him not to realize before tonight that you needed him so badly.

But it’s going to be alright, because judging from the muffled noises you’re making, every swipe of his tongue licking up your slit is more than making it up to you.

You probably don’t realize how much your hips are wiggling under his minstrations. He barely has to exert any effort to keep you still, but the way you keep trying you push yourself closer to him is enticing, not to mention the way you’re trying (and failing) to keep your voice down through your moans.

“Tanjiro…T-Tanjiro,” you whimper. It’s like you can’t think of anything except for his name. All of your attention is focused on the pressure building up deep in your core, each stroke of his tongue over your clit taking you higher and higher. You feel tense…wound up so tightly that you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from letting the shallow puffs of air turn into full-fledged cries.

Just like that, please, please… You think the words rather than saying them, even though you want to. It’s too humiliating to be begging Tanjiro for more while he’s already giving you more than you deserve, but it’s almost like he heard you anyway, because his tongue writhes down across your clit again and your back arches up off the bedspread.

Your thighs twitch around his head, trying involuntarily to hold him down. He just chuckles and keeps you firmly in place, and his voice hums out over your pussy making feel even more wild. “Please, I’m—I’m cumming…” Your voice trails off and you crush the heels of your palms into your face to cover up your expression while the wave of pleasure hits you so hard you think you might faint.

Tanjiro doesn’t stop. You’re crying out in whimpers so high-pitched he can barely hear them, but he doesn’t stop. The delicate muscles in your pussy are throbbing under his tongue, but he doesn’t stop licking until you’re almost crying, panting out “it’s too much it’s too much, please Tanjiro” and pushing his head away with your hand.

When he finally pulls away, his hair is tangled and disarrayed from where you’ve been running your hands through it, and his mouth and jaw are shining wet. Tanjiro licks his lips and if you didn’t feel shaky before…you do now.

It takes a second for the power of thought to return to you, but when it does you just sigh weakly and flop back down onto the bed. Tanjiro’s next to you before you hit the pillow, and he grips your jaw with one hand to angle your head to meet his, and—

He’s kissing you. He’s actually kissing you. His lips are surprisingly soft over yours, but as usual there’s an unnecessary degree of pressure attached to the contact that has you sinking deeper into your blankets under his force. You can detect the lush, slightly bitter taste of your arousal coating the inside of his mouth as his tongue (skillful as ever) traces over yours. Tanjiro is kissing you, and it’s a hundred times better than any dream you could come up with on your own, so you kiss back.

It takes him a long moment to break the kiss, long enough that your lungs are pleading for air by the end of it. When his lips leave yours, a thin trail of saliva connects the two of you until it breaks and drips down your chin.

“Tanjiro…” You search for the right words, but what are you supposed to say at a time like this? “I…what did we just do?”

“Shh, don’t worry.” Tanjiro leans in again, this time just to press a chaste kiss to your forehead. “I’m going to take good care of you, okay?”

You take a moment and then duck your head into a nod. It doesn’t make any sense—how does he do that?—but once he says it’s okay it always is.

8K notes · View notes

wolf-zer0 · 3 years

Text

red sky at morning, red sky at night

rating: teen and up

relationships: no romantic relationships

major characters: CaptainSparklez, CaptainPuffy, Nihachu, Ranboo, Tubbo

tags: alternate universe - fantasy, families of choice, found family, minor unnamed character death

He’s had many names given to him over the years. Some fit better than others.

His first comes from his parents. He arrives in the dead of winter, howling in his mother’s arms like the cold wind outside. His father tells him years later how with pride, knowing deep in his heart that his firstborn had the drive to survive. He is told how his mother, exhausted but delighted, gifts him with two syllables.

Jordan.

It fits well enough, as it is all he’s known. There are no wild treks into the wild beyond here, no scorching heat of lava-filled valleys nor ice cold chill of long dead realms. There is only a farm, and a field, and a small family that slowly grows larger. There is just a boy with a name and bright eyes looking to the future.

He hears his first name in many different shades and tones as he grows. Bright and cheerful, regretful and remorseful, livid and incensed. Each sounds the same, but each are weighted differently. He hears it from his siblings, slurred from learning to speak then clear and ringing through the fields. He hears it from the nearby village when his father brings him to market, welcoming and warm.

It’s in the village that he first feels it. A tug in his gut, quiet but insistent, that leads him to a battered board at the edge of the market. A message board. Weatherworn papers are tacked one on top of another, fluttering in the fall afternoon breeze. Printed in faded inks are words he’s never seen before. Promises of wealth and glory. Calls to adventure and exploration. Maps of vast cities and far off countries he tries and fails to wrap his young mind around. For the first time, his comfortable world with his comfortable name seems too small, too snug. It still fits, but it doesn’t seem as right anymore.

He follows his father to market every month without fail, gazing at the changing papers and dreaming. Dreaming of finding a place that feels right, more right than this unchanging corner of the world. He barters for stories from the traveling merchants, eyes wide as they tell him of palaces carved from ice and forests that stretch for miles and miles. He haggles for trinkets from traders, fingers tracing intricate knickknacks and strange coins hailing from far flung corners of the world. He sits at the foot of the fishmonger’s stall, listening to tales of shimmering water and billowing sails and dreams.

His family tries to understand, tries to figure out what they must do to keep him home. Keep him safe. His father forbids him from returning to the village for market day, sends him into the fields for hours upon hours to keep his wandering heart busy. His mother frets over him at every chance, refuses to let him out of her sight for more than a breath. They tell stories of the horrors of the outside world. Beings with wings wielding swords of fire that can level mountains and fill valleys in a single breath. Gods who walk amongst mortals, hiding shimmering antlers and star-swirled eyes behind a human mask. Creatures that entice and cajole from shadowed forests, their smiles too sharp and their eyes too keen.

They spin tales of war, of destruction, of death and all that, and he only wants it more.

He makes his choice at the end of winter. Wakes before dawn, gathers his meager belongings in a threadbare rucksack, pens a short, somber letter filled with apologies he’s not sure he means and promises he’s not sure he can keep, and closes the front door quietly. (He doesn’t think he’ll ever open it again, and he’s not sure if he’s truly sorrowful or thinks he should be.)

(He’s not. Not about this.)

His second name comes from his own ignorance. After leaving the crushing tightness of his childhood, he wanders. Joins the crew of a merchant vessel and sails away. For years, he works and he watches and he wanders. He sees the vast cities in the frozen south, the dark forests of the fair folks’ domain, the small towns and villages that dot the coastline.

He finds himself comforted by the ocean beneath him. It dances with constant momentum, rising and falling as the bow cuts through the waves. As they sail on, he finds himself enamored by the way they sparkle in the bright sunlight. He says as much to the others, and they laugh. They mock him for his innocence, for his lack of experience, for his wide eyed adoration, and they christen him with a new name for a new life.

Sparkles.

The name is far too tight, tighter than what he had before, and he can’t get rid of it. It sits like a weight around his neck, an anchor that keeps him pinned to the deck. He may be an adult now, but he’s barely one and he knows. So he keeps his head down and he keeps his eyes to the water.

The captain is not kind. A nobleman born and bred, he does not see his crew as people. He treats his favored as kings, and his unfavored as beasts. The unfavored beg for scraps and receive crumbs. Ask for bunks and receive straw. Wish for kindness and receive disgust.

Nothing seems to change, until it does.

He’s not sure when he saw her first, her bright white curls hiding long pointed ears, but he knows he didn’t think much of her. She’s years younger than him, eyes still bright with the call to explore and grin still wide with the promise of the future. The favored doesn’t like her much, much like they don’t like him much, and tell her so. She throws a braid of wooly hair over one shoulder and doesn’t so much as flinch.

Her sharpened gaze turns from the cowering forms to him. The moment she lays eyes on him, she softens and he knows she’s not going to go away.

He’s glad she didn’t.

With Puffy, his second name becomes less a noose, leaving him gasping for air, and more a jacket, the comfort of a teasing poke in his ribs and nights filled with whispered laughter. They sit on deck and talk of the homes they left, the lives they passed, the family they miss. (She tells stories of a brother, here one moment and taken the next. He listens, though he has no stories of his own to tell.) She helps him hem the seams, stitch the tears, make it fit where it once didn’t.

She stands beside him when the seas grow dark and churn with a brewing storm they barely survive. She stands behind him when he refuses to bow to boatswain’s demand he take a third night watch in a row. He stands beside her when she tells him of her years long search for a long gone sibling. He stands behind her when she confronts the captain about his treatment of his men. They stand together when they urge the unfavored to mutiny and succeed.

They drive the captain and those still loyal to him from the ship, stranding them on an island near a well known trade route. The rest, battered and bruised from months of mistreatment, bask in the knowledge that they are free.

He earns his third name then.

Captain.

It fits like nothing else has.

(Though he decides to stay with the ship, he knows Puffy cannot. Her search, like his, is far from over. And though their paths diverge, she makes him promise to meet again. He does.)

(He thinks he’s never meant a promise more.)

Years pass, and he grows into his names. He rarely hears the first, only from close friends and when formality dictates. He grows to enjoy the second now that is more often tinged with awe and admiration. He loves the third like nothing else he’s loved before. Where the first was tight and the second was heavy, the third is clear.

The third feels like wide open blue sky above a wide open blue sea. The third feels like a crisp wind catching in the sail, pulling them to the great beyond. The third feels like the swooping wings of seagulls and albatross and osprey. The third feels like home.

He travels the world. He meets new people. He tours the halls of the vast imperial palace to the south and receives a black feather as a token of friendship. He negotiates with the fair folk and trades faded books of long lost history for scrolls of untranslatable magic. He does everything he desires, and still feels the tug to do more. To find somewhere. Something. Someone.

His fourth name is one he never wanted.

He knows all too well that knowledge of his endeavors have travelled far across populated lands. Tales that spin courage, humor, and wit into a tapestry of a hero. So he’s not surprised when he receives a missive from the Captain’s Council, an invitation to join their number.

He accepts.

The Council is nothing and everything like he expects. He expected the ire of the old blood, of course. Old men in silks and brocades, faces pinched in distaste at the mangy newcomers. Men like them don’t accept change very easily. What he didn’t expect was the new blood. People like him, with the sea in their blood and the wind in their ears. People who want to make the world change, and change for the better. People who he knows.

People like Puffy.

She’s grown just as much as him, standing in her thick coat with a blade at her side, but she’s still vibrant and fierce as the last time he saw her. She stands tall and proud, surrounded by an air of confidence and skill. When their eyes meet, he watches her eyes glitter with that same fire he saw years ago and feels a grin grow on his face that matches hers. He never thought he could keep this promise, but he thanks whatever god is listening that he could.

After the meeting, they retreat to an rundown bar far in town and talk for hours. She tells him about her fleet, ships of people she trusts and who trust her in return. She tells him about her brother, found wandering the streets without memory but with a scarred body. She tells him about everything and nothing, and he does the same.

They talk about plans. Neither says it out loud, but the tugging, the drive to wander, has lessened. Not faded, never faded. But lessened. They talk about putting down stakes, relinquishing day to day operations to their subordinates, training the next crop of seafarers and wanderers. Nothing is set in stone, but wheels turn regardless.

Weeks pass into months and he finds himself enjoying his duties. Until the Admiral, the man regarded as leader of not only their Council, but their country as a whole, disappears. They search for any sign of him: shipwrecks, debris, bodies. They find nothing. Some say he is not dead, merely missing. They cannot attempt to replace him until they find confirmation. Others say they cannot wait to find a new leader. There is movement on the horizon, and a small nation like theirs could crumble like sand sculptures without someone to unite them.

The old blood licks their lips in anticipation. He knows them all to well after these months. All hungry for the title and power, with no care for the duties and responsibilities that follow. He knows that they expect the new blood to fall in line as they have in the past, give up the fight without struggle. He knows it will never happen the way they want.

Because he knows the new blood is just as hungry for change.

(He’s hungry too.)

It goes to a vote. Each Council member is eligible, regardless of their time sitting. The vote takes hours, members whispering in corners and sending needled glances at one another. He sits with Puffy and waits. The vote is called.

(Deep down, he knows what will happen. He just doesn’t want to admit it.)

The council grants him his fourth name.

Admiral.

He understands, but he doesn’t. He has experience in leading, in handling himself under pressure, in navigating troubled waters and logistics with a level head and a clear eye. He’s not old enough to be considered “old blood” but not young enough to act without thinking. He is compromise.

The name fits strangely. It’s not painful, not in the way the second was. It sits on his head like a crown, not unwieldy but always present. It is not painfully tight, but it fits snug around his throat. He’s not sure he’s the right choice, not sure he should be given the honor and duty that comes with it, but he does not try to run away. Something settles in his chest as he takes up the mantle, something he isn’t sure he’s ever felt before.

(It feels closer to what he’s been running towards. But it’s still not right.)

His fifth and final name comes in many fragmented parts from three entirely unexpected places.

The first piece is a young woman, near in age to Puffy, living in the city. She and her family move in to a building near his home soon after his promotion. They open a bakery on the first floor and the smells of warm breads and sweets always drift lazily into the streets, drawing in customer after customer.

Niki is soft spoken and caring, but when he visits he can see the same edge of steel that lines Puffy’s spine hidden in her eyes. And he knows all too well that she’ll grow into a force to be reckoned with should she get the chance.

He never tells them of his position, cherishing the short moment of normalcy as he banters with her father, gossips with her mother. He tells Niki stories of traveling the world over muffins and coffee, of the different things he’s tasted and the places he’s seen. Her eyes gleam, steel and honey brown in equal measure, and he sees the same want that’s driven him for so many years.

No one expects a fever to sweep through their country like a fire, taking hundreds of innocents including Niki’s parents. He consoles her as best he can, but knows he can only do so much. She carries her grief with a strength most find admirable. (He finds it painful. No one as young as her should have to carry on like she has. But she does regardless).

He does what he can, offering a warm place to sleep and food on the table and a shoulder to cry on. He tells her it’s okay to not be okay, to let herself break if she needs to. He offers to help her piece things back together when she’s done. (He doesn’t expect her to accept. When she does, he feels the insistent tugging recede. He chooses to ignore it).

(She gives him his fifth name late at night, months after the funerals. He wakes to her crying at the kitchen table and sits with an arm around her shoulder. In the haze of her grief, she lets the name slip out unheeded. He does not say anything, merely tightens his hold and fights back tears.)

The second piece is a young man. Well, at first he thought he was a young man. The new face wasn’t all that hard to spot: tall, lanky, with pointed ears and two toned hair. He first saw him standing alone and out of place, eyes blank and hands shaking, on a walkway near the bay.

He calls out to the young man carefully, voice soft to prevent startling him. The young man whirls around quickly, chest heaving and fists curled close to his chest. When the Captain first sees his face, he’s struck by just how young he is despite his height. Fear and confusion fill his red-green eyes as he stares at the Captain.

He does his best to calm him, asking soft question after soft question in the hopes of helping. Their country is fairly far from the mainland, a series of small islands clustered together on the edge of a great continent. Unannounced newcomers are few and far between. Newcomers like this are unheard of.

He learns that while Ranboo remembers his name, he remembers very little otherwise. The only things that are solid and stable are brief glimpses of panic, of darkness, and a faint, unfinished melody. He learns that Ranboo has no idea how he arrived. One moment he was standing in a dark room, surrounded by crushing stone walls and pitch black, and the next he was blinking in the bright sunlight at the port. He learns that while Ranboo remembers his name, he remembers very little otherwise. He learns that Ranboo has no memory of family, of home, of anything but static. (He looks at the child, because despite his height he is still so young, and the tugging grows harsher. Insistent.)

So the Captain welcomes him with open arms.

(He doesn’t even consider doing anything else.)

When they return home, Niki takes one look at Ranboo’s shaking form and immediately pounces. The Captain’s heart swells with pride as she talks to him, hands gently guiding their newest addition to a spare bedroom near hers.

Puffy is quick to tease when she first comes for dinner and sees a reluctant new face lurking in the corner of the Captain’s home, but there’s none of the heat or edge she usually carries. She meets the Captain’s eyes with a knowing smirk that he refuses to acknowledge.

(If he barely sleeps that night to check for signs of nightmares, that’s no one’s business but his own.)

(He gives him his fifth name when he joins Niki in the bakery. She is patient when attempt after attempt comes out blackened and shriveled, and the Captain gives him the encouragement and praise he needs to continue. In the joy that follows his first success, he shouts the name with pride. He does not say anything but offers congratulations and pride, warmth spreading in his core.)

The third and final piece is hidden inside a chest, floating in the middle of the ocean. It’s been so long since he’s sailed, since he’s seen the endless blue beneath endless blue, since he’s felt the freedom that comes with his third name. He takes to the ship and the sea with ease, shedding the weight of his title and position if only for a moment. He knows Niki and Ranboo are safe ashore, Niki waving of his concerns with a steady smile and Ranboo offering a bag of only slightly charred cookies as a safe travels gift. (He knows it's not farewell. He knows he’ll return. But there’s still a tug, a need to search.)

The bobbing smudge of brown in the sea catches his attention quickly, and he calls for all hands. They cast their nets into the frothing waves, failing and failing to snag it until finally, finally, someone catches hold and they drag it aboard.

The chest is unlike any he’s seen before, leaping fish and swirling letters carved into pristine wood. He runs his hands over each strange mark, surprised at the way they hum beneath his fingers. Though he’s travelled and explored farther than most, he has little experience with magic. The tugging in his gut turns to pulsing, each beat louder and more insistent than the last. (It tells him he’s found it he’s found it he’s found it the last piece the last part its here.) When he touches the strange lock-like marking in the center, the lid of the chest releases with a hiss. His crew flinches back, muttering about superstitions and curses amongst themselves. He ignores them and pulls back the lid. The muttering, the breeze, the hiss of the water beneath the keel falls away.

There is a child, asleep atop sea green pillows and carefully wrapped in blankets. Soft brown hair falls into sleep-relaxed eyes, a small plush toy clutched in one hand. There is no note, nothing to identify who the child is or where he came from. Nothing to tie him to a home. To a family. The Captain stands frozen, unsure but unbelievably certain. He takes the child in his arms and the last piece clicks into place.

The child never wakes, even as he carries him from the ship to home. The Captain leans his head against his shoulder, feeling the soft puffs of air tickle his neck. Niki opens the door quickly when he knocks, a welcome ready on her lips and Ranboo waiting behind her. When he places a finger to his lips and moves further into the house, their eyes grow wide and curious.

He lays the child down in his bundle of blankets, carefully securing the plush toy (a small bee, yellow fuzz faded and worn from years of attention) in his hands. When he’s certain he’ll remain asleep, he tells the others of the chest, of the markings and the missing note and the strange buzzing magic that urged him to open it. Niki insists on redecorating an old office, left dusty and stagnant for years, into a room. Ranboo worries about how the new child will react to the new space, far too familiar with sudden changes and blank spaces. They gather old clothing, toys, books, and he wonders why he ever thought to worry. (They felt the same urge before the door opened, the pull to complete their little unit, but they’ll never tell him. They don’t tell each other. It goes unspoken.)

When the child wakes, surrounded by unfamiliar faces in an unfamiliar place, there’s no fear. No terror, no screaming, no hiding in corners or running into streets. There are curious blue eyes, careful questions, and cautious optimism. He tells them his name (Tubbo), his favorite colors (green and yellow), his favorite animal (bees), and the last thing he remembers (warm arms and shiny scales and tears filling ocean blue eyes.)

The Captain doesn’t know what to expect, but he finds comfort in Tubbo’s boundless energy. He had feared for nights of crying and days of anger, but there’s nothing like that. Tubbo says he misses his family sometimes, but he loves his new one more.

He attaches himself to Niki quickly, following her and chattering away about nothing and everything. Niki listens with a good natured smile and unprompted questions, basking in the undiluted attention her newest shadow gives her. Ranboo is cautious at first, afraid his long limbs and uncontrolled abilities would harm the younger boy. Tubbo brushes past his concern with the grace of an elephant, clutching clawed fingers as he drags him on some adventure or another. Puffy swings him up onto her shoulders, practice sword in hand as they proclaim their conquest on the whole world. The Captain sits him down at his desk and shows him what he does, letting him trace figures along map trade routes and tell stories of what happens in different parts of the world. (None of them are true, but he listens and reacts appropriately all the same.)

He gives the Captain his fifth name in the middle of the afternoon, hand in hand with him as they wander through the market. Niki is not far behind them, chatting to an old friend over bread and textiles. Ranboo trails behind them, gazing at the bustle around them and fiddling nervously with his shirt buttons. (The Captain thinks back to so many years ago, when he was following his own father to the market, the world small and quiet and comfortable, without the weight of so many names.)

Tubbo sees a stall with honey, bees buzzing around lazily, and tugs on the Captain’s hand fervently as the name falls from his lips beside pleas to go and look.

Dad.

He still doesn’t say anything, but the warmth that spreads as he feels Ranboo’s eyes over his shoulder, Niki’s smile at his back, Tubbo’s hand in his own, lets him know that this name, his fifth name, fits perfectly.

(His fifth name might be his most prized of them all.)

(Soon, he finds himself called his fifth name more than his third. Tubbo finds a friend, a spitfire blond with a smtarbright heart, and his two brothers and winged father follow not far behind. There’s a ram flanked by a fox and a duck, a barefoot fae with his own ragtag band of misfits, a strange man in a purple rabbit mask, a collective of scholars and architects with a penchant for chaos and destruction, and a man with the voices of gods rattling inside his head. But he doesn’t mind it one bit.

His fifth name always did fit the best, after all.)

#find steel in silver au #fsis au #captainsparklez #captain puffy #tubbo #niki nihachu #ranboo #mcyt au #mcyt fanfiction #cross-posted on ao3

88 notes · View notes

spine-buster · 4 years

Text

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 25

A/N: So this chapter begins the first mention of COVID-19 for the story. I know it’s not much but I did want to put a little disclaimer because I know it was a traumatic event for many people, especially those who were affected by it personally. We will obviously get deeper into it as the story progresses in the next chapters (judging by the date...it’s time!)

Also, no @’ing me about what happens here with a certain someone.

March 2nd, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was paying attention to the news at the airport.

“While the first case of what epidemiologists are referring to as COVID-19 was recorded in Toronto on January 25th, the novel coronavirus is still baffling some scientists in terms of its symptoms. They range from severe in some, to completely asymptomatic in others. While there are currently less than twenty cases in Toronto thus far, Ontario health officials have recorded three news cases today. One is a man in his 60s who returned on a flight from Egypt, while the other two are women in their 60s and 70s returning on a flight from Egypt. Public health officials are encouraging individuals to wash their hands frequently and exercise caution whenever and wherever possible.”

“Want some hand sanitizer?” John asked from beside her. He was laid out in the chair beside her while her knees were against her chest.

She nodded, leaving her bag of pretzels in her lap before she extended her hand and he squirted some Purell onto her hand. John always had everything readily available – hand sanitizer, band aids, healthy granola bars, breath mints – she was sure he probably had a spare hair elastic in his backpack too, and a full surgery kit for all she knew. She rubbed the sanitizer in between her hands. “What do you think about all this?” she asked, motioning towards the TV monitor.

John shrugged. “I’m a bit nervous about it,” he admitted. “I know that Aryne is taking some extra precautions with Jace. A lot of her friends from Queen’s ended up going to med school so she’s friends with a lot of doctors and listening to their advice.”

“I guess we should all be.”

“Wouldn’t hurt, right?” John asked rhetorically. “Better safe than sorry. What do you think about it?”

Aberdeen pursed her lips slightly. “I have no clue. Science goes way above my head. But if doctors and epidemiologists are going to tell me to do something – or not do something – so I don’t get sick, I’m going to do it – or not do it – whatever.”

“Atta girl,” John smiled. “Just listen to the experts.”

“That’s why I listen to you about hockey,” she winked.

He laughed out loud. “You butter me up too much. What are you looking for? A granola bar? You already have pretzels.”

“Not everything with me has to do with food.”

“Really?”

She pinched him.

***

March 5th, 2020

It was 24 Celsius in Los Angeles, and Aberdeen was loving it. Though the Leafs had suffered a bit of an embarrassing loss to San Jose the night before, today the team had a day off before they had back to back games against the Kings and Ducks. Some of them were going shopping on Rodeo Drive (Auston, Frederik), and some were visiting old friends since being traded (Kyle, Jack), but most were doing exactly what Aberdeen wanted to do: going to the beach.

They decided on Malibu Beach. It was only a thirty minute drive from the hotel, so Aberdeen put on her bathing suit and packed herself in a car with John, Jason, and Justin Holl. William, Rasmus, Kappy, and Pierre followed in another, with Tyson and Mitch tagging along in the last car too. It may not have been super-hot to Californians, but for sun-starved Canadians, it would do. The sun was out, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and she was going to tan the entire afternoon. She would take advantage of it as much as possible.

As she helped set up the blankets and beach towels, she watched as Mitch and Tyson already stripped down to their bathing suits and ran into the ocean together. Pierre was setting up some Bluetooth speakers and John was passing around the sunscreen. The visual of these men rubbing sunscreen across their abs made Aberdeen’s heart flutter – but then the image of them having to slather sunscreen all over each other’s backs brought her back down to earth. She chuckled to herself and shook her head.

“Aberdeen, sunscreen!” John tossed the bottle towards her. She caught it and stripped down to her tankini before squirting some onto her legs and arms, making sure to cover herself thoroughly. She could tell William was watching but trying not to make it seem like he was. Jason took care of her back.

The guys did their own thing while Aberdeen read her book and tanned. She could hear them screaming every now and then and watched as they gave each other piggyback rides and splashed water at each other like they were a peewee hockey team on a weekend tournament. Every now and again someone would come back to the blankets and beach towels to relax, but soon enough, they were back in the ocean, being loud and obnoxious but happy, happy boys.

“Whatcha reading?” Tyson asked as he walked towards her, wet from the salt water and sand sticking to his legs. She flashed the book at him – Milkman by Anna Burns – and he squinted his eyes to see it properly in the sunlight. “Is it about milk?” he asked.

She shorted. She remembered back to when she was reading Women Talking by Miriam Toews and William asked “Do women talk in it?” like a smartass. “It’s about a woman in what’s very obviously Belfast coming of age during the Troubles. I thought it might give me some more insight into what my mom grew up in.”

“Is it any good? Was it as good as the one you were reading last week on the plane? Normal Girls or whatever it was?”

Aberdeen giggled. “Normal People, you mean? No, it’s not as good as that. Fuck, I loved that book.”

“I know. You wouldn’t shut up about it!” he joked, wiping his body off. From behind him, Aberdeen could see John making his way towards them. William was still off in the ocean, throwing a football between him, Pierre, and Mitch. “Think you can teach Mitch how to read?”

Aberdeen smiled. “I can certainly try.”

As if on cue, Mitch’s booming voice was heard. “Hey T-Bear! Get over here!” he yelled, putting everything he had into his throw of the football so it reached Tyson, who caught it expertly.

“See ya later, Aberdeen,” he said before running off, throwing the football towards Pierre who had to dive into the water to catch it.

Instead of focusing on the water cascading down Pierre’s abs or the sunlight hitting William’s broad shoulders perfectly, making him look like some Norse god, she focused her attention on John. “You feeling good?” she asked.

“The best,” he nodded, wiping himself off before lying the towel down again and sitting on it, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them. “You’ve already gotten some colour,” he commented.

“Thank God,” she said, looking down at her arms. “The winter has made me so pale. It’s a bummer I didn’t get my dad’s skin tone. My sister and brother got lucky with that.”

“You took after the Scottish side?” he asked. Aberdeen nodded. “I get it,” he said. “Aryne can’t tan either. She burns too easily.”

“Wonder if the Swedes are going to look like tomatoes in a couple of hours,” she said, nodding her head towards them. “Imagine they’re on TV and beet red? I might get fired for not slathering sunscreen on you guys or not telling you to put on some hats.”

John laughed out loud, choosing to lean back on his elbows. “I don’t know about that, Aberdeen. Something tells me you’ll be around for a long time if certain people have anything to say about it – well, until you want to leave, that is.”

Aberdeen’s body stiffened slightly at his words. “Wh…what do you mean?” she asked.

“Ah, nothing serious, Aberdeen. Don’t worry,” he said, shaking his head. With the silence between them, Aberdeen thought he may have dropped it, but he didn’t. He was just preparing to articulate what he wanted to say. “It’s not just Brendan liking you, you know. We know William has, like, the biggest crush on you, okay? We’re all adults here,” he said to her shock. “It’s cute, but we all know it’s harmless.”

“It is harmless,” she stressed.

“I know, Aberdeen. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t for a second forget that you’re all Toronto Maple Leafs,” she said. “Every job in this organization is a dream job for someone and you guys forget that some people spend their entire lives, their entire careers, building up their resumes waiting to get hired by this organization. Nobody would ever, ever, under any circumstances, want to do anything to fuck it up, because once you’re done here, there’s nowhere else to go.”

“I knooooow, I know. I’m just ribbing you like we rib him about it,” he smiled. He was so jovial about it all that Aberdeen calmed down a bit. He wasn’t trying to get to the bottom of something like he was when he and Morgan asked her about Ethan – he was just being good-humoured. A human, not a captain of a hockey team. Maybe her overreaction was a bit much but she needed to remain guarded and vigilant about it if ever, and whenever the guys brought it up. “He looks at you googly-eyed all the time even though he knows nothing’s ever gonna happen. I’m pretty sure he’d cry whenever you leave.”

Aberdeen snorted. Cry from joy, probably, because that would mean they could actually touch each other in public. “He told you that? That nothing is ever gonna happen?”

John nodded his head. “Well, nothing’s ever gonna happen as long as you work here,” he clarified. “But don’t tell him I told you. He kind of figures and we all know it’s a lost cause as long as you’re working here.”

Aberdeen nodded, deciding not to say anything as she looked out into the distance. The boys were still throwing the football, and Justin was attempting a yoga pose on the beach. She picked up her book and buried her head in it.

***

Adrian Kempe, a Swedish friend of William’s, recommended a taco restaurant in Malibu for the group to have dinner. It wasn’t a far drive from where they were on the beach, so at around six in the evening, they shook the sand off the towels and packed them back in the cars and headed to Café Habana. Aberdeen was in the car with John, Jason, and Justin again.

When they arrived at the restaurant, she looked out the backseat window to see Kappy making a beeline towards someone. The girl, Aberdeen soon noticed, was Saylor. She figured Saylor was here for another modelling gig, though Aberdeen did find it somewhat amusing that Saylor always popped up in cities or areas with…well, shall we say distractions. She was in New York. Las Vegas. Aberdeen knew she’d been to Florida. Now she was in LA. Saylor didn’t go Columbus or Colorado.

“Hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii,” Saylor squealed as she saw Willy, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him. “Surrrrrpriiiiise!”

“Surprise,” he smirked, but Aberdeen could tell he wasn’t as excited as she was. “Here for some modelling?”

“Who wouldn’t want to come down to LA to model? I just came from a shoot,” she said, now focusing her attention on Aberdeen. “Hey girl!” she squealed again.

“Hi Saylor,” she smiled.

“I’m so glad I won’t be the only girl here tonight,” she smirked. “The boys can get so boring sometimes.”

“Aberdeen’s used to it by now,” Jason piped in. “She’s only been travelling with us since September.”

The group moved towards the restaurant and were seated in the back patio at a long table. Aberdeen was squished in between Jason and John, and directly across from her sat Willy, Pierre to his right and Saylor to his left. Saylor and Kasperi didn’t even have to sit down to ask the waiter and waitress attending to them if they had oysters. They didn’t. With one quick look at the menu, and a disproportionately long discussion requiring everybody’s calculators to be out to determine how many orders of tacos were required for everybody to have three tacos each (much to Aberdeen’s entertainment), the group ordered four orders of every taco variation (and there were five of them) on the menu, along with some sides of baby broccoli, sautéed zucchini, and French fries. As a dining group of 11, it should have been more than enough food. She felt bad for the chefs, but knew the food would be amazing. She saw it being brought to a table near them and it looked delectable.

While Aberdeen maintained professionalism at all times when she was in front of the guys, when the tacos came, that professionalism waned. She made sure to grab the four tacos she was guaranteed and wanted and piled them onto her plate. They looked delicious. Even as she bit into her first one, she moaned audibly at the taste, making the guys around her laugh. Willy eyed her as she did so, taking a bite out of his own.

“So what have you been up to?” Saylor asked Aberdeen as she crunched on a French fry. “Kappy told me it was your birthday?”

“It was! I turned 22.”

“Ohmigod, I remember my 22nd birthday. We went to the rooftop bar at the Bowery Hotel in New York City,” Saylor said. Aberdeen knew it would be something ultra-luxurious because that was the only way Saylor seemed to roll. “What did you end up doing?”

“Oh, a bunch of friends and I just got a booth and bottle service at a club. Nothing as fancy as that,” Aberdeen answered.

“How many were you?”

“I’d say about twenty.”

Saylor’s eyes bulged a bit. “When you get older, your friend group gets soooo small,” she said, her tone making it seem like she was the all-knowledgeable big sister bestowing wise knowledge upon Aberdeen. Saylor was only a year older than her. If it was Jen, Aryne, or Bee giving this advice, fine – but not Saylor. “My friend group is so small now. All the drama that goes on between people is just so tiring, you know? Less people, less drama.”

Aberdeen didn’t want to be rude, so she nodded her head. “I can get that. These are all people I’ve known since high school and throughout university, though. We’ve already been friends for a long time.”

“And you’re still friends with them?” Saylor asked.

Aberdeen nodded her head. Before she could say anything else, John piped up. “I think that’s a testament to your character more so than anything, Aberdeen.”

“But it could also speak to, like, the way people are,” Saylor went on. Aberdeen indulged her, looking at her so she would continue. “Like, when I was in high school – my family is from Lake Forest, and I went to Lake Forest Academy – I found out this one friend was talking behind my back and I totally ditched her. But then we ended up at the same college, and it was really weird for a while, but then we ended up becoming friends!”

Aberdeen didn’t know what point she was trying to make. Neither did anybody else listening, judging by the looks on their faces. “That’s good you were able to turn the relationship around,” she commented, not knowing what else to say.

Saylor looked very proud of herself. “Besides that, what else have you been up to? Are you still just, like, Brendan’s assistant?”

Aberdeen bit her tongue to smile curtly. “Just.”

“And a great one at that,” Jason said before stuffing his mouth with a taco.

“I guess that’s enough for you,” Saylor commented.

Aberdeen almost dropped her taco. So did Jason. Willy was looking in between them. She didn’t know how to respond at this point and not sound rude when Saylor’s rudeness was so blatantly obvious. Aberdeen still wasn’t sure whether or not Saylor actually had the capacity to be underhanded. She was starting to err on the side of Saylor knowing exactly what she was saying to people but saying it in such a way and with such a tone that everyone thought she was just dumb and didn’t know better. Aberdeen began to believe Saylor did know better, and her act wasn’t fooling Aberdeen anymore. It made her reconsider what Saylor said to her in New York about her nose. “It’s actually not enough for me, but it’s what’s paying the bills right now and I’m not going to discuss career aspirations at the dinner table in front of people who are technically my colleagues and who don’t want to see me leave anytime soon.”

“But you can’t be in a job you hate just because it pays the bills!” she said like some dreamer. “You need to go out there and be creative! Cultivate! Be artistic! Design! Sometimes the best opportunities come when you just drop everything, quit your job, and start hustling as you do what you love!”

Aberdeen felt her blood begin to boil. She tried to remain calm. “One – I never said I hated my job. I love this job and I love the people I work with,” she clarified. “Two – that’s a bit easy to say for someone with family money who grew up in Lake Forest and went to a private school. I have rent to pay. Bills – groceries, my cell phone, internet, stuff for my cat – I can’t just up and quit my job with a steady income to hustle and be creative when I have a shit ton of responsibilities.”

“I’m sure your parents would help you if it’s your dream and it’s something you really wanted to do.”

“No, they wouldn’t,” Aberdeen deadpanned. “My parents have their own shit to deal with. My mom would kick my ass if I was that stupid. I mean, my parents are immigrants, so that goes without saying. They don’t owe me a dollar, and I would never ask them for it. I would never do that to them.”

“What about your grandparents?”

Aberdeen could feel John, Jason, Pierre, and Willy deflate at the question. It was almost comical. “I think you’re missing the point, Saylor,” Jason said nicely. “Aberdeen is already hustling to get to an end-goal of writing. This job is actually helping her get to that goal.”

“Writing?” Saylor questioned. “I thought for sure you wanted to, like, work in sports or broadcasting or something. Writing, then? That makes sense, I guess. Better for you to stick behind the cameras.”

Aberdeen wondered if everybody else could hear what Saylor was saying too. She felt like she was in the twilight zone or something. It confirmed to her that Saylor knew exactly what she was saying. “Yeah, I guess. Kind of how it’s better for you to be in front of the cameras because you thrive on attention.”

“Yes! Modelling is all about getting attention and hype around your brand,” she smiled sincerely, so happy that the topic was back on her and her modelling. She didn’t get the subtle dig at her…extracurricular activities that took up more of people’s attention than any work or collaborations or modelling she’d done. “I’m working so hard to build mine now, which is why I’m in LA having meetings and doing more collabs.”

“Is modelling enough for you?” Jason asked.

Aberdeen almost spit out her water, but Willy beat her to it. She saw Saylor’s face light up even more. “Oh my God, yes. I looove modelling. I’m soooo into the creative aspect of it and building my brand.”

“That’s great, Saylor,” Aberdeen smiled. “I’m really glad that it’s working out for you considering how much you love it.”

“Thanks, girl,” she winked. “It’s hard because the industry is so saturated these days. I mean we were talking about this in New York. Every girl with an iPhone, some makeup, and good angles thinks she’s a model. It really takes someone creative like me to stand out. Someone with a unique look and a unique brand,” she went on. “Like your nose, you know? It’s big. Huge. We talked about that. You could get a nose job, or you could work with it. Most would get a nose job.”

Jason was ready for Aberdeen to snap. So was John. So was Pierre. But William knew better. When he saw Aberdeen smile, close-mouthed, just a hint of a coy grin playing on her face, he knew better. “I have a Virginia Woolf nose,” Aberdeen said. “It reminds me of how much I want to become a writer and not a model.”

***

“I feel like I just watched a WWE match on pay-per-view,” Aberdeen overheard Justin say to Jason in a low voice as they trailed behind her in the parking lot (he sat beside Jason during the meal and had heard everything, but even if he hadn’t sat beside him, Aberdeen had a feeling he still would have heard). After the tacos were eaten, everybody decided to call it a night and go back to the hotel – well, mostly everyone. Saylor wanted to go out for drinks somewhere else in Malibu. Everybody else politely declined.

“Yeah, except it was pretty one-sided,” Jason said in an equally low voice. “It’s like Aberdeen was Stone Cold Steve Austin and Saylor was the poor jobber her stunnered every Monday night.”

“You picked up on the nose comment too, right? I mean she was basically telling Aberdeen to get a nose job?” Justin asked.

“Yup,” Jason popped the P sound.

“I thought I was going crazy when I heard it.”

“Yeah, me too. But from what I’ve heard from Jen I didn’t expect more from her.”

“It’s good that Aberdeen is mature. I think if it were me at 22, I would have lunged across the table,” Justin commented.

***

“Who’s Virginia Woolf?”

Aberdeen was lying naked in her hotel bed, tits out, with William lying by her side after he’d fucked her, and that was the question he asked. Aberdeen smiled. She loved William and she knew him – she really did, at least she liked to think – but sometimes she didn’t understand how his brain worked. She knew she liked to call him “Head Empty”, but sometimes she wasn’t so sure. He clearly had thoughts. He just brought them up at weird times. “She was a writer in the early 1900s,” she answered, laughing slightly.

“And you want to be like her?”

She shook her head. “I’d like my writing to be like her writing.”

“Why don’t you want to be like her?”

“She filled her pockets with rocks and committed suicide by drowning herself in the river behind her home,” she said, looking over at him. His face was blank, processing the information, and she smiled wider. “Maybe if my writing was like hers, I’d actually get published in Toronto Life or something.”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Her smile faded. She hadn’t told him yet. She’d wanted to keep it to herself for as long as possible because she didn’t want to burden him with the news. “I did try. I sent in one of my personal essays and they rejected it. They sent me the email on my birthday.”

William remained silent. He saw the look on Aberdeen’s face and knew that she felt embarrassed and disappointed – in herself, in her writing. He wrapped an arm around her and propped himself up on his elbow so he could look down at her. “Minskatt…”

“Don’t, Willy. You’re going to make me cry.”

“No,” he shook his head, not accepting what she was saying. “After the Carolina game you told me I needed to talk more and that you’d listen. Well, you need to talk now and I’ll listen,” he said. “Talk to me, minskatt. I’m listening.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and it wasn’t because of her writing getting rejected anymore. It was because of the man hovering over her. His head may by empty, but Aberdeen was sure his heart was full of gold. She didn’t know how she got so lucky. She didn’t know how he was hers. “I just don’t know how much more rejection I can take,” she whispered. “I try and I try and I write and I write and I read so I can write better and nothing is working. Nothing,” her voice was shaky. “I just want an editor to read my writing and say ‘This is what I’ve been looking for all along.’ But that hasn’t happened yet. And I’m scared it’s never going to happen.”

“It’ll happen one day, minskatt. I promise you,” William encouraged as he tightened his grip around her with his one arm. “You’re so talented. Your dreams are going to come true and you’re going to look back and wonder why you ever doubted yourself.”

“Do you doubt me?” she asked suddenly.

“No,” William said without hesitation. “Not for a second.”

Aberdeen stayed silent, bringing a hand up to wipe the few tears that had fallen down the side of her face. She rested it on William’s forearm draped across her body. “When I get like this, all my insecurities come out. About my future, about everything. Maybe I was never destined to be a writer. Maybe I was destined to be a personal assistant or a bank teller. Maybe I was destined just to be normal girl with a big nose and nothing special.”

“How can you say you’re nothing special when you’re my treasure?” he asked, burying his face in the crook of her neck and placing a light kiss there. She couldn’t help but smile, and he smiled at the fact he made her smile. “That has to count for something, right minskatt?” he stressed the word.

She nodded. “It counts for everything.” She looked directly into his baby blues, barely blinking. “The second I leave here I’m going to plant the biggest kiss on your lips, Willy. You have absolutely no idea.”

That caused William to laugh out loud before he bent down and gave her a quick kiss. “Not if I beat you to it,” he said.

“You won’t. Trust me. God, I can hardly wait,” she said. “I still don’t know why you keep waiting for me.”

“Are you listening?” he asked.

“Mhm.”

“I wait for you because I love you. Because I love everything about you.”

“Even my big nose?”

“My favourite part of you,” he kissed the tip of it. She could have cried again. “It’s what makes you you. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

When she craned her neck to kiss him, she made sure to wrap her arms around his body and pull him close, wanting to feel his body on top of hers. He got the hint, and stuck his tongue down her throat, and they kissed until he was hard again. Though he hadn’t expected a second round, he was more than willing to partake. He even made sure to bring extra condoms. He always did now – since Valentine’s Day. He had them everywhere: in his wallet, in his suitcase, in his shoe. “I love you minskatt,” he mumbled against her lips.

She didn’t respond at first. But when she did, it was with something he wasn’t expecting. “Tell me how you want me.”

He froze for a brief second, the previous conversation they were just having still fresh in his mind. “What?”

“Do you want me from behind? On top?” she asked in a breathy voice.

He groaned. “On top.”

They switched positions so he was lying on his back. Aberdeen climbed on top of him. “Willy?” she asked. “Can we…can we try something different?”

He nodded quickly. “What is it, Aberdeen?”

“Can we…” she began, almost a bit embarrassed. “Can I try reverse cowgirl?”

William couldn’t help but smile. “Of course,” he said, gripping at her hips.

“D’you have another condom?”

“My back pocket.”

She dismounted him, leaning over the bed to grab his pants on the floor and retrieve the packet. When she straddled him again, she did it so her back was to his face. He could feel her pump him a few times before she rolled on the condom, and he sighed at the feeling. She looked over her shoulder at him. “I love you, Willy.”

“I love you too,” he said, his hands back on her hips. He helped her lower herself onto him, the both of the moaning at the feeling. He loved watching himself disappear inside of her. He noticed she wasn’t moving yet. “You okay?” he asked.

Aberdeen nodded her head. “It feels so good,” she said. “I’ve never…you know…”

“It’s okay,” he said, understanding what she wasn’t saying. He couldn’t believe that her previous sexual partners were so selfish that they never let her explore what she liked or what she could possibly like or positions she could do. He shuddered at the thought of her potentially asking and being turned down. It made him angry just thinking about it. He didn’t want her to be that way with him. He wanted her to be completely open. “Do what you feel comfortable with, minskatt.”

She began rolling her hips back and forth. William groaned in response, and he could feel Aberdeen’s hands grip his thighs and her nails dig in slightly. As she rocked herself on his cock, she began to moan, gasping out anytime William would buck his hips slightly. He had to admit he liked the view, but what he liked even more was that she was enjoying herself on top of him, doing what she wanted.

“Willy?” she asked suddenly. She looked over her shoulder at him again. She looked so innocent and he knew that she meant to do it, and he almost exploded right then and there as she bat her eyelashes at him. “Can you…can you come up here?”

He did as he was told, pushing himself up and wrapping his arms around her body. He kissed her back and dragged his lips along her skin to her shoulder and neck. “What is it, minskatt?” he asked.

“What if I wanted to try more?”

If it was possible, William felt even hotter. The sound of her voice saying those words was…indescribable. “What do you mean?”

“You just make me feel so good. I’ve never had anybody make me feel this way. I feel so comfortable with you,” she said. “You…I feel safe to try things with you. Things I couldn’t try with other guys.”

He knew what she was getting at. He placed a tender kiss on her shoulder. “What do you want to try?” he asked. She remained silent, wondering if she should have even said anything. “Don’t be ashamed, minskatt. What do you want me to do?”

She hesitated. “D’you…can you pinch my nipples?”

He smiled because it was such a simple request. He brought his hands up and cupped her breasts, pinching her nipples between his thumb and index fingers. He felt her sharp intake of breath and her head leaned back into his shoulder. He could tell by her reaction that she wanted more. “What else?” he asked, biting down on her skin near her shoulder. “What are you not telling me?”

“That,” she stressed. He didn’t know what she meant. “The bite. You—You can fuck me, Willy. I want you to fuck me. You can be rougher with me. I think I’ll like it.”

When William heard those words and how she emphasized them, he wanted to make sure. Needed to make sure. The first time they had sex it was a good old-fashioned hookup. The second time they had sex they’d made love. In subsequent times since, it was mostly making love, if only because they had waited so long to finally be together and that was what they wanted to “release” – love. But now, with those words being said, he knew Aberdeen was ready to take the next step. She was willing to go further. She trusted him to go further with her, and only wanted to do it with him. “Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I trust you. Fuck me, Willy.”

He pinched her nipples again, harder this time, and she gasped. He started to move his hips too, moving inside of her, and she began to moan again. Without warning, he fell back down on the bed, bringing her with him so her back was flush against his chest, though her knees were still bent and he was still in her. This was definitely a new position for her, judging by her reaction – a quick “oh fuck” escaping her lips. He heard her breathing get heavier as she felt one of his hands snake down from her breasts and on to her clit. “Willy…” she moaned out.

He started pounding into her, using his athletic physique to be able to so with such force in a new angle she’d never felt before. Her moans fuelled him, and the moans changed to slight whimpers when he started rubbing at her clit. “Fuck, Willy…” she managed to get out.

But he wasn’t done. At least he didn’t want to be done. His other hand, still pinching her nipple, moved up to her neck. “Willy,” she mewled, bringing her own hand up and placing it over his.

“Is that okay?” he whispered into her ear. He wasn’t applying any pressure – it was just sort of there – but that was apparently enough for her. He wouldn’t have felt comfortable going further, anyway, at least without her verbalizing something.

“Yes Willy, fuck,” she arched her back. “Fuck me. Fuck me harder.”

He increased his pace. Her cries let him know that even with those simple actions, she was feeling pleasure. She was liking it. She was getting what she wanted from him. That was the only thing he wanted. “I want you to cum all over my cock, Aberdeen,” he growled into her ear. She didn’t answer, but when she arched her back again, he felt her walls tighten around his cock and he knew she was done. He let himself find his release too, groaning in pleasure as her body writhed on top of his. He didn’t stop rubbing her clit until her hand went over his to stop him. Her body went still as he slipped out of her and she fell to his side, trying to regain her breath.

After a couple of minutes, she curled around to face him. “I know that was probably really tame but it was new for me.”

William shook his head. He didn’t want her to feel nervous about anything. “Baby steps,” he kissed her.

“No guy has ever, like…asked what I like in the bedroom,” she admitted. “So I couldn’t explore things. Well I didn’t feel comfortable exploring things. But I know I can with you.”

William nodded his head. “Don’t worry, minskatt. We can start slow. No need to rush. You can tell me what you like and where you’re willing to go.”

“You too.”

“Hmm?”

“You tell me what you like and where you’re willing to go, and I’ll go there with you too.”

He nodded his head, smiling. “I love you.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

183 notes · View notes

slightlycrunchy · 3 years

Text

the color you bleed is me

A fic written for the Dead Dove exchange over at @thewitcherbog. My recipient is @jaskiersvalley who wanted a little mind control, so where else would I go but to Vampires? (Let’s see if this gets flagged heh)

Read on ao3 (which I recommend cuz the formatting is better)

WC: 5.8k // Rated E // Warnings: blood and gore, sexual violence, explicit sexual content, dub-con, mind control, blood as lube // Tags: vampire!Jaskier, top Jaskier, happy ending, geraskier, hurt/comfort, geralt is self-sacrificing

It all begins one night across from his witcher, soft amber eyes aglow with burning flame. Jaskier stands, stretching his travel-weary muscles as he endures the cracks that run up and down his spine. They have just eaten dinner, dried meat turned into a stew flavored with a handful of herbs Jaskier had happened upon. Usually it’s a good night when sweet little surprises like this happen. Jaskier loves these evenings spent around the fire, soft companionship shared with his best friend.

Friends.

Yes, that’s what they are.

“To bed, bard?”

Geralt’s rough tone catches him unawares and he jumps. He doesn’t dare hope that Geralt didn’t see it with the small smirk that plays at his shadowed face.

“Afraid so, dear, long day and all. You’ve worn me out something dreadful. It’s a shame I won’t have the energy for anything else”, Jaskier teases, the back of his hand held to his forehead in an affected swoon. Geralt simply rolls his eyes, far too used to Jaskier’s antics to be provoked any longer.

“Yes, what a shame. A good wank would have put you out hard enough I would be spared your snoring.”

Jaskier chokes on a laugh. He’s still not quite used to Geralt’s good-natured teasing. “Yes, well, perhaps there’s energy for that. Maybe you could do the same and spare me yours?”

“I sleep like the dead.”

“Un-dead more like it.”

Geralt’s shoulders shake with suppressed laughter and with a wave of his hand, he dismisses Jaskier. Turning away, Jaskier finally settles into his own bedroll. It’s a cold night, autumn’s grasp only becoming stronger each day, and yet Jaskier feels unbearably warm, his cheeks and chest alight with an inner fire.

Friends. Yes.

The teasing, the ribbing, the fights that melt into small squabbles that are gotten over quickly. Gone are the days of getting on each others’ last nerve and Jaskier fighting for scraps of Geralt’s attention.

Friends.

As the night closes in and Jaskier’s thoughts go in familiar circles, he feels sleep coming for him strong and fast. Gods, is he exhausted. It really is a shame that he doesn’t have the energy to take himself in hand.

This is the last thought he is allowed before sleep takes him.

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

“Jaskier!”

He’s jolted into waking, his heart racing so hard it hurts his chest.

“G-Geralt—?”

“Melitele’s tits, Jaskier hurry the fuck up,” Geralt growls from somewhere above. Jaskier’s eyes have not yet adjusted to the bright light around him, sunlight pouring down on him sharply—

Oh no. Not again.

He’s up as quickly as he can manage, bedroll hastily packed and boots put on the wrong feet. He needs to take a piss but will hold it for now, not wanting to worsen the look he can imagine lies starkly across the witcher’s face as he waits for him, ready to go with all of their things packed.

He’s done it again. For the third day in a row, Jaskier has slept through their usual dawn waking. Two decades of travelling off and on with Geralt should guarantee Jaskier’s body knows what to do and when. The sun warming his skin has always been his signal to wake, just like it is Geralt’s. Even when the witcher would leave him for the long winters, it took weeks for Jaskier’s body to recognize that it did not actually have to wake with the sun in his rooms in Oxenfurt.

He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

“I’m sorry, Geralt, I don’t know what’s come over me,” Jaskier says, breathless as he comes to the witcher’s side, arms full of the bag he clumsily tries to throw over his shoulder. His limbs shake a bit with the adrenaline pumping through his veins. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt so awake.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier looks up, his first time really seeing Geralt this morning, shocked that the look he had imagined—pure, unadulterated irritation—is not there at all. There’s a furrow to Geralt’s brow as his eyes shamelessly roam Jaskier’s body. It makes Jaskier’s cheeks hot.

“Sorry. Again.”

As Geralt turns and they begin their way out of the woods, Jaskier rubs at his jaw absently where it aches. Why did Geralt look at him like that? And why isn’t he angry?

Jaskier doesn’t stop wondering for the rest of the day.

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

Something is wrong with Jaskier.

Amber eyes roam over the sleeping body that lies close to the fire, small shivers still running up and down the blanketed lump. Jaskier has slept through dinner, and this isn’t the first time.

Geralt tears his eyes away from the man before him, looking up to the stars that shine bright and clear above them. The weather is pleasant, though cold. A human would perhaps be feeling its bite by now, but not to the degree that Jaskier seems to. Geralt has taken to holding the bard close the past few days just so his teeth will stop chattering; the man sleeps so deeply that Geralt is sure he doesn’t even notice.

The hare Geralt caught sits heavy in his stomach, Jaskier’s portion eaten as well, as Geralt knows by now he won’t be able to wake the other man. His sleep patterns have become worrisome if he’s being honest. Jaskier is nearly impossible to wake of a morning, and more often than not he doesn’t eat before he goes to bed in the evenings. Tonight, the sun hadn’t even fallen beneath the treeline before Jaskier had rolled out his bed and folded onto it like a man who hadn’t rested in days.

And yet they don’t talk about it.

Jaskier’s appetite has waned, even midday breaks taken only for sips of water and a rest for his feet. Geralt has had to shake him awake twice, head rolling onto his chest against a tree. Jaskier seems to be able to fall into sleep anywhere, at any time. This level of exhaustion can’t be healthy.

Jaskier says nothing.

Geralt has watched his skin turn sallow and hands begin to shake, and even as Geralt shoots him knowing looks, begging the bard to say something, Jaskier looks away with a look like shame blanketing his face. Why would he be ashamed? If he’s growing sick, there’s nothing for Jaskier to feel shame over; he can’t help it.

With a sigh, Geralt thinks of Jaskier’s age. His fortieth birthday is coming up, literally within the week. Two decades Geralt has spent with this man, at first an annoyance but now someone Geralt would call his closest friend.

Friends.

Geralt wonders at that word. So innocent and small, and yet it holds the meaning of joy in his life. Jaskier brings so much joy into his life.

Geralt startles, half rising from the log he sits on when a shuddering sigh escapes the lump across the flames from him. Geralt waits a moment, but then Jaskier settles and the tension bleeds from his limbs. Forty years old is middle-aged for a human, a time when their bodies begin to struggle and slow. For the gods’ sakes, many don’t even make it this far. Sickness ravages too many too young, and Jaskier has always been bafflingly healthy.

But not anymore, it seems.

With a heaviness set upon his shoulders, Geralt rises and makes his way to Jaskier’s side, placing his own bedroll close. Something pricks at his mind that he doesn’t want to name as he bundles Jaskier into his arms. Geralt hears his labored breathing slow, Jaskier’s muscles relaxing into Geralt’s chest as he holds him closer and Geralt ignores the twist in his gut.

Not for the first time, Geralt wishes he had the means to know what the future holds, where they will end. He doesn’t know what he will do if he loses his closest friend.

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

Jaskier can’t eat. His stomach twists and curls uncomfortably nearly every waking moment, and even the thought of food has him nearly retching. His jaw aches, a sensation that has crept up on him with every waking morning and no matter how much he massages the skin there, nothing assuages his discomfort. He knows Geralt is aware something is wrong, but the witcher never brings it up, and for that Jaskier is thankful.

He doesn’t want to acknowledge whatever this is. But he’s finding it harder to ignore.

The tipping point comes the day before he is due to turn forty, some vague and distant part of Jaskier’s mind regaling him of birthdays spent in Oxenfurt, memories drenched in too much wine and debauchery. There have been other, softer years spent with Geralt on such a day; times when Geralt has gifted him something thoughtful and sweet—useful, more often than not. If he’s honest, those are his favorite years. As he gets older, nights full of revelry are wanted far less, time with those he loves needed far more.

And Jaskier loves Geralt, by Melitele’s mercy he does.

The sky sprinkles a light drizzle all around them, grey and pressing down with a haze in the air that tugs at Jaskier’s lungs with an insistent pull. A town rises up before them out of the mist, inconsequential, looking no different than the last four they've passed through in the past two weeks. However, Jaskier thinks every town would look the same to him at this point.

His breathing is labored as he follows Roach blindly, her body taking up a dark corner of his vision even as he stares down at his own feet. It’s all he can do to keep walking; place one foot in front of the other, the pressure at his soles grounding and slightly hypnotic as he does so. He’s so unaware that he walks into her backside as she’s stopped at some point, his shoulder bouncing off with an embarrassing squeak as he’s shocked out of his daze.

“Jaskier, we’re here.”

Geralt’s voice sounds distant even as Jaskier attempts to look up at him. The back of his neck aches something awful and he can’t quite force himself to make eye contact, his gaze shifting off somewhere over Geralt’s left shoulder. Even so, Jaskier gives a wan smile. “Where exactly is ‘here’, witcher?”

“A place I know...with people I know,” Geralt answers, his voice soft and...concerned. Jaskier’s expression shutters; he doesn’t want Geralt’s pity, he’s fine, this is all fine. He ignores how his knees shake beneath him—

“You’re not fine, bard,” a feminine voice cuts through the fog.

Immediately Jaskier is at attention, more aware than he’s felt in days. He looks to Geralt’s face, a feeling of betrayal and something else that’s hot and nearly overwhelming bubbling up in his chest. He hasn’t seen her in months, and Jaskier has been grateful for it, especially since his feelings for Geralt have changed as of late, tumbling firmly into non-platonic territories. She is a threat, an enemy come to take what is his—

He startles. Where has that thought come from?

“Yennefer? Why is she here Geralt, what are you doing?” His heart rate is rising and with it comes a new wave of dizziness. He sways, Geralt bracing him firmly beneath his elbow. Geralt’s face is pinched in discomfort.

“You’re...you’re not well, Jask. It wasn’t originally my plan to seek her out, but I heard rumors of a sorceress this way and…” he trails off.

“And you look like shit, bard. Stop being so stubborn as to not accept help from someone who can do something about it.”

It’s as if it comes from nowhere really, like he’s turned a corner and it’s just there, crouched and ready to pounce on him when he’s least expecting it. Fury; hot, possessive, overwhelming fury. He is equal parts surprised and satisfied when he hisses, the sound feeling wrong coming from his mouth. Gods, his mouth aches; he wants to tear her to shreds.

“Jaskier?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier won’t look at him, eyes boring holes into the mage before him who takes a moment to look surprised before her eyes harden into steel. His head pounds.

She nearly sneers when she says, “I know what the fuck you are.”

Jaskier hardly has a moment to register her words before his legs give out and everything goes deeply, horribly, black.

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

Jaskier is sleeping deeply, looking worse than ever, upon a bed inside the humble cottage Yennefer has set herself up in. The lack of wealth that usually surrounds the mage in her favored homesteads is shocking, though Geralt has more pressing matters to mind.

“What’s wrong with him, Yen?” He tries to keep the desperation out of his voice.

She doesn’t look at him, busy bustling around in the small kitchen, gathering up herbs and water into a bowl that she heats with her magic. She places sprigs of rosemary and sage within it and immediately Geralt’s senses are overwhelmed with the earthy softness as she wrings out a cloth and fits it neatly upon Jaskier’s forehead, all with clinical ease. Jaskier has begun to sweat, his skin clammy with it. He pants harshly, and Geralt feels an urgency more than ever.

“Tell me, Yen.”

She looks at him askance, placing the bowl upon a table that rests at the bedside. “You’re not going to like it, witcher. Things are going to change.”

“When one lives as long as I have, change is inevitable.”

Yennefer looks at the bard, and Geralt isn’t sure if he imagines her gaze to be full of pity. “Not like this, Geralt.”

Geralt feels his patience snap, “Damn it all, Yen! Tell me!”

“Don’t you yell at me, witcher,” she says dangerously, even as she finally stops before him, arms folded over her chest in defiance. “Now shut up.”

She’s silent for a moment and the anxiety that Geralt has easily pushed down with action and outward movement now comes toppling over him. Is Jaskier dying? The air in the room is foreboding, so much so that he can hardly breathe with it. He watches as she hardens her expression, her eyes darkening. He clenches his fists.

“He’s turning, Geralt.”

Of all the things she could have said, this was not what he expected. “Turning? Turning to what, Yen?”

“Turning into what, you mean. He’s a vampire, Geralt. How have you not noticed? I assume he hasn’t been eating, been sleeping more—he’s probably in quite a bit of pain as his body goes through the changes. I can see his teeth from here, how have you missed it?”

The teeth? Immediately Geralt is at Jaskier’s side, raising one pale lip to look at the canines there. His throat tightens at the sight; they match his own, now. He knows they will only grow sharper. Suddenly the thought overtakes him, stealing his breath, “His fortieth is tomorrow Yen...tomorrow.”

“Is it? What a shame.”

“Have some compassion, for Melitele’s sake,” he says without heat, but his mind is roaming elsewhere.

He thinks back to the bestiary, of all that he knows of higher vampires. How does Jaskier not know what he is? For surely he doesn’t know, he would have told Geralt...wouldn’t he? There isn’t much known about the species, many witchers having been destroyed too swiftly to report any characteristics in the flesh. Though, they know a little: vampires come of age much later than humans, at forty to be exact. They hold the ability to thrall and speak to the beasts of the field, lack reflection or shadow and can blend in with humans almost seamlessly. They don’t require human blood, but many give into their desires and take it anyway—except on one day of their life.

The day they turn.

“He’s starving, Geralt—he’ll need his fill of blood tomorrow to survive the change, so what will you do? You hunt monsters like him. You can’t possibly condone even your precious bard taking a human life to save his own? What will the world come to—”

“Quit mocking him, Yen,” Geralt spits, his mind in a whirlwind.

Jaskier’s body has been slowly transitioning over the past two weeks and Geralt hates himself for not noticing, though there’s no way he could have. Without realizing it, Geralt has begun petting Jaskier’s chestnut hair, his sweat slicking it back bit by bit. With gentle hands, Geralt lowers them to the hem of Jaskier’s tunic, slowly lifting it up just to Jaskier’s chest.

Geralt sighs heavily. He’s lost weight—more than Geralt would have thought. His stomach lies sunken in slightly and the edges of his soft chest have turned sharp, ribs protruding by a small measure. His body has been wasting away and something in Geralt howls at this. It’s his job to protect Jaskier, to make sure he’s safe—how can he protect him from this?

“So what are you going to do witcher? You could wait until tomorrow to slay him or…” Geralt looks up at her, his eyes wide in surprise, “you could do it now, while he sleeps. Put him out of his misery before he even knows of the monster he has become.”

“Jaskier is no monster,” he growls, something in him jumping forth with teeth bared. He turns away from her, to look at the man below him who didn’t choose this for himself but is forced into it regardless—

Not unlike Geralt himself had once been.

Witchers are hated all over the continent, though they do thankless, dirty work that keeps the people safe in their beds, and yet he didn’t have a choice in the matter. In those early days, Geralt had wished he didn’t survive the trials, hadn’t lived to become this. ‘Monster’ they call him. He used to believe it...until Jaskier came along.

Jaskier was never daunted by his looks or gruff demeanor. Jaskier always saw deeper down, into who Geralt actually is...and now, Geralt will do the same.

“I will help him.”

He sees the way Yennefer flinches even from the corner of his eye, unwilling to look away from Jaskier’s face. The bard’s brows have knit together in discomfort now, and Geralt gently smoothes the ache away with his thumb.

“Are you insane, Geralt? He’ll kill you!”

“That may be true, but…” He doesn’t know what it is, or why, but something in Geralt’s mind says that Jaskier won’t. He doesn’t dare trust it, but it’s there all the same. “That would be alright.”

“It will hurt Geralt, he’ll want the thrill of the hunt, he’ll tear you to shreds.” He hears the concern in her voice. It’s not as surprising as he would expect. “I— Please don’t, Geralt.”

Geralt rises from the edge of the bed, and makes his way over to where Yennefer stands, her fingers fidgeting with each other in her discomfort. Geralt feels his expression soften.

“Is there any other way, Yen?”

She is silent. Her gaze skitters to the floor. “No. Either he dies without feeding, or I suppose you end him—which it seems you won’t do,” she says accusingly.

“I won’t.”

“Then do what you will, witcher.” She sounds resigned even as she turns away with a dismissive wave, sauntering off into some other portion of the house down a long hallway to his right.

Geralt’s stomach twists at the thought that this may be the last time he sees her, speaks with her, and they’ve ended on such a sour note. “Thank you, Yennefer...for everything.” He says this softly, but somehow he knows she has heard him.

With a final look down the now empty hall, Geralt turns, his eyes settling across the exhausted body before him. In three strides he’s beside Jaskier now, and takes his hand within his own. Jaskier’s skin is cold.

“Let’s go, Jask.”

And as he slips into the night, a vague direction planned within his mind, strangely Geralt finds he feels nothing but peace.

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

He’s so unbearably hot.

It’s as if his skin has molted, revealing something fresh and new and entirely too weak like a newborn's flesh and he aches with it.

It’s difficult to open his eyes, the slit between his lashes hard won and he closes them immediately in the end, the air around him bright with flickering warmth.

“Jaskier? Jask.”

He knows that voice though it feels far away, muted beneath his pain and the tightness of his own body. He clenches his jaw, teeth and gums radiating with discomfort as he realizes he’s lying down, his back on something firm yet soft. He feels fingers run through his hair.

“Sleep. You’ll wake when it’s time.”

He doesn’t understand what that means and yet...he knows it to be true.

And so Jaskier sleeps.

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

The next time he wakes, Jaskier knows he is not the same.

His body thrums, residual pain receding into something else, something that sings in his veins and calls to him from beyond. It’s instinctual, and his eyes shoot open with the hunger that would be foolish to call bodily alone.

He can smell him now. A man. Smoky and sweet—salt and musk. His mouth waters uncontrollably.

Elongated nails, sharp at their points, dig into fabric that lies soaked with sweat beneath him. His chest is bare, but the breeches around his legs remain and immediately he knows this will not do. With a strength that feels nothing but right, Jaskier is quick to rip them away along with his braies, leaving his skin unencumbered in the night air. His cock hangs heavy between his legs and his back arches with the feel of the fire-warmed air caressing his balls that already tighten with need.

It’s nearly overwhelming, the amount of sensation he feels. He feels empty, his jaw aching and fingers itching to slash and claw, to draw blood that he can lick away, filling his body with nourishment and energy—

He needs to feed. He needs it desperately.

He looks around, taking in the room. It appears to be a cave, carved into the side of a mountain, the drop off at the mouth of the entrance steep and dark, but he can easily see out into the night with his enhanced vision. Somehow, this doesn’t phase him at all, and as his eyes scan the walls, the ceiling, across the fire to his right and through the flames, he sees him.

Geralt.

If pressed, Jaskier would be unable to explain the exhilaration that runs through him at the sight. It feels wrong when he smiles, his teeth taking up too much of his mouth but he does it all the same; he can’t help it. Seeing Geralt makes him so happy.

“Jask...how are you feeling?”

The words sound off to his ears, but even so he understands them. Answering the question however, is not his priority at the moment.

With limbs that feel shaky for only a moment before they strengthen, Jaskier rises, his member bobbing and full with every step he takes towards the man on the other side of the fire. Geralt’s eyes glow, and Jaskier can see the cords of muscle in his neck tighten with anticipation. The witcher is nervous...interesting.

Once Jaskier sees it, he can’t seem to look anywhere else. Geralt’s pulse pounds beneath the thin, white skin above his collarbone, and Jaskier feels himself swoon at the sight. Two quick strides have him close enough to touch and he doesn’t hesitate to bury his nose within the crook of Geralt’s neck, taking in the scent of the man, his nose picking up things he knows he never has before. Jaskier’s skin tingles with the proximity and suddenly his urges snap into place; this is his friend, this is his love, this man is his.

“Jask, do you know who you are? Who I am? Do you...do you know what’s happening?”

Geralt’s voice cracks as Jaskier licks the column of his throat, from the dip in his clavicle to the point of his chin. Geralt tastes like sweat and anxiety, and Jaskier can’t get enough.

Strong hands hold Geralt at the nape and lower him down to the rough ground, the points of Jaskier’s nails digging into Geralt’s scalp just enough to draw blood. As he straddles Geralt’s hips, Jaskier’s eyes find Geralt’s own wide with trepidation and slowly Jaskier takes the hand away, bringing it to his mouth and placing the bloodied fingers onto his tongue.

His vision goes white with the pleasure that runs through him.

At once, it’s like he’s woken for the first time. He needs this, he has to take, has to feed—

His fangs sink home into the vein at Geralt’s neck, and warmth blooms upon his tongue, heavy and aromatic as the thick glide of the witcher’s life essence slides down his throat.

Geralt’s body tenses and he swallows a cry as Jaskier suckles his skin, his teeth penetrating deeper as he begins to rock his body against the man held captive beneath him. The sensation is new and yet so familiar, right in a way that nothing has ever been as he uses Geralt’s body to satisfy his own. There’s a voice in his head, telling him to hunt, claim, mate, breed, as he takes and takes what he wants from Geralt.

“J-Jask—” Geralt stutters, but Jaskier cuts him off with a low growl. Geralt’s body is as taut as a bowstring beneath him and something in that sings wrong in Jaskier’s head, like a chord struck wrong in the song at his fingertips.

He will do something about it.

He doesn’t know how he becomes aware of the ability, but he does all the same, activating something within himself like a switch he can turn on at will to draw himself even closer to his victim, to his meal, to his lover—

He invades Geralt’s mind.

Words do not exist here, but instead, it is feeling. Jaskier wills the body beneath him to soften and sate, relax into the curves and points of Jaskier’s body and Geralt complies without fight. Where his hands had been clenched into fists and his breathing labored, now there is nothing but tranquility, a body giving itself over to be used as it will.

Jaskier can hardly stand it.

His teeth rip from Geralt’s body, but the connection remains as Jaskier decides there is certainly too much clothing between them. With a few swift movements, Geralt is bare beneath him, and Jaskier can’t feast his eyes on enough skin. With a hunger he can’t name he decides he must see it all, as if he has been waiting for years, though time does not exist here. Right now there is nothing more than this cave and this desire and this hot, burning need. He flips Geralt over.

Scars, endless upon creamy canvas—and Jaskier knows he must add his own. It’s almost as if he is watching from above as he sees his own claws rake over Geralt’s back, drawing lines of crimson in long patterns. His tongue is quick to follow, sucking the flowing rivers out of deep trenches. Each drink goes straight to his cock and soon enough, Jaskier can’t take it anymore, his teeth sinking back into the vein that bleeds sluggishly from Geralt’s neck.

Time passes and the man below him grows colder, in increments. Still Jaskier is not satisfied. Something claws at him from within, older than the new song that plays in his head on loop, something from before, something important. After ignoring it for as long as he can, it breaks through, however.

Don’t kill him!

The thought feels wrong to his animalistic desire but it stops him all the same. He rises, his fangs leaving skin only for his tongue to lap at the wounds, sealing them as quickly as he can. Geralt’s skin has taken on a grey tint, and this does something strange to his gut.

Fear. He feels fear.

He is ours, but you cannot end him, not like this!

And yet he knows he cannot stop, his body is not ready, has not been fed, has not been filled.

Suddenly another idea overtakes him.

Geralt lies still, his breathing slow and steady even as his heart beats thready and weak. Pity lies somewhere beneath Jaskier’s skin but he ignores it, dragging his fingers through the beads of sweat and blood that leak steadily from Geralt’s wounds, two fingers drenched with it as he looks down to where he is straddled, over the rounded peaks of Geralt’s arse. His hands find themselves beneath the witcher’s hips, guiding them up until Jaskier can easily see the sweet, pink, puckered hole of Geralt before him, and without preamble, he slides two crimson fingers within.

Geralt is still warm here, and as Jaskier works him open, fast from the start with rough strokes, his teeth sink into the curve of his cheeks, small bites drawing more blood from pale skin.

Two fingers is all Jaskier has patience for.

His cock throbs, nearly purple in its fullness as he lines up with the now red rim of Geralt, and without so much as another breath, sinks home to the hilt.

Jaskier can feel within himself the way Geralt shudders though his body is kept still from the thrall that wraps itself entirely around his mind. Geralt’s body only gives—lets itself be taken by Jaskier and all at once he knows this is what he needed. His stomach, his veins full from Geralt’s nourishment, and his cock wrapped up in the witcher’s warmth as his insides batter against the length of him. The slide is sweet and Jaskier pants with pleasure, running through him like sparks set to ignite into a blazing, uncontrollable fire. His claws find purchase in Geralt’s hips, digging deep into muscle and grinding into bone. Jaskier nearly cries out with the deliciousness of it all.

This is what he has craved, every corner of his being suspended in want for years on end, coming to a glorious conclusion, a poetic end as Jaskier gives in to his every want. He plows forward, in and out of Geralt’s hole as he begins to weaken the hold on the witcher’s mind; he wants Geralt to feel this, wants Geralt to know that he is owned, held up only by the strength of Jaskier’s hands—

“Ah!”

The sound is one of pain, and yet it only drives Jaskier on further.

“Jaskier, stop— Stop...”

Geralt fights weakly, still drained of energy from the blood loss, and this of all things is what pulls Jaskier over the edge.

He spills his seed into Geralt, warmth spreading around him as he keens into the night air, a chill settling beneath his skin with a dizzying immediacy. Slowly, it’s as if his body returns to him, the harried internal screams of more, more quieting to a dull hum. He is sated...full. He can’t remember feeling like this in a very long time. He shudders through the residual tremors of his orgasm, dripping the last of his spend into Geralt’s body with a sense of relish. This is wonderful. This is heaven.

“...Jas?”

With the lightness blooming in his chest, Jaskier had nearly forgotten his witcher. With an exhausted smile on his face Jaskier finally looks down, taking in the sight before him.

Geralt is covered in blood.

And with such a sight, something within him stops.

“...Geralt?”

Somehow he had known what he had been doing and yet...the consequences of such had been shelved, buried six-feet deep, flung over his shoulder to be thought of later. His skin is pink and flushed and Geralt’s is crimson and grey-toned. The air rushes out of his lungs in one unhappy push.

“Geralt…”

He tries to be gentle as he removes himself, his limp cock bouncing against his own inner thigh as he flips Geralt over gently and with newly shaking hands, “Oh gods, Geralt—Geralt I’m so sorry, what have I done—”

“Jask…” Geralt’s voice is thin and weak, his eyes barely open even as a small smile appears on his face, and immediately Jaskier wants to slap him for it. “It’s alright...it’s alright. I’m alive, you didn’t,” —he takes a breath— “I’m alright.”

Jaskier looks around frantically, taking in the pools of blood on them both and pales, “You could still die!”

“No. I won’t. Come here.” He gestures to himself, uncaring of his nudity nor Jaskier’s even as Jaskier blushes deeply, regardless of what they have just done.

Jaskier recoils in disgust, “No, no don’t let me touch you, I’m a monster, a freak—” he cuts off abruptly, his eyes going wide, glossy as his gaze is lost in the distance. “You have to kill me.”

Grunts of pain are heard as Geralt tries to sit upright, only to realize it’s a losing battle; he doesn’t have the strength. Still his voice is fierce when he says, “No.”

“Yes, witcher...yes…”

And suddenly Jaskier can hardly breathe for the sorrow that swallows his entire heart whole.

Geralt finally knows how Jaskier feels and yet it comes at the highest cost. Not only did he hurt his friend, the man he loves—but this will be the end. Jaskier lists to the side, catching himself on cold stone with a clammy palm. He shivers in the night air, the sweat on his skin cooling rapidly. He doesn’t much care.

“No, Jaskier, I will not.”

“And why not?” Jaskier cries, tears slipping from his eyes as he whips his head towards Geralt and stares him down, defiant. “That’s what you’re made for—to kill things like me!” Finally, he breaks down into tears, burying his head into hands still smeared with Geralt’s blood. He’s disgusted with himself. If only Geralt would just do it already, he would welcome it—

Arms come around him, warm, even if they lack the temperature Jaskier knows they normally house. His breath stutters in his chest.

“Don’t you see, Jask? Can you really not?”

Slowly, blue eyes search for golden, blazing in the molten light. They are always so beautiful, Jaskier thinks. It will be a pity to know them no more. But Geralt just looks back, his expression soft...fond.

“Can’t you see I’d do anything for you?”

As Jaskier’s face crumples, and Geralt holds him through his echoing sobs, a low timbre tells of how Geralt knew—with Yennefer’s help of course—what would happen...and came anyway.

Jaskier shakes his head in exasperation as Geralt finishes, his voice shaky as he says, “You stupid, stupid witcher. You couldn’t have known it would be alright.”

“I don’t take unnecessary risks.”

“You did tonight.”

But Geralt did it all for him, and he won’t soon forget it.

“Besides, bard, this is the only night you will even show vampiric traits, if you so wish. So stop being so dramatic. You can live your life as you always have.”

Jaskier looks up, eyes tear bright and hopeful. “As I...always have?”

Geralt hums, nodding.

“With me.”

#the witcher #my writing #fic #hurt/comfort #cw blood #vampire!Jaskier #geraskier #geralt x jaskier

16 notes · View notes

mostly-mundane-atla · 4 years

Note

Hi!, i'm a writer and i found your blog bc of the headcanon of sokka calling appa gran-gran bc of the inuit language, do you have any others headcanons? Maybe lil things that katara & sokka would talk about and the rest of the gaang doesn't really understand at first? Thank u very much!

Answering this a bit late, I do apologize

Some quick corrections: I said he'd call Appa "gramps" as in "grandpa" because that's what the modern usage means in Inupiatun, the Inupiat language (the language commonly refered to as the Inuit language is Inuktittut).

I have a lot of headcanons like that under my "eskimo on main" tag, so if you or anyone else would like to check that out that's the tag I use to talk about Inupiat, Inuit, and Yup'ik influenced stuff. The headcanons, analyses, ways I think the series could have done better, sometimes writing references. It's mostly Inupiat because that's what I know best.

If you were wanting things a little more bite-sized:

-The word for sinew is the same word for thread, so Sokka and Katara might call linen/wool/silk thread "sinew" and no one outside the Water Tribes is guaranteed to know what they mean

-"Adaa" seems to be more obscure in use, but it means "don't do that," often scolded at children

-Affection is often shown in gentle, loving teasing. The words would be harsh and unkind if meant unironically, but it's understood to be good-natured. A lot of cultures do this, but the others might be thrown for a loop by just how intense it gets

-A lot of people say eskimo kisses are when you rub noses, but it's actually more like trying to breath in the other person's breath

-Seal oil on everything

-Traditionally, potty training starts years before weaning off of breastfeeding, which can go on until the kid's like, five-ish, and even before the kid has learned to talk. This is less common in contemporary settings where people have access to nutrient enriched foods and diapers

-Summer months where the sunlight never actually goes away and winters where you only see it for a few hours

-The smell of sealskin. There's a musk to it, vaguely dusty or smoky, it's like a warm hug. It can be very hard to explain to people who didn't grow up with it how great and special that smell is

-If you're going for a modern AU then I have four words: Sailor Boy Pilot Bread. It's a pillar of the Inupiat diet and your fic will be just that more accurate for it

#response #eskimo on main

138 notes · View notes

kittasune · 3 years

Text

“winter warmth”

“WINTER WARMTH”

📘┊pairing. akaashi keiji x gn!reader

🔖┊tags. post-time skip, fluff, co-worker friends to lovers, mutual pinning, holidays, seasons abloom

📚┊wc. 4.3k

📖┊note. I wrote this for akaashi’s birthday but i’ve been meaning to write this fic for a long time now. well, here’s my first fic posted on tumblr! feel free to message me your thoughts! i plan to make this an on-going series of small one-shots so… please expect more in the future.

The biting cold that accompanies the change in seasons looms over the metropolitan city of Tokyo, the city where Akaasji Keiji was born, where his career is, and most importantly; where the love of his life is – the International Library of Children’s Literature. Literature has always been one of Akaashi’s passions to pursue as it opens endless doors of opportunities that could grant him success in the future. The majority of his stress stems from his work,

“Having a job and a stable career makes you successful!”

“You should have a steady income first before you pursue your passions so you have a stable foundation to fall back on just in case things don’t work out, Akaashi-san.”

He can hear the string of back-handed compliments and empty advice he’s received from co-workers and relatives alike echo in the back of his mind, clouding his thoughts and possible future realities he wishes to envision. Literature is one of his hobbies that became his career due to his love that caused him to become attached. Manga, novels, plays, poetry, and even textbooks sometimes caught Akaashi’s attention and he couldn’t help but consume the knowledge and navigate the uncharted waters that flow through the pages in inky waves. The beautiful thought of literature that had once been untouched and pure in Akaashi’s child-like wondrous mind has now become something as lifeless as house-hold chores to check off a list.

Now, as he sits at his desk in his office cubicle eying the unsurmountable manga panels that consume more than half of his desk with their shiny patent ink and crisp lines framing the edges of each page – he can’t help but sigh.

“You know, I’ve always been told that it’s bad luck to sigh.” Akaashi perked up at the sound of ceramic hitting the surface of his white acrylic desk. He looks up to see you holding a matching mug brimming with the café nectar that he so desperately needs.

“Is that so? You sound so sure of yourself considering that your break ended 5 minutes ago.” Akaashi hid his face in his hands to mask the upturned corners of his lips pulling into a smirk.

“Thank you for the coffee, I know that I’ll need it considering that Hide x Seek’s 100th Chapter is going to be released in this edition of Shonen Jump.”

“I heard that from Udai-san, he seemed so excited that he wanted to make this chapter special by making it holiday-themed with all the holidays being piled all together at the end of the year.” You said with a look of contemplation as you sipped the burning liquid in your mug.

“Have you read Hide x Seek before?” Akaashi leans back in his office chair and sets his gaze upon you while placing the cup next to his lips, the creaky sound apparent from the quality of wornness and evidence of sleepless nights he’s spent hunched over reviewing and editing the work assigned to him.

“I think I’ve read it once before, it’s the one where the high school students hide from an intruder but they don’t know who’s the intruder… but it ends up being the ghost of a former student that seeks to kill out of revenge and spite the higher-ups who have wronged her, right?” You said while fixating your gaze to the edge of his desk as if to recall the synopsis from memory, your coffee mug was left forgotten on Akaashi’s desk as you appear lost in your thoughts.

“Not quite, you just said the plot summary of Peek-a-boo? not Hide x Seek.”

Akaashi said while looking pointedly at your mug on his desk that would surely leave a faint circle as he knows you tend to haphazardly spill its contents as you “vigorously” stir your coffee to ensure that all additives are well-mixed. He recalls asking as to why making a vortex in a cup smaller than his hand is necessary, to which, you responded,

“I need everyone to get along harmoniously and seamlessly blend with one another, imagine drinking a cup of coffee that you’ve prepared and longed for only for it to have lumps and chunks at the bottom, no-thank-you!”

The dim grimace on your face spoke volumes of a less-than-happy experience you must have gone through and as a result, the chaotic meticulousness of your coffee shenanigans intrigued Akaashi to befriend you.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice you flush red at the realization that you’ve embarrassed yourself in front of your co-worker, friend, and “potential suitor” as your friend lightly put as a shallow jab at your private love-life *hint – it’s practically non-existent.

You sigh. “Maybe I’ll give Hide x Seek a read during a vacation or something.” You mumble the words, cursing yourself for looking like a fool in front of your longtime friend, Akaashi Keiji.

The image of you grumbling and lamenting in front of Akaashi mirrors a panel sitting on his desk that has him fondly reminiscing the same image of you from last spring about how you had no one to accompany you to the Hanami Festival and so, he acquiesced to your invitation thus, establishing a tradition in your friendly relationship.

“I think it would be best to return to your desk, y/n, wouldn’t want to lose the privilege of seeing you every day and being the object of your admiration.” Akaashi propped himself up on his desk, resting his head on his forearms in a lazy slouch peering up at you with one eyebrow raised and a ghost of a smile playing upon his lips.

“You should really stop flirting with me at work, Akaashi. One of these days I might get the wrong idea and think you’re into me or something…” You chastise him while walking back to your desk which is conveniently next to Akaashi’s.

“I’m hopelessly enamored at the thought of you and it frightens me to think of a day where you’ll be missing from my side…” Akaashi thought as he proceeded to leaf through the panels laid out strategically on his desk. He looked over at you as you started to situate yourself with your work and said, “I wouldn’t sigh if I were you, I heard that if you sigh it brings you bad luck.”

“Stop mocking me and go do your work!”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The clock struck at 5:00 P.M., then at 6:00 P.M., just right before the clock struck at 7:00 P.M. you blearily glance at the time blaring in the corner of your monitor and drift your eyes to the decorative hourglass sitting on your desk. The intricate gold timepiece hid tucked away in the corner of your desk hiding behind a framed picture of you and Akaashi posed in front of a bookstore where a work-related event took place. A faint memory surfaces from the back of your subconscious from earlier this year.

“Akaashi, why do you have a plastic apple on your desk?” You glare at the object as a red plastic apple seems so peculiar to associate with Akaashi, in your mind at least, so you questioned its purpose. Is it for sentimental reasons? Are apples his favorite type of fruit? Do apples have an artistic appeal or is it just a trend?

“It’s a tomato.” He responded, not once looking up to acknowledge your effort to engage in conversation. As Akaashi is seemingly focused on the task at hand, you further prodded with your innocent questions wanting his attention so you could lose yourself in the oceans that reside in his deep blue eyes.

“Then, why do you have a tomato on your desk?”

“Keeps me focused on the task at hand. Have you heard of the Pomodoro technique before, y/n?” Akaashi still focused on his work while you continued questioning.

“The time management one, right? I think I’ve read about it somewhere before if I’m being honest…” You lose yourself in your thoughts as you attempted to recall the correct definition from an online blog you briefly glanced at.

“Then you should know about how it helps you complete your work in a timely manner while balancing the efficacy and quality of the work produced.” Akaashi stopped in his ministrations and averts his attention to the now glaringly pointless object occupying space on his desk that was a prize Bokuto won at the Momiji-gari festival they attended together last October.

“Yes, that’s the time management aspect after all.”

“If I may then, why is it you stress about not having enough seconds in a minute, enough minutes in an hour, and not enough hours in a day to complete your work and yet have all the time to talk to me well over your allotted break time?” he swivels around in his chair to face you, steel blue eyes locked in a heated rage-ridden gaze with yours.

Too stunned to talk from the blunt harshness of his words, you reply, “Quite snappy today are we? At least I know now you pay attention when I mindlessly make a fuss about my workload.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you with my statement, I was going for light-hearted banter at best… I guess I can blame it on the weather. The heatwave must be getting the better of me.” Akaashi said while pulling at his necktie, an excuse to keep his hands preoccupied and mind distracted in avoidance from the awkward silence beginning to build between the two of you.

“Tell me about it, I never really liked summer as a season or the heat.” You crinkle your upturned nose in an act of disdain as you face the glass windows doing nothing to shield you from the overbearing sunlight pouring into the office.

“With summer comes the sun, with the sun comes light, and with light comes warmth,” Akaashi says so matter-of-factly that makes you wonder what’s his favorite holiday. He interrupts your train of thought by asking, “What’s your favorite holiday, y/n- san?”

“Winter, I like the snow. Or more of what snow symbolizes…” you trail off towards the end of your sentence deep in thought.

“Usually people like winter because of the holidays and spending time with their loved ones under a kotatsu. What’s so enchanting about snow? When you touch it, it just melts… not to mention it’s cold.” Akaashi looks over at you inquisitively that could almost be mistaken for scrutiny if a stranger were to eavesdrop between you two.

“If you are out in the first snowfall of the season with someone you like, true love will blossom between you.” You recite from memory what the old woman who owned the corner store grocery near your place told you during your times as a highschooler.

“Besides love, if you make a wish when the first snow blankets the city your wish will come true.” You swing your legs to-and-fro underneath your desk covered from the public’s eye but Akaashi can tell it’s one of your habits you do when you’re excited. The sparkle in your eye accompanied by the ecstatic hand gestures would also giveaway your feelings of excitement but Akaashi knows better. You stop in your motions and jerk towards him almost like you’ve had an epiphany, the sparkle in your eye flashed again mimicking that of a light-bulb going off.

“Snow also signifies that all lies will be forgotten, isn’t that refreshing? The thought of new beginnings with the first snow sounds so romantic! I wish I had someone to enjoy it with…” You take a chance and glance at Akaashi to gauge his reaction to your statement, he already beat your intentions by turning back to face his desk at lightning speed so you wouldn’t see the faint flush of red on his cheeks that bloomed after your profession of love for snow. He didn’t want you to know he was flustered because of the way you turned to him and uttered the words ‘besides love,’ to his face, and the realization that he was going to respond with a simple, ‘hm?’ had him leaning further into his desk in embarrassment.

“Akaashi, what’s your favorite season? You know mine and my reason now.”

“Same as you, I like winter.”

“Why?”

“The holidays.”

“Boring!”

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

You shake your head in strong efforts to clear the fog that clouded your mind during that flashback.

“Nodding off so soon?” Akaashi’s voice startled you back to reality as you whip your head towards him.

“It’s almost 7:00, we were supposed to get off work an hour ago like someone said..” you fix your steely gaze on his figure hoping he could feel the mock-resentment radiating off you in waves. “I hope we get overtime pay for this as this isn’t the first time this has happened.” You lean against the back of your chair raising your arms above your head in a half-stretch with valiant efforts to hear the satisfying pop of your back.

“I made no promises, I was going to tell you this when we got off but Udai-san said we have the day-off tomorrow. The reason behind it ‘to reward you guys for your dedication to the company’ were his exact words.” Akaashi said as he began to clear his desk wanting to get to his apartment as soon as possible to sleep. This week took more of a toll on him than he would like to admit, the endless piles of work, deadlines to meet, and the cold that accompanied the winter months were taking a toll on him. The holiday season’s cold seeped into the bitterness of Akaashi’s hidden emotions, like an ice pick scratching the surface of Akaashi’s lonesome facade he tried to hide under cool indifference. In stark contrast, you acted as sunshine that brought the warmth that he desired to thaw his endless winters.

“Done with your work, too? Let’s go home.” His sunshine that spread light and illuminated the darkness that clouds his mind.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

The walk from the subway station to the shared apartment complex was only a 10-minute walk but tonight it seemed never-ending to Akaashi. The time was almost 8:00 and the streets seemed less deserted than usual. The city lights glimmer looked dim in comparison to past nights and the mood almost felt too solemn with the holidays around the corner. Akaashi was lost in his thoughts that he failed to notice the crosswalk light flickered to red signaling the oncoming traffic to cross the road, if it wasn’t for you pulling him by the back of his jacket… he ignores the thought that briefly filters across his mind.

“Akaashi, are you alright? I wasn’t going to mention it but you’ve seemed more aloof than usual.” You said while gripping onto the back of his jacket tightly almost grasping him in a silent plea.

“I’m fine.” He responds curtly while maneuvering his tall frame in an off-handed demeanor that cues for you to let-go. This action only fuels your act of defiance to pull him harder in your direction causing your bodies to collide clumsily disrupting the systematic ebb-and-flow that is pedestrian traffic. As you and Akaashi apologize and wait for the crosswalk sign to turn green, you can’t help but laugh which makes Akaashi let-out a small chuckle as he realizes what a commotion your exchange must have looked like.

“We make for entertaining crowd spectacles,” He spoke softly through a genuine small smile that washed over his handsome features that could have rivaled ‘any top celebrity that calls themselves a pretty boy,’ in your words, not his. The cold weather combined with the hotness radiating from his silent chuckles caused a light layer of condensation to form on his glasses’ lenses. As the haze rendered him sightless, he took off his glasses, pulled out his handkerchief he kept tucked away in his inner jacket pocket, and proceeded to clean his square frames. You took this opportunity to admire the man before you. His brown hair fell gracefully in a light tousled manner as a result of his hands raking through them from stress. Your gaze shifted to his hands, his hands easily engulfed the metal frames balancing delicately in between his slender fingers that looked natural holding the awkward position for prolonged periods of time. Your eyes flit over his face that was normally impassive and difficult to read, now his cool indifference shifted to a look of frustration. The furrow of his thick brows and the faint vertical lines creasing in the center of his eyebrows almost made Akaashi look younger.

‘He looks like a petulant child being told what to do’ you mused to yourself. When he felt content with the cleanliness of his glasses, Akaashi scanned his surroundings to see where you led him to. He realizes that you stopped right in front of the steps to his favorite place in all of Tokyo – the International Library of Children’s Literature. Even with the library being closed as evident by the lack of people and dimmed lights, he still found this place breathtaking.

“The architecture of this library looks similar to the Palace of Versailles don’t you think so, Akaashi? That was one of my first impressions when you first brought me here, I just forgot about it but remembered after seeing this place again” You said as you stared in awe at the smooth concrete walls and tall glass windows with lattice fixtures intricately lining the tall double doors that greeted over 1,000 visitors each day.

“The International Library of Children’s Literature, originally called the Imperial Library, was constructed by the Tokyo Metropolitan Government under the Meiji era in 1906. The artistic movement that inspired the architect was the Renaissance movement which explains the Western-like elements incorporated into the building’s design.” Akaashi recited from memory and turned to you after he finished his statement only to find you already facing him, eyes widened and mouth agape in surprise. After seeing your reaction he turns back to the building and says in a soft whisper, “This place brings back fond memories,” while unconsciously playing with his hands, fingers intertwining with one another in a playful open and close. He can feel your gaze openly assessing his figure standing awkwardly in the library’s pathway, he knows that you want the answers as to why he’s acting less like his “usual” self. You find yourself confused by Akaashi’s paradoxical behavior, sometimes he’s willing to let small cracks appear in his otherwise smooth facade of coolness, and other times he shrugs you off in efforts to maintain his cool indifference. His true emotions are caught and given to you in minuscule pieces and this frustrates you as you wish to be with the man that’s always beside you and occupies your mind all the time.

Akaashi can’t help but feel the subtle self-conscious feeling starting to arise after pondering how out of place you and him look at the moment, two people standing alone in front of a closed library engaged in a heated silent exchange. His heart sank when he realized that you two could almost be mistaken as a couple with the way the both of you look now, he wishes for this to be real, his wish is to be with you. Akaashi wishes for you to know his true feelings and declare his love for you and yet, he finds himself biting his lips to silence himself in spite of his friends saying he has a chance of being with you.

The shuffling of feet is heard as you shift your weight from right-to-left and your avoidance of all eye-contact are all tall tale signs of your unsureness, your actions break Akaashi from his own thoughts as he raises his head to see you standing closer to him than earlier.

‘You’re so close I could kiss you right now.’ He wants to say, even in a playful manner but is too afraid to be caught expressing his true feelings even through teasing comments.

“Akaashi, what are you thinking about right now?” You ask in a futile attempt for him to confide in you what thoughts occupy his brain that’s causing him to both distance himself from you emotionally.

Just as Akaashi begins to open his mouth he’s interrupted by an abrupt shout that causes the both of you to stop all conversation.

“Look mom, it’s snowing!”

Childlike excitement blanketed the distanced onlookers frolicking the crosswalks as snowflakes kissed the cherry red noses of daily commuters and people doing last-minute gift shopping. You and Akaashi fix your gazes up to the dark depths of the night sky now obstructed by the white flurries of snow clouds now hovering over all of Tokyo.

‘It’s now or never,” Akaashi thinks to himself, ‘if I can’t do it now, when will I ever get the chance again?’ Akaashi takes a deep inhale and closes his eyes to bask in the brisk coolness the winter air has brought with the changing of seasons.

“I think about how seasons shift out in a cycle of four and I find myself not being able to cope with each change.” He breathes out finally and continues, you stare at him in silent apprehension while anticipating each word.

“Seasons change, people change, and yet I find myself coming back to you… meeting in the same place where we first met each other. Fate has a funny way of telling us that we’re supposed to be together. Coincidence has a hand in pushing us together hinting that we’re meant to be. Destiny is telling me that you’re the one but, choice whispers it’s harsh words of reality only permissible when conditions are met that echoes in my thoughtless mind every sleepless night.” Akaashi locks your eyes in a steady gaze, your eyes widened in shock while his eyes portray a deep-rooted passion now surfacing after being hidden for so long.

“Our love is blossoming like the sakura trees in the spring, a love that mirrors the perennial endless summer hydrangeas in the courtyard in front of our apartment building. A love in which I catch myself falling for you like the leaves during the autumnal months. A love that engulfs me in the warmth of the fire, with its ember flicks illuminating your faint silhouette as we embrace each other in the moonlight. Falling in love with you was experiencing a life I have not lived before, for the first time I welcomed the uncertainty, my fears, my doubts never once clouded my mind. You are my moonlight that illuminates my path in the inky depths of nightfall. My starlight when I look to the sky brimming with untold stories in your constellations that guide me back to you. I want to be with you during the first snowfall of each winter. I want to experience each change of the seasons with you, I want you by my side to accompany me as we live our lives – I wish to be together with you.”

Akaashi finishes his confession of true feelings for you and a sense of relief washes over him as a weight has been lifted from his chest. Akaashi starts fiddling with a loose thread in his pockets starting to feel anxious at the sight of you as he begins to anticipate your response since you haven’t spoken since it started snowing. The feeling of temporary relief was now replaced with a sense of dread fueled by his self-doubts and the thought of rejection, he averts his gaze downward to avoid meeting your eyes.

Akaashi stayed cemented in his place with no signs of moving, so you decided to close the distance between you two. Feeling bolder after Akaashi’s profession as you were reeling from the excitement of seeing snow paired with your feelings being returned by the one you love, you grab his jacket sleeve to signal for him to remove his hand from his pocket and slowly begin to intertwine hands. He shifts his gaze from your interlocked hands to look at you, as he scans your face to gauge your reaction, he finds himself surprised by the beaming smile matching your bright energy and warmth that rivals the sun during the summer months. Your actions and the bright reaction is all the confirmation he needs to know if you reciprocate his feelings so he steers you, hands intertwined, in the direction of your shared apartment complex.

“What about your wish, did it come true?” Akaashi asks while he notices you started to swing your joined hands unconsciously, ‘probably out of habit,’ he thinks to himself silently while a smile threatens to breach his lips. You stop him and take his other-hand so now he’s facing you, you want his full attention as now, it’s your turn to confess.

“My wish was always to be with you, you’re my happiness and the reason for me to continue to live and grow. When I’m with you I’m at my happiest and your constant presence has always been comforting. The sureness in your voice and actions speak volumes about your reliability and the love you have for others. My wish was for you to see the light in yourself and for you to realize that you are loved and needed, not just I think this way but your friends Bokuto, Kuroo, Kenma, and everyone else you’ve met and encountered will agree with me on this point I’m trying to make. I love you, Akaashi Keiji and I wish to be with you… if you’d let me.”

Compared to the shuffling of footsteps and avoidance of eye-contact from earlier that hinted towards your unsureness, Akaashi can see the confidence in your stance and actions as you grasp onto his hands, the unwavering sureness you exude while maintaining eye-contact has Akaashi falling in love with you over again. The brightness in your eyes and cheery playfulness reminds him of the reasons he fell for you in the first place and he senses that he will keep finding reasons to fall in love with you over and over again.

“Let’s go home now, sunshine. I’m afraid that your warmth will melt the winter snow.”

68 notes · View notes

thetravelerwrites · 3 years

Text

Heat (Part 1)

Rating: Explicit Relationships: Female Tabaxi/Male Human/Fem-Intersex Tiefling Additional Tags: Exophilia, Babies, Mention of Pregnancy, Children, Kids, Tabaxi, Tiefling, Intersex, Pregnancy, Fatherhood, In Heat, Mating Cycles, Contraceptive Words: 4311

Rings goes into an intense heat and decides to isolate herself to prevent conceiving a child, whereas Ebert goes on a quest to find rare components to create a stronger contraceptive for her. Commissioned by @ocsmutpocalypse!

Rings had been acting weird. More weird than normal. And her normal weirdness was… pretty weird, by anyone’s standards. She spent a lot of time camping in the woods and snapped at anyone who came near her, including Ebert, Reverence, and her sister. Buttons couldn’t be in the same room as Rings, hissing and spitting at her before scrabbling for the door in a frothing rage.

Ebert hadn’t realized the change in her behavior at first, since Ethrik was a year and a half old, and Ebert’s second child had just been born a few months before, which took up all his attention. The child was like Reverence in that they were between genders and were not old enough to decide which gender they most identified with. Ebert and Reverence decided to name them Evo, short for “evolving,” and figured that they could change their name when they were old enough to choose.

So it was a few days before Ebert noticed her odd behavior and pointed it out to Reverence.

“Ah,” Reverence said, breastfeeding Evo. “Maybe she’s in heat.”

“Heat?” Ebert said, confused. “She’s never gone into heat before.”

“Well, not since you’ve been here, but that’s only been two years. It’s happened twice before, and they were random. Her sister says that Rings normally takes some sort of suppressant which works well enough typically, but every once in a while, the urge gets too strong and her body rebels against her.”

“Huh,” Ebert said. “Well, she takes the birth control medicine that I make, so she should be alright, right?”

Reverence shook her head, patting Evo’s bottom as they suckled. “Biological imperative in her species can be pretty strong, and no birth control is 100% effective. Rings hates the idea of having children more than anything, so the possibility that she might conceive is something she simply cannot tolerate. It’s why she normally secluded herself during her heats. Which is unfortunate for her. The last one was two months long. She came back in very poor shape; it took weeks for her to recover.”

Ebert frowned. “That’s disconcerting. Can nothing be done to help her?”

“According to Spring, if she copulates, the heat passes in a matter of days, but Rings won’t risk it. The idea of motherhood repulses her.”

“I know that all too well,” Ebert said. “I’m going to go to the cottage and see if I can work on something for her. I don’t like the idea of her being isolated for two months, especially since winter is coming soon.”

Reverence nodded and kissed him goodbye, and Ebert trekked into the woods and to the cottage where he did is magical work. As he was walking up, he heard glass break inside the cottage.

Taking out a short sword he’d been given and preparing a fireball, he called out, “Declare yourself!”

“Fuck off!” He heard in response, Rings’ annoyed voice loud enough to rattle the windows in the frame.

“Rings?” He said, dropping his sword and letting the fireball spell fizzle out in disbelief. “What the hell are you doing in there? What did you break?”

“Who cares? Go away!”

“I need my workspace!” Ebert said, putting the key in the door, but it refused to open. He had a feeling Rings was sitting in front of the door. “Reverence told me you’re in heat! I’m going to try and make a new contraceptive for you!”

“What do you know?” Rings yelled, banging against the door as he pushed on it. “Go ask Cassandra! She knows more about herbs and medicine than you do, you quack!”

Ebert grimaced, but he knew she wasn’t wrong. Cassandra was an aasimar and alumnus from his old academy, one who actually graduated and hadn’t committed a crime against nature, like he had. She and her lover had settled in the village less than a month previous.

Her specialty was prophecy and soothsaying, but she was also well versed in magical medicine and herbalism. Ebert was a good physician, but he wasn’t much of an apothecary He’d deferred to her expertise on several occasions, including the production of the original contraceptive. He was lucky she was more interested in working as a fortune teller and not as a medicine maker, or she could have taken half his business, if she’d had a mind to it.

“Yeah, I love you, too!” Ebert retorted, stalking off.

Cassandra lived with her lover, a minotaur named Bigby, near the temple and she did a lot of her business with the visitors. Getting your fortune told right outside of the temple was lucrative for both parties, so Reverence had allowed it as long as Cassandra agreed to support the temple and donate a small percentage of her earnings to the temple every month. Despite being a holy woman who lived a modest life in a small, two room house, Reverence was remarkably business savvy at times.

On the other hand, Bigby loved kids, and he often babysat for the villagers when they made their trips to the temple for a small fee. It was a good way to earn himself income and keep the littler tots out of trouble while their parents did their worshiping, so everyone got something out of the deal.

Cassandra was sitting at a booth that she had set up at the feet of Fysy’s statue outside of the temple. She was in the process of giving a reading to a parishioner, so Ebert waited awkwardly a small distance away for her to finish before approaching.

“Hello, necromancer,” Cassandra said pleasantly, her dark skin shining like bronze in the sunlight. “I’ve been waiting for you to come and see me. You certainly take your sweet time. I was wondering if I’d have to come and seek you out instead.”

“Yes, well,” Ebert said. “Rings is in heat.”

“I know,” She said, smugly magnanimous. “You’ve come to get medicinal advice, yes?”

“I suppose so,” Ebert admitted. “Rings and Reverence implied that the current contraceptive recipe will not be enough to override her body’s biological imperative. I need something stronger.”

“The recipe you have is pretty strong,” Cassandra said. “It would work for most mortal beings. Though, I will admit that Tabaxi bodies are very hardy and can expel most poisons with no effect to themselves. It’s no wonder that a normal recipe wouldn’t work for them.” She rubbed her chin. “There are a few herbs I know of that are effective. Bloodwort is one, and the bark of the red cedar is another. Bloodwort isn’t too hard to find, but red cedar isn’t native to this region. To find it, you’ll have to travel northwest for at least a week.” She stood up and came around the table, motioning to him to follow her. “Come.”

She led him to her home, where Bigby was chasing a passel of children around in the yard, pausing momentarily to raise a hand in greeting only to be set upon by many tiny hands, pushing him on his stomach and piling on.

“Here,” Cassandra said, pulling down a book. “This is a picture of the herbs I mentioned. When you find them, combine it with fennel seed, chasteberry, raspberry leaf, thistle, and red clover flowers. Boil on a low setting in clear water for at least three days, and add the decotion to a berry wine. Three tablespoons per day until the next cycle starts.”

Ebert pulled out his notebook and began to draw copies of each of the plants, writing down the recipe underneath the sketches.

“There’s an unusual symptom of this decotion, however,” Cassandra continued. “It doesn’t happen in humans, but in beastfolk, like tabaxis, it can cause an increase in sex drive. It’s still effective as a contraceptive in beastfolk, but it forces them to experience the worst of the heat in order to surpass it. I’d advise you to discuss it with Rings before making the trip. She may not appreciate the side effects.”

“I’ll do that,” Ebert said. “Although… Rings is usually my partner on these types of trips… I can’t imagine--”

“Going alone?” Cassandra said, finishing his sentence. “Then don’t. Certainly, Rings is a capable woman, but she’s not the only one. Her sister is also quite capable, and she would understand the urgency, especially considering she’s gone through a heat herself.”

“That’s true,” Ebert said. “I’ll ask Rings. Thanks, Cass.”

“It’s no trouble,” Cassandra replied pleasantly. “Give the children a kiss for me.”

Ebert waved and set off back to the cabin.

“Rings,” He said once he returned. Rings was still sitting against the door and refused to let him inside. “I spoke to Cassandra. I have to take a trip to get the ingredients she told me about. I’ll be gone for a few weeks.”

“Okay,” She said. She sounded much more subdued than normal.

“Listen,” Ebert started, sitting awkwardly on the steps. “Cassandra said that the herbs have a strange side effect on beast people. It forces them to the peak of their heat and makes them more… needy. The heat passes faster, but… the urge to… procreate… gets stronger. Uncontrollable. I just wanted to be sure it’s something you’re willing to deal with.”

“I don’t know,” She said after a moment. “If that’s the case… Will you and Reverence shelter with me until it’s over? If I’m going to end up in the family way… I’d prefer it if the kid belonged to you or her. I trust the two of you more than anyone else. I know me; it’s just not in me to be a parent. I won’t care for the kid. But you two will. And that’s good enough for me.”

“We can do that,” Ebert said. “I’m sure Reverence would agree. I’ll discuss it with her before I leave, to be sure. I’m going to see if Spring will accompany me on this trip. She understands this better than me, after all.”

“That’ll be good,” Rings agreed. “She hasn’t been out of the village since we came here.” Ebert heard her laugh. “Make sure Flicker doesn’t get the wrong idea. Unless you’re planning on seducing Springs on the trip.”

“Gross. I’m not into sisters, thanks. And Flicker could rip me in half, so I’m not risking it.”

Flickering Flame was a Bengal tiger tabaxi soldier from a far off desert country and was in a relationship with Spring. He worked as a guard, protecting the village from hostile outsiders. Though Spring was monogamous and had chosen not to follow Fysy, Flicker was a disciple of Fysy and worshiped at the temple, an arrangement they had agreed on when they decided to become engaged.

“Yeah, that’s true. He would rip you in half. It would be funny,” Rings said, laughing in a subdued way.

“Are you okay?” Ebert asked in concern.

She sighed. “I’m anxious. I’m never anxious, and I hate it. And I’ve never had to worry about who I had sex with or when. I don’t feel like myself and I don’t like it.”

“We’re going to fix it,” Ebert said softly. “Even if I have to go alone. As fun as it is to see you squirm… I miss you. The real you.”

“I miss me, too,” She said. “When are you leaving?”

“As soon as I talk to Spring,” He replied. “Probably tomorrow morning. I don’t want to delay too long.”

“Reverence is okay with it?” She asked.

“I haven’t talked to her yet, but I don’t imagine she’d be opposed to it. She’s not exactly restrictive or controlling.”

“True. And she can’t leave the village. She hasn’t set foot outside of the town’s boundary since she became the priestess decades ago.”

“I keep meaning to ask her the story behind that, but I’ve never had the opportunity. I heard she came from some place far away. I wonder how she ended up here.”

“I’ve never heard the full story, either,” Rings said. “Let’s ask her when you get back. It seems the three of us will be spending several days together, after all.”

Ebert struggled to his feet and brushed off his trouser. “I’m going to get going. I want to make arrangements before sundown.”

“Hey.”

“What?”

A heartbeat of time passed before she said, in a very quiet voice. “Be safe, okay? Don’t get killed, or I’ll be very angry with you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” He said, chuckling.

“I’m serious,” She said, banging the door. “You’re useless without me.”

Ebert began to set off down the trail. “Don’t forget to eat.”

It didn’t take much to convince Spring to go with Ebert on his sojourn. She asked Bigby to look after Candle until she returned, and Bigby was happy to comply. Ebert also discussed having Bigby watch his tots when he returned and sheltered with Rings during her heat, and he was amiable.

Reverence was sympathetic to Ring’s plight and immediately agreed to help, offering to go to Rings at the cabin while Ebert was gone and satisfy her in ways that didn’t lead to children in the meantime. It wouldn’t be enough to end her heat, but it would keep her from losing her senses in the midst of an uncontrollable influx of hormones.

Spring met Ebert outside of her house the next morning wearing a practical traveling outfit with a sword strapped to her back.

“I wasn’t aware you owned a sword,” Ebert said, impressed.

“It’s Flicker’s,” She said. “I’m just borrowing it. I’m only glad he had one that suited a person my size. Of course, he calls it a letter opener.”

Ebert snorted. “You’re ready, then?”

“Yeah,” She replied, hitching up her pack. “We should follow the river until we hit open terrain. I’m familiar with the smell of red cedar, so finding it shouldn’t be as difficult as it would be without a tracker.”

“That’s definitely useful. Have you said farewell to Rings?”

“No, but I don’t think she’d welcome my company at the moment. I’ll greet her when we return.”

Fair enough. “Let’s head out.”

Traveling with Spring wasn’t as awkward or unpleasant as Ebert worried it could have been, especially considering the two of them weren’t necessarily close, despite his having lived in the village for several years by this point. The only time they really spoke was when he accompanied Rings or Reverence to dinner at Spring’s house.

He discovered that Spring was a good conversationalist and knew a lot about wilderness survival techniques, perhaps even more than Rings, which was reassuring, because Ebert knew fuck all about that.

Though she reminded Ebert of Rings in a number of ways, she was more even-keel and mellow-tempered than her sister. Whatever affection he might have developed for her during their trek, it definitely wasn’t attraction. More like a close friend or sibling, which actually relieved him. He hadn’t been close to any of his siblings, so having a familial relationship with someone was both unfamiliar and refreshing.

“The air is getting colder,” Spring said, pulling her scarf around her more tightly as they walked. “Another day, and we should be in the right area.”

“Great,” Ebert said in relief. “I hate camping.”

Spring snorted. “Yeah, I kinda figured. You do most of your grumbling right before bed.”

“I don’t mean to grumble,” He said, slightly embarrassed.

Spring laughed again. “You do it mostly under your breath, but I have good hearing.” Her feline ears flicked back and forth. “I honestly find it rather amusing. You remind me of Candle sometimes.”

“...thanks?”

“I just mean you like things a certain way. Candle is like that, too.” She hacked a branch out of her way. “Most children are.”

“Insinuating that I behave like a child?”

“I don’t mean it in a negative way. Rings is very similar. I think it’s just a side effect of not having a very good childhood. Rings hasn’t told me much about your childhood, but it’s easy enough to assume that it wasn’t a happy one, and you already know hers was terrible.”

“That’s true,” He admitted.

“We all need certain things when we’re children, chief among them is attention,” She said pensively. “Children grumble and gripe and make a fuss, and it seems irritating, but what they’re really asking for is attention. If you don’t get enough when you’re young, you grow up desperate for it. Rings acts out because she likes attention. I don’t think you necessarily want people to pay attention to you, but I think you do want people to listen. If you didn’t, I think you wouldn’t grumble out loud. People only make noise when they want someone to hear it, after all.”

“What are you, a philosopher?” Ebert laughed.

“Aren’t all mothers?” Spring replied, laughing herself.

The next day, as they were trekking near a treeline, Spring stopped and sniffed the air.

“I smell bloodroot,” She said. “It’s not far away. A few hundred meters, maybe.”

“Any whiff of red cedar yet?”

“No, but it likely won’t be long now. Bloodroot and red cedar are native to the same region.”

“Well, let’s collect as much as we can carry while we’re here. I don’t want to have to make another trip any time soon.”

They spent most of the afternoon plucking bloodroot plants, hoping there were seeds they could sow when they returned to the village. Another few hours travel before nightfall brought them to a grove with red cedar.

“Fucking finally,” Ebert sighed. “I was worried we’d have to travel another day to find this.”

“It is getting late, as it is,” Spring said, looking toward the setting sun. “It’d be best to set up camp now and harvest what we need in the morning.”

“Uuuugh,” Ebert groaned, throwing his head back dramatically, and Spring smiled at him in a fond, maternal sort of way.

Spring set about building a fire pit while Ebert looked for firewood from the nearby brush. He found valuable mushrooms and some lichen that would be useful as components and harvested those while he was at it, then returned to the clearing where they’d made camp.

“It doesn’t smell like rain tonight, which is good. I don’t feel like putting up the tent.”

Ebert groaned. “I don’t like sleeping in the open air.”

“Then you set up the tent,” She retorted.

Ebert’s groan deepened. “It’s not so bad, I guess.”

“That’s what I thought.” She sat down at the newly built fire and put the cooking grate over it, setting a small pot on top of the grate and pouring water into it from her canteen. “Wanna cut up the onions and potatoes for the stew? I still have some jerky left, but I should hunt tomorrow for the trip back.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ebert said with a heavy sigh, settling himself with difficulty on the ground, setting his cane down next to him, and opening the drawstring pouch that contained their food supply. “One each, eh?”

“Yeah, that’s fine,” She said.

“So, has Rings ever gone through heat like this before?” Ebert asked as he peeled the vegetables. “I’ve been meaning to ask, but I keep forgetting. This one seems severe.”

“She’s had a couple of heats since reaching adulthood, but not this bad,” Spring replied, tearing the jerky into small strips and throwing it into the pot. “It’s only as bad as this because Rings isn’t used to suppressing her urges. She’s always been impulsive and opportunistic. If she wants something, whether it’s food, money, sex, or whatever, she either takes it from wherever it’s most readily available or finds someone willing to give it to her, and she never hesitates. It’s why Fysy’s village suits her so well. Ordinarily.”

“True,” Ebert mused. “So stubborn. You’re older than her, right?”

Springs snorted. “By, like, three minutes. We’re from the same litter.”

“You two have such different personalities,” Ebert remarked.

“She’d hate to admit it, but she takes after our parents in temperament. I’m sure that’s one of the reasons she has no interest in having children; she hates the idea of turning out like them. That and she hates kids.”

“Yes,” Ebert replied. “Honestly, so did I, before I met Reverence. I mean, I still hate kids, but I like my kids. I guess I expected to turn out like my family. They were not in any way affectionate or sentimental, and up until Ethrik was born, I was the same way. I’d never have believed being a father was a possibility for me, let alone being a good father or enjoying my time with my children. Life has taken quite the unexpected turn.”

“Do you think Rings should have children, then?”

“Oh, Gods, no,” Ebert laughed. “Granted, I love my children, but I will admit it’s not an experience everyone needs. You know as well as I that suddenly being responsible for a living, breathing life you created is terrifying and not something every person wants to or is capable of handling. Rings is right to think that she wouldn’t raise the kid. She can’t deal with that level of responsibility. Her freedom and autonomy is too important to her, and there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I agree,” Spring said. “It’s one of the reasons I accepted you invitation to come on this journey. I thought of anyone, you would understand her best and not attempt to sway her opinions or plans for the future. You get her. I appreciate that, as her sister. Not many people do. I’d say even Reverence doesn’t understand Rings as well as you, for all they’ve known each other longer. It’s simply a fundamental difference in their personality.”

“You mean Rings hating kids and Reverence having so many?”

“Not just that,” She mused. “Reverence is the priestess of the goddess of love and fertility. Rings is fine with the first part, not so much the second. Though Rings loves Reverence, their difference in philosophies will always be at odds with each other. That’s why I think you’re good for them. You get them in different ways, and you can mediate if they ever argue.”

“Have they ever argued?” Ebert asked, surprised. “I’ve never witnessed it. Which is strange, because Rings loves to argue.

Spring snickered. “Typically, Rings respects Reverence enough to keep her criticisms to herself, but they had a brief falling out a few years back. Reverence was pregnant, again, and Rings got tired of it.”

“But Reverence never keeps the children, except for mine, and those were special circumstances.”

“Rings didn’t care; she felt like Reverence saw herself as nothing more than a brood mare and had no self-respect. Reverence, on the other hand, feels like making children is her sacred duty, and thus felt as though Rings was insulting her calling in life, and Fysy by extension. The parted ways for almost two months.”

“Oh, gods, it must have been serious,” Ebert said, surprised. “What happened?”

“Rings and I had a discussion about why I decided to keep Candle, even though he was conceived in the throes of an unplanned, unprepared-for heat with a deadbeat, what being a mother means to me specifically, if I wanted more children, that sort of thing. I think it helped her understand Reverence a little better. It’s the one and only time I ever heard of Rings apologizing.”

“I’m glad they made up,” Ebert replied. “I don’t know what my life would be like without both of them, and it’s not a thought I want to entertain.”

Spring smiled fondly. “Me, neither. Reverence is like a sister to me, as well. She gave me and my family a home and helped us start a new life. I owe her a lot.”

“As do I,” Ebert said softly with a sigh, reaching for a spoon to eat the stew right from the pot. “Let’s eat and go to bed, I’m exhausted. I want to get out of here as early as possible.”

Now that they had what they needed, the trip home took much less time, and they arrived back within the town proper in five days. He stopped by Reverence’s house, only to find that Bigby was keeping the children, with all of them on the floor passing a leather ball to each other in turn. Tiny little Evo was sandwiched between Bigby’s legs to keep them upright, squealing delightedly when the ball came close only to kick it out of their reach. Buttons sat in the very center, swatting lazily at the ball as it rolled past her.

Ebert realized from Reverence’s absence that she must be keeping Rings company. Spring collected Candle and excused herself, inviting Ebert and the women over for dinner once Rings was back to her old self.

Ebert went out to the cabin that was well away from most of the town, one of the reasons he liked it so much, and heard moaning issuing from inside. Ah. He’d guessed correctly. He reached up and knocked.

“Fuck off!” Rings cried out.

“It’s me! I’m back!”

“I don’t care! Fuck off!”

“I have a key, you know!”Ebert shouted. “I can let myself in at any time, I was just being considerate!”

“Then let yourself in, the fuck if I care!”

Ebert rolled his eyes and sighed. “I can’t work with the two of you going at it. I’ll start the medicine at home. I’ll be at the house when you’re done.”

“Whatever, go away!”

Snorting derisively, Ebert set back off for home.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

9 notes · View notes

a-world-in-grey · 4 years

Text

The Long Night - survivng with no sunlight

Alright, some thoughts on the Long Night and the various problems that arise from having no sunlight for ten years (other than the persistent daemon infestation, which tbh, is not necessarily as big a problem as some other things).

Tagging @secret-engima, @hamelin-born, @sparklecryptid - feel free to chip in with thoughts, same with everyone else.

1) Food.

Plants need light. No sunlight means no plants means nothing up the food chain survives.

The refugees would have enough time to work out indoor gardens/farms, and Lestallum would prioritize supplying power to growing food. Still, with a scarcity of plant life in the wild, there isn’t going to be any meat, and keeping livestock will become expensive and mostly unfeasible.

Mostly, protein is going to come from eggs, as feeding chickens - and the ffxv equivalent - is comparatively cost effective.

Honestly, expanding the power grid will be necessary just to get more farmland. But everyone will be growing food. Everyone. Be it simple greens like spinach or arugula or the much harder vegetables like tomatoes or fruit like strawberries and cituses. Everyone will be growing food.

(Titan and the other Astrals have to be pulling some serious magical miracles, because otherwise even with the return of dawn this would be an extinction event. The ecosystem simply would not survive.)

2) Health.

Beyond the obvious concern of supplying the hospital and making medicine, no sunlight has consequences on health. Not dire consequences, but it’s something that requires mitigation and that’s another difficulty you don’t need during an apocalypse.

Humans need vitamin D to be able to absorb calcium. Vitamin D3 is the best for this, and is primarily obtained through sunlight, fatty fish, butter, eggs, and a couple other sources I can’t remember off the top of my head.

Physically, lack of vitamin D will lead to decreased calcium intake - which isn’t helped by the fact that milk is going to become scarce and finding calcium is going to be difficult - which will lead to things like Rickets. Very low calcium levels can cause the larynx to spasm, causing suffocation.

Lack of sunlight also puts everyone at increased risk for chronic conditions like diabetes and high blood pressure, as well as infectious diseases like tuberculosis and colds.

Children have a higher risk for complications from vitamin D deficiency than adults, but a proper diet and supplements can head off complications.

A diet and supplements that aren’t available during an apocalypse.

Mentally, sunlight is really important for producing serotonin. Lack of serotonin will lead to issues like depression and other mood and sleep disorders.

(Another reason to have everyone growing food - it gets them exposed to light.)

Not eveyone will be affected mentally by a lack of light. Some won’t seem to have any problems. Others will but will be able to cope, and some... won’t. Especially with the scarcity of medication.

And then you get into what happens if someone gets sick - minor illnesses are no longer going to be minor, plague containment will be a serious concern, and people are going to die from things once thought easy to cure.

3) Weather.

The Long Night is due to the constant miasma layer. However, the fact remains - there is no sunlight, and therefore no heat.

I’m not saying it’s going to be arctic winter levels, but the temperature is probably not going to fluctuate, and as plant and animal life die off, there will be less things producing heat that will be trapped by the miasma layer. Which means as the years go by, it’s going to get slowly but surely colder.

Weather patterns are going to change. Because the sun won’t be evaporating large amounts of water, and therefore there won’t be any rain or snow. That will affect the ecosystem as water reservoirs and rivers dry up. Because the temperature won’t fluctate, there won’t be significant winds, which will further complicate precipitation and weather.

4) Law and Order.

Lestallum locals, Lucian refugees from the outlands and Insomnia, Galahdian refugees displaced from Insomnia, Accordan refugees, and Niflheim refugees. All stuck together in a relatively small town with a metric ton of stress on them.

That is a powder keg ready to explode.

People are going to blame each other. They are going to lash out because they are scared, angry, hurt, and grieving. People will try to get other people kicked out, will try to limit the resources of others or cut those resources off entirely, claiming they’re ‘unworthy’ and ‘don’t deserve’ as much as ‘decent folk.’

I do not envy whoever is in charge of keeping the peace.

That’s all for now - feel free to add on with any thoughts or ideas.

#ffxv #worldbuilding #Shadow of Heaven’s Light #Take My Breath au #Long Night #Comrades #seriously guys #ecosystems are so fragile #and this would be taking a fucking sledgehammer to it

66 notes · View notes

cheri-translates · 4 years

Text

[CN] Lucien’s Revelation Date (Eng Translation)

🍒Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date which has not been released in English servers!🍒

Note: I translated this because Lucien hasn’t been given much love on this blog 😂 I’ve actually been struggling to pin down his personality, much less like him as a character. This date seems to the most recent release on the CN server, so I thought it’d be helpful in the creation of future text post memes to properly sit down and understand his psyche.

I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did! I hope you will too. Without further ado, please enjoy this rare Lucien content!

A week ago, MC found out that when Lucien was still studying in the UK, he rented a small farmhouse in Hampshire which has a large manor adjacent to it. The lease expired, so Lucien needed to handle the cancellation matters in person. Given this opportunity to travel, MC happily tagged along.

At present, it is the second day that MC and Lucien are at the farmhouse. They have woken up especially early to make a sumptuous English-style breakfast.

When MC thinks that she is more or less done, Lucien comments that MC has missed the most important thing – milk tea. He takes out a small pot and pours two cups of water into it.

Lucien: Come, let me teach you how to make milk tea.

MC: Eh?

Both of Lucien’s hands encircle my waist from behind, wrapping me in his arms.

MC: … But I know how to make milk tea.

My small refutation is completely ignored. He lowers his head and plants his chin on my shoulder, leaning on me even more.

Lucien: The first step to making milk tea is to put the tea leaves in after the water has boiled.

After a while, bubbles start surfacing in the small pot. Lucien places a paper bag of black tea in my hands. He holds my hand and gently pours some leaves into the pot.

Lucien: Now, we need to wait patiently for a while.

As soon as the tea leaves make contact with the water, a light aroma permeates the air. I lean on Lucien while looking around the farmhouse with curiosity.

Even though Lucien hasn’t been here for a very long time, it appears that someone has been maintaining the place. The furniture is clean, and the flowers displayed at the windowsill are fresh.

MC: Lucien, when did you rent this place?

Lucien: After I graduated. I was doing some research back then and needed a place where I could concentrate on writing my thesis, so I rented to this place.

He explains that there a housekeeper has been tending to the home, which is why it is still in such a clean condition.

Considering the peaceful atmosphere and how leisurely they have been spending their time at the manor, Lucien jokes and says it’d be great if they could live such a life every day, and that early retirement doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

After breakfast, MC suggests that they spend the rest of their morning drinking tea and reading books in the attic. Lucien thinks it is a good idea, but says he needs to find something important first.

It turns out that “something important” is a time capsule – two envelopes that MC and Lucien had written a while back when they visited a bookstore. They were asked to randomly pick questions related to their emotions, answer them in a letter, and then leave it in the bookstore for safekeeping. They bring the envelopes to the attic.

MC: I remember the bookstore mentioning that we could collect our time capsules after 99 days, right?

Lucien: They did give me a call, but it happened during the time our relationship changed. I should have given them your contact details, but I was selfish. I requested that they send the letters to this address. It was to prevent me from opening your letter… and to give myself a chance. If there was ever a chance for us to return to this place, I would want to open my letter in front of you.

His voice is calm as he gives me a brief overview of what happened. After saying this, he smiles and takes a sip of hot tea. I smile gently while looking at him.

It is like having two people insist on going opposite directions, painstakingly treading through an arduous winding path, only to realise that the goal was always right there. So there’s nothing else they can do but look at each other, laugh in resignation, and quietly berate each other for being the silly one.

MC: … Back then, the reason why I insisted on us writing our letters was because I wanted to see your response too.

After all, being with him meant that I had to rationalise many little emotions I had. I had to assuage my own worries, and get used to sudden bouts of longing.

Lucien is the most difficult problem I have ever encountered. He perplexes my mind. I always end up eagerly hoping that he can give me an answer.

Seeing that I have become quiet, Lucien takes my hand in his, his low voice radiated by sunlight.

Lucien: I shall reveal the answer to you.

We open our envelopes at the same time.

I take out the question card that I had randomly picked, which had been folded several times as I was afraid Lucien would sneak a peek at it.

Written in fancy fonts on the exquisite card was the question: What did he/she teach you?

I arch my neck in curiosity, only to find that Lucien had gotten the exact same question.

He calmly takes out his letter, and on it is just three words. His penmanship reflects how the answer required little thinking.

MC: “Lack of freedom”…

After reading those three words aloud, Lucien laughs lightly.

Lucien: Why are you reading it in such a somber tone? When I was writing the answer, I didn’t mean it to be unhappy at all. Although after knowing you, I experienced being perplexed about things I had never been perplexed about in my life, for example…

He considers it solemnly, and I unconsciously stare at him, making sure to etch into my heart every sentence that comes out of his mouth.

He lets out a small sigh before laughing to himself.

Lucien: For example, what to have for lunch and dinner.

MC: Huh?

I am left stunned at his unexpected words.

Lucien: Another example would be how I can’t help but notice the flowers of Spring, the rain in Summer, the leaves in Autumn, and the snow in Winter. Another example would be how I feel perplexed when watching a good movie alone, and feeling a need to share interesting things I find with someone. The strangest thing is, even my private time is becoming less and less interesting.

During his slow-paced explanation, Lucien’s eyes carry with it a smile as he watches me and my expression as it morphs from puzzlement to amazement.

Lucien: Is my way of thinking strange?

MC: Well… In my eyes, you’re always…

I can’t seem to find suitable words to use. Rational? Strong?

MC: You look like… You wouldn’t have the same troubles as me.

Lucien captures the hesitation in my eyes, and asks seriously.

Lucien: “The same troubles”… What do you mean by that?

He uses a slow tone of voice mixed with a smile. Evidently, the real answer to this question is clear. I am about to make a joke, but sensing the anticipation in his eyes, I can’t help but tell him what is in my heart.

MC: It means no matter who you meet, what circumstances you face, where you go, you wouldn’t involuntarily think of a particular person. This kind of involuntary… lack of freedom.

Lucien: … [laughs lightly]

A leisurely smile hangs on Lucien’s lips, and he looks up at the roof. A soft white cloud is reflected in his eyes, melding with his violet, creating a sense of tranquility and brilliance.

Lucien: Yes, they are indeed the same troubles.

At this moment, I slowly reveal my own sheet of paper. Coincidentally, there are also only three words written on it.

Lucien: “Having no fears.”

After Lucien reads the three words aloud, I can’t help but laugh.

MC: Why are you using such a melancholic tone? Are you worried that I was feeling wronged when writing this answer?

Lucien doesn’t speak, but his slightly raised eyebrows reveal that this was indeed his initial thoughts towards my words.

MC: Far from it. Back then, I was thinking that no matter what we face in the future, I would be willing to face it.

I pause for two seconds, worried that I was speaking too gravely. I flash Lucien a silly grin.

MC: Well… Basically there’s nothing worth being frightened of, and I’ll be fine when faced with anything.

My relaxed tone causes Lucien’s eyebrows to crease. He avoids my inquisitive gaze and seems to be deep in thought. In the end, he responds with his usual smile.

Lucien: There is still some milk tea left, shall we bring it up?

My instincts tell me that his understanding of what I said was different from what I actually meant. I hurriedly reach out and stop him, wanting to make crystal clear what is in my heart.

Lucien: What’s wrong?

Lucien gently tucks a stray hair behind my ear and looks at me with his usual warmth.

Lucien: Is there anything else we should bring to the attic?

I hold onto his face and look directly into his eyes.

MC: When I say that I’m not afraid, I don’t simply mean not being afraid to open up to you. I mean that I’m not afraid of anything. I’m not afraid of the secrets you keep, and I’m not afraid of accepting the real you. I’m not afraid to stand with you to overcome setbacks and difficulties. And I’m not afraid of the responsibilities and costs that come with being together with you. It doesn’t matter what it is. Being able to meet you, being able to have this moment... It is enough for me.

I say all of this in one breath, and realise that my heart rate has accelerated quite a bit.

Actually, these words should have been said a long time ago. I should have told him everything that was on my mind once I was certain of my feelings…

Just like the answers that were hidden in the envelopes, my words were long overdue.

Lucien looks at me quietly, his eyes expressing shock - something I have never seen before.

A warm, bittersweet aroma wafts out of the cup, permeating the air.

After a moment of silence, he gently frowns.

Lucien: Am I a supervillain in your eyes? Why does being with me require you to summon so much courage to overcome challenges, to bear costs and consequences… Is being with me really that difficult?

He reveals a troubled expression.

Lucien: I even thought what you meant by not having fears was that you did not have the same fears as I do.

He pretends to be secretive, dragging the last few words of his sentence. I can only respond by playing along and probing further.

MC: “Not having the same fears”… What do you mean by that?

All of a sudden, Lucien pulls me into his arms, lowering his voice and speaking into my ear. His voice sounds like a cloud, gently spreading across my heart, shining like sunlight after rain.

Lucien: It means not being afraid of anything when you are with me.

#mlqc #mlqc lucien #love and producer #didn't expect his date to make me feel things #mlqc spoilers #mlqc cn

120 notes · View notes

invisibleinorange · 3 years

Text

A Different Ending | 6/?

Chapters: 6/? Fandom: Bridgerton Rating: M Warnings: Only be forewarned that this is an AU from the Adrift saga but Colin actually died in this one, so if he’s mentioned he’s actually gone. Relationships: Benedict Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington, Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington (past feelings), Eloise Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington(besties), Bridgerton Family Dynamics, Daphne Bridgerton/Simon Hastings Characters: Penelope Featherington, Eloise Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton Additional Tags: Bridgerton, Penadict (do we have a ship name yet?)

Summary: There were some requests for an alternate/Parallel word to "Bridgerton's Adrift" where Benedict and Penelope actually did get married. So this is the result of that peer pressure.

It had been a touch mortifying for the entire family to be aware of his private marriage life but at least they weren’t questioning that Penelope was happy anymore. He felt semi-smug in the fact that he’d actually been able to draw that side of Penelope out. He was thankful that in the heat of the moment his brother had been the least of his thoughts. Based on the fact it had been his name of her lips, he was pretty sure that he hadn’t been on hers either.

It hadn’t just been a satisfactory or okay experience for him either. It had been good; So good in fact that he nearly scandalized his mother by apologizing off shortly after the biscuits were returned, saying that they were tired from their travels and needed to depart so that they could rest. Benedict had very little intent of letting her rest.

While he did take the time to show her the modest space they’d spend the next few months of their marriage while they awaited their forever home to be built, he wasted little time excusing her to their bedroom and stealing her away from the bloody gowns that she’d been tormenting him in for weeks. He spent every single second of the night making up for the fact he’d deflowered her in his mother’s kitchen by exploring every single inch of her flesh multiple times over.

He was somewhere between a nap and worshipping her creamy thighs when the knocking began. He was bleary eyed, gaze seeing the first hints of sunlight coming in through the curtains.

“Ben,” she murmured.

“They should know better,” he muttered, pressing a delicate kiss there. He sounded half-asleep and gruff. He could very well kill whoever thought this was an appropriate time to call. “They’ll go away.”

They didn’t go away though and the pounding seemed to get louder, more incessant. He was pretty sure that he heard screaming –

“That’s Anthony,” Penelope said sitting up, concern displayed across her flushed features. “Something’s wrong.”

Benedict hated the fact that she was probably right. Anthony certainly knew better than to come bother him. He’d teased him after all about married life certainly making him for fun. He pushed himself up, stumbling a bit to tug on some trousers. He was still tugging a shirt over his head as he opened the door.

Anthony’s hand nearly met his fist. Once glance at his older brother and he knew something was very wrong and he tried to not let his mind go to worst case scenarios. Something was wrong with Daphne and the baby or maybe it was their mother. They had a strange scared experience with death and he just knew from the countenance on his face that someone was.

“They found him,” Anthony said sounding shell-shocked.

Benedict nearly the previous last night’s supper at those words, instantly knowing what that meant for his family and for him. He had to put a hand on the door to keep himself up right.

“Found who?” a voice said from behind him.

Anthony and Benedict exchanged glances before their gaze moved back to Penelope who was wrapped in a robe. This was men’s talk. It wasn’t something that either particularly wanted to drag her into. Benedict also knew that he couldn’t lie and yet he felt mute.

“Colin,” Anthony said after a long moment, the word shaky. He’d been presumed dead for months. Whatever was there probably didn’t resemble Colin at all. They had gone through all the processes. They’d mourned, they’d gone through the necessary funeral rights and they’d assumed whatever was left of him remain at the bottom of the sea. They’d been wrong.

Her mouth opened slightly but she didn’t speak at that. The way she curled her arms around herself, stepped away from them made all those fears that had kept Benedict from acting on his growing feelings come racing up to the forefront and there was little he could do about it.

“They need me to identify the – him,” Anthony said trying to keep it together. It was pretty clear that the news hadn’t just arrived. When it had arrived in the night, Benedict couldn’t be sure but he was fairly sure that this unnerved Anthony was what he’d managed to come up with after being armed with several drinks. He desperately wanted one himself at this point.

It was clear why he was there now. Anthony didn’t have to verbalize it for Benedict to know. He couldn’t go and do that alone. They’d been through too much when they’d lost their father. This was a trauma too far for the eldest Bridgerton. Benedict wasn’t sure he could handle this either but there wasn’t much choice in it.

“We’ll go then,” he told him simply.

He silently left Anthony standing there, long enough to find his boots and a jacket. He quietly gave Penelope a kiss to the top of her head, almost afraid of what the state of his marriage would be when he returned.

In an instant, he was at Anthony’s side and off they went to handle the task no one was interested in.

The body had been kept boxed away at the harbor. They’d been warned that it would be shocking to their systems but they’d been unprepared. Benedict was certain the smell of death was never going to leave his nostrils. Decomposition had already started in on what flesh hadn’t been eaten by sea creatures. Anthony openly retched at the sight and he wasn’t far behind him.

The task was done though. It looked nothing like Colin. It was mostly skeletal at this point but there was some skin that had been protected by the cold water and the winter months. They had found a birthmark in some it and that was the thing that they pointed out, to see if it was familiar. It had been. There was no question who had they had.

Colin, or what remained of him, would be sent to the family tomb without much adieu since everything that could be done had been done. All this meant was that he could finally be at rest. Somehow, it didn’t feel like rest though. It all seemed unfair.

Anthony was in no state to be alone after identifying their brother so they went to the club and shared a few drinks like they always had when they were all bachelors together. Before there had been ABC there had been AB. Anthony had always been the one who kept it together, lead without fear but Benedict had seen just how vulnerable his brother was.

“When I die, keep it simple,” Anthony told him over. The words were a bit slurred but Benedict knew he meant it. Anthony had spent the greater part of an hour going over his plans and requests for a day that Benedict prayed to never experience much less soon to occur. Benedict let him.

“We’re planning on going to Aubrey Hall soon,” he had added. “Mother wants to make sure that I close the deal on a marriage. I always thought that you and Colin would provide potential heirs to everything so I wouldn’t have to. Eloise said things weren’t going well – you and Penelope seem to be doing fine though. I worried though-”

Benedict was pretty sure he needed to cut Anthony off now.

“I thought that Eloise said that there was a potential match,” he said choosing to redirect the conversation away from his marriage and his potential to produce a Bridgerton heir all together.

“Edwina Sheffield,” he announced with none of the enthusiasm that should be anticipated at the prospect of a marriage match.

Benedict half-expected him to go into detail on her finer assets and why she was going to be a great bride but he didn’t. It wasn’t someone he was familiar with since he’d been away and missed the start of the season. He could only assume he’d meet his brother’s future bride soon enough.

“You do know that you’re allowed to be happy right?” Benedict asked after a long moment. Perhaps, it was something that he should have been willing to hear himself.

Anthony didn’t exactly respond to that. The brooding only intensified.

It was going to be a long night.

Benedict could barely walk straight by the time he departed his brother who said he could find his own way home. He had a sneaking suspicion he was going to find his way to one of this many flings. He was so tired he was nearly delirious.

It was dark when he let himself in. He moved toward his bedroom, prepared to check on his wife before slipping to try and get the stench of death, sex and booze off him. The sound of Penelope sobbing startled him. The sight of her curled on her side of the bed, clutching her pillow hit him hard.

He kicked off his shoes before climbing in, arms curling around her from behind in hope that he might ease distress. She hadn’t apparently heard him come in through since she froze.

“I’m here,” he told her quietly, prepared to stroke her hair and hold her as long as was necessary to help her be okay again. He was surprised when it only made her cry all the harder.

It took everything within him to not cry right along with her after the day that he’d had but he knew someone had to keep it together.

“I thought you weren’t going to come back,” she said after a long moment as if he deserved an explanation for it.

He couldn’t help but laugh when she said it. He’d thought she was crying about Colin being found or maybe because she regretted consummating their marriage. The fact that she thought for a second that he was going to leave and not come back hurt him though.

“I’m sorry,” he said once he caught himself. She was in distress after all and laughing wasn’t the right way to go. “I’m not leaving you though not as long as it’s within my power.”

“I didn’t mean to react the way I did this morning,” she said as if to offer some explanation. “I saw the look on your face and then it was getting late and I – I didn’t think you were coming back.”

Benedict pressed a kiss into her hair.

“I was worried about you,” he told her. He’d promised to always be honest and he supposed he owed her to be as much. “I wasn’t sure what today would mean for us. Not just what Anthony and I had to do but … everything that came before it. It didn’t change the way I feel about you.”

She turned around slightly at that. Her eyes were red-rimmed but he was grateful to see that she wasn’t actually still sobbing.

“It didn’t change how I feel about you either,” she told him softly. There was a pause and a sniff that followed and she made a face.

“Such harsh criticism,” he said with a laugh, pecking at her lips before releasing her and climbing back to his feet. “I’ll be back after my hygiene is back up to your high standards.”

#bridgerton #penelope featherington #benedict bridgerton

12 notes · View notes

ladynightmare913 · 3 years

Text

Red Rose, Blood Moon

Welcome to Chapter 10! This is an Original Story inspired by the tale of Red Riding Hood. I would like to say a special thank to my best friend and co-author Olivia ( @asunshinepuff ) for joining me on writing this world onto paper.

This story contains only original characters created by Olivia and myself. For those of you who want to be tagged, feel free to send an ask to me or Olivia on her blog. If you have any questions, theories, or curiosities about any of our characters or how the story will progress, send them to the ask box!

I wrote this chapter while listening to this song, hope you enjoy!

Now without Further Adieu!

Chapter 10: The Lady of the Woods

800

Red walked slowly through the winter woods. The sun was high in the sky. For some strange reason, it always snowed here. Not that he minded. The cold kept people out.

He paused in his tracks, catching the scent of distress in the winter air. Frowning, he followed the scent. It led him to a tree where a beautiful gold doe was caught in a trap. The Golden Doe, he realized. His eyes fell to its hind leg, tied by a rope.

The doe grew frantic, which didn’t surprise Red. Most animals ran away in fear of him. He stared at the doe for a moment. If he ate her meat, perhaps it would cure him from his pain when he transforms every full moon. The doe’s eyes locked onto his. They were a deep brown, almost pleading to let her go.

Luara’s voice filled his thoughts. Nothing on earth can break this spell. Even if her meat could cure him of pain, he would still be cursed. With a sigh, he slowly approached the doe.

“Please don’t kick me in the face.” He pleaded.

The doe’s head tilted, her eyes blinking curiously at him. Red untied the rope as slowly as he could. He really didn’t want to get kicked in the face. With the last knot untied, he backed away slowly.

“There, you’re free.”

The doe stared at him for a few moments, before she sprinted to the trees. Red glared at the trap. He thought of destroying it. But thought of something better. Maybe it would even discourage the hunters from hunting the Golden Doe. He smirked.

When the sounds of bewildered and outraged hunters echoed through the woods, Red only laughed in mirth.

Red saw the doe again after a particularly harsh full moon. He was chased by hunters, which he eventually escaped. She approached him, with two spotted fawns at her side. He blinked in surprise. Animals stood clear from Red, not walking right up to him, with their offspring no less.

“Are they your fawns?” He spoke softly, he sat on the snow, his legs crossed, the two fawns were sniffing his air.

The golden doe shook her head, Red raised a quizzical brow, she understood him, she looked behind her, towards the village. Ah, their mother must’ve been hunted.

“Their mother… ”

The doe’s ears perked up, she watched the fawns nuzzling him. The doe and fawns stayed for a long time, and when the sun began to set, the group of deer left. Red rose to his feet and returned to his trek up the mountain.

The trees began to thin out the higher he went, the air grew colder, and the peak of the mountain was covered by snowfall. Red walked into a cave that he found years ago when he wandered the snowy woods. The mouth of the cave was large enough for Red’s monstrous form to fit through easily.

The cave echoed with the sound of dripping water, the ground going a slight downward slope. At the exit, the stone ground gave way to the snow fall that fell through the gaping hole at the back of the mountain. There were few trees near the edges of the crater of the mountain, a small creak trickled down the crater walls into a slow stream that would eventually make its way down to the forest.

Near the center of the crater, was what looked like a cottage being constructed. Lumbar laid across the snow, tools littered the beams and a dagger sticking out from the trunk of a nearby tree. And there the wolf stayed.

A century passed, Red continued to tamper with the traps that hunters would for the Golden Doe. It was the night of the full moon, Red had shifted into his beastly form. He walked leisurely through the tree of the forest. Ears perking up, his head turning towards the sound. There the Golden Doe stood, sniffing the air as the two immortal creatures locked eyes. The black wolf with glowing gold eyes huffed before it continued on with its walk.

The doe trotted after the wolf, before eventually walking beside Red. The wolf didn’t mind the company. So they walked together in silence, and if a few hunters returned to the village screaming in terror, the doe pranced around the wolf happily.

When dawn arrived, the doe watched in nervousness as she watched the wolf laying on its side as it whimpered in pain. Her ears perked, her brown eyes wide as she looked at the man before her where the wolf once was. He was completely still. Tilting her head, she nuzzled his face, giving a few licks. Red groaned as he opened an icey blue eye. The doe bucked happily.

Red looked over the newest trap laid out for the doe, only shaking his head as he disarmed it. A twig snapped, Red turned. The golden doe froze, ears perked up. Red relaxed.

“Come to say hello?”

The doe didn’t nod her head as usual, choosing to walk towards him. Red crouched down to see if perhaps she had been wounded. The doe backed a few steps away, he looked at her in wonder. The doe simply lowered her head, as if in a bow. A soft gold light began to emanate from her, steadily growing brighter, He had to shield his eyes.

He looked once the light had faded, eyes widened as he gazed upon a young woman who stood where the doe did. She had curled rich chocolate brown hair with shimmering gold streaks. Her hair was long, nearly reaching her knees, she had fair skin and chocolate eyes. Her lips were gold, she wore a long slim form fitting golden gown with flowy sleeves at the end, the hem of her dress and sleeves turned from gold to a pearl white, a train trailing behind, the dress sparkled gently in sunlight. On her shoulders was a transparent white cloak with shimmering golden tree branches with leaves at the top, as if stitched with gold silk. Her feet were bare, and on her neck was a necklace with two golden antlers and a ruby at the center. She smiled at him.

Red gave a dazed smile in return, he slowly walked around her, studying her new form, very much like how an animal would circle it’s prey. But Red had no intention of causing harm, he was pleasantly surprised. He paused, giving a soft chuckle.

“I take it this isn’t new?”

The doe, now a woman, shook her head gently. She opened her arms wide, the sleeves hanging, twirling slowly, when she faced him again, her smile was beaming. Red starred in perplexity. She only gave a silent laugh, quickly walking up to him. Giving him a hug. Red tensed.

The woman’s eyes widen, quickly pulling away, looking over in concern. Red gave a meek smile. “It’s alright, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

The woman gave a silent huff. Red tilted his head in wonder. The woman tilted her head, mirroring him. A playful smile on her lips.

“What do I call you?” He asked, straightening his head.

The woman hmm silently, putting a finger to her lips as she gathered her thoughts. Her eyes darting side to side, she pouted, shrugging her shoulders with a smile. Red huffed a laugh.

“Very, well. How about I call you Milady for now?”

The woman made an ‘oh’ expression, her hands clasped together, nodding her head. Red shook his head in amusement at her infectious joy. The woman joined him on his walk through the snowy woods. And they continued to walk together through the centuries.

It was a sunny day, the birds sang their songs, the bears were waking for the upcoming spring, it was the beginning of Red’s second century as a cursed wolf. But no matter if it was spring or summer, it always snowed. Red suspected the Golden Doe had something to do with it.

It was a rough moon, his muscles protested whenever he tried to get up. Ever since the Golden Doe had taken to him, shifting into his monstrous form, her presence always calmed the beast. Keeping him company and steering him clear of wandering travelers. He hadn’t had another ‘accident’ since Bardolph, but he didn’t trust himself around other humans.

She was in her human form now, tending to his aching bones. She frowned whenever she saw the black wolf mark on his chest. Red never met her knowing gaze. She knew what it was. She pointed at it, always giving him a questioning gaze. He would only sigh before he left her with no answer. This time, she only glared at it.

“I deserved it.” He spoke at last.

She didn’t look at him, only continued to gently place crushed herbs to dress his wound. Which he had noticed his wounds were beginning to heal faster each time. Her brows only raised in skepticism. As if she didn’t believe it for a second.

“It’s true. I killed an innocent creature and now I pay the price.” In response, she gave him an unimpressed glare. Shaking her head, she finished her task. She stood up, looking over to him expectantly. She wanted him to stand. He did.

Her hands pressed against her chest, then to his. She backed away, the same gold light from before emanated from her, and she was a doe once more. She walked around him, then reverted back to her human appearance. She smiled as she pointed at him. He frowned.

“I can’t shift outside of the moon.”

She promptly rolled her eyes, as if the details of the curse were irrelevant to her. Again she pointed at him. Rolling his eyes, he decided to indulge her. He closed his eyes, the mark on his chest snarled, his heart began to feel as if it was being crushed, his eyes snapped open. “I can’t.”

She frowned. She walked closer to him, poking at the mark on his chest. Glaring up at him. He glared back. “It hurts.”

Her gaze softened, but she poked him again. The wolf mark moved, as if to bite her finger, she only glared at it. Red tried again. He pushed himself farther, he screamed in pain. He unknowingly growled, blood dripping from his mouth. The Golden Doe pulled him into an embrace, begging him to stop, she was crying. Red was crying too.

She never brought it up again. But Red felt, something. So continued to try to shift outside of the moon. The Golden Doe was there every time, stopping him before she felt his heart would burst.

Years passed, the creatures of the Snowy Woods no longer feared him, not with the Golden Doe’s influence. Always bringing injured animals to him, and newborns. Red didn’t understand at first, but soon the animals would come to him on their own. As if they knew he belonged in their forest.

It was dark, it was always dark in the woods at night. Red didn’t mind, he could see just fine. He was returning to his cave when the Golden Doe approached him. She looked distressed, so wordlessly he followed her. She led him into the thickest part of the woods, and there, a young boy was alone. He was crying. Red frowned, the boy was clearly lost. He looked to the doe beside him.

The doe’s ears perked up, nuzzling his face. Stay. Watch. She walked out of the brush, startling the boy. He gasped at the sight of the beautiful doe. Red silently chuckled as he watched from a distance. The doe gently nuzzled the boy’s face, bringing out a smile. She pranced around the child in a circle, the boy’s tears dried as he laughed.

She walked ahead of the boy, turning her head to look at the child. Ears perking up, her tail wagged gently. The child giggled quickly chasing after the doe. Red followed them at a distance. The child’s laughter echoed throughout the forest the entire way back to his village. The boy ran off when he saw the village lanterns on, his name being called.

The doe only returned into the forest once the boy was in his mother’s arms. She shifted back into her human form as she approached Red. A fond smile on her lips as she looked out to the reunited mother and son. It was the same fond smile his own mother used to give him.

“Do you have children?” He found himself asking. Curious, she was clearly older than he was, and she was always so nurturing to animals of the forest. If she did, it wouldn’t surprise him.

Her eyes widened as she turned to look at him, she quickly shook her, then paused. Her lips formed a thin line as she seemed to rethink her answer. She perked up, forming an answer. She turned back to the forest, her hand motioning inside it, then bringing to her chest, over her heart. A radiant smile. Ah.

“The entire woods are your children?” He chuckled, amused.

Her eyes closed as she bowed her head. That was a yes. Red bowed his in return. “Well my lady, let’s return home.” She only smiled brighter, walking ahead. Red wondered if she ever stopped smiling.

Another century passed, people began to have sightings of a beautiful maiden living within the Snowy Woods, ruling over the forest. Dressed in regal white and gold, a gold antler necklace with a ruby at the center. Some say they saw her helping lost travelers find their way out of the mysterious snowy woods. Others say she appeared out of thin air near Norwich, and was kept prisoner by the beast that lived on the mountain. Keeping the villagers safe with her sacrifice. They named her the Lady of the Woods. Red would always burst into satirical laughter.

“I supposed calling you Milady was quite fitting.” He said one sunny winter’s day. They sat on a large boulder looking over the new village that was being built beside her forest. They were right after all, the other humans, this was her forest. She simply allowed Red to live within her domain. She smacked his arm reproachfully.

“They call you Lady of the Woods and yet they still hunt for your head.” Red stated as he looked at her. “They don’t even know you and the Golden Doe are one and the same.”

She simply sighed, she couldn’t deny that it was indeed exhausting always running away from the very people who wished for her protection, and still hunted her. But she never held a grudge towards the humans. She stilled, a wide grin forming. Red internally groaned. Not again, not another idea.

“No, no, get that look off your face. Remember the last time you had one of your crazed ideas?” He raised a brow. She pouted but otherwise ignored him. She grabbed onto his arm, pulling him along as she walked towards the edge of the forest. Stopping to point at the village all while looking at him with a smile. Red looked between her and the village.

“You want to go to the village?”

She shook her, poking at his chest, then back to the village.

“You want me to go to the village?” He raised a skeptical brow.

She rolled her eyes as she nodded, her hands mentioned in a circular fashion, as if to say, and further. Red looked annoyed.

“You want me to go to the village, and further?” He received an excited nod. He frowned in irritation. “Why? You go, this was your idea.”

She sighed with a pout. Both her hands land to her chest, then point to the ground. She puffed out a breath of air, blowing the hair from her face. She repeated her action when he didn’t speak. Finally he understood when she moved her hands to form a tree. I can’t leave the forest.

“You may not be able to leave, what makes you think I would want to. I know humans, and we are not the best creatures out there. Trust me, I know.”

She raised her hands to face and grunted. Glaring at him, she lifted his shirt and poked the wolf mark on his chest.

“Wolf.” He supplied the words for her. She nodded, then pointed to the village.

“I am not going to the village on a full moon.”

He knew that wasn’t what she meant, but it was too easy to rile his friend up. Her hand landed on her forehead, a deep sigh leaving her. Her eyes peaked through her fingers. She repeated her actions.

“Village.” She nodded, and pointed again. “House?” She shook her head, motioning between them, their arms and legs. “People?” She nodded. Twirling her wrist for him to continue. “Human?”

She snapped her fingers. She repeated her hand expressions once more, to the wolf on his chest, the village, and back to him. Shaking her head.

“You don’t want me to go because I am a human?”

She shook her head again. She pointed again to the wolf. Finally, Red understood.

“You want me to go because I am not human?” He spoke lowly.

She nodded, tapped her head. She had used that hand motion before. Forgotten.

“I am human.” He received a gentle shake of her head. Red’s shoulders fell. He knew Luara had cursed him, and that he could no longer die, or age. But he still slept, and ate. Had the curse turned him from a human into a complete monster?

She shook her head again, her arms crossed, as if to hold something, then pointed to the village, then nodded her head. Then she pointed to the wolf on his chest, pointed to the village, and shook her head. She touched her chest, over her heart and to her head, then back to him. Red understood. He wasn’t human more, but in a way he still was. Just not physically anymore.

He didn’t say anything more, and she didn’t press further. They returned back to the forest. Two days later, she sent Red off with a radiant smile as he left the forest. Where he was going or when he would return, neither of them knew. Only it was beyond Norwich. The Golden Doe waited for her friend, days turning into weeks, weeks to months, months, into years. Time was different for the two of them. They were immortals in an ever changing world. And Red always returned.

Two centuries passed, Red traveled to many different lands, learned different cultures and learned many different things. Traveling brought him peace. Reminding him how to be human. At least in how to act like one, given that he was no longer human, but more animal.

The Golden Doe raced across the path up the snowy mountain, a group of hunters on horses and dogs chasing after her. The doe stopped in her tracks as a group of hunters blocked her way to the snowy woods. Her ears flatten as she runs in another direction.

She knew they were herding her to a trap. It was only moments later that she was a stone wall in her path. The doe looked to the hunters gathering behind her, her back to the wall.

The dogs barked as they got closer. The hunters dismounted. The doe only watched as they made their way closer. And stopped. The doe’s ears perked up at the sound of running hoofbeats. Looking up from the wall above, a herd of red deer jumped from the ledge, pushing the bewildered hunters back. If the doe could chuckle in her form, she would be. The dogs chased after the many deer, the hunters tried calling for them. The Golden Doe pranced her way from the hunters before they noticed.

Once safely inside the woods, she shifted to her human appearance, laughing silently at the dazed hunters.

“That never gets old.”

Her eyes widened, turning her head she smiled brightly. There Red stood, in his familiar cloak that now dorned black fur and smirk on his face. She embraced him. Now she knew who sent that herd of terrified deer her way. She pulled away. The years had flown by so quickly. They walked through the forest, as they usually did whenever he returned. She would ask him questions in her silent way. He would always do his best to give her the answers she desired. Telling her of what he had seen, learned, tasted, and experienced. And the years melted away.

Tag List: Let me know if you wish to be added!

@spookypotato @purple-amaranthe @violetatapiamills

#Original Story #Red Riding Hood #asunshinepuff ocs #Our ocs #Red #The Golden Doe #The Lady of the Woods #ladynightmare ocs

12 notes · View notes

thephantomofthe-internet · 4 years

Text

My Best Friend’s Wedding

Billy Hargrove x Reader, Steve Harrington x Reader (One Sided), Robin Buckley x OC

Word Count: 7,363

Warnings: Crying, heartbreak, true love!!!!!

Author’s Note: Um...hi. So, I’m back. It’s been awhile. How are you? I’m okay, little nervous to post since my last story flopped really badly, but again I’m confident in this one and that you’ll like this story. I sure do! As always, leave some comments if you like it and criticism if you don’t I like both! I love hearing what you think!

Tag List: @hotstuffhargrove @moonstruckbucky @thechickvic @alex--awesome--22 @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @so-not-hotmess @hawkeyeharrington @sunflowercandie @kaliforniacoastalteens @songforhema @spidey-pal @mickmoon @buckybarneshairpullingkink @baebee35 @myrealloveissleep @allfandomxreader

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

Steve Harrington was getting married. What a douchebag thing to do. Marrying the first girl to say that she loved him. You’d been doing that for twenty-one years. And he decided to marry a girl that he hadn’t even introduced to you yet. You’d been his best friend since birth. You couldn’t believe it.

He told you on your winter break. Both of you had only been home for a few days. Steve had gone to Gary to train at their police academy and you’d gone to Indianapolis for college. You both returned home for winter break. You were hoping to enjoy a couple weeks back with your best friend. You’d planned your whole break around it. But you couldn’t even get him to leave the house for ten minutes the first week home. You hadn’t met her yet, but you’d heard her voice when you called. Steve said her name was Cathy. She sounded like she was fifteen. She literally answered the phone by saying ‘yellow?’ like a damn character in Valley Girl. What a fucking joke.

To say you were jealous was an understatement. Steve was your guy. Your best friend. Your one true love. He didn’t know that part yet, but it was obvious. You had the chemistry, you had the mutual attraction, and you had the spark, that bit of electricity Steve had been in search of since you were thirteen. You were it. But there Steve was with Cathy. He brought her to dinner. She was a freshman at Ivy Tech. She was studying nursing. She had mousy brown hair and high cheekbones. She looked like Nancy Wheeler, but with a sweeter, easier going personality. She didn’t know that Steve pissed his pants after seeing Poltergeist. She was everything Steve thought he wanted. He’d be bored of her in five years.

You pouted through that dinner and the rest of the break. Steve barely paid you any mind, he was too busy flashing his hot new soon to be trophy wife around. Her round cut diamond ring on its ugly notched yellow gold band flashing in the sunlight on her pale, milky skin making your blood boil. You just knew he bought her a new ring, his grandmother’s engagement ring was much smaller and classier than what she had on. She made him buy her a new ring. God, what a fucking bitch.

You went back to Indianapolis enraged. You flew through the small towns in your crappy car to get back home. Your roommate, Robin, made it back to your tiny apartment before you did, which meant that Billy Hargrove had his feet up on your coffee table. You let out a beleaguered sigh when you saw the soles of his dirty white tube socks waving to you from atop your psychology textbooks.

“Hargrove, feet off the books. They cost more than you do.” You groaned, dropping your army style duffle bag by your door. Billy chuckled, doing as you asked. You felt his eyes run over you, which you didn’t entirely get the point of. You looked the same, although slightly greasier from your long drive home.

“You don’t know my rates, kid.” He replied, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You rolled your eyes, waving a polite hello to Robin, who was watching the scene with a bemused look from the kitchen. You headed to your bedroom without another word, hoping for solace in the solitude of your private space. You felt like dying the second your knees hit the mattress. He was leaving you. He was leaving you for a boring brunette named Cathy. He was leaving you for someone who didn’t even laugh at his jokes. The love of your life was marrying someone else. It hit you like running full force into a brick wall. Your brain felt like it was shaking in your skull, your nose crushed into your face as tears began to carve burning streams down your face and your nose turned red and stuffy. You were very aware of the fact that people were in your apartment, that if Robin was home then she’d call Beth and the three of them would probably spark up and would coming knocking on your door soon. But in that moment, you needed to cry. You needed to let go of every ill feeling that had been clogging your chest since Steve had told you of his plan.

You didn’t know how long you’d been in there for, your only sense of time being the markers of when the stereo turned on and off. When you heard a knock on your door, you didn’t move. Whoever was on the other side would just invite themselves in anyway.

“Hey, we’re going to get some food, you coming or-” Billy’s sentence came to an abrupt end when you lifted your face from the pillow, mascara streaking your cheeks. “Oh shit.” He shut the door fast. You both heard Robin yelling from behind the door for him to hurry up, but neither of you moved. Billy didn’t seem quite sure of himself, as if he didn’t know what to do now that he’d closed the door.

“I’m good, go on Hargrove.” You sighed, wiping hard at your damp and warm skin.

Billy didn’t move. “Are you gonna be okay?” he asked quietly.

“Does it look like I’m okay?” you bit back bitterly. You wished he would leave you be. Billy was the last person you wanted to see you cry, much less to be there to comfort you. He wasn’t your damn friend, you hardly knew him. He was just the guy who hung out in your living room and ate your food. He was Robin’s friend, not yours.

“What happened?” he asked, venturing closer to you.

You let out a sigh. Well, at least he wouldn’t tell Steve about this. “Harrington’s getting married.” You replied, your voice cracking. You needed a drink of water or something, crying had truly drained you.

“Isn’t he your age? You can barely drink.” He scoffed. It was almost refreshing. He seemed to not believe it as much as you did.

“Yeah, he is and he’s marrying a near stranger. They’ve only been together like eight months.” Your mouth turned up in a nauseated scowl. Billy watched your lips as they curled up in disgust. He smirked, trying to hold back a bubble of laughter. You looked so genuinely turned off by the thought, it was funny.

“So he’s an idiot. Why cry over him?” Billy asked, sitting down carefully on your bed. You pulled your legs up to your knees, wrapping your arms around them, tucking your chin behind them.

“Because he’s my idiot…” you muttered softly. Billy raised an eyebrow, egging you on. “I love him. I’ve loved him since I was ten years old…”

“Damn…” Billy breathed out.

“I know…” you replied, wiping your eyes on your long grey sleeves.

“You have awful taste.” He said. You gasped, throwing a pillow at his head. It hit with a smack, sending him falling back a bit, his big callused hands sliding back to support himself. You burst out laughing as it hit, you usually had pretty bad aim so you were shocked when it hit. You clasped a hand over your mouth, your eyes crinkling as you tried to hide your glee. Billy rolled his eyes, but his infamous smirk pulled at his lips.

“You don’t know Steve like I do!” you giggled, dodging the pillow as it came back at your head.

“And you don’t know him like I do.” Billy replied. He didn’t actually aim the pillow near your head, he knew he’d hit you square in the head and he didn’t want to hurt you. Your bedroom door flew open and Robin stood in the doorway, adjusting her leather jacket around her shoulders, the hood of her bright red hoodie poking out of the back and over the collar.

“Nerds are you coming with or are you having a sleepover? Beth and I are starving.” She asked, crossing her arms over her chest with a stern expression. You could see Beth pulling up her long brown hair behind Robin, her emerald green fitted coat buttoned up as high as it would go and her burgundy scarf tucked into it. The weather must have turned on them, the temperature dropping again.

“Geez, yeah gimme a second.” You grabbed your lavender coloured cardigan from its place on the bed next to you and pulling it around yourself as you climbed out of bed. Billy followed behind you, shrugging as Robin raised an eyebrow at him.

From that point on, Billy became your wedding confidant. As the date was set and began to loom closer and closer, he stood by you, listening to you rant about Cathy and Steve and their fucking bliss. You were going to be a bridesmaid, Cathy asked you since Steve’s mother wouldn’t let him make you a groomsman. They were having a June wedding. It was going to happen in Carmel, in the same hall his parents had gotten married in. Steve’s parents were paying for everything, including your awful magenta taffeta nightmare. Billy listened to everything you could come up with, every awful insult you’ve come up with for Cathy. He watched you laugh, you cry, you scream at the sky. For the first time in knowing you, he genuinely felt for you.

In March, you got your invitation to the wedding, along with a note from Cathy. Apparently, all her other bridesmaids had dates and that you should bring a date too, so you wouldn’t be awkward. You wanted to strangle the girl. Billy was sitting on your couch when you walked into your apartment, dropping your heavy book bag on the floor, invitation still held in hand and mouth agape.

“Hey, what’s up?” Billy asked, flicking his gaze away from the magazine in his hands.

You looked up briefly “Shouldn’t you be in class?” Billy was in trade school. He was supposed to be learning to be an electrician. Instead, he had his dirty feet on your coffee table.

“I don’t feel ready yet. What’s that?” he pointed to the eggshell coloured expensive paper in your hands.

“Oh, just my invitation to the Harrington-Bray wedding and a lovely note from the bride herself.” You smirked, kicking off your tennis shoes before joining Billy on the couch. He immediately wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

“What’s she bugging you about now?” he asked, unable to hide the small, satisfied grin that pulled at his lips as you snuggled into him. He was glad that your attention was still on the invitation.

Yeah, he was utterly fucked over you. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it to himself. He would never admit it to anyone else, but he wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t have feelings for you. He did. Sometime between finding you crying in your bedroom and now, he’d fallen head over feet into a pit of mushy gushy feelings that he hadn’t had to tackle before and he couldn’t escape. Before you, women fell into about three categories: old ladies in charge, women he could fuck, and women he wouldn’t fuck. But you didn’t fit into any category. Well, I mean you fit very neatly into the women he’d fuck category, but you were more than that. He wanted to make you happy, to help you when you’re upset and to harm anyone who hurt you, and to protect you from harm’s way. You felt precious and special to him, something he didn’t quite know how to tackle. So, he ignored it. He hoped you couldn’t feel the way his heart pounded in his chest as he looked over the invitation you held loosely in your right hand.

“Well, Cathy has informed me that all her other bridesmaids have dates and that, to not stand out, I should bring one too. Because wouldn’t it be fucking loopy if I didn’t have a damn date.” You huffed out a breath, crossing your arms over your chest.

Billy paused for a moment. Then, squeezing his eyes shut, he took a risk, his first in months. “I’ll go with you if you need a date.” He said.

You furrowed your brow “Why would you want to go? You hate Steve.” You asked.

“Well, for one thing watching Harrington make the biggest mistake of his life in a monkey suit will be pretty funny.” He said, earning a smack in the chest from you. “And for another, I want to help you out. You need a date, I’m there.”

You picked up your invitation, looking it over sceptically. “Are you sure? I mean it’s in the beginning of June, I don’t want to drag you away from your finals or anything, I don’t know when you’re done school for the year…”

“Yeah, it’s not a big deal, my exams are in a couple weeks anyway.” Billy replied with a shrug. Even if his finals were during that week, he would’ve skipped them to go with you. He wanted, no he needed to be there with you. He didn’t give two shits about Harrington, he could make mistakes whenever, but he had to be there to hold your hand when you needed him to.

“You’re gonna have to wear a monkey suit too you know.” You said with a small smirk.

“Its fine, I think mine still fits from my dad’s funeral.” He replied. You sat up, pulling a pen from the spirals of one of your forgotten notebooks and checked off the ‘plus one’ option on your invitation.

“Chicken or Steak?” you asked, checking off the chicken option for yourself. “Oh and also? You can’t laugh at me in my dumb dress. I got sent pictures of it and it’s bad. It’s really bad.”

“Steak and I won’t. I’ll be too busy laughing at everything else.” He chuckled, earning another smack in the chest from you before you checked off the plus one card Cathy’s expensive invitations had provided.

For the next two months, you did everything you could to ignore Cathy’s calls. She invited you to the bridal shower and the bachelorette party, both of which you refused with the same excuse. Steve called you twice to bitch you out. The third time he called to complain, you actually fought back.

“Y/N, can you please try with Cathy? She’s trying to be nice.” Steve groaned. You were sat on the couch, having forced Robin to turn down the radio so you could actually hear Steve on the other end. She and Beth were just making out anyway; they didn’t need to have it up so loud anyway. Hearing Debbie Gibson on top volume didn’t make anything more romantic.

“I am trying; I’m in her bridal party aren’t I? I’m coming up three days before the wedding to help her get ready. Isn’t that enough?” you tried, twirling the phone cord around your fingers.

“She was really upset that you didn’t come up for her bridal shower or her Bachelorette party.” Steve replied.

“I had exams during her bridal shower and I couldn’t afford to take the time off work for the party. I’m not rich like your families are Steve. I have rent to pay and classes to pass. If I fail, I don’t have a soft place to land like you do Steve.” That wasn’t exactly the kindest thing to say in the moment, but you were tired of this conversation. You felt like you’d been having it for weeks.

“That’s not fair, Y/N, you know that’s not how my life is.” Steve said.

“Oh really? Then why are your parents paying for your whole wedding? Why is your dad holding a job for you at his company? Why is Cathy already invited to the country club with full membership? Why does she spend her breaks at her family’s ski lodge in Aspen? Steve, you’re not as put upon as you like to act. I’m doing everything in my power to be there for you and Cathy, but my life and experiences are different than yours.”

Steve hung up without a reply, effectively ending the conversation there. You hung up the phone with a slam, crossing your arms over your chest. What a fucking jerk! He didn’t have the right to treat you like shit, especially over damn Cathy. You’d been his best friend for over a decade and you’d been trumped by a little skinny Minnie with no tits. A rich bitch with a collection of tennis skirts and preppy pastel blazers to rival Princess Diana herself. She wasn’t supposed to be his best friend, his choice for the rest of his life. That was supposed to be your job. You were supposed to be the person who made him happy, not some country clubber. And yet your place was glowing in the horizon. Behind the holy Cathy, your spotlight dimmed and left behind to wail your song alone under the ghost light. Except your song was bursting from your broken heart.

You wouldn’t stand for being left behind for some bitch named Cathy.

There was only thing to do. It was something you were avoiding doing since you were twelve years old.

Billy came to pick you up for the long journey to Carmel even though he didn’t have to be there until the sixth. You both refused to stay in Hawkins, too many bad memories there. He was staying in the same hotel as you. You were going a couple days early for your dress fitting and to tote Cathy around. But that wasn’t the reason you were nervous sitting in Billy’s leather seats. You had to find Steve once you got there.

Of course, Billy was nervous too. This trip was going to end in heartbreak. You were going to watch the love of your life marry someone else. And Billy was going to watch you cry knowing that he would never hurt you like this. He would sit there and try to not let it show how much it hurt to watch you be in pain. The ride to Hawkins was tense and silent, safe for Billy’s static filled radio switching between talk radio and the hits of the day, depending on what frequency it picked up. Neither of you try to fix it. You both were too anxious to bother.

When you arrived in Carmel, Mrs. Harrington and sweet little Cathy were at your hotel. You were whisked off to your fitting and then lunch in Carmel. You left Billy in the dust that day, forced to grapple with the town that tried to kill him twice and almost succeeded. He spent the day in his hotel room and you spent your day trying to get to Steve.

Day two was a free day, safe for the rehearsal dinner that night, beginning at the church. You were told implicitly to bring your date to the dinner, as Cathy had laid out a spot for you both at the wedding table. There you met her three other bridesmaids, her sister Jessica, her cousin Ellen, and her best friend Kelly. All three of them looked nearly identical, with matching shoulder length hair cuts and pristine white pleated tennis skirts. All their boyfriends looked the same too, with their pastel polos and white padded blazers. They all shook Billy’s hand as if it was dirty. The girls looked at the pair of you like you were white trash.

You didn’t find Steve first, Billy did. The meeting didn’t exactly go well. You’d gone to the bathroom and when you returned Billy and Steve were staring each other down with the same intensity that they did in high school. You parted them quickly, smiling at Steve sympathetically.

“What is he doing here, Y/N?” Steve asked through gritted teeth.

“He’s my date, Steve, he’s a friend of mine.” You replied simply, pushing Billy away as he tried to come back into the situation. Steve scoffed loudly, but turned away without another word. You turned to Billy quickly. “What the hell was that, dude?”

“I just came over to say hello and he got in my face!” Billy cried, pointing at his back as Steve stalked away.

“Can you just keep your chill for a day? Please? For me?” you whispered, squeezing his hand gently.

Billy’s expression softened instantly and he nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll try.” He said.

“Thank you,” you said “I’m going to try to talk to Steve, hang tight okay?”

Billy nodded and you headed towards where you saw Steve go. He had headed out the main entrance, to where Cathy would be sent when they were ready to begin the rehearsal. You wiped your sweating palms on your royal blue skirt. You took in a deep breath through your nose and pushed open the heavy wooden doors, to find Steve Harrington practically ripping out his hair.

“Steve?” you asked quietly. He turned to look at you, his expression not changing when he saw you.

“You couldn’t have brought anyone else, could you?” he bit out, pulling his hands through his hair one more time before crossing his arms over his chest.

“He asked, I agreed. He’s not the same guy he was here.” You replied, adjusting your purse strap.

“Bullshit,” he chuckled coldly “He’s still the same douche he was a couple years ago. Nobody changes that much.”

“You did.” Steve went to retort you, but closed his mouth without speaking a word. You pressed on “Robin trusts him, they’re pretty much best friends, and I trust him. He’s been really good to me these past few months. Been my friend while my best friend was missing in action.”

Steve was silent for a moment. “I’ve been busy, Y/N, I had to help plan a wedding.” He muttered.

“And I’m supposed to be my best friend. That doesn’t change when you get a girlfriend. You promised me that, remember? After Wheeler that was our deal. And you broke that with her.” You replied.

“Don’t call Cathy ‘her’. She’s not just some girl.” Steve snapped.

“Why didn’t you introduce me before you got engaged? You had the time, it wasn’t like you just met her. I didn’t even know that you were even seeing anyone seriously.” You replied, matching his tone.

“Because, sometimes a man likes to have his secrets! What, Hargrove over there not keeping anything from you?” Steve cried. The large church doors opened again and revealed Cathy, shuffling in her Mary-Jane’s with a shy expression.

“Honey?” she asked, drawing Steve’s attention and softening his expression instantly “We’re ready to start if you are.”

“Just, give me one second, okay sweetie?” he said, his tone softer and kinder with her. He turned to you with a less than kind expression, nodding for you to head to your group. When you didn’t move, he spoke “You should go with Cathy, go learn your job.”

You left without a word. The rest of the rehearsal went by in a blur. You were put second in line to enter the church, supposedly and were given the role of train fixer before Cathy walked into the church. You were given specific instructions on how to hold your bouquet of yellow roses and baby’s breath in front of you. You went through the walk in and then listened to the pair go over the ceremony with the pastor in charge of marrying them. Supposedly they’d written their own vows. You looked to Billy, who looked utterly bored with the other boyfriends. When the rehearsal ended, you were all told to join the Harrington’s at their home for dinner.

Steve grabbed your arm as you were leaving the church. You hung back without a word as he told Cathy to go on without him. “Look,” he began once his fiancé had passed “I’m sorry I got mad at you. I was out of line. I was just surprised when I saw you and Hargrove together. It weirded me out. But I’m okay now.”

“Look, it’s whatever, you don’t like him and that’s fine. I’m a bit tired, will you apologize to your mom to me? I’m gonna bail on the dinner.” You replied with a small shrug, wrapping your arms around yourself. It was seventy-five degrees outside but you were freezing.

“Are you sure? I don’t think it will be a big deal…” Steve said, his warm hands coming to your bare shoulder, warming your skin and melting your heart.

“Nah,” you chuckled “Besides, you don’t really want Hargrove in your house anyway, right? Just tell your mom we went home.”

Steve laughed “That’s fair,” he released your arm “I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Duh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” You elbowed him in the arm before heading off. Billy was watching from the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes trained on the ground. You ran up and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“Let’s blow this pop stand.” You said with a cheeky grin.

“Where’re we going, princess?” he smirked, wrapping an arm around your waist. He usually wouldn’t do that, but then again you didn’t usually wrap yourself around him in public. He took the chance on you pulling away for a moment to hold you.

“Benny’s? If it’s still open, I guess.” You replied. The idea of Benny’s not being open anymore hit you like a truck. How much had Hawkins changed since you left?

Evidently, not that much. The Harrington’s still lived on Pine Street and Benny’s was still open, its owner having been dead for almost seven years. You found yourself in its yellowed dining room, eating greasy burgers and fries while discussing the old days here. You weren’t friends with Billy in high school and you hardly paid him much mind, so all his stories were fresh to you. He told you all about his whoring days and his wild child moments. How he broke into the library to screw around with Diana Krass and denied breaking a window when the police came around. He was the reason the library got security cameras. You nearly died when he told you about catching Melissa Rankers and Caroline Spears writing out someone’s phone number in the boy’s locker room. A ‘For a good time call’ situation. You made him laugh his ass of when you told him it was yours and all the crazy calls you got that year from desperate boys looking for phone sex. He couldn’t top your story about how Tommy Hanson called you after his breakup with Carol and would not believe that you weren’t a phone sex operator. The fact that you knew what his sex noises were disturbed you both. You spent your evening laughing and joking with Billy.

It felt like you were hanging out with Steve. But different. You closed down Benny’s and drove around till almost five in the morning. You barely made it to bed.

You were woken up at ten by your hotel room phone ringing off the hook. Mrs. Harrington, Cathy, Ellen, Jessica, and Kelly were all here in room two thirteen. You had to join them to start getting ready. Apparently, there were mimosas. The call made you feel more exhausted than you felt when you woke up. But you went, grabbing your makeup and the robe the hotel provided, padding over to their room.

The group was rowdy. You were introduced to Cathy’s mother, who hugged you like she meant it. She seemed to have already indulged in a few mimosas before you’d even arrived. You spent your morning mostly drinking and waiting around. They only had one makeup artist and one hair stylist who were styling everyone and no one had decided on how you should look. You ended up looking like a clown, your hair too big and blown out for your face and your makeup hair too bright. And your dress was worse in person. You’d tried it on in the shop, but in natural lighting you got the full picture. Horrid satin and taffeta all the same shade of sickly magenta, with a tulle filled a-line skirt and scratchy puff sleeves and a square neckline. This dress did nothing for your chest and hips, not that your hair and makeup was helping. You pulled a bit of baby’s breath out of your bouquet and tucked it into your up-do. Apparently, you were supposed to bring your own jewellery and hair accessories, so the bit of greenery would have to suffice. You tucked your feet into the matching heels and smoothed your skirt, looking over the other bridesmaids. Jessica looked alright in the dress, but overall all four of you looked a bit like clowns.

And then, Cathy appeared. And she looked just as bad! She seemed thoroughly disappointed, but trying to hide it with a tight lipped smile. Her dress seemed to be modeled on Princess Diana’s, with its off the shoulder cream puff sleeves and sweetheart neckline, but where on Princess Diana it looked royal on Cathy it looked cheap. Her skirt seemed a bit too big to move in and the big bow on the small of her back seemed silly. She didn’t look happy with her dress, but she simply adjusted her veil and fixed her cherry red lipstick, nodding at her reflection. Her mother appeared behind her in a bright purple sparkly number with a matching jacket, complete with shoulder pads. Her eyes were misty. Clearly, this was the most beautiful sight in the world.

Your little group headed downstairs to your town cars and you headed to the church. You hoped Billy had made it to the church on time. You hoped Robin and Beth had made it into town and that no one had stopped them or shunned them for being gay. Most of all, you hoped you could hold it together through this thing.

The ceremony took a long time to start. You contemplated going to find Steve. To tell him how you feel, to convince him to run away. But something kept you right where you stood in the church’s entrance way. You couldn’t do it. You couldn’t ruin his happy day. Steve loved Cathy today. Maybe he wouldn’t tomorrow, in six months, in a year or twenty-but today he loved her. And you wanted him to be happy. So you’d shut your mouth and let him have this. But as the ceremony started and you began your walk up to him at the altar, your heart shattered. In another life, that would be you he was waiting for. But it was Cathy. You couldn’t watch them during the ceremony. You kept your eyes on Billy, who was only watching you. His steely blue eyes on yours kept you calm as tears bubbled in your eyes and emotion clogged your throat.

When it all ended, you rushed to get out of the church. Billy’s arm came around you the second he found you. He let you cry into his white dress shirt and ruin it with your makeup filled tears. He held you till your breathing evened out, then he wiped your cheeks and led you to his car.

“Did Robin make it okay?” you asked, your voice hoarse as you adjusted your skirts. Billy stood holding your door, waiting to shut you into the car. He narrowed his eyes, looking you over the same way he did when he first found you crying over Steve all those months ago.

“Is that really what you’re worried about right now?” he asked.

You smiled, your expression still watery. “No, but it’s what I’d rather think about.” You said. Billy frowned, shutting the door and walking to his own, popping it open and climbing in.

“Yeah, they made it in fine. They sat in the back and, according to Beth, they spent the whole time making fun of Cathy’s butt bow. And your dress.” He explained, turning on the engine.

“I look awful, don’t I?” you asked. You weren’t sure whether to laugh or cry, your mind was all over the place.

“No!” Billy corrected, looking into the rear view as he backed out of his spot before turning out of the parking lot. “You look like a beautiful Kool-Aid man.” You smacked him hard in the shoulder, gasping loudly. Billy laughed at this, looking you over. You really did look beautiful, despite the awful dress. Nothing could muffle your beauty.

“Your makeup…um…it ran a little bit. There are some tissues in the glove compartment…” he added, looking away. You flipped down the mirror to look yourself over. Your tears had carved black stripes down your cheeks, washing away your foundation and destroying your blush and eyeliner. You sighed, popping open the glove compartment and pulled out a handful of tissues, wetting them with your own spit and wiping away the makeup as best you could.

“Oh god, I look awful. I can’t believe I walked around like this.” You groaned, rubbing at the garish pink blush painted like rosacea on your cheeks. That makeup artist had something against you.

“You look fine, don’t worry about it. Cathy looked worse than you, her hair looked like it hurt.” Billy replied as you wiped away the bubblegum pink lipstick from your lips. Billy tried not to watch you and your puffy lips, focusing hard on the road ahead.

“I look better, now that I’m getting this shit off my face.” You replied, focusing on getting the shit brown eye shadow off your lids. Once you toned it down, you felt a bit better. They’d already taken all the pictures they needed outside the church, you didn’t need to keep up appearances now.

Billy pulled into the parking lot of the reception hall and let you out quickly. He offered you his hand before you walked in and you didn’t let it go until dinner was served. Throughout the couples making the rounds to the tables during cocktail hour and the speeches before the meal was served, you squeezed his hand whenever you felt yourself getting emotional, grounding yourself to him and to something safe. You made your rounds to Robin and Beth, who looked much better than you. They laughed at your little ensemble and made you do a full spin to really show off the skirt. They laughed far too hard at you, but Billy didn’t even chuckle. As soon as you were done, his arm came right back around you. Robin and Beth exchanged a look that you couldn’t quite interpret. You returned to your seat when dinner was served and sat through a nauseating round of the newlywed game while they served dessert. Billy made sure to distract you when the questions got too lovey-dovey, cracking jokes in your ear and, when in doubt, covering your ears.

But he couldn’t protect you from the first dance. As it turns out, Jessica fancied herself a singer and was tasked with performing the couple’s song. Steve and Cathy went to the dance floor as the slow piano intro to Elvis Presley’s I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You began to flow through the room. Jessica’s nasal voice took the lead vocals, crooning out the opening lines “Wise men say, only fools rush in. But I can’t help falling in love with you…” the song was so cliché for the wedding. You tried to mock it to keep away the emotion, but it was all too much. The tears began to fall as Cathy’s head came to Steve’s shoulder.

“Like a river flows, surely to the sea, darling so it goes; something’s were meant to be…”

Billy’s hand squeezed yours. His heart was breaking, watching you try to hold back tears as Steve and Cathy danced in their own blissful bubble. As the chorus came around again, you broke away, rushing to the nearest exit. You both knew that you couldn’t take anymore. Billy followed behind you without a second’s hesitation.

He found you in the lobby, hands crushed to your face. He wrapped his arms around your neck, pulling your back to him. “Oh, please, leave me alone Bill. I need to be alone…” you sobbed.

“I won’t leave out here to cry alone, Y/N, you’re not alone.” He replied, holding you tighter.

“I love him, Billy…” you cried, turning in his arms to press your face into his chest “Why doesn’t he love me?”

“Because…because he’s an idiot, Y/N, any man would be lucky to have you love him.” He replied, petting your hair softly. It felt stiff from hairspray, but he didn’t care. As selfish as it was, this was the best part of his day. Having you hold him like you loved him.

“What does she have that I don’t have? I’ve been there for him his whole life. And suddenly this girl is his whole world. I’ve spent so long trying to maintain a place in his life and this girl can just show up and get a spot without question.” You muttered. That felt selfish to say, but you felt as though you earned a bit of selfish thinking.

“Because Steve lives in his own world. And we just orbit it. But you? You deserve to be someone’s whole world. You deserve to be the first person someone thinks of in the morning and the last thing they think of at night. You deserve all that cheesy shit because you’re worth it.” He said quickly, pulling you away from his chest to look you in the eye. You looked so small and vulnerable in his arms.

“Why am I always trying to love someone who doesn’t give a damn about me?” you chuckled sadly, running your hands up and down the smooth material of Billy’s suit jacket.

In this moment, Billy had a choice. He could go the easy way or the hard way. Billy chose the easy way most of the time, he coasted through life without trying very often for anything. If it didn’t come easy, then he wasn’t going to work to have it. But today, for the first time since he came back the second time, he chose the hard choice.

“Y/N, watching you moon over Harrington is the single hardest thing I have done in my life, that man is an idiot,” Billy said firmly, squeezing your waist slightly to ground himself to the moment.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to burden you with all of this, I-”

“He’s an idiot for not loving you.” Billy cut you off, silencing you with a look. He looked anxious. You’d never seen him anxious before.

“He’s an idiot because you’re so easy to love. I fell in love with you two weeks after I found out about Harrington and I don’t love girls. I don’t. I didn’t think it was in my damn DNA but here you are, with your pretty eyes and your jokes and your smile and I fell for you so fast. And watching you chase after Harrington, cry over Harrington, rant and rave about that damn asshole killed me! Because he’s not worth it! Look, I don’t care if you don’t love me back, you probably don’t, but please move on from him. You deserve the world, not a stupid spot in someone else’s.”

Billy was out of breath when he finished his little speech, staring into your eyes as your tears dried and your mouth fell open.

“Your…you’re in love with me?” you asked slowly. Your mouth felt dry and arid, your heart was pounding loudly in your ears.

“Yeah, shocking I know.” Billy chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. He tried to pull away from you, but you refused to let go. Your hands came up to his cheek, stroking the skin there briefly before placing a feather light kiss on his lips, tentative and slow. You were unsure of yourself, unsure if you were even in the right mind to make this kind of choice, but all your worries melted away when your lips touched. It wasn’t the fireworks Steve had been describing for your entire adolescence, it was safe and comforting. Your heart filled with joy, you worries fell away. Suddenly, without warning, you were home. You were home in his arms and you were home on his lips. You hadn’t felt at home since Steve hugged you goodbye when you made the trek to college. But home wasn’t with Steve anymore, he had his own home with Cathy now. But home could be with Billy.

He pulled away first, pushing you back by your shoulders. “You don’t have to do this, Y/N, it’s okay I understand-”

“Billy,” you silenced him instantly “I don’t kiss anyone unless I want to. I wanted to kiss you. I want to kiss you. Look,” you sighed, scuffing the toe of your ugly wedding shoes on the linoleum, looking up at him through your lashes. “I don’t know how I feel about anything right now, I’m not certain, but I feel safe with you. I like you. Platonically and romantically. And all I want is to feel safe with someone. So, can we try?”

Billy looked your face over, his big callused hand coming to your cheek, wiping a stray teardrop from your lower lashes. You nuzzled into the warmth of his palm. He moved his hand to under your chin, pulling your lips to his, kissing you harder and deeper than before, wrapping his free arm around your waist, pulling you flush with him.

This was all he wanted. The moment he dreamed of. Thinking about you made him feel weak, like a pathetic child. But having you in his arms, it made him feel like it was okay to be weak. That he didn’t have to be strong all the time. You made him feel strong, even when he was acting weak and vulnerable. He felt secure with you. That wasn’t a luxury he took for granted.

The kiss awoke the last bit of feeling you were missing with him. Billy was golden haloed, bright like the sun and shining. He was solid and present, a lighthouse in a storm. He was your rock. You hadn’t realized that you’d been clinging to him until he almost disappeared. He didn’t know you like Steve, but that wasn’t a bad thing.

When Billy let you go, the smile that spread across your face was impossible to hide. Billy’s expression matched yours, a genuine smile from a guy who rarely did more than smirk. The look melted your heart even more, turning goo into pure liquid.

“Are you sure?” he asked softly.

“Are you sure? You don’t exactly do this every day.” You countered, smacking him in the chest lightly.

Billy rolled his eyes “Oh shut up, I’m trying here.” You smiled, pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek.

“Come on, let’s go back in before people start asking questions. I don’t want Cathy in my business, she’s so nosey.” You grabbed his hand, squeezing it in yours.

“Oh, total Carol? I heard her and Tommy talking shit in the back about your dress. Want me to beat him up?” Billy replied, following you back into the hall.

You gasped “No!” Billy laughed loudly, shaking his head. The band had started up again and the leader asked for all the lovers in the room to join the bride and groom on the floor. “I just want to dance, alright?” Billy nodded and let you lead him onto the floor. You wrapped yourself in his arms again, placing your head on his chest and listened to his heart beat.

The day wasn’t perfect, and it certainly didn’t end the way you expected it to, but in Billy’s arms, you felt okay with how it went. You weren’t with Steve Harrington, but that wasn’t something to cry over anymore. Billy Hargrove was here to make you feel invincible again.

380 notes · View notes

lonelyheartsclubhaze · 3 years

Text

Chilly mornings away from home

January 2019 // Chapter 4

Soft piano notes waded their way into my mind, rousing me from sleep. Erik Satie’s “Gymnopédie No. 1” complemented streaks of sunlight that seeped in from cracks between the window shutters.

I rolled onto my stomach, patting along the bedsheets, searching for the alarm’s source. Locating my iPhone under a fluffy body pillow, I quickly tapped the snooze button, earning myself nine more minutes of repose.

Mornings were always so disorienting. I still had yet to remember where and when I was. Such things could wait. Clinging onto that snoozy state of nonexistence, I didn’t want to wake up. I was eager for unmindfulness.

Inevitably coming to, dizziness hit like a military grade tank as I realized that my bed was facing the wrong way. My morning senses spun westward from their southern-facing expectations. Cracking my eyes open a few nanometers more, baby blue walls, rather than white, met my gaze. I faced a medium size flatscreen TV set atop a brown cabinet bordered by cream, cushioned seats and a black mini-refrigerator.

It was so easy to be surprised by mornings. Here I was, expecting one thing and receiving another. It wasn’t a huge deal, and they were natural mistakes, but jeez, was I caught off guard. My bed typically faced a window on the southern side of my room in Berkeley, confined by white walls under high ceilings. Unlike my room in Berkeley, however, the ceilings in this place were much lower with windows much wider. My forgetfulness fading, I remembered why I was in this barely decent Denver hotel room, namely, for a job interview.

Grimacing, I also remembered that the aforementioned job interview had taken place yesterday—giving me a sense for why I might have preferred snoozy states of nonexistence to waking life. It was for some technician role at a Pharma-lab. And while they didn’t pay anything close to what Ajay would be receiving at Facebook (while still remaining just as controversial), money was money. Plus, it seemed like a good way to boost my med school app during the summer. Worst case scenario: I’d just spend the upcoming summer studying for the MCAT, which had to happen sooner or later. At this rate, however, it was looking like the worst case scenario would be my only scenario.

Oh well. With a redeye flight the next morning and the interview out of the way, I had a day to kill in Denver. Classes were still on hold for another week-and-a-half and since everyone was home for the holidays, Grace had offered to put me up at her place for the day. She was supposed to come by around nine AM to pick me up.

I rubbed my eyes and pulled up the blanket. The AC units at hotels were always freezing cold—particularly on especially inconvenient occasions, like now, right smack in the middle of a January morning. I flipped over my phone and turned off the alarm. The clock read seven-twenty-one AM. Just enough time to get ready and grab a quick bite before Grace was to arrive.

My hands smacked against the headboard of the bed mid-stretch, my wrists rolling as I struggled to fully wake up. Sitting up, I checked my phone for missed messages, sending out short, succinct text messages where they were needed. I cracked my neck and thrust my legs off the tall bed, my feet grazing the hotel carpet. I stood up, stretching my arms toward the spinning fan that hung from the low ceiling, and started toward the bathroom, tossing my iPhone onto the bathroom counter.

The shower roared to life with the turn of a knob. I grabbed a hotel-provided toothbrush and some paste on my way to the shower, along with a travel-size bottle of CeraVe foaming face wash. Inside, water rushed over my short, black hair, splashing onto medium broad shoulders and size ten-and-a-half feet as I washed my face. After mopping my chest, toes, and everything in-between with an ivory bar of soap, I squirted some toothpaste onto the brush and got to work, counting out one-hundred-twenty seconds in my head. Finally, I turned off the water and reached around the shower curtain for a towel. Drying myself off, I stepped out of the shower and packed up my bath supplies into a compact travel bag.

I shook the towel over my head to dry my hair and tapped on my iPhone screen to find one new notification. Hovering my face over the phone to unlock it, a blue message from Maddie read:

To which I replied:

She followed with:

Heart racing, I replied:

Two minutes passed. I held my breath.

Four minutes—then, a small blurb of text underneath my last message read:

Read 7:46 AM

I sighed and put down my phone. My face contorted as a profusion of expletives rushed my thoughts. Shouldn’t have double-texted her.

I supposed that it didn’t matter too much. She was with someone, anyway. When I’d seen her in December, before we’d left for winter holidays, she’d been at Bear’s Ramen House in the Asian Ghetto—the food hub a block from Sproul Hall—eating with some guy I’d seen around, probably on campus. He was a moderately wealthy, white kid from Marin studying one of the various biology sub-majors offered by Cal. He was also a junior, like Maddie, so a year ahead of me, as if his towering six-foot-three-inch figure wasn’t enough to give him a leg up on me with regards to Maddie. I didn’t know him all that well, despite having had a discussion section or two with him, though we greeted each other with a polite nod of the head when passing by one another in the Valley Life Sciences Building (VLSB) or in the library. To be honest, I didn’t even remember his name, just his face. His outfits often consisted of athleisure wear from Nike and/or Champion, giving off the impression that he played sports. I wasn’t quite sure whether or not this impression was accurate, but I did sometimes see him on the Glade or other grassy campus sites playing Spikeball, accompanied by peers with faces I vaguely recognized.

We’d often talk, Maddie and I. Sometimes I’d run into her on the spiral staircase at VLSB—the stairs that’d curl around the large, plaster T-Rex model to face broad windows on the east, granting access to the morning sun. She’d be on her way to a bio lab downstairs; me, on my way to the private, grad student bathroom that I’d secretly gained access to on the second floor. The restroom upstairs was protected by a keypad, but the code was too obvious: 362 362, or DNA DNA.

“Wonder where you could be going,” she’d say.

“Just need to make sure my hair is okay. I’ll do whatever it takes to get a few extra points from Professor Meighan,” I’d joke back.

“Do you poop here everyday?” she’d ask with wide eyes. “Or maybe you just like seeing me, huh? Is that it?”

I’d freeze up.

She’d laugh, saying, “Maybe a little bit of both, right, J?”

“Nothing gets past you,” I’d mumble.

“You’re funny,” she’d say. “You should have your own TV show. Maybe once you’re done with your residency you can join Grey’s Anatomy, or Scrubs. Or maybe you can have a talk show! Like Dr. Phil, but more funny and less depressing.”

“What about me gives off the impression that I’d ever want to have a TV show, at all, in any way whatsoever?” I’d say, shaking my head.

“See? Just like that! Always asking the right questions! Like Ellen DeGeneres but all doctor-like.”

She tended to tease me a lot. I didn’t mind. In fact, it was probably part of her appeal—definitely was, on second thought.

Like a good portion of the many pre-med students out there, Maddie was a biology major. Berkeley offered a few different options for bio students, and I’m pretty sure she was studying molecular and cellular biology, though it’s hard for me to say. If I wanted to remember something about her, I’d write it down in my iPhone notes. Otherwise, my hippocampus tended to toss it out, preferring to form memories of her nose, her lips, and those low cut shirts that left me off balance.

We’d text back-and-forth about classes, sometimes. A lot less after I saw her eating with what’s-his-face. I didn’t blame her.

My phone read eight AM. I tossed on a waffle knit shirt and long johns, then a Columbia fleece and Levi jeans, topping it off with an aged ski jacket that I’d ‘borrowed’ from Adam, who was up in Tahoe at least twice a month in the winter. I slung the beaten, black JanSport backpack containing my belongings over my shoulders and headed out the hotel door, making for the elevator.

The room door shut quietly behind as I banked right into a narrow corridor housing four elevators, two on each side. I pressed a button to summon one and within a minute, the light above the furthest elevator on my right blinked on. The door opened and I entered, clicking the button indicating the main lobby of the hotel. The door shut and the elevator fell five floors before slowing to let in an older, Black woman wearing a fitted, bell-shaped hat.

“Ground floor?” I asked.

She smiled sweetly. “Yes, honey. Thank you.”

We descended the final four floors in silence. Arriving at the ground floor, the elderly woman smiled and nodded at me before exiting first. I followed her out, glanced down at my iPhone, then diverged from her path as I headed toward the central lobby to check out. After snapping my room key card in half, I left the hotel, walking toward a Caribou Coffee a few blocks north.

Under the warm skies of Seal Beach, California, where I was born and raised, people tended to take their coffee with ice more often than here in Denver, Colorado. Every Friday, my mother would pick up an americano for herself—black, with no cream or sugar—on her way to work. I’d tag along as a kid, but sooner than later elementary school drop-offs morphed into middle school bike rides, then high school walks with pretty girls I swore I had a chance with, and then the here-and-now, flying Economy for interviews that wouldn’t yield job offers.

It’s funny—when I was a kid I practically hated being seen with my parents. At back-to-school events—the evenings when parents conglomerated to celebrate the annual accomplishments of their children—I wouldn’t be caught dead near my family. Somehow, I thought it made me look childish, or immature. After graduating from high school, however, I started seeing them less and less, and I began to find myself missing mom’s morning espresso runs more and more.

It seemed as though I must have picked up my mother’s coffee drinking habits, because when I arrived at the Caribou Coffee on sixteenth street at approximately eight-twenty-five AM, I too ordered an americano with no cream or sugar.

“That comes out to three-thirty-nine,” said the female barista. She wore a black apron over red and black striped under-layers, with a white wool beanie on her head, and deep black mascara on her eyelashes.

I thanked her and handed over three dollar bills along with some loose change from my jacket pocket.

“On second thought,” I said, retracting my hand. “Can I also get one of those?” I gestured to a blueberry scone behind the glass counter.

“Sure. Just three extra dollars.” she said.

I counted out three extra dollar bills, handing the money to the barista. Then I walked over to a small rounded table situated near the entrance and sat down. Scanning my iPhone, I saw that Grace had texted me, so I responded, asking her to pick me up at the Denver sixteenth street Caribou Coffee. Then I put my phone away and tapped silently along the underside of the table, slightly impatient for my pastry and drink.

I wondered what Grace had in mind for the day. I hadn’t seen her since—well, I suppose it wasn’t that long ago—final exams last semester. Personally, Grace and I had yet to have a class together, but Adam always took one or two bullshit classes with her, so she was often around my house anyway—especially during the week of final exams, when they’d study together all day long. As an English major, she had it pretty easy schedule-wise. She hardly stressed, at least outwardly, and was rarely overburdened with work, so she never missed a chance to chat it up with my housemates or me when Adam brought her over. She was really likable too. Even Albert got along with her, making small talk about Proust or the latest Pulitzer Prize winning novel from Jennifer Egan, and that’s saying a lot.

She always made it a point to stop by my room upstairs, at 2231 Dwight, waving ‘hello’ to me before vanishing for hours into the recesses of Adam’s single downstairs. I really liked that about her.

A small vibration from my left pant pocket convinced me to reach in. I pulled out my iPhone and saw that Grace had texted me. She was to arrive a bit early, in fifteen or so, around eight-fifty-five AM. She was driving in a black Honda Civic, she’d said. I texted her back to let her know that I’d be ready.

“I’ve got a medium americano and a blueberry scone!” called the barista.

I stood up, pulling my jacket over the chair to mark my temporary territory, then hurried over to the counter to grab my order. “Thanks,” I said before hurrying back to my table, balancing the warm, paper cup in one hand with the scone in the other.

Sitting back down at the table, I huffed down the scone. Then I took off the lid of the cup, wisps of steam condensing on the furl of my lip. I blew gently, cooling the drink.

I sipped slowly, then decided to put on my jacket and wait outside. Grace would be here any minute and I didn’t want her to miss me. I was getting sick of waiting by myself anyway. Walking outside, an icy burst of air cut right through me. I shivered, then zipped up Adam’s ski jacket. It was a good thing that it wasn’t snowing, because it was cold enough as it was.

I paced around for a bit, rubbing my hands to keep warm, until finally, a black Honda Civic with a freckled girl at its helm slowed to a stop slightly ahead of the sixteenth street coffee shop.

Grace rolled down the passenger window. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I said back. My pace quickened as my feet approached her car.

“I missed you, dude,” she said. “Come on, let’s go. It’s freezing outside.” A crimson hoodie hid most of her delicate contours, though the graceful arcs that formed over her breasts hinted at something more. The left side of her chest housed a star-shaped sports logo with the words ‘Broomfield Soccer Club’ below in a decorative typeface.

I opened the car door and hopped into the passenger seat. Gusts of warm air ruffled my hair.

She reached over the center console and squeezed me in a close hug. “How was break?”

“Pretty good. I mean, I was finally able to—”

“Bruh,” she groaned. “Did you read Science?”

“What?”

“The magazine,” she said, squinting her eyes.

I cocked my head to the side. “Was I supposed to?”

Grace rolled her eyes and sighed. “Can you?”

“Is there something I should be looking for?”

“Oh my god. Take out your phone.”

“Right now?”

“Yes, right now. Jesus-fucking-Christ, J.”

“Okay,” I said, pulling the iPhone from my jean pocket.

“Okay.” She cracked her finger knuckles. “Google ‘butterflies’.”

“Grace—” I started.

“Come on. Look it up.”

“Okay. Just because you’re asking.” I opened Chrome’s mobile browser on my phone, typed in ‘butterflies’, and pressed ‘search’.

She cleared her throat.

“Butterfly,” I read. “An insect from the ma-cro-lep-id-opt-er-an clade Rho-pal-o-cer-a, from the order Lep-id-op-tera—”

“No!” She snatched my phone and scrolled down. “Here. California’s monarch butterfly count drops by eighty-six percent, just last year!”

I raised my eyebrows. “Is butterfly watching a hobby you picked up over break or something?”

Her jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

I coughed to cover a laugh. “I mean, I didn’t know you took butterflies so seriously.”

“God, and I’m supposed to go to a guy like you for my yearly checkups?” she gasped.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “Grace—”

“I don’t want to hear it, insect-killer.” She blew aside a tuft of hair from her forehead. “So, how was it?”

“How was what?”

“How was break?”

“Oh. Right,” I said. “Well, I finally got around to watching that show you and Adam were talking about last semester.”

“Peaky Blinders?” Her eyes lit up. “Oh my god, it’s really good, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I really like Tommy’s brother, Arthur. I think he’s funny. I’m not too sure how I feel about Polly yet, though, but then again I’m only on season three.”

“Adam fucks with Arthur too. Personally, I’m more of a John-kinda-person. I think he’s less murderous than Arthur. Kills too much. How’s Adam doing, though?”

“Honestly, you probably know better than me. Haven’t seen him since we left for home.”

“I feel it.”

Grace made a sharp right onto the I-25 freeway, accelerating until our speed plateaued around ninety miles per hour. I gripped the sides of my seat—ninety was a little too fast for my tastes. I considered myself a defensive driver. Dull buildings bordered the freeway shoulders, and I tried to focus on them to distract myself from Grace’s driving.

“What do you say we stop by a park or something, J? Not really tryna see my parents right now.” Grace glanced at me, her hands still on the wheel.

I felt a bit queasy watching her take her eyes off the road. “Yeah, works for me. Something going on?”

“Eh, the usual. Just get sick of ‘em being home for so long,” she said. “But anyhow, I have a ball in the trunk. We can kick it around or some shit.”

The road grew bumpier as we drove over a waterway on the way to Grace’s neighborhood. Spoiled by scenic coastal sights on the drive up to Berkeley, the glum scenes around me felt sobering. I tapped my foot, eager to get out of the car.

Eventually, Grace took exit 225 on the right, keeping left to merge onto East One-hundred-thirty-sixth Avenue. We passed a stucco structure with a sign that read ‘Broomfield’.

“Almost there,” said Grace. “I know just the spot.”

Finally, Grace made a left into a small parking lot bordered by bright green, grassy fields on one end and unkempt trails on the other. “Quail park. I grew up playing soccer here.”

I looked around. I was glad to be there—it certainly yielded better views than the drive had. “It’s pretty.”

Grace popped open the trunk and pulled out a soccer ball and pump. She filled it with air quickly, then gestured for me to carry the ball. We walked over to the open fields, brushing permafrost aside as we squished the grass beneath our feet. Back and forth, we kicked the ball to one another, Grace showing off every now and then by booting the ball over her head and onto her knees, juggling it for ten, maybe twenty bounces before passing it back to me.

“So?” she said. “Did you kill the interview?”

I winced. “Not exactly.”

Grace toed the ball inward, using its momentum to whip the ball onto the flat of her foot. With a touch of force, she tapped the ball into the air and into her hands. “Come on, J. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

I smiled a bit. “It really was though.”

She laughed and dropped the ball to her feet. Passing it back to me, she said, “Ah, whatever. You don’t want to work in Denver anyway. You’re not cut out for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, look at you. You’ve been shivering your ass off since I picked you up, dummy. And I have heated seats!” she said.

“Hey,” I started. “You’re not wrong.”

“Rarely am. Anyhow, how are things with, uh, you know . . .”

“Maddie?” I finished.

“Yes, right, Maddie.”

“She texted me this morning.”

“Oooooh,” said Grace. “How’s Brandon gonna feel about that?”

Ah, right, Brandon. How could I forget?

“Brandon . . . Right. Well, I doubt that it’s a major concern of his at the moment. She left me on read anyway.”

“Oh. Well, it’s her loss anyhow. She’s missing out on a star athlete!” said Grace as she punted the ball, knocking me square in the chest.

“Fucking shit!” I howled.

“You sound like Adam more and more everyday,” she said.

“So dreams do come true.”

“Isn’t it funny,” said Grace, juggling the ball on her quads. “Don’t you feel like certain words belong to certain people?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, like, don’t you associate certain words with certain people? Like every swear word with Adam, for example, and or maybe, I’m sure there are some you have in mind for Maddie or whoever.”

“You sure you’re not projecting, Grace?” I asked.

This time she threw the ball at me, and it proceeded to hit me right on the head. We kicked around for another hour or so, talking about this or that—how final exams went; our plans for the semester; and Pac-12 Women’s soccer, despite an utter lack of knowledge regarding the sport’s conference on my part. Around five-thirty in the late afternoon, we decided to get something to eat, so Grace drove us to a Vietnamese spot called Golden Bowl Noodle House which she heralded as the greatest phở restaurant on the west coast.

We sat down in blue booth seats across from one another, red and gold walls bordering us on my left. A large, square, green painting depicting an ocean scene lined the wall between us. I ordered the same thing as Grace, the Combo Number One, which consisted of a small rare steak phở, 2 spring rolls, and an iced tea. Grace asked to change hers to a warm tea, which was probably the better move in hindsight. Our drinks arrived first, and we sipped on them slowly. I was hungry—blueberry scones could only provide so much sustenance.

A robed Asian woman, with a slight hunch in her back as she hobbled over, arrived with a tray carrying two bowls of soupy noodles; four translucent wrapped appetizers; and a small dish with bean sprouts, Thai basil, and other add-ons. She bowed slightly and left us to our meals, so I looked over at Grace who had already taken her first bite from a spring roll. I followed her lead, feeling the cool cloak of rice wrappers over fresh shrimp, cilantro, and basil. Taking a bite, my teeth met shrimp with just the right amount of snap, the unexpected tang of hoisin sauce gifting a pleasant surprise.

Grace smacked my hand. “Use the peanut sauce! You gotta appreciate it properly, cuz some people can’t. Did you know that the rate of food allergies is increasing rapid as fuck—especially in developed nations like the US?”

I did as she said, dipping the spring roll into the gloppy, brown sauce. She wasn’t wrong—it was better that way. After swallowing my last bite of the spring rolls, Grace tossed some bean sprouts into my soup and squeezed lime juice over my bowl.

“You know this isn’t my first time eating phở, right?” I said.

Grace hushed me and continued eating. I watched her twirl a handful of noodles into her chopsticks, lifting them to her mouth over a soup spoon. Noisy slurps concluded with sapid bites followed by quick sips of tea. Rinse and repeat.

I opted for a fork, twisting firm noodles around its prongs as best I could, gulping down spoonfuls of savory soup in between steak and noodle bites. I watched the red meat cook to a brownish hue, the hot broth’s steam parting like sea waves under my chin.

“I’ll give it to you,” I said. “It’s good.”

Grace glanced at me, nodded, and continued eating. Finishing promptly, she leaned back into her chair and exhaled heavily.

I rushed to keep up with her, but it took me significantly longer to finish. Sooner or later, the robed woman limped over with the bill. I rose to my feet and met her halfway. I pulled out a Mastercard and slipped it into the folded check before handing it back to her and sitting back down with Grace.

“Real gentleman, aren’t you?”

“It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me today. Besides, you’ve just introduced me to the ‘best phở on the west coast’, right?”

“Suppose that’s true. Okay, you’re right, dinner on you.”

The restaurant owner signaled that I could take back my card, so I walked over, tipped four-and-a-half dollars, tucked away my card, and we left for the car.

Grace’s eyelids were a bit heavy, so I asked her if she wanted me to drive. She handed me her keys and jumped into the passenger seat. After I buckled into the driver seat and turned the key in the ignition, she directed me to make a right out of the parking lot. I drove slowly back to her house, which was only ten or so minutes away, then pulled into her garage. The garage led into a two-story, vinyl sided, upper-middle class home with a comely, green lawn out front.

“Come on. I’ll show you to the guest room.”

I followed her over hardwood floors into the living room, where a tall, white man with square sunglasses over his eyes and a black beanie atop his head shuffled through TV channels with a remote. The lights were off in the room even though the sun had set a little less than an hour prior.

“How are you doing, sir?” I asked.

“Wassup?” he said.

“Oh,” I said. “How are you today, sir?”

“All good.” He took a long draw from an IPA resting on the coffee table in front of him. “Catch y’all. Gracey—you got trash, yea?”

Before Grace could reply, a voice called from the kitchen around the corner, “I got today, hun!”

We nodded in acknowledgment to the man and turned to leave. “Must be your dad?” I asked.

“Yup,” she said. And that was the end of it.

I followed Grace into the kitchen. A woman—her mother, presumably—with a polka dot apron around her neck and a noticeable accent in her voice greeted us warmly. I was surprised by the speed of the woman as she rushed me with a sturdy hug, a tactic she then repeated on her daughter.

“Are you Filipino?” she asked, placing a motherly hand on my shoulder.

“No, ma’am.”

“Ayo,” she said. “No problem. Sleep good, okay?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for letting me stay—”

“Sorry about him, mom,” said Grace. She hit me on the back playfully and the two women burst into laughter in unison. “You’re always welcome, J.”

I smiled, said goodbye, and trailed Grace as she led me up a winding staircase to a small bedroom encapsulated by canary yellow walls laden with rooster prints. The room housed a twin bed and two lamps with cube-ish shades. The bedsheets matched the walls, realistic rooster designs corresponding with the overarching theme of the bedroom.

“Don’t ask,” said Grace. “Night, J. Sleep up.”

I hugged Grace and thanked her. “Night.”

It was still early, only six-thirty or so, so I plopped onto the bed and pulled out my iPhone, intent on watching YouTube videos to pass some time. I chuckled to myself as I admired the chicken print theme of the room.

Clicking my phone to life, I was surprised to find text messages from Maddie that read:

I sighed and put the iPhone down as my heart rate spiked into the mid eighties.

#fiction #newadult #new adult #contemporaryfiction #na #youngadult #ya fiction #yafiction #young adult books #ya books

2 notes · View notes